“You’re like the moon. It has craters and scars and shadows. But only an idiot would deny that it’s beautiful.”
Heloise swayed toward him and he forced himself to step back, gesturing to the caravan steps. “Up you go.”
Her brows lowered in confusion. “Aren’t you coming in? Elvira says there’s going to be a storm.”
He glanced up at the sky then back at her. Going inside would be a very bad idea. “No.”
A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. “It’s going to rain,” she said. “You’ll get soaked if you stay out here.”
“I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”
A crack of thunder sounded right above them. It rumbled around the mountains and Raven felt the splash of the first fat raindrops with a certain inevitability. Slow at first, then faster, a persistent hiss as they hit the leaves and grass around him. The camp emptied, people scrambling for cover.
Her silhouette shadowed his face. “Come in here. Don’t be a stubborn ass. You’ll be no good to Kit if you catch a fever and die.”
Raven ground his teeth and mounted the first two steps. The rain was coming down in earnest now, soaking his hair, his shoulders. It drummed on the wood of the caravan, an insistent beat that mirrored the pulse in his temples. Heloise just stood there. She was trying to drive him mad.
She half turned, thinking he was about to follow, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in surprise, and he cursed himself for a fool.To hell with it.
With a single tug, he pulled her out into the downpour. She gave a startled yelp but he caught her in his arms and spun her down to the ground. “Here’s one more to cross off that infernal list of yours,” he growled. “A kiss in the rain.”
He caught her chin, tilted her head, and kissed her full on the mouth, drowning in anger and frustration, passion and despair. He kissed her just long enough to get light-headed, just long enough for the heat and the desperation to build. And then he shoved her up the steps. “Now bloody well go to sleep.”
This time, thank God, she got the message.
The door slammed shut in his face.
Chapter 34
Raven settled himself beneath the trees and tried to get more comfortable.
The walls of her caravan were too damn thin. Despite the patter of the rain he was sure he could hear her undressing. His mind, of course, put an image to every rustle and thump. The minutes passed. He heard the splash of water, the sound of bare feet on wood, the whisper of sheets across her body. Not even the bloody French had devised such torture.
He waited a good hour, until he was certain she was asleep, before he slipped into the caravan. The doorway was so low he had to duck his head, and once inside he could barely straighten up, but at least it was dry.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. She wore that damnable teal chemise again, little more than scraps of silk and lace, designed to entice rather than conceal. One thing you could say about the French, no matter how wrong-headed their politics, as a nation they were masters of producing undergarments that could drive a man to the brink of insanity.
He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, listened to her breathing, and lost all track of time. He could stay like this forever, watching her, guarding her. It was a total invasion of her privacy, just as reading her journal had been, but he didn’t care. He’d steal whatever moments he could to nourish his dark soul.
His eyes traced the delicate lines of her shoulder and collarbone. Awake, she was so feisty, so fierce, like a tiny force of nature. He kept forgetting how fragile she was. Each time he lifted her he was shocked at how little she weighed.
And yet she constantly surprised him with her resilience. He’d mocked her ability to survive, but she was as adept at self-preservation as he. She’d endured the barbs of the London ballrooms after her accident, avoided marriage as successfully as he’d avoided sniper’s bullets. She’d faced the challenges of traveling as an adventure rather than an ordeal.
His chest constricted. That bullet today had been too close for comfort. He’d hit the shooter, but there was no way of knowing whether it had been enough to put the bastard out of action.
Heloise stirred restlessly. Her forehead puckered as she turned her head and she muttered something incomprehensible.
He ought to leave. He had no business spying on her.
She flailed and kicked a leg out from underneath the blankets. The chemise pulled taut, baring the upper curve of one breast, and Raven swallowed. She needed rest, and all he could think about was putting his mouth on her skin.
Her eyelids flickered. And then she screamed.
“Tony!”
—
The ice cracked beneath her feet, hideous gray lines radiating out with every step she took. Heloise raced forward, her panicked breaths white puffs in the freezing air.