Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

After considering the idea of missing dinner for the second night in a row, Kathleen decided in a spirit of defiance to join the family in the dining room. It was Devon’s last evening at Eversby Priory, and she could force herself to endure an hour and a half of sitting at the same table with him. Devon insisted on seating her, his face inscrutable, and she thanked him with a few clipped words. But even with that civilized distance between them, she was in an agony of nerves and anger… most of it directed at herself.

Those kisses… the impossible, terrible pleasure of them… how could he have done that to her? How could she have responded so wantonly? The fault was more hers than Devon’s. He was a London rake; of course he would make advances to her, or to any woman in his proximity. She should have resisted, slapped him, but instead she had stood there and let him… let him…

She couldn’t find the right words for what he had done. He had shown her a side of herself that she had never known existed. She had been raised to believe that lust was a sin, and she had self-righteously considered herself to be above carnal desire… until Devon had proven otherwise. Oh, the shocking heat of his tongue against hers, and the shivery weakness that had made her want to sink to the floor and have him cover her… She could have wept for shame.

Instead, she could only sit there suffocating while the conversation flowed around her. It was a pity she couldn’t enjoy the meal, a succulent partridge pie served with fried oyster patties and a crisp salted salad of celery, radishes, and cucumber. As she forced herself to take a few bites, every mouthful seemed to stick in her throat.

As talk turned to the subject of the approaching holiday, Cassandra asked Devon if he planned to come to Eversby Priory for Christmas.

“Would that please you?” Devon asked.

“Oh, yes!”

“Will you bring presents?” Pandora asked.

“Pandora,” Kathleen chided.

Devon grinned. “What would you like?” he asked the twins.

“Anything from Winterborne’s,” Pandora exclaimed.

“I want people for Christmas,” Cassandra said wistfully. “Pandora, do you remember the Christmas balls that Mama gave when we were little? All the ladies in their finery, and the gentlemen in formal attire… the music and dancing…”

“And the feasting…” Pandora added. “Puddings, cakes, mince pies…”

“Next year we’ll make merry again,” Helen said gently, smiling at the pair of them. She turned to West. “How do you usually celebrate Christmas, cousin?”

He hesitated before replying, seeming to ponder whether to answer truthfully. Honesty won out. “On Christmas Day I visit friends in a parasitical fashion, going from house to house and drinking until I finally fall unconscious in someone’s parlor. Then someone pours me into a carriage and sends me home, and my servants put me to bed.”

“That doesn’t sound very merry,” Cassandra said.

“Beginning this year,” Devon said, “I intend for us all to do the holiday justice. In fact, I’ve invited a friend to share Christmas with us at Eversby Priory.”

The table fell silent, everyone staring at him in collective surprise.

“Who?” Kathleen asked suspiciously. For his sake, she hoped it wasn’t one of those railway men plotting to destroy tenant farms.

“Mr. Winterborne himself.”

Amid the girls’ gasping and squealing, Kathleen scowled at Devon. Damn him, he knew it wasn’t right to invite a stranger to a house of mourning. “The owner of a department store?” she asked. “No doubt accompanied by a crowd of fashionable friends and hangers-on? My lord, surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re all in mourning!”

“How could I?” he parried with a pointed glance that incensed her. “Winterborne will come alone, as a matter of fact. I doubt it will burden my household unduly to set one extra place at the table on Christmas Eve.”

“A gentleman of Mr. Winterborne’s influence must already have a thousand invitations for the holiday. Why must he come here?”

Devon’s eyes glinted with enjoyment at her barely contained fury. “Winterborne is a private man. I suppose the idea of a quiet holiday in the country appeals to him. For his sake, I would like to have a proper Christmas feast. And perhaps a few carols could be sung.”

The girls chimed in at once.

“Oh, do say yes, Kathleen!”

“That would be splendicious!”

Even Helen murmured something to the effect that she couldn’t see how it would do any harm.

“Why stop there?” Kathleen asked sarcastically, giving Devon a look of open animosity. “Why not have musicians and dancing, and a great tall tree lit with candles?”

“What excellent suggestions,” came Devon’s silky reply. “Yes, let’s have all of that.”

Infuriated to the point of speechlessness, Kathleen glared at him while Helen discreetly pried the butter knife from her clenched fingers.

Chapter 14

December swept over Hampshire, bringing chilling breezes and whitening the trees and hedgerows with frost. In the household’s general enthusiasm for the approaching holiday, Kathleen soon gave up any hope of curtailing the celebrations. She found herself surrendering by degrees. First she consented to let the servants plan their own party on Christmas Eve, and then she agreed to allow a large fir tree in the entrance hall.

And then West asked if the festivities could be expanded even more.

He found Kathleen in the study, laboring over correspondence. “May I interrupt you for a few moments?”

“Of course.” She gestured to a chair near her writing desk, and set the pen in its holder. Noticing the deliberately bland expression on his face, she asked, “What scheme are you hatching?”

He blinked in surprise. “How do you know there’s a scheme?”

“Whenever you try to look innocent, it’s obvious you’re up to something.”

West grinned. “The girls wouldn’t dare approach you about it, but I told them I would, since it’s been established that I can outrun you when necessary.” He paused. “It seems that Lord and Lady Trenear used to invite all the tenant families and some local tradesmen to a party on Christmas Eve —”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yes, that was my first reaction. However…” He gave her a patient, cajoling glance. “Encouraging a spirit of community would benefit everyone on the estate.” He paused. “It’s not that different from the charitable visits you pay to those families individually.”