Spellbound (6 page)

Tristan gave his brother a
confused look. “To what are you referring?”

Greyden’s smile became
genuinely mirthful. He placed one hand to his brow in a gesture of
despair and muttered, “I do believe you are losing your mind, old
boy.” He dropped his hand, staring directly at his older sibling.
“The actress. The Swan. That woman of low morals you have had the
gall to place beneath Grandmother’s very nose. While I admire your
ever-increasing belief that you are supreme ruler of this
particular corner of Britain, I cannot help but wonder at your
sanity.”

Tristan gave him an
incredulous expression. “Are you suggesting that Lady Rachael is a
woman of ill-repute? Where came you by this
information?”

“What information?” He drew
the words out as if the duke were incapable of understanding the
king’s English. “I know that woman, brother. Intimately, you might
say. She is an actress or I’ll eat my hat.”

“I hope you enjoy that,
Grey, because she is not an actress.” He saw the way Greyden
pinched his thumb and middle finger of his right hand together and
a smile crossed his face. “And you have never known her…intimately,
Grey. Don’t make a fool of yourself by inventing tales of your male
prowess.”

Greyden folded his arms
over his chest and gave the duke a pitying look, shaking his head
sadly. “If you believe her lies, you are a bigger fool than even I
thought.”

The duke returned his
brother’s look. “It is so sad to see a young man so twisted by his
own greed and jealousy. You will, I hope, treat Lady Rachael with
respect, Grey. If you do not, I will toss you out without a
farthing and you can fend for yourself.”

Everyone met in the drawing
room for dinner that evening. Raven had stayed in her rooms for the
rest of the day, pleading a sick headache and had been excused from
the family’s activities. She decided to meet them for dinner,
however, as she couldn’t very well hide in her rooms forever and
had to face Lord Greyden at some point.

She left her rooms on the
third floor with her head high. She was a lady, after all, or at
least knew very well how to act the part. She felt the customary
surge of excitement that occurred before a large role and smiled in
anticipation. It was not often that she was able to use her skills
directly on members of the upper class. She was looking forward to
it immensely.

She had just reached the
third floor landing and was gazing with a certain amount of wonder
at a landscape scene that had caught her eye when Lord Windhaven
stepped out of his rooms. Raven looked up and blushed at the look
in his eyes. Her blush quickly turned to a smile of welcome. She
had already forgiven him for his insulting offer earlier and now,
as he was her only real ally in this farce, she was relieved to see
him.

“My dear Lady Rachael,” he
murmured, clasping her hand and raising it to his lips. He pressed
an intimate kiss into her palm, a tiny smile lighting his eyes as
he gauged her reaction. “May I say how very enchanting you look
this evening?”

“If I say no, sir, will you
cease this flummery?” she asked facetiously, trying very hard to
moderate her breathing.

“I will not,” he declared,
straightening and tucking her hand through his arm. “I am a duke,
you know, and it was pointed out to me recently that I am lord of
the manor and all that and I am supreme ruler of this tiny corner
of Britain. I think that gives me the right to speak my mind, don’t
you agree?”

“I will not agree to that,
my lord duke,” she responded tartly. “You have much too high an
opinion of yourself as it is. I will not add to it.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “I
will just have to continue to puff myself up. It will be difficult,
but…”

“I’m sure you will manage,
your grace,” she finished for him.

Tristan looked down at her
and smiled warmly. “I will manage, Rae, but I will manage much
better with you by my side.”

Raven’s heart nearly
stopped beating at the look in his eyes. He seemed so sincere, so
true, that she had to remind herself that this was an act for them
both and that were he not a duke, he would be the next Edmund
Kean.

“If you are quite through,”
demanded the haughty voice of Lady Freya Cramshaw, “perhaps we can
actually get somewhere.”

“Freya,” said the duke with
a long-suffering sigh, his eyes directed heavenward as if begging
some unseen entity to give him strength, “you would try the
patience of a saint.”

“Thank you, Tris, for that
unwanted opinion,” she snapped back. She stood there as if unsure
of what to do or say next. Raven and Tristan just watched her, both
equally curious to see what her decision would be.

“What are you gawking at?”
she asked Raven insolently, her beautiful blue eyes filling with
contempt.

“Freya,” warned the
duke.

“It’s all right, Tristan,
really,” reassured the actress with an understanding smile. “I was
just as precocious when I was twelve.”

“I am not
twelve!”

Raven affected surprise
mixed with chagrin at her error. “I am so sorry, Lady Freya. How
old are you? Thirteen?”

Tristan bit back a laugh at
the outrage that settled on his sister’s features. He kept silent,
vastly diverted and wondering where this potentially explosive
situation was going.

“I am sixteen, for your
information,” Freya informed her haughtily, her manner and
expression reminiscent of their grandmother at her
loftiest.

“You are?” Raven looked up
at Tristan, seeking confirmation of this startling claim. Her look
of amazement was superb. She gave Freya a pitying, consoling look
and asked, “Are you sure? I have met many young ladies of that age,
my dear, and none were quite so…young as you appear to be. Perhaps
you are mistaken in your assumption.”

Freya stared at Raven in
speechless fury for a full five seconds before spinning on her heel
and flouncing from their presence. The skirts of her yellow muslin
gown swung angrily around her ankles, seeming to radiate their
owner’s fury.

“I apologize, my lord,”
Raven said softly, her throaty voice causing odd tremors in his
middle. “I should not have baited her so. It was very ill-done of
me.”

“Nonsense,” he responded
briskly, wondering why he was being effected by her voice now.
“That young lady was badly in need of a proper setdown and I think
you did splendidly. Congratulate yourself on a stellar
performance.”

“I agree,” Lord Greyden
remarked snidely from behind them. “It was, indeed, a splendid
display of superior thespian skill.”

“Thank you,” replied Raven
evenly. “It is always nice to have one’s accomplishments praised.”
She moved away from Tristan with a smile of welcome on her face
that Tristan didn’t like one bit.

She offered her hand and
continued, “You must be Lord Greyden. I have heard much about you,
sir.”

“Nothing good, I’m sure,”
he said, his face reflecting his disbelief and contempt.

“On the contrary,” she
said, all pretty surprise. “Tristan has been praising you superior
palate for wines. It is a subject in which I am vastly interested.
My father owns a vineyard in France, you know, and I am eager to
learn all about it.”

Greyden’s supercilious
expression wavered a bit. Tristan saw nearly all his brother’s
doubts flee at this odd bit of insight. He wondered where Raven had
learned about Greyden’s almost obsession with wines. Tristan had
not told her.

“I would be delighted to
tell you all I can, Lady Rachael,” Greyden finally said, clearly
torn by what he knew to be the truth and what was presented as
truth. “Unfortunately, my knowledge of the beginning processes is
not what I would wish. I am just starting my own education in the
hope of one day owning my own vineyard.”

Tristan stared at his
brother. “Why have you never told me, Grey? I would have put up
whatever funds you needed to get started.”

The younger man shrugged,
completely off-kilter by all that had passed in the last few
moments. He gave them both a rather odd look and suddenly walked
off, his normally confident stride somewhat lagging.

Raven’s heart stopped
beating. “Excuse me?’ she asked, trying desperately to mask her
sudden panic.

“Your father, dear. I
expect he will arrive shortly,” the dowager repeated patiently. “I
cannot imagine him allowing you out of his sight for long. It has,
after all, been over twenty years since you
disappeared.”

Raven smiled slightly.
“Indeed, your grace. How true,” she murmured. She shot Tristan the
merest glance before adding, “He does not, however, wish to impose
upon your hospitality, your grace, by inviting himself to
stay.”

She knew she’d made a
mistake when she saw the look on the duke’s face. He smiled
disarmingly at his grandmother, saying, “Of course, he wouldn’t
dream of intruding when Rachael and I are only just getting to
really know each other.” He ignored the snort that came from his
brother’s direction and continued. “Perhaps in a few weeks he will
join us. I did issue an invitation that he was quick to
decline.”

He marveled at how easily
the lie rolled off his tongue. And, judging by the astonished look
in his “betrothed’s” eyes, she was just as amazed. He shrugged and
turned to her. “Did he not, my love?”

Raven smiled. “Of course,
my love.” The emphasis on the endearment told him how she felt far
more accurately than the sugary sweetness of her expression. She
turned her attention back to her plate as the smile
disappeared.

Tristan looked around the
table, noticing that everyone’s attention had focused on one
another. His gaze halted on his brother who was staring at Raven as
though she were a particularly succulent sweetmeat. He stifled the
insane urge to pummel Grey to death and turned back to his now
silent dinner partner.

“Rae, you have nothing to
worry about,” he assured her softly.

Her head snapped up, dark
eyes suddenly blazing. “It was too close, your grace,” she hissed
just below a whisper, smiling falsely to appear as if all was well.
“Have you considered what will happen to me when, and I place
emphasis on when because it is inevitable, I am found
out?”

Tristan blinked in the face
of such intense anger. “I hardly think that is going to happen, my
dear,” he replied.

Raven’s smile vanished and
she turned fully to face him. Her black brows rose in an expression
of surprise. “Oh, do you think so? How can you be so damn
sure?”

The room’s sudden silence
alerted her to the fact that her voice had risen considerably on
the last word. Her face flamed in embarrassment. For a moment, she
had lost her temper, forgotten her surroundings, and let her fear
come to the surface.

Too horrified to even meet
the eyes of her host, she mumbled an excuse and fled the
room.

Tristan’s thoughts were
preoccupied the next few days. He puzzled over the situation he’d
created, pondered all the possible ramifications of his actions,
and realized that Raven was right. Of course they’d be found out.
Of course it would come to light that he’d lied to his family and
worse, hired an actress to impersonate a peeress.

What this would mean to him
was moot. He could handle the stigma of eccentricity that would
result. What was unacceptable was Raven’s potential fate. He knew
it would cause an uproar, particularly if Dunston discovered what
they’d done.

It would be so bad, in
fact, that he would be unable to help her in spite of his title.
The duke slammed his head down on his desktop in a singularly
un-dukely gesture of anguish.

Dear God, what had he been
thinking?

While Tristan hid out in
his study claiming an overwhelming amount of estate business, Raven
avoided all potential confrontations by claiming a sick headache.
She stayed in her room, allowing no one but Meg access. Not that
anyone else actually tried to see her. But if they had, she would
not have hesitated to turn them away.

One day, three days after
her loss of temper, Raven was sitting in the window seat staring
out at the frozen lake down below. She had the sudden urge to go
outside and let the brisk January air clear the cobwebs from her
head. Without bothering to ring for Meg, she donned her warmest
gown, grabbed up her heaviest cloak, and headed out the door. She
somehow managed to make it outside without encountering
anyone.

“Thank God,” she muttered
under her breath.

With long, graceful
strides, Raven made her way to the lake, determined to explore at
least that far. She had to do something or she’d lose her mind. She
was still amazed that she’d let her fear show in a fit of temper.
It was unlike her to lose her composure to such an extent. She
hadn’t even known she was afraid until the words had left her
mouth. Why had she agreed to such an insane undertaking in the
first place?

The answer to that was
simple. Tristan Cramshaw, Duke of Windhaven.

From the moment she had
seen him, she was far more than simply intrigued by his request.
She found herself entertaining thoughts that she’d managed to keep
firmly at bay for nearly two years. After accepting the protection
of two different men, having her heart broken by the second and
nearly losing her mind because of it, she’d promised herself that
she would not weaken again. Yet, one look at the Duke of Windhaven
had her wondering what kind of lover he was. Would he be tender and
sweet or a little rough and wild? The desire to find out was great
within her and she wondered how long it would be before she simply
lost control and asked him to show her.