Ecstasy (Notorious 4)

“I also brought you a robe. I believe I am taller than you are, but my clothing will do in a pinch.” Emma glanced down at Raven’s body. “You should permit me to launder your shift.”

Raven flinched as she recalled what had happened to her beautiful wedding gown. Sean Kendrick had cut it off her while she’d struggled with all her might against him and her bonds. And he had ripped her necklace away-

Her hand went to her throat. “My mother’s pearls!”

“Don’t be alarmed. I have them safe. The clasp is broken but I think it can be repaired.”

To her dismay, Raven felt her eyes suddenly burn with tears, and it was all she could do to swallow them.

Giving a sympathetic smile, Emma squeezed her hand. “You will feel better after you refresh yourself. You’ll find a chamber pot beneath the washstand and warm water in the pitcher. But I expect you will want a bath. I’ll order it for you at once. And I will find you a day gown to wear.”

With an appreciative nod, Raven forced herself to sit up. “I am not normally so helpless.”

“Of course not. But you have been through an ordeal that would have most young ladies expiring from shock.”

She managed a weak smile. “I still might expire from shock.”

Emma’s gentle laughter was warm. “Well, I’m certain Kell will do what he can to help you and make things right.”

Raven groaned inwardly. She couldn’t possibly face him. Not after what had occurred between them last night. Apparently he’d been her savior, and yet he had taken advantage of her helpless state-the cad.

When she realized that Emma was holding out the wrapper for her, Raven drew off her shift and slipped on the blue brocade garment, murmuring her thanks.

“You needn’t thank me,” Emma replied. “Kell instructed me to see to your needs. He wishes to speak to you when you feel up to it.”

But I don’t wish to speak to him, Raven reflected silently.

When she was alone, she slowly got out of bed. She felt shaky, the remnants of the drug she’d been given still in her body, while a tight, cold knot of panic had settled in her stomach at the thought of her future. She was facing disaster-

Refusing to consider her dire state, she managed her ablutions, then sat in the chair before the hearth and made herself nibble at the breakfast Emma had brought her.

She indeed felt a little better when she’d swallowed a few bites of toast and a soft-boiled egg, but nothing could mute the chaotic pounding of her thoughts. The very act of eating reminded her of the man who had succored her last night, of his tenderness. He had given her lemon-flavored water to cool her parched throat, she remembered. And he had bathed her feverish body over and over…

Raven groaned again at the tormenting memory.

Just then a quiet rap sounded on the bedchamber door behind her. With a start, she glanced over her shoulder, dreading having to respond. Before she could decide whether or not to bid entrance, the door opened and a man stepped inside the room.

Sweet heaven, she hadn’t dreamed him. He was tall and athletically built, with ebony hair that was thick and curling. A lock fell carelessly over his strong brow, calling attention to his harshly sculpted features and a mouth that was alarmingly sensual. Yet it was his gaze that disturbed her most. Those intense black eyes fringed by dark lashes were startlingly familiar.

Raven stared. The resemblance to her imaginary lover was uncanny…

Still there were differences. A scar slashed across this man’s left cheekbone, making him look more dangerous than her pirate lover ever had in her dreams. And there was no tenderness in the chiseled features of his face.

He shut the door behind him and leaned one shoulder negligently against it, surveying her with a cool, raking glance.

Raven felt herself flush as she saw him take stock of her attire. He must know she was naked beneath her wrapper.

She came to her feet and faced him, clutching the edges of her robe to her throat defensively. Her lover had never made her feel threatened, either.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, instinctively lashing out, believing anger was better than vulnerability.

“I believe this is my bedchamber.” His reply held an edge of wryness.

“A gentleman would not intrude on a lady this way.”

Her belligerence sent one jet black brow winging upward. “That presumes I am a gentleman.”

He spoke like one, certainly. The timbre of his voice was low and cultured, that same voice that had consoled and cajoled her all night long. He was dressed informally, however, wearing a brown superfine waistcoat over a white shirt and buff buckskin breeches and boots, with no coat or cravat.