Rules for Heiresses by Amalie Howard

Twenty-Three

Ravenna paced the morning room of her mother’s residence, her fingers clenching and unclenching on her skirts. Once more, she’d been left behind, though this time it was for a valid enough reason. Courtland, her brother, and Waterstone were presenting the evidence of her husband’s birth in chambers to put to rest once and for all that he was the Duke of Ashvale.

It should have made her feel a sense of peace, and it did, but she wouldn’t feel at ease until she saw Courtland with her own eyes. Something felt unsettled in her gut and she wasn’t one to ignore her instincts. Earlier that morning when he’d accompanied her here, he’d seemed preoccupied, understandably so, but something wasn’t right. Her bones ached and her skin felt chilled. She fingered the bulky reticule buried in her pocket, the presence of the small pistol within not bringing its usual ease.

She paced anew.

“You’re making me exhausted, dear,” her mother said from where she sat. “Do sit or at least move away from the window so you don’t keep catching the light like a miniature walking thundercloud.”

Ravenna let out a puff of laughter, glancing over her shoulder. “I can’t sit, Mama. I’m much too nervous.”

“Nervous about what?”

“I want this all behind us, behind Courtland and me,” she said and bit her lip. “And I have an awful feeling that something terrible is going to happen.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. The duke will prove he’s Ashvale’s legitimate heir, and all the squawking in the ton will fade away in time.”

Exhaling again, Ravenna left her spot at the windows and moved to sit on the armchair adjacent to the dowager. “He’s a good man. You believe that, don’t you? No matter where he comes from?”

“I know,” her mother said, peering at her over the rim of her teacup. “I see it in the way he treats you like you’re something treasured. And you are a treasure, my daughter.” She shook her head, touching her temples. “But willful, oh so willful. Fuller wasn’t the only one you gave a set of grays to.”

She flushed. “I wasn’t that bad, Mama.”

“No, you weren’t,” the dowager admitted with a fond smile. “But you always knew what you wanted and you went after it. You and Embry are the same in that kind of singular pursuit of something you love. You do love your duke, don’t you?”

“I do, more than anything.” She gave a wry smile. “Ever since we were children, I think.” She toyed with an embroidered flounce on her walking dress. “Mama, you do realize I would not be the woman I am today, if you were not the woman you are, don’t you? You might have your faults—we all do—but the biggest step is recognizing our flaws and doing what feels right in our hearts. You taught me that. Though your methods aren’t for the faint of heart, I’ll be the first one to admit,” she said with a dry laugh, “you taught me to stand up for myself with three brothers, and how to be strong and heard in a world governed by men.”

“Oh, you wretched girl,” her mother said, eyes going glossy and her fingers lifting to quell the brimming moisture. “You’ll make me get splotchy and have bags under my eyes.”

“You’re beautiful no matter what. I love you, you know.”

The dowager smiled through her tears. “I love you too, Daughter, even though, by God, you try my patience and my sanity most days.”

Unable to sit quietly, Ravenna stood and resumed her pacing at the window, waiting for the ducal coach to return. Courtland had given her—and her alter ego, Raven Hunt—strict instructions to stay put, and for once, Ravenna wanted to obey, even if it chafed. She pressed a hand to her chest and frowned. “Goodness, this is intolerable. My blood is racing and it’s hard to breathe. Something is amiss. I can feel it.”

The dowager let out an exasperated noise. “You’ve always had an active imagination.”

“I’m not imagining this. I should do something.”

“You should stay here.”

Fuller announced his presence in the doorway. “Would you like more tea, Your Graces?”

“How about something stronger?” Ravenna said instead.

“It’s much too early for spirits,” the dowager put in. “But a splash of brandy in the tea would not go amiss.”

After the tea had been refreshed and a small amount of brandy added, Ravenna sipped the warm liquid, hoping it would settle her nerves. She had no idea why she was so on edge, but her instincts had kept her safe from danger while crossing the Atlantic on a ship full of men, and she’d learned not to ignore them.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered to herself, peering past the drapes to the streets below.

“Exactly what do you think is going to happen?” the dowager asked. “Parliament is the most boring place known to man. A bunch of men in wigs and robes declaring the size of their egos and phalluses, and pretending they have all the answers to the problems in the world.”

Ravenna gaped. “Mama!”

“What? It’s true.”

“That’s beyond the pale for you,” Ravenna said. “You don’t speak about men’s… Goodness, I cannot even utter such a vulgar thing in your presence.”

“I never took you for a prude, dressing in men’s clothing and gallivanting everywhere. You know, Lady Holding told me an interesting story of when she first saw you with Ashvale and your compromising…situation.”

Ravenna’s face went hot with mortification. Oh, no, she didn’t. “Lady Holding was undoubtedly confused about whatever she thought she saw. It was quite a commotion. And I am not a prude, Mama, but this is you we’re talking about.”

Hiding an uncharacteristic grin, the dowager waved a hand. “How do you think I had four children? By miraculous conception? I’ll have you know, your father—”

Hot-cheeked, Ravenna let out a choked noise and lifted a palm, stalling her midsentence. “I do not want to know about your bedroom life, Mama.”

“Are you sufficiently distracted then?”

Oh.She had to laugh at her mother’s tactics. “That was rather unconventional, but yes. I suppose I should thank you for putting those images in my head instead.”

Ravenna was still shaking her head in smiling disbelief when a loud pop echoed outside, and at the same time the glass pane above her head shattered. Her mother’s scream was all Ravenna heard before she hit the floor in a flurry of skirts. She knew what that noise was all too well and what it meant. She’d heard many a discharged pistol on the high seas for it to be any coincidence.

“Mama, get down! Fuller!”

Pure instinct taking over, Ravenna crawled over to where her ashen mother was covering her ears, her eyes wide with fright, and gathered her into her arms. She moved them both behind the sofa just as the butler skidded to their sides. “What was that?” Fuller asked.

“Nothing good,” Ravenna said, her heart racing as she eyed the broken window. That lead ball had come much too close to her head for comfort, and whoever had shot it would want to make sure that the bullet had reached its target. There was a chance it could have been an accident, but Ravenna didn’t put much stock in coincidence. “Are Papa’s pistols still in the study?” she asked Fuller. When he nodded, she drew a breath. “Good, fetch them, and then gather the biggest footmen and get the duchess to safety. We should get the rest of the servants through the back as soon as possible.”

But before the butler could move to do her bidding, the front door burst open, and the last man she’d expected to see sauntered in without a care in the world. Her stomach dropped. Sommers. “Come out, come out, little bird. I know you’re here. Don’t make this worse. I wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt. It’s you I’m here for.”

Damn and blast.

Fuller shook his head in warning, but Ravenna gritted her teeth. There was no choice here. The man was deranged enough to shoot through a window in the middle of Mayfair. Slowly, she stood. “Fine, I’m here. Don’t hurt anyone.”

Sommers stood there, his clothing mussed and dirty as though he’d been hiding in a hole down by the wharves, but his eyes glinted with triumph, the pistol pointed directly at her. “There you are, darlin’.” His beady eyes found Fuller’s as he lifted the pistol in warning. “One move and I’ll shoot her, understand?”

“What do you want with me?” she asked, slipping her hand unobtrusively into her pocket.

“You’re my ticket out of here,” he said. His smile widened. “And besides, I heard a rumor from the desk staff at my hotel that a sweet little redhead was claiming to be my wife. I didn’t think you had it in you, little duchess.”

“So you tried to shoot me?” Ravenna’s fingers worked furiously and furtively. The reticule’s drawstring was proving to be a problem with one hand, but she wouldn’t give up. Not now and never to a man like him. She’d fight with her bare hands if she had to.

He laughed. “I admit my aim was off. That would have ruined my plans, but I suppose the dowager would have done in a pinch.” He scrunched up his nose. “Though I don’t favor saggy flesh.”

“You’re a pig,” Ravenna growled. “You won’t get away with this.”

“I will. Now, walk over here like a good girl. No one’s coming to save you. Your husband and all his friends are locked away behind closed doors.”

Bloody hell, the deuced knot was hopelessly tangled. Perhaps she could get close enough to bludgeon him with the reticule and distract him enough so the others could get to safety. She sent a reassuring glance to the butler, and then to the footmen she could see hovering in the hallway. She only hoped they would leave. Sommers could have more than one gun on him. Ravenna sucked in a breath and closed the distance between them. Her nerves had ceased their noise; the only thing in her head was a sense of quiet calm.

“You’re right, but you’re forgetting one thing, Sommers.”

“What’s that, darlin’?” he asked with an oily grin when she was a few feet away.

Finally.The strings went slack.

“I don’t need anyone to save me.”

And with that, she yanked her trusty pistol from her pocket—the very same one she’d pointed at Courtland a lifetime ago—and fired. There was no hesitation with a man like Sommers. But she was no killer. She aimed for the hand holding the gun and shot his shoulder.

When the slimy bastard dropped the weapon and went down mewling like the sack of shit he was, Ravenna bared her teeth. “I’m not your fucking darlin’.”

* * *

If it wasn’t the screaming aristocrats running down the streets with fear on their faces, the sound of the gunshot had Courtland nearly diving from the carriage before it came to a final stop. He was closely followed by Embry and Waterstone as they dashed up the steps of the residence through a door that lay drunkenly on its hinges.

Fear filled him in that moment, but the sight that greeted him would stay with him for forever—his magnificent wife standing like a vengeful fury over a moaning Sommers as he lay on the floor clutching his bloody shoulder. Her hair tumbled around her face in a halo, her beautiful eyes sparking fire at the man who dared enter her domain without permission. Courtland’s mouth went dry. Fuck if she wasn’t the most glorious thing he’d ever seen.

“God above, I leave you for one hour,” he said, striding into the room and tutting under his breath.

Her eyes lit with happy relief. “In my defense, Husband, he shot first.”

Courtland didn’t wait to sweep her into his arms, his mouth finding hers with unerring accuracy. Neither of them cared as footmen poured into the room at Waterstone’s direction and the wounded Sommers was secured. Embry hustled over to the dowager, whom Courtland dimly heard saying she was uninjured thanks to Ravenna.

He broke the kiss, his gaze searching his wife’s, but he didn’t release his hold around her body. “He didn’t hurt you?”

She lifted a pistol he recognized. “I didn’t let him.”

“I thought you left that thing in Antigua,” he said with a slight frown. “Though I’m glad you didn’t. Just never point it at me again, please.”

“I’d never shoot you, Cordy,” she said grinning. “Unless you provoked me, of course.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her. “Remind me not to do that.”

Courtland only deigned to release his wife when Waterstone’s men swarmed into the room to collect the evidence and to listen to the accounts of what had happened. Embry escorted the dowager from the room to where the family physician had been summoned to make sure that she wasn’t in a state of shock or in need of medical help. The duchess was a tough old bird, Courtland knew, but even the hardiest of men or women could be traumatized by a shooting.

His fists tightened as he realized how close he’d come to losing Ravenna when she recounted how the first shot had shattered the window and that Sommers had meant to shoot at her. As if she could sense his distress, she reached across to grasp her husband’s palm and squeezed. He knew she was capable, as she’d clearly demonstrated with Sommers, but the thought of not having her in his life was unbearable.

It didn’t take much longer for Waterstone and his men to clear out, and after Embry confirmed that the dowager had taken a tincture and was resting comfortably, Courtland escorted his wife to their waiting carriage. She stared at him in the coach as they headed for home. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He shifted guiltily. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a fragile piece of glass.”

“It’s not that. I know you’re not fragile and you can take care of yourself.” He let out a breath. “You’re important to me and the thought of losing you…”

“You won’t lose me.” She shot him a wicked grin that went straight to his groin. “I’m a flesh-mongering beetle, and we don’t give up our delicious prizes so easily.”

Courtland’s mouth fell open. He’d never actually told her that, had he?

“Rawley, that loose-lipped shit,” he muttered, just as she burst into laughter, confirming his suspicion. “In my defense, that was before I knew you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m certain I called you much worse when I was in my cups on the Glory.”

He let out a chuckle. “Like Hades?”

“Precisely, so consider us even. I’m a greedy beetle and you’re a vengeful god who steals maidens away to his domain.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’re the most fearsome beetle I’ve ever encountered.”

Smirking, she stuck out a pink tongue, making his blood heat. “It’s not, but I know of a way you could make it up to me.”

When they arrived at their residence, Courtland couldn’t help taking her into his arms again in the foyer. For some soul-deep reason, he could not stop touching her and reassuring himself that she was all right. It was because of the earlier incident, of course, but he had an inkling that it would be a good while before the restlessness in his body settled and accepted the fact that she was safe. Nuzzling into him, she didn’t seem to mind.

Breathing in her scent, he kissed her again until she pushed at his shoulders, questions swirling in her eyes. “Wait a moment, I forgot to ask in the heat of things, is it all settled, then?” she asked. “The legitimacy thing?”

“For now.”

Ravenna frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The documents are proof enough, but the seeds of gossip are hard to uproot once they’ve dug in, and you know the kind of battle I’m facing.”

He gave a small shrug. Most of the lords had agreed, but there were some peers whose sentiments would not let them accept the evidence right in front of their faces. Even with solid proof signed by the former duke, he’d earned the majority of support by a hair.

“Sometimes, I hate this place,” she murmured.

“It’s not just here, love. Intolerance is everywhere. People refute and fear what they do not know.”

“Will you step down then?” she asked, copper eyes meeting his. “Give up your seat in the House of Lords?”

“No. That seat is power, and I want to use it. Even one voice can make a difference. I’d rather not lose mine because people don’t want me there. Others might distance from me, and there’s inherent privilege in that, but I’m always going to be me.” He lifted a palm. “Brown, island-born, and proud of it. If I won’t fight for myself, who will?”

Her arms tightened around him. “I’ll never stop fighting for you, Courtland. I hope you know that.”

Choked by her fervent promise, he buried his face in her fragrant hair. How on earth did he get so lucky?

His duchess cupped his cheek, coppery eyes glinting with so much love that it almost undid him. “I can feel your mind whirling like a child’s top, Duke. What are you thinking in that head of yours?”

“How lucky I was to catch you cheating.”

Eyes full of mischief, she gave an indignant huff. “Alleged cheating. I will have you know, there was never any evidence of such charges, sir. Thinking the crime is not doing the crime.”

“So you admit you did think of it?”

“For a hot minute,” she said.

He gathered her in his arms. “You still lost fair and square.”

“I did not!” She blinked. “Wait, what did you have?”

“A natural.”

Ravenna stared at him. “You have no proof of your terribly baseless claims, my lord duke.”

Smugly, Courtland reached for the queen of diamonds and the ace of hearts resting in his breast pocket and waved it in front of her face. “This evidence?”

“You had those cards in your pocket all along?”

He nodded sagely. “A wise man keeps his enemies close.”

She couldn’t help it. She burst into peals of laughter. With a devious glint in her eyes, Ravenna’s hand drifted down to the bulging front of his trousers. “What about lovers?”

“He keeps them even closer,” he said on a shallow groan when she gripped him through the fabric. “Sometimes in his lair, tied to his bed, preferably without clothes.”

Copper eyes blew wide with desire. “Is that a fact?”

“A promise.”

Her answering gaze was so sultry, it was a wonder they both didn’t combust then and there. “Then why are we still here in the foyer, Duke?”

Courtland scooped his smart-mouthed, intelligent, and supremely fierce duchess into his arms with a devilish grin of his own. He would give her everything she desired, everything she deserved. To the unabashed delight of their proper London staff, he ferried his duchess up the stairs to his bedchamber like the precious treasure she was. “I love you, my duchess.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

“That is not possible,” he said, halting on the threshold.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, argumentative and contentious to the last. “Then we shall have to agree to disagree.”

He kissed her nose. “Are we quarreling already?”

“I am about to win this argument because I have two words for you, Duke.” She rolled her eyes impertinently. “Sexual. Frustration.”

His blood ran licentiously hot.

It was a wonder they made it into that room at all.