To be sure he knew her determination well enough, she wriggled against him.
He let out a low groan then stilled her, holding her tighter. “The door isn’t even closed, let alone locked. Aren’t public displays of this nature frowned upon in polite society?”
“At this hour of night, a closed door would only indicate to a passerby that those within are engaging in activities that require concealment. Logically, an open door is our best chaperone.”
Thankfully, she also knew that Mr. Miggins had retired for the night, so she’d never worried. Then again, after the kissing began, she hadn’t been thinking about anything or anyone other than Raven.
If someone had caught them . . . the consequences would have been dire.
While Jane had never worried that her escapades would cause her ruin—primarily because her parents were decidedly indifferent to her activities—being found in flagrante delicto on the map table would have been a different matter altogether.
Even with her virginity still intact, she would have been sent from London. Away from her friends. Away from her family. And, most definitely, away from Raven.
The realization sent a cold chill through her.
She burrowed closer. “In hindsight, I suppose it was reckless. But we’ll plan the next time better,” she said against his waistcoat. “I’ll steal away from Ellie’s one evening and—”
“There isn’t going to be a next time,” he said. “Now don’t stiffen up on me and think it’s because you’re lacking in worldliness. It isn’t that at all. In fact, it’s the opposite. I want you, which you clearly know. All I can think about is how good it would feel to lift your skirts and fill your sweet body with my flesh, right here on this table.”
The chill evaporated under a blushing wave that trembled through her at the tableau he formed in her mind. She looked up at him, still not understanding.
He kissed her forehead, then both of her cheeks, and against her lips he said, “I don’t want you to regret me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Jane, I’m not going to claim my birthright. There are still too many unanswered questions for me. It could be years before I find the answers, and maybe not even then.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Your parents care. And you may think you don’t care, but in the future when you find some proper chap you might want to marry, you’ll remember this night and wish you hadn’t given yourself to me first.” He smiled tenderly and brushed the fine tendrils away from her cheek. “All I can give you are fireworks. Eventually, you’ll want something more. Believe me, I’ve traveled this road and I know where it ends.”
She shook her head to argue, but a yawn slipped out. She was suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.
Sleepily, she twined her arms around him once more. “Don’t leave yet. I want to disprove your hypothesis.”
“Let me play the part of the gentleman while I still can, hmm?”
He kissed her tenderly once more, then left without another word.
Jane lay back on the map table and closed her eyes. She wondered why Raven, who was usually so astute, didn’t realize that he’d already given her more than fireworks. So much more than she ever expected to find from a study of scoundrels.
Chapter 25
The following afternoon, Raven stood at the window in the Earl of Warrister’s paneled study and watched the Marquess of Aversleigh drive off in his carriage.
“Well done, my boy,” Warrister said from behind him. “Reginald was quite impressed. Your lack of loquacity only amplified your aura of mystery, I’m sure.”
Raven’s mouth curled into a wry smirk, not missing the earl’s heavy-laden sarcasm.
“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted, turning toward the bemusedly grinning old man at his desk. “You just introduced me as your grandson and the marquess shook my hand genially, without any hesitation or doubt from either of you. But you must have doubts.”
Warrister shook his head. “I knew the instant I clapped eyes on you that you were—you are—my grandson.”
The earl had made this very statement on their previous visits, as well. But the question of certainty still rattled around in Raven’s skull.
“People tend to see what they want to.” He hesitated, weighing his next words carefully. “Considering all the hope you must have had over the years, and then to receive a letter from your housekeeper, no one could fault you for wanting to find a long-lost grandson.”
Warrister picked up a walnut from a dish and absently cracked it open, leaving the shards to litter the desk. “I’m neither senile, nor a romantic fool.”
“That may be true”—Raven broke off when the earl’s wizened eyes speared him—“I mean, of course, you’re not,” he amended and gained a grunt of forgiveness. “But there’s still a few pieces of the puzzle missing. It doesn’t make sense that someone would have saved me but never bothered to come to you for a reward, like all the others had.”
He didn’t want to hurt the man when all this came to nothing. And he knew it would come to nothing. He sensed it. There were too many questions left unanswered. Too many ways he could be taken off guard if he allowed himself to believe.
Only children had blind faith. Like all the times he’d had the notion of running away from the workhouse to gain freedom, just to be caught unawares when he least expected. Then dragged back and punished. The brutal memories still caused a shudder to roll through him—the darkness of the cupboard, the scritch-scratch of rat claws skittering closer, and the sharp, tiny edges of their teeth.
Without thinking, he stepped closer to the fire in the study to ward off a cold chill. Staring into the flames, he recalled a multitude of harsh life lessons when he’d foolishly allowed hope to eclipse the need for certainty. He’d never make that mistake again.
“Believe it or not, I’ve considered the same questions,” Warrister said, drawing Raven’s attention. Then, tapping a finger to his temple, he added, “Not senile, you see. And I have a man making inquiries at that foundling home. He had a brief discussion with the beadle, a certain Mr. Mayhew. But my man said that Mayhew seemed to be a very nervous fellow. Especially when asked how his bank accounts increased substantially during the years of the French Terror. Regrettably, Mayhew eluded my man before we could get to the bottom of the mystery.”
Frowning, Raven asked, “But what does Mayhew have to do with any of it?”
“Only time will tell. He could be the key to everything, or it could come to nothing.” The earl shrugged, unconcerned. “Regardless, you’re still my grandson.”
Raven expelled an impatient breath.
Warrister chuckled and slapped the meat from the nutshell into his palm then popped it into his mouth, chewing it with a twinkle-eyed grin. “You’re just as stubborn as your father.
“I remember the day Edgar came into this very room to tell me he’d decided to marry a French girl he met by happenstance,” Warrister continued, a reminiscent smile on his lips. “His mother and I had chosen a debutante from a good family, but he wouldn’t have her. Edgar and I had our share of words that day, but he’d never wavered. Just stood there with his fists and jaw clenched.” He arched a brow and made an offhand gesture to Raven’s own posture. “But it turned out that he was right all along. Arabelle proved to be a kind, caring and loyal woman. She looked at my son as if the heavens and earth had converged to form one perfect person. Much like the way Miss Pickerington looks at you, I imagine.”