She was breathing hard now, her question reverberating in pings that bounced against the glass overhead. It was only then that she realized she’d raised her voice. Her throat was somewhat raw. Her heart and lungs felt raw, too.
He didn’t respond, but a pair of inscrutable eyes assessed her in the tense silence. She might as well have been standing before him, garbed in the gauzy Grecian robes of those cyprians.
Embarrassed by how much she’d just revealed, again, she said, “I fear it’s been a rather long night, and my passions have gotten the better of me. I’m not usually so sentimental.”
His brow quirked in doubt, and the grim line of his mouth softened. But whatever Raven’s thoughts were, they would remain a mystery.
Mr. Miggins cleared his throat from the doorway. “The children are ready to begin their lessons, miss. Will the gentleman be joining you?”
“I don’t believe so, Mr. Miggins. This gentleman was an unfortunate casualty in one of my experiments and he only dropped by to—”
“She turned me pink,” Raven interrupted with a dubious grin. “But she set me back to rights.”
“Miss Pickerington always manages to find a way,” the butler said, his monotone never revealing his unfortunate high degree of firsthand knowledge.
“As I was saying,” Jane added. “Raven will be leaving us shortly. However, if he should choose to stay, he is welcome to look over our copy of Debrett’s Peerage. I believe it can be found in the library.”
“Very good, miss,” Mr. Miggins said with a bow before he withdrew.
Turning her attention back to Raven, she said, “I mean it. You are welcome. However, I have a feeling that this really is the last we’ll be seeing of each other. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you like your life just the way it is. So, I shall desist making a nuisance of myself and keep whatever findings I discover far from your doorstep.”
“You’re not still going to—” He broke off on a curse, raking a hand through the inky layers of his hair. Then he expelled a lengthy sigh as if he finally realized the futility of asking her to stop her quest. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You’re too stubborn to listen.”
“I prefer tenacious,” she said with a grin and held out her hand. It wasn’t her practice to bid farewell in such a manner. A nod of the head usually sufficed. But some inner mechanism had lifted her arm beyond conscious understanding.
The answer came to her the instant he enfolded her hand in his grasp, securing her palm to his. Her skin reacted to the touch, tingling as the caress of his fingers teased warmth into her blood. Then her brain and heart and stomach all spun together in a single revolution. The force of it caused her body to sway ever so slightly, listing forward on the balls of her feet.
Raven stepped closer, steadying her with his other hand over the small, rounded curve of her shoulder. “At least promise me you’ll get some rest.”
“I will,” she said, feeling strangely tipsy all of a sudden. “I have a particularly cozy chaise longue in the corner behind those palms. It has proven to be the perfect spot for a nap while the children are in the garden. Many brilliant ideas have come to me there. It is also an excellent place for mulling things over and . . . reading books on the peerage.”
Slowly, he released her and withdrew a step. “I’m years ahead of you at mulling.”
“I understand,” she said, prepared to walk him to the door.
But just then a small bouncing giggle interrupted from the corridor and she turned to see a naked, curly-headed two-year-old toddling toward her with his arms outstretched. “Janejanejanejanejane . . .”
Leaving Raven, she scooped up her brother, his plump, fuzzy bottom resting on the underside of her arm. “Peter, whatever are you doing out of the nursery, and where are your clothes?”
“Blocks,” he said with simple gravity.
“As you can see,” she said to Raven, “Peter is our philosopher. He just imparted the meaning of life in a single word.”
“A lesson I shall remember always. Play blocks with Jane and never wear clothes.”
She pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh. The man was such a scoundrel, even now. “Peter, this is Raven. Can you bid him a good morning?”
In response, her brother timidly buried his face in her shoulder. “Bird.”
“And a good morning to you, as well, Peter,” Raven said with a bow.
Peter giggled and lifted his head. “Bird. Book.”
“Hmm . . .” Jane said with an arched look down to the cart. “My brother is very wise. Not only is he expressing his mastery of all words beginning with the letter b, but he’s telling you to look through that book before you leave.”
“Well, Peter, I’m afraid I have to go.”
“Blocks,” Peter said with an understanding nod.
“Yes, you’re quite right. I must go to my own house to play with my own blocks and sadly,” he said, shifting his gaze to her, “without Jane.”
She drew in a breath, tasting the staleness of finality in the air on the back of her tongue. It was bittersweet. There was nothing more she could do to persuade him. It was his life, after all. And yet, part of her wished she could change his mind.
Keeping that thought close to her breast, she inclined her head and committed this moment to memory. Then she turned and left the conservatory.
Chapter 10
The blast of a gunshot jolted Raven awake.
He bolted upright, a rush of blood roaring in his ears, pounding hard in his chest. His lungs heaved like an overworked bellows. Looking around, he half expected to see the crimson-stained stones of the wharf. To taste copper on his tongue. To hear the slap of water against ship hulls and the gulls screaming overhead.
But he wasn’t by the docks at all. That had been three years ago. He had the puckered scar on his side to prove it.
Instead, he was in some sort of wilderness, surrounded by trees and climbing vines and the rapid shuffle of footsteps nearby.
“Set that one there, thank you,” he heard someone say and the familiar feminine voice brought him to full awareness.
He scrubbed a hand over his face to clear away the drowsy haze, realizing where he was—in a jungle conservatory in Westbourne Green. With Jane.
To be fair, he’d never intended to linger. He’d been on his way out the door and ready to put this futility and madness behind him. Then curiosity had got the better of him.
All he’d wanted was just one look at Jane’s favorite napping spot. But when he’d entered this foliage-thick corner, secluded like a long-forgotten hermitage for the first explorers of the world, he’d felt a waterfall of peace and calmness wash over him. The air was so heavy and damp that it felt like breathing in purified waters. And the overstuffed age-softened chaise longue was so inviting that he’d given in to temptation and sat down. Then her soft powdery scent had enveloped him like a downy coverlet.
He’d felt so at ease that he’d closed his eyes . . . for just a minute, he’d promised.
Now, lifting his gaze to the domed glass ceiling, he saw the flame-bright circle of the sun shining down from a pale blue sky and heard the distant laughter of children in the garden. He must have slept for hours. Bollocks.