“Did the Raven frighten you?” he interrupted. “Yes, he did. Very much so.”
“Then know this, Esme: That man’s blood, the very man you fear, runs through my veins. He is my uncle.”
CHAPTER 16
You are the Raven’s nephew?” Esme asked, certain she must have misheard him.
“I am,” he answered, his voice clear and slightly defiant.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this before now.” Their carriage had stopped, but she remained in her seat. She thought she saw a flicker of regret pass over his face, but he made no verbal apologies.
“Go check on your aunt. We can talk about this later.” Exhaustion lay heavy in his voice.
Once inside the marquess’s home, Esme climbed the stairs as quickly as she could, making her way to Thea’s room. Although Esme knew the older woman was probably sleeping, she didn’t bother keeping quiet as she flung open the bedchamber door. The thought of the Raven and his charming demeanor cornering her poor unsuspecting aunt had Esme’s veins running with ice water.
Her cat perked up as she entered the room, but Thea’s soft snores kept their steady rhythm. The older woman’s eyes were covered with a sleeping mask, and she had one leg kicked out from beneath the heavy covers.
Seeing her aunt resting so peacefully, Esme resisted the urge to wake her, to ask about her visits to the library. Her questions could wait for the morning.
Quietly, she sneaked into her own adjoining room. She poured tepid water into the basin and scrubbed at her face. There were so many offenses she wished to remove from her person. With the sponge she washed her arms too, noting a flicker of pain as she passed over the bruise blooming on her wrist.
Certainly Fielding owed her some explanation. Or perhaps he didn’t. They were nothing to each other outside this Pandora’s box business, she reminded herself. She was not his lover or even his friend, not truly, though she had thought they were developing a friendship of sorts.
Whether or not he was related to the Raven honestly meant nothing to her. She knew what it was to share blood with those who were different from you, those who didn’t understand you. It seemed blood was the only thing she’d had in common with her own mother.
No, what she wanted to know more than anything was why he’d told her in the way he had. As if he’d intended to frighten her, as if he wanted her to be afraid of him. Perhaps this was what he’d been trying to protect her from. But she’d felt Fielding’s touch enough to know there was nothing to fear. He was far too tender, too gentle.
Even tonight, as he’d kissed her in the carriage, told her how much he’d wanted her, he’d stopped himself so as not to hurt her. Feeling a sudden undeniable urge to see him, Esme slipped out of her bedchamber and went in search of him. He was not to be found anywhere downstairs, so she made her way to his room.
One knock and he opened the door. He’d removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt. Although the white folds gaped open, it still was tucked firmly into his trousers. His naked chest revealed dark hair covering a taut and muscular abdomen.
Now was not the time to succumb to the curse. She wanted information right now. But not more than she wanted to run her hand down that tightly corded stomach of his. She closed her eyes.
“Come in, Esme. I’ll tell you what you want to know.” He poured them both brandies, and she took a seat in the plush wingback in the corner. He took a seat next to her.
“How is Thea?” he asked.
“Sleeping soundly. I worry about her, though.” She waved a hand in front of her. “That isn’t why I’m here.”
He nodded.
“The truth,” she reminded him.
He took a healthy swallow of his own brandy, then leaned back in his chair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossing at the ankles. She’d never fancied a man’s legs before, but she knew how strong his were, how firm they felt beneath her.
“My father was a member of Solomon’s,” he began.
She’d always detected a slight resentment in his tone when he spoke of Solomon’s, so it wasn’t a surprise to hear this revelation. Immediately she wanted to ask questions, but she knew she shouldn’t rush him. Interrupting him might cause him to neglect a detail, and she wanted every detail.
“My sister and mother and I were used to traveling around with my father while he chased after his treasure. The Templar’s Treasure, you might want to know.”
“The legendary gold the knights supposedly hid after returning from the Crusades,” she said.
“Correct. It was like a game when we were children. Digging in the dirt and going on adventures. But then we got older.” A dark shadow crossed his face. “We settled at our estate in the country, and I was sent away to school. My sister and mother were left behind while my father continued his obsession.”
He drained his brandy, then leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “In addition to his absence, my father proceeded to whittle away the family fortune while chasing that damned treasure.”
Still nothing about his uncle, but she bit her tongue. “Of course, none of us knew this until he got himself killed. He was digging in some cave up north by Hadrian’s Wall, and there was a cave-in.” He bit down on his lip. “Then the creditors started paying calls, sending notices. He’d lost everything. Our estates, my sister’s dowry. All of it.” He met her eyes then and gave her a wry smile. “I was seventeen. I quit school and went to work for my uncle.