The sound of her mother’s voice ended their intimate conversation instantly…
Jolted back to the present, James cursed the memory and stormed back inside, refilling his glass. Whenever he thought about her, he came so close to reliving their happiest moments—but it always fell short of one thing. “Damn this life!”
The mantle clock struck eleven then, and he sighed exaggeratedly, unsure why he hadn’t fallen into a deep sleep yet. The amount of spirits he had consumed, well, it could fell a horse, much less a man of his stature. He shrugged and refilled his glass, then walked to a chair situated by the French doors. He adjusted the wingback so he could stare outside. The distant sound of thunder broke the silence and a wind chilled him to the bone.
“If only I could call upon the storms to rage!” He stared endlessly outside, still shivering, still wondering where his Raven had gotten to. A watery grave or into the arms of another man mattered not, for he perceived both as betrayal.
Then, unable to take more of the cruel wind, he stood and closed the doors. A storm seemed to be coming in after all. Suddenly exhausted, he fell into the chair, finished the whiskey in his glass, set it on the floor, and wilted back against the thick leather padding, happy to surrender to sleep.
Some time later, a rapping on the glass of the French doors shook him. At first, the noise seemed far away, perhaps not real, and he grumbled, ignoring it.
But the rapping noise intensified—forcing his eyes open. He tried to clear his foggy mind, to remember where he was exactly. There were no trees tall enough on his property to scrape against the glass. Nothing, in fact, to cause that irritating noise.
“Be gone!” he demanded, unwilling to stay awake. Once again, his eyes closed in protest.
The persistent tapping would drive him mad!
“What do you want?” He shot up from his seat, fury and confusion carrying him to stand before the closed doors.
What he saw, or what he thought he saw, caused him to shake violently, to shrink back like a coward.Jesus Christ!The pale face of a woman with dark eyes stared at him through the frosted glass. When had it snowed? He rubbed his dry, stinging eyes, hoping he was dreaming, that the specter’s face was illusion, not reality.
But the face had not disappeared. In fact, her form became clearer, and her fingers rapped desperately on the glass. “Let me in, James,” she called in a familiar voice—the feminine tone more potent than anything he had ever heard.
Could it be…impossible.
“Please,” she entreated, “open the door to me, before I freeze to death.”
It was then he was sure he had gone to Hades, finally having drunk himself to death, finally reunited with her. Without hesitation, he threw the doors open and beheld the beautiful face he had never forgotten.
Chapter Four
“Raven…” The namespilled from his lips as a husky whisper, and she slipped past him and rushed to the warmth of the hearth. His hard gaze followed her, an array of emotions colliding inside him—love and hatred, joy and sorrow, and plain anger. How could she show up at his estate in the middle of the night and act as if she had just seen him yesterday or last week? As if she had never disappeared without a word. No warning. No reason given. In his deepest and darkest thoughts, he had suspected she was dead. And whenever he tried to write to her father, the man refused to answer. James had been cruelly and entirely cut off.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, still frozen in place by the open doors.
She slowly pulled off her fur-trimmed cloak and gloves, followed by the matching hat. She sucked in a deep breath, then looked at him, emotions flashing across her flawless features. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He willed his legs to move, to step closer to the imaginary beauty waiting in front of him. Nothing in existence, not even God himself, could convince him she was flesh and blood. Her sad smile did nothing to help ease his pain. Five long years had crawled by, leaving him half the man he had been. Leaving him bitter and despondent, a near worthless brother, and a rigid lord of the moors.
“Tell me.”
She shivered, and James wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, to comfort himself by holding her close and never letting go. As he scrutinized her, wondering what could have kept her away so long, what had made her never write to him or find a way to get word to him… Nothing made sense. There was no excuse good enough. But words of forgiveness were already lodged in his throat. She need only ask, just once, and he’d…
“The morning after our engagement party…”
“Yes?”
“Father. He never supported us, never wanted us to marry, James.”
“I know it all too well,” he admitted. Though the insufferable man had never given good reason for his objections to their betrothal. “What did he do, Raven?”
She met his gaze. “Forced me onto a ship bound for Italy, then Greece. He kept me there against my will, James. I swear it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
He contemplated her explanation. Greece was a long way off, and as an underage girl, Raven was completely dependent upon and at her father’s mercy. “And why have you returned to me now?”
“Need you ask?” She seemed to float toward him, ethereal and unreal—as ghost-like as the spirits that haunted the moors in winter.
He wanted her to touch him, but when she reached for him, he avoided her fingertips by stepping away. Pride prevented him from accepting her affection just yet. His heart yearned for that intimacy, to crush the loneliness that had settled in his bones. Just one kiss would quell any doubts.
