Spellbound (18 page)

He breathed a sigh of
relief. “Will had me believing they’d already hauled you away in
chains.” Glancing back at their rapt audience, he added, “Just who
the devil is Comte du Larousse, anyway?”

Raven shrugged, saying
nothing.

Adam approached, his look
still revealing his amusement. “Are you going to ignore them all
afternoon or ask a few questions?”

Tristan glared at the other
man. “This is my house, I’ll do what I damn well please. Apologies,
Rae,” he muttered automatically.

She snorted.

Adam threw a smile in her
direction. “Does he remind you of anyone, Rae? A certain duke with
an attitude problem, perhaps?”

With a genuine smile only
slightly colored with bitterness, she said, “Derringer.”

Tristan wasn’t sure if he
should be offended or thank them for the compliment. Derringer was
a loose screw if ever there was one, but he was known for getting
things done that no one else would dare attempt.

“That has nothing to do
with anything. I think I made my point.”

“Ah, but I think you miss
the point, duke. That old man over there holds Raven’s life in his
hands. Should he decide he doesn’t want to acknowledge her, she
will hang as an impostor.”

Raven paled slightly at the
words but said nothing.

Windhaven swore. “Damn it
all to hell, you’re right.” Turning with a smile that was far from
reaching his eyes, the duke offered hospitality to his unwelcome
guests.

Lord Dunston eyed the duke
intently. With a questioning glance at his son, he
agreed.

Lady Windhaven stood,
causing the gentlemen to follow suit. “Excellent! Dinner is at
five, gentlemen. Now, Mrs. Benson will show you to your rooms. A
rest is just what you need.”

Hardly able to reject the
dowager’s orders, everyone filed out. As she passed by her
grandson, she winked. Tristan wondered what was in the old woman’s
mind.

Raven stared, her mouth
open. “Did she just wink at you?”

Tristan, no less astounded,
nodded. “What the devil is she up to?’ he wondered
aloud.

“I like her,” Adam told
them, a huge grin suffusing his saturnine features.

As one, Raven and Tristan
turned to stare at Adam as though he’d sprouted an extra head. He
shrugged. “Well, I do.”

Tristan drew Raven into his
study, firmly closing the door behind them. Pulling her over to the
fire, he bent down to throw an extra log on the blaze. He turned to
find her standing behind him, staring down in to the flames. He had
the feeling she was lost somewhere in her mind.

“Rae, darling,” he
murmured, rising to take her hands. “What’s going on in that pretty
head of yours?”

She smiled. “That was
Gerry, Tris. The boy from my memory. My best friend.
Gerry.”

“Gerry, eh? Your
brother?”

“My twin,
actually.”

She met his eyes then,
pulling her hands away. “You know, I always had this feeling I was
being watched. It only added to my shame. I assumed it was God.”
She laughed lightly, trailing her hand along the back of a chair,
her words and actions distracted. “All along, it was Gerry. It was
the feeling of him. Hmm.”

“Do you believe you are
Rachael?”

Looking up, she brushed a
hand over the chair back with a singularly graceful sweep. “Yes,
Tristan. I believe I am.”

Comte Antoine du Larousse
liked what he saw. The woman was a beauty, a timeless, ageless
siren. He would give his entire…er, fortune to possess
her.

He would not, however,
support Lord Dunston’s desire to claim her as his daughter. As far
as Antoine was concerned, she was nothing more than an actress.
What she had been before had little significance in the grand
scheme of things.

And it was obvious to
anyone with eyes that she warmed Windhaven’s bed. He supposed the
duke’s family was particularly obtuse to fall for the marriage
sham. Although, he had to admire the duke for doing something so
daring just to have his mistress within easy reach.

But a woman like the Ebony
Swan was worth daring much. She had a flawless beauty that would
age well and her movements spoke of ample instruction in the art of
lovemaking. He wondered how much more he could teach
her.

The duke, he couldn’t like
but he could understand. The man watched the actress with a
possessiveness that bordered on obsession—which only served to
assure Antoine of her worth in the bedchamber.

She would be a lovely
addition to his little coterie of soiled doves.

It was with some
trepidation and not a little nervousness that Raven emerged for
dinner. Hence, she was every inch the Swan, serenely
poised.

She had dressed in an
evening dress of sapphire blue silk, cut in daringly simple but
stunningly modest lines. It had the effect of drawing even more
attention to her dark eyes and hair, which she’d had Meg pull up
into a loose chignon.

As she moved down the hall,
the supple gown swirled around her body. It did well to emphasize
her curves, something Tristan couldn’t help but appreciate. He
stepped in front of her, gallantly offering his arm.

“May I escort you, my
dear?”

“Thank you, kind
sir.”

Her smile had a whimsical
quality to it that charmed him. Leaning close, he whispered, “You
look ravishing, Rae, my heart. What say we skip dinner and adjourn
to my bedchamber instead?”

“Oh, can we?”

He stopped dead in his
tracks, the incredulity of his expression making her laugh. “Lord,
Rae, I was funning. But,” he added regretfully, “had I not decided
we should wait until we are well and truly married, I would not
hesitate to take you up on your offer.” He grinned.

Raven frowned sadly.
“Please do not bring that up again, my lord. My reasons for
refusing you still stand.”

Bowing, Tristan warned,
“That may be, but know this: I don’t give up easily.” He stared
hard at her, his eyes holding hers captive. “Or ever.”

Dinner was rather pleasant,
all things considered. Conversation was light and banal, focusing
on the weather, fashion, or certain political affairs of interest
to the titled gentlemen in particular.

Apologies were made for the
absences of her grace’s sister, Lady Gertrude, who was far too
“ill” to be disturbed, and Lord Greyden, who was still in a rather
insensible state due to his accident on the ice.

Raven sat at ease, none of
her concern visible on her face. Tristan’s renewal of his suit had
not really surprised her; his determination to triumph had managed
to cause near panic.

She was placed beside
Tristan—at his insistence—with the Earl of Huntley on her other
side—at that gentleman’s insistence, an arrangement with which she
was quite content.

Unfortunately, the comte
was beside Tristan’s Aunt Hetty, who was directly across from
Raven. Comte du Larousse had not taken his eyes off of her since
they had sat down. And, cynically, she knew it wasn’t her mind he
found so entrancing.

A peal of delighted
laughter, punctuated by several childish giggles reached them from
the far end of the table. Adam, having been buttonholed by the
Dowager to escort her in, was doing his humble best to entertain
the old woman. Raven suspected he’d just told a less-than-proper
anecdote, judging by the expression on the faces of those around
them.

Raven sent him a severe
frown, considering her young sister was seated beside him and
couldn’t have helped but hear his little jest. Adam merely
shrugged, laughing at her.

Tristan drew her attention
back to himself. “Rae, love, what has you looking so
annoyed?”

“Adam is telling bawdy
tales within my sister’s hearing. She is only fifteen. She does not
need to hear such things.”

“She is not really your
sister, you know,” inserted Gervase, Lord Huntley from her other
side.

Raven started. This was not
something that had actually occurred to her. Linnet was her sister
in upbringing if not in blood.

Turning her head slightly,
she met the earl’s eyes. “Is Linnet someone I will be required to
give up, my lord, should you decide I’m your missing
sister?”

Her question was quiet,
caught only by Tristan and Gervase. It was also blandly uttered,
hinting at none of the latent anger buried underneath.

Except Tristan had come to
know this woman rather well and sensed the incipient
fury.

Gervase, for his part,
frowned at her words. “Father would never dictate your choice of
companions, Rae. Perhaps you could employ the girl as your
maid.”

She clenched her jaw,
smiling thinly. “Indeed? Perhaps I could at that. I mean, what
better life could she possibly have? The sister of an actress would
not, after all, do very well in the marriage mart, would she? But
as my maid, why, she’d have distinction…as the servant of an
actress.”

These words were spoken
softly, gently, and with not an ounce of the rage Tristan knew she
was feeling. He stared at Huntley, hoping against hope that the
nodcock didn’t say something to really set her off.

Gervase, more sensitive to
Raven’s moods than most of such relatively short acquaintance, sent
her a look of admonition. “I was not suggesting you set the girl up
for auction in a brothel or any such thing. You’d do well to hold
your temper, sister.”

Turning her head fully,
Raven stared. “Excuse me?” she bit out. “Hold my temper?” She took
a deep steadying breath, glanced at her brother again, and took
another deep breath. Sending her love a look of patent disbelief,
she repeated the calming exercise even though the excess of
breathing was like to make her lightheaded rather than
calm.

Feeling a good deal calmer,
she returned her attention to her brother. “Linnet is my sister,
Lord Huntley, and nothing more, nothing less. You’d do well to
remember that.”

Smiling, Gervase leaned
close enough to whisper. “Bravo, dear sister. Never compromise.
Take what you want and damn the consequences.”

So saying, he turned and
devoted his time to charming the lady on his other side—who
happened to be Lady Montgomery.

Tristan was silently
laughing. Taking her hand, he murmured, “I can’t help but agree
with him, my love. Why don’t you follow your wise brother’s
advice?”

She scowled at him, pulling
her hand away. “Leave it be, Tristan. You do not want to have this
discussion here.”

Lady Hetty, on Tristan’s
other side, inserted wisely—to her pug, “Oh, Horry, my pet, what do
you think? The lovely earl is Rae’s brother. He knows how to anger
her and then cajole her out of it. Proof they are siblings. And the
nasty comte is still staring. Think you Tris will beat him,
Pugsy-poo? I should like to see that, I should…”—and as usual, she
went off into some indecipherable language only the dog
understood.

Tristan had to cover his
smile with his hand. It was a rather uncomfortable statement
considering the comte was seated next to Aunt Hetty and so heard
every word the woman said. His handsome features flushed at the
less-then-subtle insult.

Before the man could say
something he would regret, Tristan intervened. “She is harmless,
comte, an old lady who sees her pet as more human than people. Pay
her no mind.”

Aunt Hetty looked up from
her pug long enough to send her nephew a piercing look, fully aware
of what he was doing. Raven was startled to see such an expression
of comprehension on the older lady’s face.

The duke either didn’t
notice or chose to ignore it. Returning his attention back to
Raven, he began talking of inconsequential matters.

The rest of the meal passed
without incident.

Presently, the ladies
adjourned to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their port
and cigars.

Raven entered the large
room, moving with unhurried grace to the crackling blaze in the
hearth. Stretching out her hands, she marveled that they were not
shaking.

So many emotions roiled
through her slender frame that it was all she could do to keep it
all trapped firmly beneath the surface. What she wanted to do was
scream.

Sensing she was no longer
alone, Raven turned to find the Marchioness of Preston by her side.
Tensing inwardly for a rather ugly scene, Raven waited.

The titan-haired beauty
raised one elegantly manicured hand. “Before you say anything, I
want to apologize. It was unconscionable of my husband and I to
assume the worst when we met you. It is clear that you love Tristan
and would do whatever you have to, to ensure his
happiness.”

Raven’s smile was strained.
“I would,” she admitted. “You know, then, that I refused his honest
offer of marriage?” At Lady Preston’s faintly guilty look, Raven
scoffed lightly. “Ah, I see. Thank you for your thoughtful apology,
my lady. Rest assured, Tristan’s happiness is always foremost in my
mind.”