Page 6 of A Raven Reborn (The Raven’s Den #1)

Chapter Six

S leeping through the daytime hours and waking in the afternoon was going to take some getting used to for Rosalyn. In recent years, she’d been expected to rise before dawn. Her stepfather didn’t countenance laziness. At least, not from her.

Rosalyn stretched and climbed out of bed. Somehow, she missed Patrick. How was it possible to miss a man she hardly knew? She’d thoroughly enjoyed playing Battle with him and looked forward to continuing their game. A smile on her lips, she tied the sash of her cotton wrapper and opened the bedroom door. Not wanting to disturb Patrick if he was still sleeping, she instead headed for the kitchen. Funny how tea and toast were what she craved when she woke, even if it was late in the afternoon.

As she left the kitchen with sustenance in hand, she heard banging from Finch’s room. Once again, he was at the workbench with his back to the door, so engrossed in whatever he was doing, he had no idea she was watching. After a moment, she quietly cleared her throat. Finch only jumped slightly this time.

“Rosie!” he put down what he was working on and moved to greet her. “I didn’t realize you were up. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing.” She raised her toast and tea. “I just came to visit, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind!” He looked around somewhat frantically before pointing to his own chair, the only chair in the room. “Here, you can sit here.”

“I don’t need to sit, Finch.” She moved toward his workbench. “Can you show me what you’re working on?”

“Absolutely I can!” He beamed with excitement as he picked up his project and held it up for her. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on Ella’s necklace.”

Rosalyn was stunned. Delicate links of gold held together countless little emeralds. “Finch, that is beautiful!” She looked up to see pink suffuse his cheeks at the compliment. “Did you make this?”

He nodded. “That’s what I do in my spare time. I take pieces from Patrick’s shop that may not be very desirable and turn them into custom designs.”

“Wow. That is incredible.” She scooped the bottom of the necklace into her palm and raised it up for closer inspection. “You’re very talented, Finch!”

“Aw,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Thank you for saying so.”

Finch showed her several other pieces he was working on or had completed, each one as stunning as the last.

“Patrick is lucky to have you.”

“I keep telling him that,” Finch said, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I’m in need of a break. I’ll make myself some tea, and we can sit somewhere more comfortable and chat for a bit.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Perhaps he would tell her about Patrick.

Finch got himself some tea and a biscuit and led her back to Patrick’s bedroom, where they settled into the chairs.

“Tell me something about Patrick.”

“Well, although he won’t like me saying it, he has a very kind heart. He likes to grumble and curse, but beneath that is a warmth and generosity that you won’t often find.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise her, really. “Do you—” She paused, unsure of what exactly she was trying to ask. “Do you know what he plans for me? I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

Finch chuckled. “Well, I didn’t know what I was doing here when I first arrived either. I just never left.” He shrugged, a mischievous smile on his lips. “He hasn’t sacked me yet.”

Rosalyn laughed. “Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.”

Finch shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. We happened across one another at a time when we were both in need. I followed him home like a lost puppy and tried to make myself useful.”

Somehow Rosalyn doubted that was the whole story, but she didn’t press for more. “So, tell me about The Raven’s Den.”

“I don’t really know that much about it, if I’m honest. I’ve never been there.”

That seemed strange. “How long have you worked for Patrick?”

“Oh,” He let out a long sigh. “Many years now.”

“And you’ve never been to his club?”

“The patrons of his club aren’t people like me, Rosie. The people who come to his club have plenty of money. I know that much, at least.”

Rosalyn nodded. That made sense.

“I should probably get back to work.” Finch swallowed the last of his tea. “Ella will have my head if I don’t finish that necklace soon.”

* * *

For the first time ever, Patrick found himself longing to be at home more than at The Raven’s Den. His club was the only thing that gave him any purpose or meaning. Or, at least, it always had been. But suddenly, he had a reason to go home. Someone he longed to see, which seemed ridiculous. She shouldn’t even be there. She should be at Raven House, but he didn’t want her to go. Another day wouldn’t make any difference. As soon as the doors were locked up tight, he practically jogged the short distance to his flat, taking the stairs leading up to his door two at a time.

It was only a few minutes before she appeared in his doorway, an enchanting smile on her face. He felt indebted to whatever power had brought her into his life. She was funny, kind, beautiful, and an excellent cook. Perhaps he could just keep her on as his cook rather than delivering her to Raven House. It was a stupid thought, though. He was far too drawn to her for that. Probably too drawn to her for either of those options, but what was the alternative?

A short time later, she laid down the winning card.

“Have I won?” Excitement fairly vibrated from her as she perched on the edge of her seat and waited expectantly for his confirmation. At his nod, Rosie jumped to her feet, her hands shot into the air, and she twirled in a circle. Laughter floated up from Patrick’s chest.

How could such a small action bring him so much joy? How could she bring him so much joy?

“Apologies,” she said as she clasped her hands in front of her and lowered herself back into the chair. A wide grin still spread from ear to ear across her face. “I’ve never won anything before. I’m not sure of the appropriate response.”

“I believe that was the perfect response.” His heart began to warm, and warning bells sounded in his head. The only people he’d ever been able to laugh as much with were Michael and Ash. They certainly didn’t stir in him the desires that Rosie did, though. A need to wrap her in his arms and press his lips to hers. To feel her soft curves pressed against him.

Before his lustful thoughts turned into actions, it was time to send her to bed. With a reluctant sigh, he got to his feet. “This is probably a good time to turn in for the night. Thank you for a thoroughly entertaining game of Battle. Get some sleep, Rosie.”

Rosie simply shook her head. “You have done too much for me already,” she explained. “I’ll not sleep in your bed while you sleep,”—she stood and looked around his study—“wherever it is you sleep in here.”

“That one, if you must know.” He pointed to a large leather chair near the fireplace.

“Very well.” She walked over to the chair and sat in it.

Patrick chuckled. “What are you doing?”

Rosie leaned back into the corner of the chair and tucked her feet up underneath her. “I’m going to bed.”

Patrick let out a sigh. “No, Rosie, I will not have you sleeping in a chair. Now go.” This time he pointed toward the door to emphasize his command, but she still didn’t budge.

“But why?” She lifted her head to look at him. “If it’s good enough for his lordship, surely it’s good enough for me.”

Laughter erupted from him. It would seem she was quickly learning just how to ruffle his feathers. When he’d composed himself, he came around to stand in front of the chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Don’t make me carry you, Rosie.”

She burrowed more tightly into the corner of the chair. She was calling his bluff, but he wasn’t bluffing.

His lips curled in a leering grin. “Never bet against the owner of a gaming hell, Rosie. You will always lose.” He slid his arms beneath her knees and back and pulled her tightly against him. Fire seared through his shoulder, but he would endure it in exchange for her warm body against his. She gave a gasp of surprise as he strode for the door, but he simply chuckled and kept moving.

As he carried her down the hall, her smile quickly vanished and she became panic-stricken.

“I’m sorry,” she said desperately, her body stiffening in his arms. “I’ll go.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Patrick stopped in the middle of the hall, but rather than let her go, he squeezed her more tightly against him to keep her from tumbling onto the floor. “Stop, just stop,” he said, his voice rising with his own worry. “I’ll put you down, just hold still so I don’t drop you.”

Rosalyn stopped moving, and he set her gently on her feet. He held her shoulders and gazed down at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

She shook her head, but didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said softly. She raised her eyes then, to meet his. There was such a jumble of emotions there, he couldn’t read them. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Patrick.”

At least she had used his name. “Thank you.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For calling me Patrick.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “Goodnight, Rosie.” Using her shoulders, he turned her toward the door to his bedroom and nudged her lightly.

Halfway to Patrick’s chamber, she stopped and turned back. “You never told me about your shoulder.”

He chuckled. “You never asked.”

She started back toward him, but he shook his head and pointed. With a huff, she folded her arms across her chest and, head held high, strode the rest of the way down the hall.

A laugh bubbled up inside his chest. “Tomorrow, Rosie. You can ask tomorrow.”