Later that night, as Anna got ready for sleep, she couldn’t stop imagining Lord Swartingham in Aphrodite’s Grotto as Pearl had described it. The earl being sighted and chosen by some daring woman of the aristocracy. The earl spending the night in a masked lady’s arms. The thoughts made her chest hurt even as she fell asleep.
And then she was in Aphrodite’s Grotto.
She wore a mask and searched for the earl. Men of every description, old, young, fair, and ugly, hundreds of men, filled a hall to overflowing. Frantically, she pushed through the mass, hunting for a singular pair of black, gleaming eyes, becoming more desperate the longer her search took. Finally, she saw him across the room, and she started running toward him. But as is the way with such nightmares, the faster she tried to run, the slower she went. Each step seemed to take an eternity. As she struggled, she saw another masked woman beckon to him. Without ever having seen her, he turned away and followed the other woman from the room.
Anna awoke in the dark, her heart pounding and her skin chilled. She lay absolutely still, remembering the dream and listening to her own roughened breathing.
It was some time before she realized she was weeping.
Chapter Seven
The huge raven flew with his new wife on his back for two days and two nights until on the third day, they came to fields golden with ripened grain.
“Who owns these fields?” Aurea asked, looking down from her perch.
“Your husband,” the raven replied.
They came to an endless meadow filled with fat cattle, their hides shining in the sun.
“Who owns these cattle?” Aurea asked.
“Your husband,” the raven replied.
Then a vast emerald forest spread below, rolling over hills as far as the eye could see.
“Who owns this forest?” Aurea asked.
“Your husband!” the raven cawed….
—from The Raven Prince
Anna walked to Ravenhill the next morning feeling tired and low after a restless night. She paused for a moment to admire the sea of bluebells blooming under the trees that lined the drive. The azure dots sparkled in the sunlight, like newly minted coins. Usually the sight of any flower brought a lightness to her heart, but today they did not. She sighed and continued her journey until she rounded a curve and stopped short. Lord Swartingham, striding briskly in his habitual mud-spattered boots, was coming from the stables and hadn’t caught sight of her yet.
He gave a terrific bellow. “DOG!”
For the first time that day, Anna smiled. Evidently the earl couldn’t find the ever-present canine and was reduced to roaring its common name.
She strolled toward him. “I don’t see why he should respond to that.”
Lord Swartingham swung around at the sound of her voice. “I believe that I gave the job of naming the mongrel to you, Mrs. Wren.”
Anna opened her eyes wide. “I did offer three different options, my lord.”
“And all of them were out of the question, as you well know.” He smiled evilly. “I think I’ve given you quite enough time to come up with a name. You shall produce one now.”
She was amused by his obvious intention to put her on the spot. “Stripe?”
“Too juvenile.”
“Tiberius?”
“Too imperial.”
“Othello?”
“Too murderous.” Lord Swartingham folded his arms across his chest. “Come, come, Mrs. Wren. A woman of your wit can do better than this.”
“How about ‘Jock,’ then?”
“That won’t do.”
“Why not?” Anna retorted saucily. “I like the name Jock.”
“Jock.” The earl seemed to roll the name on his tongue.
“I wager the dog will come if I call him by that name.”
“Ha.” He stared down his nose in the superior manner of males the world over when dealing with silly females. “You are welcome to try.”
“Very well, I shall.” She tilted her chin. “And if he comes, you must show me around the Abbey’s gardens.”
Lord Swartingham raised his eyebrows. “And if he doesn’t come?”
“I don’t know.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Name your prize.”
He pursed his lips and contemplated the ground at his feet. “I believe it is traditional in wagers between a woman and a man for the gentleman to ask for a favor from the lady.”
Anna drew in a breath and then had trouble releasing it.
The earl’s black eyes glittered at her from beneath his brows. “Perhaps a kiss?”
Oh, dear. Possibly she had been precipitous. Anna let out her breath in a puff and straightened her shoulders. “Very well.”
He waved a languid hand. “Proceed.”
Anna cleared her throat. “Jock!”
Nothing.
“Jock!”
Lord Swartingham began to smirk.
Anna drew a deep breath and let loose a most unladylike shriek. “JOCK!”
They both listened for the dog. Nothing.
The earl slowly pivoted to face her, the crunching of his boots in the gravel drive loud in the stillness. They stood only a few feet distant. He took a step, his beautiful, heavy-lidded eyes intent on her face.
Anna could feel the blood pounding in her chest. She licked her lips.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his nostrils flared. He took another step, and they were now only a foot apart. As if in a dream, she saw his hands rise and grip her arms, felt the pressure of his big fingers through her mantle and gown.
Anna began to tremble.
He bent his dark head toward hers, and his warm breath caressed her lips. She closed her eyes.
And heard the dog clatter into the yard.
Anna opened her eyes. Lord Swartingham was frozen. Slowly, he turned his head, still only inches from hers, to stare at the canine. The dog grinned back, tongue hanging from his mouth, panting.
“Shit,” the earl breathed.
Quite, Anna thought.
He let go of her suddenly, stepped away, and turned his back. He ran both hands through his hair and shook his shoulders. She heard him take a deep breath, but his voice was still husky when he spoke. “It appears you have won the wager.”
“Yes, my lord.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently nonchalant, as if she was used to having gentlemen nearly kiss her in their driveways. As if she wasn’t having trouble catching her breath. As if she didn’t desperately wish the dog had stayed far, far away.
“I’ll be pleased to show you the gardens,” the earl muttered, “such as they are, after luncheon. Perhaps you can work in the library until then?”