Free St. Raven by Jo Beverley Page A

her.
    Time passed until another knock brought Harry, beaming as he carried in her valise.
    “Oh!” To Cressida it was almost as wonderful as having the jewels presented to her. “Harry, thank you!”
    “No thanks to me, miss. Mr. Lyne found it by the road and sent it back.”
    As soon as he’d left, Cressida opened it to find her silk shawl on top and—miracles!—her reticule beneath it. Crofton must have tossed it out with her bag. She might no longer need the emetic, but it felt like a weapon in her hands.
    She fingered through her gowns and underwear, delighted that Crofton no longer had them in his soiling possession. But then she stilled. He would have been furious. Might he try some revenge? Might he ruin her by telling the world she was seized by Le Corbeau?
    No, he couldn’t do that. He would have to explain her being with him. That would ruin her just as surely, but it would ruin him, too. Even the careless ton would shrink from such blackmail of a lady. If he turned his anger anywhere, it would be against the highwayman.
    But, she thought, closing the valise, if she went through with the plan, she would meet Crofton again tonight. She must make very sure she could not be recognized. The outrageous garments along with mask and veil should do that.
    She made herself settle again to the book, and enjoyed her vicarious journey to Arabia, broken only by Harry bearing a tray with some bread, fruit, cheese, and tea.
    She heard the distant clock sound four before her host returned with pale, filmy fabric in his hands. “I hope you haven’t been too bored, Miss Mandeville, but if you have, the adventure now begins.”
     
Chapter Six
     
    She leaped to her feet, mouth dry, heart speeding at St. Raven’s words.
    Or perhaps simply at his presence.
    “I haven’t been bored, Your Grace. I’ve been to Araby.”
    He dropped the material onto the table. “I thought it suitable. And it is fascinating.”
    “You’ve read it?”
    “Why else would I have it?”
    “Do you do business with the East?”
    His brows rose. “Trade, Miss Mandeville?”
    “There is nothing wrong with trade, Your Grace.”
    “Certainly not, but it does not fall within the province of a duke.”
    “Why not?”
    “The stability and prosperity of England lie in the land, Miss Mandeville. They always have and always will. It is my honor to serve that.”
    There was no unpleasantness in his voice, and yet she felt put in her middle-class place.
    “See what Cary found,” he said, picking up the filmy material he had brought, and separating the silk into two pieces. He held the small one in front of his face. “Just thick enough to obscure your features.”
    She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his lashes fluttering over the veil, but her confidence in everything was shaken. “I’m not sure I can go in public in those clothes.”
    He dropped the veil on the table. “Time to try them on and see. You will have armor.” He loosened the drawstring on a bag and spilled out a glittering pile. “Cheap stuff from a theater troupe, but it will serve. Do you want Annie Barkway to help you? I think her honest soul would be sorely tried to dress you in these clothes.”
    Cressida swallowed, but she gathered her courage and turned her back. “If you would loosen my clothing, Your Grace.”
    “If I am to be so forward, you really must call me St. Raven, you know.”
    He was impossible. “St. Raven,” she said, and he started on her buttons.
    Last night, even when she was fogged by shock and exhaustion, it had disturbed her to have him doing this. Now, every touch of his fingers sent something coiling through her, and she couldn’t help thinking of him and her in other circumstances.
    Married.
    As wild and absurd as an orgy, but today she had been more at ease, more casual with this man than she’d been with any man in her life, never mind a young, strikingly attractive one. In their discussions, in their plans, she’d come to feel