below her in the darkness. “I don’t want to get married. To anyone.”
“But eventually—” he began.
“Not tonight, please. I don’t want to think about that tonight. Go away, Gerald. Let me just enjoy being alone. I have a feeling that the days when I control my own destiny are dwindling, which makes each more precious. My days of freedom may be numbered, but I’m not at your beck and call yet. Nor any man’s. Not yet,” she said with an almost fierce resignation.
Amberton watched the slight heave of the slender shoulders as she took a deep breath, but smiling still, he obeyed.
Let her enjoy the illusion that she had some choice in the matter as long as she was able, he thought. The Season was coming to an end, and her days of freedomwere certainly numbered. Like it or not, Catherine Montfort would have to choose, forced to that decision by the demands of her father and of society. Amberton knew that there was not another of her suitors who enjoyed the rapport he had so carefully cultivated. Soon she, and more importantly her fortune, would be under his control, and there were a few lessons that he would delight in teaching Catherine Montfort, proud and stubborn as she was.
With Gerald’s departure, only the calm of the night sounds and the drifting music from the ballroom surrounded her. Propping both elbows on the stone railing, she interlaced her fingers under her chin and sighed again.
Unbelievingly she heard behind her the sound of a pair of hands slowly clapping. She turned to see a tall figure standing in the shadows at the edge of the balcony.
“Bravo,” the intruder said softly. “A remarkable declaration of independence. I applaud the sentiment, even if I doubt the possibility of your success in carrying it out.”
“How long have you been there?” she demanded.
“I believe you were being pawed. And objecting to it.”
“How dare you!”
“I didn’t. That was Gerald.”
“You were listening to a very private and personal conversation. You, sir, are obviously no gentleman.”
“Obviously,” he said agreeably.
Now that she was over her immediate shock, she had begun to notice details of his appearance. He was far taller than any of the men she knew—over six feet tall. Several inches over, she accurately guessed. And very broad shouldered. Massive, really.
As he moved into the light from the windows, she became aware of bronzed skin stretched tautly over high cheekbones and lean, smoothly shaved cheeks. Dear God, she thought in disbelief, it was the man who had bought the donkey. The man with the eyes—crystal blue and piercing, set like jewels among the uncompromisingly strong angles of his dark face.
She swallowed suddenly, fascinated again by his sheer foreignness. No fashionable cut scattered curls over the high forehead. His black hair was pulled straight back and tied at his nape, the severity of the style emphasizing the spare planes of his face and the strong nose.
She realized that she had been staring. Angry with her display of near country simplicity and still embarrassed at having been caught in such a compromising situation, she turned back to the railing, trying to regain her composure.
The silence stretched, only the muffled strains of the music invading the quietness. She had expected some reaction—an apology for his intrusion, a reminder that they’d met before and that she was in his debt, something. He was certainly not responding as Amberton or any of her other courtiers would have reacted to her very deliberate lack of attention.
Almost against her will, she turned back to face him. He was standing exactly as he had been before, watching her with those strangely luminescent eyes. Those damnably beautiful eyes. Even as she thought it, she wondered what was happening to her. She was surely sophisticated enough not to fall tongue-tied at the feet of a stranger because he had blue eyes.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said. The accent was marked, and she wondered why she hadn’t been aware of it when he’d spoken from the shadows. Probably because she’d been too mortified by the idea that he’d witnessed Amberton’s attempted lovemaking.
“If I don’t want to talk to Gerald, who is a very old friend, it should be obvious that I don’t wish to talk to you.”
“I’m not Gerald,” he said, unmoving.
“I beg your pardon?” She had gaped at him like the veriest schoolroom miss. Yet she didn’t intend to be treated like one.
“I’m not Gerald,” he repeated obligingly.
“I know what you said. I didn’t mean that I didn’t hear you. I meant…”
He waited politely for her explanation. His hands were relaxed at his sides; his face perfectly composed.
“I meant I don’t knowwhy you said that—that you’re not Gerald. Obviously you’re not Lord Amberton.”
“My name is Raven,” he said calmly.
“Mr. Raven,” she said sweetly, acknowledging the information. Raven? What kind of name was Raven?
Raven inclined his head, not the least bit taken in by her politeness. She was certain by now to be wishing him in Hades.
“Go away,” she responded, turning once more to the railing.
Behind her she heard his soft laughter. He was laughing at her. Whoever he was—whatever he was.
“I’m not accustomed to gentlemen who refuse to do as they’ve been requested,” she said with frigid politeness.
“I didn’t imagine you were,” he said reasonably. “However, I have some business to discuss with you. I believe that this is an opportunity I may not be offered again.”
She could still hear the amusement in the deep voice.
“Business?” she repeated, turning once more to face him. “I assure you that I do not discussbusiness with strange men.”
“But I’m not a stranger. We’ve met before. I thought you might remember.”
“Of course I remember. I believe that Idid thank you for the donkey. And now, I really must insist that I be left alone. If you would be so kind.” She didn’t understand why she was trying to drive him away. She was honest enough to admit that his image had intruded frequently in her brain during the days since their first encounter. She had even envisioned meeting him again, but not while baring her soul on a dark and isolated balcony where no well-brought-up young lady should be found.
“I have a proposition to offer you,” Raven said, completely unperturbed by her repeated attempts to dismiss him.
She turned back to face him, appalled beyond words, feeling her skin flush hotly. He had witnessed Gerald’s very improper embrace and apparently believed that she would entertain…
“My father will have you horsewhipped,” she threatened.
The line of his lips tilted upward at the corners. “Notthat kind of proposition,” Raven corrected. “And I’m shocked that a gently reared young woman would believe that I’m about to offer her carte blanche. Iam surprised at you.” He made a smalltsking sound, shaking his head. The anger he’d felt watching the blond Englishman hold her was beginning to dissipate. She was obviously not the kind of flirt he’d feared when he’d followed the pair from the crowded ballroom.
“What do you want? Please state yourbusiness and then go away,” Catherine ordered. “You have the manners of a barbarian.”
“American,” he admitted pleasantly, knowing that she was probably correct—at least by her standards.
“Ah,” she said, giving him a mocking smile of agreement. “That explains so much.” American. No wonder he was unusual.
“I hope