Spellbound (16 page)

“Your grace! Guests
arrive.”

Sensing more was being said
than was…well, being said, the duke snapped, “Who, man?”

“Preston, your grace. Lord
Preston comes.”

The Marquis of Preston
stood at the mantle, staring down into the fire. His wife, Delilah,
was sitting with seeming complaisance on the settee, hands primly
folded in her lap.

He knew the gesture had
nothing to do with how she actually felt. She was worried about the
duke and Griffin, Lord Preston, knew it.

To be honest, he was
worried as well. Anytime a man entered matrimony in a
hole-in-the-wall fashion, friends ought to worry.

And Tristan had ever been a
happy bachelor. Griff and his wife wondered what sort of woman had
managed to sink her claws into the rich duke.

Hearing the door and his
wife’s muted gasp, he turned, dreading what he would
see.

His pale brows rose,
astonished. Tris stood with quite the most striking woman, darkly
beautiful, finely drawn, fathomless black eyes, and a figure to
rival a goddess.

But she looked vaguely
familiar. He couldn’t quite place her.

Delilah gasped again; Griff
glanced at his wife to a see a look of shocked revulsion. Looking
back at Tristan’s companion, he narrowed his eyes.

Smiling, he strode forward,
“The new Lady Windhaven, I presume. Lord Preston, at your service.”
Damn, she was even lovelier up close.

“My wife,
Delilah.”

The two women barely
acknowledged the introduction. They stared at each other, sensing
right away that they were not to be friends.

Lady Preston had recognized
the Ebony Swan and was indignant that her husband’s friend had been
so taken in. Did he actually believe the woman was something she
was not?

Griff shook his friend’s
hand, noting the wooden expression on the duke’s face. He wasn’t,
therefore, surprised when the duke finally spoke.

“What are you doing here,
Griff?”

The marquis shrugged,
smiling. “We heard you had married. It behooved us to discover what
sort of girl could bring you up to scratch.”

Lady Preston added, “Yes,
dear Tristan. Just what…sort of girl did win your title and
fortune?”

The barb was not subtle and
Raven smiled with a marked amount of contempt. “Wouldn’t you like
to know,” she murmured.

Tristan squeezed Raven’s
hand in warning. “As she stands before you, Del, I can’t have heard
you correctly, I think. Would you like to rephrase your
question?”

Delilah stepped forward as
though to do Tristan an injury. Her husband took her arm in what
was supposed to appear an affectionate hold but actually restrained
her impetuosity.

“Do you stay?” the duke
asked then, indicating they should be seated. He moved to another
settee and firmly pulled Raven down beside him. He retained his
hold on her hand, lacing their fingers together.

Raven wore her best Swan
expression, poised, perfectly serene. She showed not the faintest
unease before Tristan’s disapproving friends.

The marquis and marchioness
sat across from them, watching them both closely. Delilah reached
up to adjust her hair, whispering behind her arm, “She’s an
actress, Griff. Ebony Swan. Juliet.”

Griff’s eyes grew large. He
focused his gaze on Raven’s face, picturing long, straight black
locks flowing free and impassioned tears of heartbreak over the
still body of her love.

Raven smiled radiantly at
him. Leaning a little to the side, she told Tristan in a stage
whisper, “Methinks he doth know me.”

Delilah released an
outraged yelp at the words, confirming as they did the fact that
they sat in the same room as an actress. Griffin again took his
wife’s arm, keeping her firmly at his side.

“Care to explain, my
friend?”

Tristan snorted.
“No.”

“Darling, you can’t leave
them in suspense like this,” Raven remonstrated gently.

Tristan bit back the shout
of laughter that threatened to emerge at her tone. With as straight
a face as possible, he said, in a tone of cajoling sweetness, “But
darling, it is really none of their business.” Leaning closer, he
kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Oh, good God, he’s
bewitched!” exploded the marchioness in disgust.

Tristan dropped his hand,
unable to hold back his laughter anymore. Raven joined him,
although her amusement held a certain bitter quality that was hard
to mask.

“And what, might I ask, did
that accomplish?” asked Griff, visibly annoyed.

The duke shrugged, forcing
his features into a polite social mask. “It really is none of your
business, Griff.”

“Well, I like that,”
Delilah muttered with some heat. “We come haring down here, worried
unto death, and the stupid clunch hasn’t even the wit realize how
he’s been duped.”

Tristan stood. Or, he tried
to, rather. Raven clutched his hand so tightly, he had no choice
but to stay where he was, glaring daggers at his best friend’s
wife.

“Lady Preston, to what are
you alluding?”

Raven had never heard
Tristan speak like that. His tone was hard, with an underlying
menace that spoke of the possibility of imminent
violence.

And that against a lady, no
less!

Griffin, for once, made the
decision to keep his bride quiet and answer the question himself.
“Apparently, your…wife, is not Lady Rachael Eliot. She is an
actress, Tris. I’m sorry.”

Raven smiled. It was such a
knowing smile that the Prestons sat back a little, disturbed by the
expression. She should have been quaking in her little kid slippers
to have been so found out.

Tristan rolled his eyes
heavenward. “Grant me patience,” he muttered to unseen beings. With
a weary sigh, he said, “Griff, Del, believe it or not, she really
is Lady Rachael.” He ignored the warning pressure from his
companion. “How you knew her before is past. Leave it
be.”

The couple across from them
shared a confused glance. “Are you saying the daughter a peer tread
the boards?” the marchioness asked with a measure of patent
disbelief.

The duke shrugged one
massively broad shoulder, leaning back in apparent unconcern.
“Think what you wish. I have not the ability to control your
beliefs.” He rested his arm along the back of the settee, placing
his hand on Raven’s neck.

Raven tried very hard not
to be distracted by the massaging motions of his hand on her bare
flesh.

Griffin stared at their
interplay with a look of incredulity. Then, shaking his head
slightly, he asked, “Tris, do you not trust us? I should think you
would let us know what is going on as we are the oldest of
friends.”

Tristan met his friend’s
pale gray eyes. “You expect me to believe that, when the first
thing you do upon arrival is insult the woman I love and then
insult me by suggesting I know her not at all?”

Three faces looked at him
in shock.

The Prestons, although a
love match themselves, were astonished that Tristan’s was as well.
He was a duke, after all, with a profligate younger brother and a
duty to the succession. He should have looked over this season’s
crop of débutantes and chosen the one most suited to be the Duchess
of Windhaven, not an actress with the eyes and manner of a
seductress.

Raven, for her part, though
suspecting Tristan had certain feelings for her had not heard them
voiced before and was dazed by the feeling of euphoria that quickly
rose in her breast. Had they been alone, she would not have been
able to stop herself from dragging him to the nearest bed. Hell,
she would have settled for the settee on which they sat.

And Tristan, not yet having
realized exactly what little tidbit he’d let fall, looked at them
all as if they were the ones ready for Bedlam.

Then he caught the look of
unbridled hunger in Raven’s eyes and felt himself react instantly.
He realized then what he had let slip. He suddenly wished their
guests would make themselves scarce so he could show Raven just how
much he loved her.

Hard on that thought he
inwardly groaned. That wasn’t going to happen again until they were
properly married, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to cause her
anymore grief than she’d already had. If it bothered her to
indulge, they wouldn’t.

To that end, he dropped his
hand away from her tantalizing flesh and his eyes away from her
heated look…and saw his best friend looking at him
blankly.

Grinning widely, the duke
asked, “How long do you visit?”

Griff shrugged, glancing
uncertainly at his wife. “A few days, at least, if you don’t
mind.”

“Not in the least. Mrs.
Benson will show you to your rooms.”

The four occupants of the
drawing room rose as one. Before any of them could move further,
however, there was a scratching on the door, followed by the
butler, announcing in stentorian tones:

“Sir Adam Prestwich, Miss
Linnet Emerson.”

“Oh, this is rich,”
murmured Delilah in disgust, knowing full well exactly who Sir Adam
was to Tristan’s wife.

Sparing the Prestons barely
a glance, Adam marched up to Raven and Tristan, pulling Linnet by
the hand.

“We have a problem,” he
announced without preamble. “Where can we talk?”

The duke gestured toward
the footman, Will. “Take the Prestons to Mrs. Benson.” Will bowed,
obeying instantly.

Griff balked at being sent
away like a recalcitrant child. “What is this about
trouble?”

Finding his patience
wearing quite thin, the duke said curtly, “I’ll repeat what I said
before, Griff, it is none of your business. I apologize for my
rudeness but there it is.” So saying, he firmly herded them
out.

Griff stood on the other
side, his face nearly touching the closed door.

“Well!” exploded the
marchioness with heat.

“Well, indeed,” murmured
Griff thoughtfully. Glancing down at Delilah he asked, “What say
you to an extended stay, my love? There is quite a mystery here,
unless I miss my guess.”

His wife could only shake
her head in exasperation. Turning decisively, they made their way
to their rooms.

“They’re gone,” Tristan
announced, pulling his head away from the door. “And they’re
planning an extended stay.” At the odd looks from his three
companions, he shrugged. “What?”

Keeping a weather eye on
the duke, Adam explained his abrupt arrival.

“Dunston’s son has been
poking around, asking questions. Seems someone recalled seeing you
in London.”

Raven frowned. “Why have
you brought Linnet?” she asked, drawing the girl close to her
side.

The baronet shrugged. “She
missed you.” Casting the child an affectionate glance, he added,
“Didn’t you, pet?”

Linnet, overwhelmed by the
august company in which she found herself, merely smiled in
response.

Raven sent her former
protector a look of distress. “Does she know?”

“Yes, Rae. She always did.
You do not give the child enough credit.”

Linnet looked up at her
sister. “I’m sorry, Rae. I didn’t give up until I found out where
you’d gone and why. Adam says I’m a credit to him.” The last was
said with a huge grin.

“Indeed?”

They all turned to look at
Tristan, who stood by the door still, his arms crossed over his
chest. His look and tone suggested they had better start explaining
a few things before he lost his temper completely.

Raven stepped forward.
“Tristan, this is my sister, Linnet. Linnet, his grace, the Duke of
Windhaven.”

Linnet performed a credible
curtsy, her mouth a round little “O” of awe. “Your grace,” she
murmured.

The duke bowed. “Your
sister. Excellent. Welcome, my dear. Now, Prestwich, what matter if
Dunston’s asking questions?”

“He’s asking about Raven,
not Rachael.”

“That is interesting. What
led him to Raven, do you think?”

“I would suspect a set of
circumstances that place her family near the place Rachael
disappeared nearly twenty-two years ago.”

“Lady Rachael Elisabeth
Eliot,” Linnet inserted then. “Mama mentioned her once when she
thought I wasn’t listening. Said the marquess still hadn’t given up
his search for his daughter. Then she asked papa what they should
do.”

Everyone stared at her.
“What?” Raven asked faintly, her head swimming with possibilities
too farfetched to consider.

The young girl gave her
audience a limpid look. “They often talked when I was there. I was
so quiet I think they believed I was simple. They didn’t know I was
storing information for later.”

“You would excel in
blackmail, my girl,” Adam told her dryly.

Linnet smiled as if just
paid the greatest of compliments.