Secrets of the Highwayman (8 page)

Melanie sounded proud of her achievements, and why shouldn’t she be? It was true, all her hard work had paid off, or it would soon, when she became a partner. She might be driven, she might even be a control freak, but Melanie would never allow herself to be placed in such a vulnerable situation again.

“No man at the moment then?”

“Man?”

“Lover.”

The question threw her. She stared at him, trying to think of a flip answer when she was tempted to tell him to mind his own business. Maybe she just wouldn’t answer. But he wasn’t going to let her get away with that.

“I’ll keep your secret, I promise. Word of a Raven.”

She laughed.

Nathaniel folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, watching her. There was the hint of a smile on his mouth, and a lock of hair had fallen over his brow. He’d crossed his legs at the ankles, and his tight-fitting trousers showed up every muscle in his long legs.
Her gaze slid up, over the waistcoat and the blue jacket, clinging to his chest and shoulders. The neckcloth was looking grubbier than it had, and not quite as neatly fastened, and there was golden stubble on his jaw, but that only made him look more sexy.

She met his eyes. They were gleaming through the fringe of his lashes. He was returning her perusal with interest and a double dose of smoldering sexual desire.

“I told you, there’s no one. I’m not interested in men at the moment. I’m a career girl.”

Abruptly Melanie looked away and took a quick bite of her peanut butter sandwich. She tried very hard to swallow. Nathaniel Raven wasn’t a man you could easily ignore, but for her own sake she had to try. She was almost certain that if she gave him the slightest reason to do so, he’d reach out now and pull her into a hot and heavy embrace. He’d probably have her up on the counter in no time.
I am a connoisseur of women’s undergarments.
Yeah, right.

Her fingers twitched as if she could feel him already, and she curled them into tight fists.
No,
she thought.
No, no, no!
But deny it all she might, the sparks were still flying between them. Making her feel wildly, vibrantly, wonderfully…

…alive!

It was late afternoon, and Melanie sat at
Miss Pengorren’s desk in the torn leather chair, trying to ignore her headache while sorting through the old woman’s papers. Nathaniel was browsing his way along the bookshelves that covered part of one wall. That was why, she supposed, the room was called the library, even though it was a fairly modest one.

After they’d eaten—well, Melanie had eaten, and Nathaniel had made faces and reminisced about his cook—she’d decided it was time she did some work. What she really wanted to do was to get as far away from him as possible. This attraction between them was like a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off. But after he’d listened to her excuses, he’d smiled and promptly followed after her.

Melanie glanced across at him. He had taken out one of the books and was flicking through the pages, pausing now and again to read. He seemed completely focused on what he was doing, but Melanie knew that,
despite his air of relaxed ease, he was one of those men who seemed to know exactly what was going on in the room around him. He was probably aware of her right now…

“Here’s something,” he said, and turned, catching her staring.

Melanie jumped and began fumbling with her piles of bills, knocking some of them to the floor in her haste to pretend she wasn’t doing what she so obviously was. Watching him.

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer, and when she found the nerve to glance up at him again he was leaning against the bookshelves, one eyebrow quirked inquiringly. He knew she was attracted to him, of course he did. It was all a game to him, but it wasn’t a game to her. Melanie had sworn long ago that, after her father destroyed her life, she’d never let another man close enough to do it again. She’d had lovers, but she hadn’t been in love, and one of the reasons for that had been her determination to stay clear of the sort of men she knew would hurt her. The sort of men she craved.

I’m like a junkie,
she thought,
but my weakness is for Nathaniel Raven. I can’t afford to take even one bite, or I’ll be hooked.

“Well, what have you found?” She sounded irritable, as she re-sorted her papers.

“I’ve found a book called
The Raven’s Curse
—delightful title, by the way. I have an entire chapter to myself,” he said, as if it didn’t really bother him at all.

“I’m not surprised you have an entire chapter to yourself,” Melanie replied.

He laughed and walked over to a leather armchair, throwing himself down into it with careless grace. “You disapprove of me, don’t you, Melanie?”

“I don’t approve or disapprove of you,” Melanie said levelly, turning back to her work. “I don’t have an opinion, Nathaniel. I’m not interested.”

“I don’t believe you.” His voice was low, teasing.

“Believe what you like.”

Melanie picked up her pen and began to make lists. She made a list of the phone calls she needed to make, and another list of the ones that could wait, and then a third list of those calls she’d need to discuss with Mr. Foyle. By the time she had finished to her satisfaction—lists always made her feel better—Nathaniel was once more deep in his book.

He was frowning, stroking his strong chin with one long finger as he pinned the book on his thigh with his other hand.
If only he wasn’t so distracting,
Melanie thought in frustration.
If only he wasn’t here.

Before she knew it, she was watching him again, and it wasn’t until his deep voice made her start that she realized it.

He was reading aloud:
“Nathaniel Raven was a complex character, angelic one moment and demonic the next
.
”
He shook his head in disbelief. “That sounds a little extreme,” he said. “I was never angelic.”

Melanie, who had taken a sip of her coffee, coughed. He observed her catch her breath and mop at her
streaming eyes, his expression outwardly sympathetic, but his eyes were full of laughter.

“Should I read on?” he asked her innocently, and then proceeded to do so without waiting for an answer.
“The Ravens were comfortable rather than rich. Unfortunate investments by an ancestor during the eighteenth century South Seas bubble had seen them lose an estate in Derbyshire and with that went much of their wealth, but they continued to be well thought of in Cornwall. The elder Nathaniel Raven was a scholar, a gentlemanly man, more used to the pen than the sword, but when his son showed himself to be a far more restless character, the father wasted no time in purchasing him a captaincy in an army regiment.”

Nathaniel Raven looked up. “Restless,” he murmured. “Is that where I went wrong? Should I have been a bookworm like my father? And yet I don’t think I had it in me. Cornwall seemed so far away from all that was important in the world, and I wanted to fight Napoleon. I wanted to be a part of history.”

“You were young and adventurous,” said Melanie.

“To put it mildly.” He turned again to the book.

“After distinguishing himself in battle and proving himself to be a brave and gallant soldier, Nathaniel was sent on a reconnoitering mission behind enemy lines. During an ambush he was wounded, and, although he got himself to safety, Nathaniel was no longer fit for service. He returned home, to Ravenswood, to take up the life of the country gentleman to which he had been born. Unfortunately for all concerned, the excitement of the army had spoiled him for country life.
It soon became apparent Ravenswood was far too tame for his liking.”

Irritably, Nathaniel flicked at the page with his fingertip. “What rot! It wasn’t tedious, it was never tedious. I was fully prepared to be the squire of Ravenswood—I knew I was lucky to be alive.” Then he gave her a sheepish glance, “Well, maybe I was a little bored, but wouldn’t anyone be who’d just returned from fighting Napoleon? I needed time to adjust, to interest myself in local affairs, to find a wife! In time I would have settled down, I know it.”

Melanie wondered whether he was trying to convince her or himself, but she was feeling charitable. “It’s a well-known fact that men take longer to grow up and shoulder their responsibilities than women. You were probably a late starter.”

He smiled as if she amused him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

So much for her being kind. Now he was flirting with her. “You’ve ruined my concentration, so you might as well keep reading.”

“Your wish is my command.” He sketched a bow without getting out of his chair.
“To pass the time Nathaniel Raven took up a hobby; robbing coaches on the Truro Road. He would lie in wait for the vehicles and then ride out, brandishing his pistol, and demanding—”
Nathaniel stopped, and looked up at her again. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”

Melanie widened her eyes and said, breathlessly, “Of course I want to hear it. Read on, Mr. Raven.”

Nathaniel shook his head at her performance. “I
suppose I deserve that…
Major Pengorren, who had been Nathaniel’s commanding officer and was now his stepfather, was another man like the elder Raven. Fine and upstanding, he sought to protect Nathaniel as best he could from his own recklessness, but it was too late. The local families were already tired of his rascally behavior and decided to take the law into their own hands. Finally, in the very act of one of his daring highway robberies, Nathaniel was shot dead by Sir Arthur Tregilly’s coachman. A lucky shot and although tragic in its consequences, perhaps a blessing in disguise.

“One can speculate as to why Nathaniel Raven went bad. Perhaps the head wounds he received during his time in Spain had something to do with his dangerous behavior. There were rumors at the time that those head wounds had never healed; indeed, that they had sent him insane.”

Nathaniel threw the book violently and then jumped up, pursued it, and kicked it to the other side of the room. It landed in a tangled mess of pages against the far wall.

Melanie held her breath, watching him warily.

He turned and glared at her. His chest was rising and falling quickly, there was a flush along his cheekbones, and his hands were clenched into fists.

She hadn’t seen him lose his temper like this, and she no longer wondered whether or not he was capable of the things he was supposed to have done. “That’s a shame,” she said cautiously. “I was waiting to hear if there was a chapter on Major Pengorren.”

“That
was
a chapter on Pengorren. I read it first. To myself.”

“Well, what did it say?”

The anger was gone as quickly as it came. But still Melanie kept a watchful eye on him as he sat down on the arm of his chair.

“A month after I was shot to death Pengorren married Sophie. The writer of that heap of rubbish wants us to know that the wedding was a ‘ray of sunshine in a household heavy with sorrow and gloom.’ Pengorren could do no wrong in his eyes, it seems.”

“Ah.” Melanie could understand his feelings; maybe the author deserved to be kicked across the room. “Did…I don’t quite know how to phrase this…Did Sophie fall down the stairs, too?”

“According to the dates on the family tree in the back of the book, Sophie must already have been with child by him when they married. The baby, a son, was born only four months later, in October of 1814. She didn’t bear Pengorren any more children, but she lived a good few years after 1814. And no”—he cast her a humorless smile—“it doesn’t say
how
she died.”

This was his sister they were speaking about, not just a name from the distant past. Sophie was real, and Melanie had seen her in the flesh. A pretty girl, her smile as wickedly charming as Nathaniel’s, on the verge of womanhood.

“I’m sorry.”

He showed his teeth. “It’s Pengorren who should be sorry.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe he was a lecherous
bastard who preyed on a vulnerable young girl, but that doesn’t make him a murderer. For all you know they might have been deliriously happy together.”

He didn’t answer; he was looking out into the park. Lost in his own thoughts.

His new vulnerability made Melanie uncomfortable. She preferred his cockiness; at least she knew how to keep him at a distance when he was like that. But now…she was fighting the urge to go over to him and pat his shoulder. Or give him a hug.

“Did Pengorren marry again after Sophie?” she asked quickly.

“Not according to the book…if the author can be believed.”

“Well, there you are then! He was heartbroken.”

But her words sounded hollow. She could not imagine the man she had seen at the Yuletide Ball heartbroken. He was far too self-obsessed.

“Do you know what happened to Pengorren after Sophie died?”

“He lived on here at Ravenswood, and then one day he went down to the sea and never returned. He was supposed to have walked into the water and drowned, accidentally or on purpose, no one knows. Ravenswood was passed on to his son…Sophie’s son. I suppose that’s some consolation for me—there was Raven blood mixed in with the Pengorren.”

“And then, eventually, everything came down to Miss Pengorren, the last of them all.” It was sad that such an old family had dwindled to one. “Was there a body?
I mean, after he walked into the sea, did they ever recover his body?”

Nathaniel shrugged impatiently. “I don’t know, the book doesn’t say, or the author doesn’t know. What does it matter after all these years? If he wasn’t dead, then he certainly is now.”

“Unless the queen of the between-worlds wants to give him a chance to change history, too.”

As soon as she said it she wished she hadn’t. The idea of Pengorren alive and well in her world gave her the same squirmy feeling she’d had when she first saw him. Nathaniel was one thing—she didn’t trust him, and he made her uncomfortable—but she wasn’t scared of him. Pengorren was different; he definitely gave her the creeps.

“You ask a great many questions,” Nathaniel said softly.

“Maybe you should have asked more.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you’re very free with your opinions, Miss Jones.”

“These days we don’t have to wait until we’re spoken to, or curtsy to our betters,” Melanie retorted, and couldn’t seem to help herself. She just couldn’t shut up; he had that effect on her.

And now she had a headache, and it was getting worse. It had been a long day, and her journey into the between-worlds hadn’t helped. She wiggled her shoulders, moving her neck from side to side to try and ease the kinks. At home she visited a masseuse, but she hadn’t had time to make an appointment before she left for
Cornwall. Now, with everything that had happened, tension was causing all sorts of problems. She wondered if her headache was going to turn into a migraine. They’d been the scourge of her teenage years, waves of pounding agony that had incapacitated her for days on end.

Suzie always said she was strung too tightly and needed to relax, but it wasn’t just that. There had been other reasons for the migraines, reasons she never spoke of these days…

“You have the headache.”

His warm hands rested firmly on her shoulders, making Melanie jump. But he was already working with his thumbs on the little knots of pain clustered near her shoulder blades.

“Ouch!”

“Be still.” He was right behind her, and she could feel the solid warmth of his body. The confident touch of his hands was like being branded—there was no escaping it. “You’re like a bitch I once had, Melanie. Always jumping and whining, never relaxing into just being. Sometimes being in the moment is more important than thinking about what has passed, or what is to come.”

“A bitch!”

She tried to wriggle free, but he held her, and bending closer, murmured in her ear, “
Be still
. Please, let me help you.”

Melanie had a choice. She could scream and run from the room, or she could sit and let him do his thing. Her head was throbbing—he couldn’t make it any worse…

He hadn’t waited for an answer, seeking the painful
spots with his strong fingers and working on them until the pain eased, and then moving on to the next ones. He knew what he was doing, Melanie decided with relief. Her doubts melted before the pleasure he was giving her, and Melanie moaned softly and let her eyes drift shut and her head sink forward onto her chest. His fingers crept upward, into the taut muscles of her neck, circling, pressing, caressing in a way that was truly amazing.