The duke regarded him shrewdly. “Lord Hampden once told me that he’d accept nothing less than a royal duke for his brilliant daughter. But royal dukes are so thin on the ground these days. I do believe he’d settle for a mere marquis. However disreputable.” The green eyes twinkled. “Provided the marquis loved his daughter, of course.”
Raven met the old man’s gaze squarely. “I have no plans to marry, Your Grace.”
The old man rose stiffly to his feet and made his way to the door. “Don’t be as great a fool as I was, William.”
Raven closed his eyes as the door clicked shut. He and his grandfather were so alike, much as it galled him to admit it. He’d sworn never to feel sympathy, compassion, or understanding for the old man. But Heloise’s damned altruism must have been rubbing off on him. His grandfather was only human. He’d made a mistake, just as Raven had.
A knock at the door interrupted such dangerously merciful thoughts. Manvers, Raven’s inscrutable valet, entered with his customary lack of fuss.
“I have located that poem you requested, my lord. It took a little time, but I have it here.” He handed Raven a slim leather-bound volume.
“Thank you, Manvers. That will be all.”
Raven settled himself more comfortably against the pillows and inspected the cover. It was a collection of poems by the Civil War poet and soldier Richard Lovelace. He flicked to the page marked with a ribbon. Ah, there it was. He’d recalled snatches of this damn poem the entire time he’d been imprisoned. It was entitled, aptly enough, “To Althea, from Prison.” He read the last stanza. The poem had been written nearly two hundred years ago, but the poet’s thoughts had mirrored his own exactly.
Stone Walls do not a Prison make,
Nor Iron bars a Cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage.
If I have freedom in my Love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such Liberty.
Raven gazed at the printed lines until they blurred before his eyes and the truth hit him with the force of a blow. Loving Heloise wasn’t bondage. Loving her was freedom.
The blood rushed in his ears. He’d always left women before they had the chance to leave him, before he became attached to them. It avoided the risk of being hurt, or disappointed, as he’d been with his grandfather. The idea of permanence, of being tied down to one place and one person was utterly terrifying. But if that person was Heloise, and the place was by her side? That was another matter entirely.
He’d been such a coward, afraid to reach for her. Afraid to willingly accept the ties of love and give his heart over to her keeping. He shook his head. She was his. No other man would put his hands on her. He’d been her first, dammit. He was going to be her last. Heronly.
The rightness of that sank deep into his bones and Raven let out a choked laugh. He wasn’t good enough for her, but God, people in life never got what they deserved, did they? Sinners won the lottery, and good, kind men like Tony died young.
Heloise was stubborn, infuriating, and altogether too provocative for his peace of mind. Damned if he was going to let her makesomeone else’slife miserable.
His grandfather was right. She deserved to be a wife of a marquis, not a disreputable smuggler spy. He’d accused her of cowardice for shutting herself away with her translations and codes, but wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing, too? He’d used his drive for justice as an excuse for never staying in one place too long, a way of avoiding roots and responsibilities. To reject his father’s titles and position was an insult to the memory of his parents, an insult to everything he could be.
He felt the weight of it all then, the responsibilities of his position, and realized with a start of surprise that hewantedthose claims upon his heart. Heloise was his anchor, the kite string that kept him tethered. He shook his head again. Perhaps that bullet really had disordered his brain. Who’d have thought he’d ever choose bonds? But for her? Anything. He’d dedicate the rest of his life to trying to be worthy of her.
He sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his thigh, and rang the bell. Manvers appeared almost immediately.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I need paper, pen, and ink. And tell my grandfather to stay. He’s going to help me host a ball. In two weeks’ time.”
Manvers’s inscrutable expression showed no hint of what was undoubtedly his inner turmoil at hearing such news. “Another ball, my lord? So soon after the last?”
Raven smiled at the subtle reprimand. “Not a masked ball this time, Manvers. This will be an entirely more sedate affair.”
Manvers bowed, his patrician features softening ever so slightly. “I am relieved to hear it, my lord. It shall be done.”
Chapter 43