Chapter Seventeen #2
The offer was delivered with calculated sensuality, her body angling toward his in clear invitation. And Raven felt…nothing. No temptation, no interest, not even curiosity. Just disgust and pity for a woman who had nothing better to do than chase after men she’d manipulated as boys.
“I’m not interested,” he said flatly. “I have everything I need at home.”
Her expression curdled. “Get out.”
“Gladly.” Raven headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.
“One more thing, Georgiana. If I find out you’re hiding information about that night—if I discover you deliberately protected the man responsible for ruining my wife’s reputation—I won’t be as kind as I was today.
I hold immense power as a duke; I’ll make certain you pay for it. ”
He left without waiting for a response, his skin crawling with the need to wash away the encounter. The carriage ride home felt interminable, his mind churning with frustration and fury.
She knew something. He was certain of it. The way she’d deflected, the defensive answers, the too-quick denials. Lady Featherington knew exactly who had been in that carriage with Ashley. She’d seen more than a man’s back.
But she wasn’t going to tell him. Whether from spite or some other motivation, she was going to keep that information to herself. And that made her dangerous.
Raven slammed his fist against the carriage wall, making his driver call out in concern. He waved off the inquiry, forcing himself to breathe, to think.
He’d learned nothing useful. Wasted an afternoon confronting a woman who still made his skin crawl, subjected himself to her attempted seductions and manipulations, all for nothing. Ashley had been right—some secrets were buried too deep to unearth.
But damn it, he couldn’t just let it go. Couldn’t accept that whoever had destroyed his wife’s life would get away with it unpunished. Besides, the man was still a threat. He hated the idea that Ashley still lived in fear. He wanted to free her from that.
The carriage pulled up to his townhouse, and Raven practically fled inside, desperate to wash away the taint of the afternoon. Henderson took one look at his face and wisely said nothing, simply directing him to his study where brandy was already waiting.
But Raven didn’t want brandy. He wanted Ashley.
He found her in his study—their study now, he corrected mentally—curled in the new burgundy armchair she’d ordered, a book in her lap. She looked up as he entered, and her expression immediately shifted to concern.
“Raven? You’re home early.”
He crossed to her without speaking, pulling her from the chair and into his arms. Ashley came willingly, her arms wrapping around his waist as he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her lavender scent.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “I just need you close. It’s been a tiring day… Prinny is like a spoiled child. Even a good return is not enough. He always wants more.”
Ashley’s hands came up to frame his face. “Can I help soothe you? What can I make you feel?” she whispered in that seductive tone he’d come to love.
The truth sat on his tongue, desperate to be spoken. Loved. Cherished. Whole. But it was too soon, too fragile. They’d only just begun building this partnership. Declarations of love would have to wait.
“Wanted,” he said instead. “That the real me is all you need.”
“I find I’m rather partial to the real you.” Ashley’s voice was fierce. “You’re a good man, Raven. An honorable man who cares too much and tries too hard to protect the people he loves.”
The people he loves.
The phrase hung between them, and Raven saw the moment Ashley realized what she’d said. But she didn’t take it back. Just held his gaze, unflinching, as if daring him to acknowledge what was growing between them.
“We should get ready for the theater,” she said finally, breaking the tension. “Farah and Rockwell will be expecting us.”
“Hang Farah and Rockwell.” Raven pulled her toward the door connecting his study to his bedchamber. “I need you. Now. Please.”
He watched her eyes darken with desire. “Yes.”
They made it as far as his bedroom before Raven’s control shattered. He pulled Ashley against him, kissing her with all the desperation and need churning in his gut. She responded with equal fervor, her fingers working at his cravat while his hands found the buttons of her dress.
Clothes fell away in a graceless heap. No careful undressing this time, no measured seduction. Just frantic need to be close, to wipe away the ugliness of the afternoon with the beauty of what they had together.
When they were finally skin to skin, Raven forced himself to slow down. To breathe. This wasn’t about mindless coupling—it was about reclaiming something Lady Featherington had tried to make dirty.
“Let me worship you,” he whispered against Ashley’s lips. “Let me show you what you are to me.”
“Yes.” She let him guide her to the bed, let him arrange her against the pillows. “Yes, Raven. I’m yours.”
And she was. Completely, perfectly his.
Raven started at her feet, pressing kisses to each delicate arch, each slender ankle. He worked his way up her calves, her knees, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Every inch of her deserved reverence, and he gave it freely.
Ashley’s breathing quickened as he mapped her body with hands and mouth. He paid special attention to the pink marks still visible on her hips from their previous night’s activities, soothing them with gentle kisses.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “Perfect. Mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed breathlessly. “Always yours.”
He continued his exploration, worshipping her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. When he finally took one nipple in his mouth, Ashley arched with a cry that went straight to his groin.
But this wasn’t about his pleasure. Not yet. This was about showing her what she meant to him. How she’d saved him from the darkness Lady Featherington represented.
Raven took his time, learning what made Ashley whimper and what made her writhe in pleasure. He discovered that she was particularly sensitive just below her navel, that she loved having her neck kissed, that the spot behind her knee made her giggle.
By the time he finally settled between her thighs, Ashley was trembling with need, her hands fisted in the sheets, her eyes dark with desire and something deeper.
“I love you,” she whispered as he positioned himself. “I know it’s too soon, I know we agreed this was just a marriage of convenience, but I can’t help it. I love you, Raven.”
The words shattered something in his chest—the last wall he’d been maintaining between them. All the fear, all the careful distance, all the protection against being hurt again…it crumbled in the face of her honesty.
“I love you too,” he said, sliding home in one smooth stroke. “God help me, Ashley, I love you, too.”
They moved together slowly, savoring every sensation. No bondage, no crops, no games of power and control. Just two people who loved each other, connecting in the most fundamental way possible.
Raven watched Ashley’s face as pleasure built, watched her eyes widen as he changed angles, watched her mouth fall open as she climbed toward release. When she finally shattered beneath him, crying his name like a prayer, he followed her over the edge with her name on his lips.
They lay tangled together afterward, hearts racing, breathing ragged. Raven pulled Ashley close, needing to feel her warmth, her realness. She was his anchor, his salvation, his everything.
“We’re going to miss the theater,” Ashley murmured eventually, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.
“I don’t care.” Raven pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let Farah and Rockwell wonder. Right now, I just want to hold you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her head up to look at him. “Did you mean it? What you said?”
“Every word.” He met her eyes directly. “I love you, Ashley. I think I’ve been falling for you since the night of the masquerade.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You saw past it. Saw the man underneath all that judgment and fear. You gave me permission to be myself.”
“You gave me the same gift.” Ashley’s hand came up to cup his cheek. “You made me feel worthy of love again. Made me believe I was more than my scandal.”
They stayed like that as afternoon faded into evening, wrapped in each other’s arms, murmuring confessions and promises. Whatever tomorrow brought, whatever secrets still lurked in the shadows, they would face it together.
Because they had this. This love, this partnership, this perfect understanding.
It was enough. It had to be enough.
*
In her drawing room across town, Lady Georgiana Featherington dipped her pen in ink and began to write.
Lord Carstairs,
I assume you heard that Lady Ashley has recently become the Duchess of Blackstone.
I thought you might wish to know that the Duke of Blackstone has been making inquiries into Lady Ashley’s scandal. He came to see me today, demanding to know what I witnessed three years ago. He’s clearly investigating the matter on his wife’s behalf.
I told him nothing useful, of course. But you should be aware that he’s persistent and has considerable resources at his disposal. If you have any exposure in this matter, I suggest you take appropriate precautions.
Oh, and perhaps my memory about who she got in the carriage with may become clearer unless—shall we say—1000 guineas came my way.
I remain, as always, your devoted friend,
Lady F.
She sealed the letter with satisfaction, her earlier humiliation at Raven’s rejection transforming into cold calculation. He thought he could threaten her? Accuse her of hiding information? She’d show him what happened to men who rejected Georgiana Featherington.
If she couldn’t have Raven—and clearly, she couldn’t, not with that insipid duchess making doe eyes at him—then she’d make certain his precious marriage wasn’t as perfect as he thought.
Carstairs would know what to do. He always did. She’d heard he was back in London and, as usual, needing a wealthy wife.
And if she could make money from such a plan—well, she’d had a bad run at the tables.
And if a few lives were destroyed in the process… Well, that was simply the price one paid for crossing Lady Featherington.
She rang for a footman to deliver the letter, already anticipating the chaos it would cause.