Free Chasing Raven by Jayne Fresina Page A

will suffer for it."
    "A man who knows her well must be aware of that."
    Ransom shrugged. "It does not always follow that a man acts according to what he knows. Most people, so I find, think they can change the person they desire. One reason why I prefer brief encounters of a casual nature." He leaned back, stretching one arm along the velvet cushion of his curved seat, and then he grinned lazily, breaking the somber mood."But if you really want to know about my sister's followers, old chap, you ought to ask her directly. She won't bite. Too badly."
    He sniffed. "Can you guarantee that, Deverell?" But he was not at all concerned about being bitten. Not in the least. A bite was only a surface wound. There was other damage a man could suffer, far worse pain that went deeper.
    Sebastian Hale had once buried his father, his wife and his infant son all in the space of twelve months. Since then he had avoided fond attachment to anything with only two legs.
    There had been— as Ransom Deverell called them— "brief encounters" with convenient women, naturally. A man had urges that required soothing. But he could not remember the last time he wanted to keep one of them longer in his company and ask her questions, the last time he was interested in their life any more than they were interested in his. They were too in awe of Hale. Too afraid of meeting with his displeasure. So they became blank in his presence, shadows that hardly registered, barely breathed.
    But this woman called Raven breathed. Hard and lustily.
    Her eyes were neither dead nor nervous, and they may be impertinent, but at least she was not afraid to meet his gaze directly. She had studied him with a passionate curiosity that was both challenging and warmly irreverent. Granted, it was a mischievous nosiness in all likelihood and she tried to find things about which she could tease and torment him. But she was a rarity in that she didn't seek his approval at the expense of her own liveliness.
    He had, for those few moments in her company last night, forgotten that he was thirty-one and sensible. Indeed, Hale had very nearly forgotten he was a gentleman at all.
    It's a very good thing that you don't own me, your lordship, and I don't have to listen to you.
    Would you listen to me if I did own you?
    Why would he say such a thing to her?
    It was patently ridiculous.
    This young woman had slipped under his skin somehow. With two naughty legs incased in riding breeches.
    Raven Deverell made him feel as if he had been missing a great deal these past ten years. As if he'd been asleep, unconscious. Now wide awake, he struggled to adjust to a world changed around him. It was an unsettling sensation.
    He ought to remember that she had slyly crept close to him before, only to steal his fob watch.
    The next time he saw her he would be civil, but keep his distance. He must not, under any circumstances, touch her again. Dancing with her had been a terrible mistake and to become in any way entwined with such a willful creature would have devastating consequences for his steady nerves. He instinctively wanted to keep her out of danger, while she, apparently, ran toward it gleefully. As if she had something to prove.
    Sebastian Hale could appreciate a fine creature when he saw one, but he did not court trouble. The taming of this filly he must leave to other hands.
    He stabbed the last piece of meat on his fork and realized he had greedily consumed his dinner without tasting it. There was an emptiness that required filling, but curiously he could not enjoy the flavor. Perhaps he was coming down with a cold.
    "So do you plan to stay long in town?" Deverell asked.
    "A day or two. I have no solid plans." And that in itself was odd. He could not seem to focus on anything important.
    Tomorrow he must join his aunts for tea. Their note, delivered to the club that afternoon, was most insistent. They would have heard about his dance with Miss Deverell, and knowing those two anxious ladies,