Page 7 of Secrets of the Highwayman (Immortal Warriors #2)

T hey were standing outside the room where the guests were dancing. Melanie had always imagined dancing in the nineteenth century to be elegant and restrained, but there was little restraint here. Couples galloped around the room whooping and laughing, and the air was strong with the smells of alcohol, scent, and sweat.

It brought home to her that these were real people, not cardboard cutouts in a television drama.

A short while ago she had stood in this room, staring out of the windows at St. Anne’s Hill, and there had been nothing but empty, dusty silence. Now the windows were framed by bunches of green ivy and mistletoe with white berries, and dozens of candles were reflected in the glass. She wanted to cover her eyes with her hands and hide, like a child.

The guests could see Nathaniel, just as his sister had seen him, and he bowed his way elegantly through the crowd gathered around the space that had been cleared for the dancers. Melanie eyed him curiously, taking in his dark blue jacket, white waistcoat, and tight beige trousers. Several women, who—in Melanie’s opinion— should have known better, giggled and fluttered their lashes, saying things like, “Oh, Mr. Raven, you are looking much better, I was so sorry to hear of your injuries,” and, “Oh, Mr. Raven, I hope you will call upon us soon, I do so want to hear all about your adventures in Spain,” and, “Oh, Mr. Raven, Major Pengorren has been telling us how brave you were.”

“Mr. Raven, Mr. Raven, Mr. Raven,” Melanie muttered, as she trailed in his wake, growing increasingly irritated. No one looked at her; no one saw her. She was like a shadow. She didn’t realize she was dragging her feet until a sharp tug on her hand brought her up hard against his back.

“Oomph!” her breath huffed out.

Despite his lean elegance, he was all hard muscle.

“Do you mind?” she hissed, pulling away, and becoming entangled in a some swaths of ribbons by the windows.

He frowned at her and laid one long finger carefully against her lips. “You must listen,” he told her, staring intently into her eyes. His voice deep and smooth, like warm, melted chocolate.

Melanie didn’t trust him or the way he drew that finger away, turning it into a caress.

But there wasn’t time to take him up on it.

The dancers had stopped dancing. Everyone was looking toward the dais, where a man and a woman stood at the front of the small orchestra. The man was tall and fair and very handsome. Melanie blinked. More than just handsome—he was the handsomest man she had ever seen—and instinctively she understood that this was the man the curly-haired servant girl had been speaking of earlier.

It was strange, but the longer Melanie stared at him, the more his presence affected her. Almost as if she were being dazzled by the sight of him—dazzled in a way that was unnerving and definitely unwelcome.

She shivered. “Who is that? ”

“Major Hew Pengorren,” Nathaniel Raven spoke quietly at her side. He didn’t need to ask whom she meant.

Her client’s ancestor, the progenitor of the Pengorren line, and Nathaniel’s commanding officer. The blond god was wearing a red uniform jacket and white trousers, with a dress sword strapped to his side. Irresistibly, her eyes were drawn back to his face, the golden beauty of it. She felt a little light-headed, starstruck in a way she’d never felt before, not even in her teenage years, when she and Suzie had gone to rock concerts and screamed themselves hoarse.

“It was bliss,” Suzie used to say, eyes closed, lying on her bed with a silly grin on her face.

This wasn’t bliss. This wasn’t a nice feeling at all. There was something horrible and squirmy about Major Pengorren.

With a supreme effort, she reached up and rubbed her eyes, and almost immediately the feeling was gone. If she couldn’t see him, then she was okay.

Again Nathaniel’s voice murmured in her ear, and she tried to pay attention, glad of the distraction. “Pengorren tells everyone I am a hero and plays down his own actions, but everyone knows it is he who is the real hero. He’s a gallant and brave officer, and he is at Ravenswood because I invited him. Miss Jones, he is my friend.”

There was emotion in his voice, but what was it? Something out of place. Something that jarred in the context of the words he had spoken. She didn’t have time to figure it out, because Major Pengorren began to speak, and Melanie made the mistake of looking at him.

Again the bedazzlement swept over her, but now that she was aware of it, she was able to hold back a little, observe her feelings more coolly and scientifically. She glanced at the faces of the crowd and realized they were feeling just as spellbound as she. Pengorren was having that effect on everybody in the room.

“Friends!” he boomed, his voice deep and hearty and sincere, like a politician on election day. “Tonight is the most marvelous night of my life, and I wish to share it with you all. Felicity and I...” And he turned fondly to the woman at his side. She was in her late forties, slight, with a face that was pretty but tired—the shadows under her eyes matched her high-waisted black dress. She also wore a besotted smile.

“Dearest Felicity and I are to be wed!”

There was a hush, as if the audience didn’t quite know how to respond, and then everyone hurried to cover the gaff with extra loud congratulations and applause.

Melanie leaned toward Nathaniel, and whispered, “Isn’t she a bit old? She must have at least fifteen years on him. A man like that could have anyone, couldn’t he?”

Nathaniel leaned back toward her, and the warmth of his breath against her ear made her want to shiver. “You’re talking about my mother, Miss Jones.”

“Your mother?”

“Felicity Raven is my mother.”

“Oh ... you said your father was . . . ?”

“Dead. A tragic riding accident eight weeks ago.”

That explained the black dress then. But eight weeks . . . it was surely too soon to fall in love with another man? Although the look on Felicity’s face seemed to suggest that this was exactly what she had done.

There was a rustle of clothing, a murmur of voices, and the crowd gave way as Sophie, Nathaniel’s sister, rushed into the room, pushing her way toward the dais. Melanie recognized the dark head upon the long, elegant neck, and the pale blue dress made of a cloth so thin it was a wonder she didn’t freeze to death.

“You are marrying her ?” Sophie’s voice was shrill, and she was looking at the major. She turned to her mother. “What does this mean?”

Felicity’s face had blanched. “Sophie,” she said, helplessly, with a beseeching glance at her handsome companion. “I know your father hasn’t been gone for very long—”

“Eight weeks!”

“—But the major has been so very good to us, and he is Nathaniel’s dear friend, our dear friend . . .”

Sophie burst into noisy tears.

Melanie could hear the whispers, the shuffling, as the guests bobbed and strained to see what was going on. There was an air of shock, but also a feeling of unwholesome anticipation.

Pengorren was patting Felicity’s arm and at the same time murmuring compassionately into Sophie’s ear. Her sobs quieted and she nodded. Relieved, Felicity sighed and drew her daughter into her embrace.

“I miss your father, too,” she said, her eyes sparkling with tears, “but life must go on.”

It sounded like a line someone had fed her, but Melanie was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. And Sophie was obviously upset . . . Just then Sophie peeped over Felicity’s shoulder at the major, and Melanie saw the expression on her face. No grief there, none at all, just pure, undiluted lust. Sophie wanted Pengorren for herself. That was the real reason she was crying.

And Pengorren knew it.

Even as he made the right noises and pulled the right faces, there was an answering gleam in his eyes as he looked at Sophie. Melanie’s heart gave a sickening jolt. He was enjoying himself, playing the two women off against each other. It was a turn-on for him.

“What an egomaniac,” Melanie said in disgust.

Nathaniel gave a startled crack of laughter.

The major looked up.

The dais was high enough so that he could see over the heads of the guests to the back of the room, where Melanie stood. As his gaze swept past her, she stepped back, instinctively, pressing herself against the window. His eyes narrowed. His brow wrinkled. Slowly, his gaze slid back toward her.

Cold fear trickled through her. “I thought you said I was invisible?” she hissed.

“You are,” Nathaniel said slowly, thoughtfully.

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Melanie didn’t want to take her own eyes off Pengorren, in case . . . well, just in case. She moved a step closer to Nathaniel.

“Nathaniel!” Pengorren was beckoning him. “What are you doing over there? Come and congratulate your mother and me!”

“Congratulations,” Nathaniel said under his breath, but he didn’t move.

Someone must have instructed the orchestra to begin playing again, for they struck up a slightly desperate jig, and the guests resumed their dancing. Major Pengorren was still staring in Melanie’s direction; but Felicity was urging him to join in, and a moment later he climbed down from the dais, and the crowd surged in.

Nathaniel reached for her hand and his fingers were a lot more comforting than she’d admit. “Come with me,” he said, but it was more like a command than a request.

Outside the room, the landing and the stairs were empty, and the entrance hall below was deserted. Everyone was in the ballroom where the action was, as Nathaniel led the way down. Melanie felt dazed, as if she’d been drinking. The floor tipped and shimmied beneath her feet, and she clung to the only thing that seemed solid and real: Nathaniel Raven.

The notion was so ironic that she actually giggled.

The Raven gave her his charming smile. Nothing appeared to bother him, apart from . . .

The humor drained out of her.

“How did Major Pengorren know I was there? He did know, didn’t he?”

Nathaniel looked up at her—they were near the bottom of the staircase, and she’d stopped a couple of steps above him. “I have no idea,” he admitted.

“He was so good-looking and yet . . .”

“And yet,” Nathaniel agreed, and that strange undercurrent was in his voice again.

“Why did you bring me here to see that? Why did you make me listen?”

“So that you could know my enemy.” He wasn’t smiling now.

“Pengorren? Why do I need to know him, Nathaniel? What is it to do with me?”

His eyes were more gold than hazel, and there was something very compelling about them. About him.

He leaned closer, further impressing his presence upon her. It was quite amazing, really—whereas Major Pengorren had made her feel cold and squirmy, Nathaniel Raven made her hot and squirmy. Although both, she told herself primly, were equally unwelcome.

“This is my last Yuletide Ball at Ravenswood. Soon it will be my turn to be laid in the ground, although the manner of my death means I won’t be allowed to join my family in the Raven crypt. My grave will lie outside the church boundary.”

“That’s all very sad, but I—”

“I have been given a chance to change history. To save myself and my family. To save Ravenswood.”

“That’s not possible!”

“It is. But to make it happen I have to find a way to defeat Major Pengorren,” he went on. “You saw what he’s like. Such evil can’t be allowed to triumph.”

Melanie blinked. What he was saying was so bizarre she wanted to reject it out of hand, but she couldn’t. She’d seen for herself. That was why, she realized, she’d been forced to come, so that she had no choice but to believe.

“You must help me. The queen says you’re the only one who can.”

But Melanie knew her limitations. She was a solicitor. She made lists. She didn’t battle evil.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gently but firmly. “It’s out of the question.”

***

W hat did he have to do to convince her? Nathaniel had never felt so frustrated with a woman. There was only one thing for it. The “better man” speech. It had always worked in the past. He assumed his most sincere face.

“Are you all right?” she said unhelpfully. “You look like you have a stomachache.”

“Melanie, I need your help to succeed. Perhaps I’m not worthy of that help, yet, but I am trying. I want you to teach me to be a better man. Must I beg?” he finished, letting his voice drop into a heart-wrenching whisper.

Ah, he had her now! She was gazing up at him with her big blue eyes, no doubt dreaming of turning him into her tame pussycat. He should have remembered before that women liked to believe they alone had the power to change men. And the more badly behaved the man, the more the challenge, and the better they liked it.

Melanie took a breath and let it out slowly. “If you want to be a better man, then I suggest you go and join the Red Cross, or Amnesty International, or the Lost Dogs’ Home. Don’t ask me to do it; believe me, we’d both end up in tears.”

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. He’d been too optimistic. Melanie Jones was not like other women, so none of the usual tactics would work on her. What in God’s name was he meant to do?

“We have to work together,” he cried in frustration. “We have no choice.”

“No,” she said baldly. And then, jabbing her finger into his chest, “Under no circumstances whatsoever.”

She spun around and walked away.