Rayven. Why wasn't he married? He was rich. He was handsome. Even the scar on his cheek couldn't detract from his roguish good looks. Just being near him made her come alive, made her blood run hot and her stomach quiver with longing. Surely bedding him would not be a hardship in spite of what her mother had said about such things...
Heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the flames suffused her cheeks at her wayward thoughts.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes, summoning his image to mind, the high wide forehead, the finely shaped nose, his beautiful dark eyes that could burn her with a look, his full lips...
She felt her body tingle in every place where he had touched her. If only he hadn't pushed her away...
Rayven stood at the foot of the sofa, watching her sleep. Her hair had come loose from its pins and fell across the arm of the sofa like a river of gold silk. She sighed in her sleep, her sweet pink lips curving into a smile that was both sweet and seductive. Of what, or of whom, was she dreaming?
Unable to resist, he knelt beside her, staring at the slow steady beat of the pulse at the base of her throat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of her. She smelled of soap and perfume and powder, of the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding she had eaten for dinner, of cocoa. He placed his fingertip over the pulse in her throat, felt the blood thrumming through her veins, felt his mouth water as he remembered the warm, sweet, coppery taste.
Even before he opened his eyes, he knew she was awake and watching him. He heard the change in her breathing, the escalation of her heartbeat.
"My lord," she murmured. "I'm sorry if I did something to offend you."
"Offend me?"
"In the carriage."
"You did nothing amiss, sweet Rhianna."
"Then why..."
"It is not my wish to hurt you, Rhianna."
"You weren't hurting me." Heat climbed up her neck and into her cheeks. "Quite the opposite, my lord."
"Ah, child," Rayven murmured, stroking her cheek. "If you only knew."
"Knew what?"
"Nothing. I would not frighten you with my past, or bore you with my present."
"I don't understand."
"There is no need for you to understand. All you need know is that you please me very well."
"Then won't you kiss me again?" She saw the refusal in his eyes and pressed her fingertips over his lips.
"Just one kiss, my lord."
Taking her hand from his mouth, he kissed her palm. When he looked at her again, there was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. "Would it please you so much?"
"Oh, yes."
"One kiss, and then you must go to bed."
She nodded, her eyelids fluttering down as his lips met hers. There was such sweetness in his kiss, such longing. Unwilling for him to leave her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, hoping he would know how much she wanted him.
His arms tightened around her, and he lifted her off the sofa, cradling her in his lap, his mouth ravishing hers in a most delightful way.
She was drowning in pleasure, melting with desire, and then, into her mind came a vision of darkness, and yet it wasn't darkness as she knew it, but a total absence of light, and interwoven with the darkness was an awareness of pain and anguish so vivid it felt like her pain, her anguish.
She squirmed in his embrace, felt his arms tighten around her. She tried to open her eyes, but the darkness increased, and she felt herself being engulfed in that horrible blackness...
"Rhianna?"
"No. No, no... please."
"Rhianna, open your eyes. There's nothing to fear."
She blinked at him, feeling as though she had just emerged from a waking nightmare. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"But..."
"It was only a dream, my sweet, nothing more."
"But I was awake!"
"No. You fell asleep in my arms." He looked down at her, his smile strained, his eyes dark and compelling. "To bed with you, I think," he said, and stood up, carrying her with him as though she weighed nothing at all.
"I can walk, my lord."
"No need."
Effortlessly, he carried her up the long flight of stairs to her room. "Rest well, sweet Rhianna."
"Good night, my lord."
He bowed his head, then left the room, his long black cloak swirling around his ankles like smoke.
Chapter Seven
Sunk in the depths of a black and bitter despair, Rayven stood before the hearth, staring into the flames.