St. Raven Read Online Free PDF Page A

she saw her danger. “Yes.”
    Would they hang a duke for playing highwayman? Surely they’d have to do something if she identified him. She slid a glance at the long, sharp knife on the table by the bed. She could almost feel it slicing into her throat…
    “More water, Miss Wemworthy?”
    In her terror, the offer and the name confused her, so she stared at him. Then she managed, “Yes, please, Your Grace.”
    Surely not even the most deranged criminal and murderer would behave like this.
    Or laugh, as he did now. “I think we’ve progressed beyond such formality. Call me St. Raven. I intend to call you Jane.”
    “Even if I object?”
    He gave her the filled glass. “Miss Wemworthy is such a mouthful, and sounds so stern, as well. Like the sort of woman who disapproves of amusements, or writes improving tracts.”
    Cressida concentrated on drinking, trying to stifle her reaction. He had Mrs. Wemworthy exactly. Surely everyone didn’t suit their names?
    St. Raven did have something of the predator about him, but Mandeville was all wrong for her. Centuries ago, Sir John Mandeville had written of his travels to wild lands full of dragons and creatures who were half-man, half-beast. She loved the stories, but had never wanted to travel beyond the safe and ordinary herself.
    Safe and ordinary? She was on the Duke of St. Raven’s bed! She couldn’t help thinking of the hundreds of young women who would swoon at the thought.
    Surely she was safe from rape. Compromise a young lady whom he then might have to marry? She was surprised he hadn’t already tossed her back on the King’s Highway.
    “More water?” he asked, as if her thirst were the prime concern.
    “No, thank you.” She had other needs, however, and refused to be missish about them. “I will soon need a chamber pot, Your Grace, and privacy to use it.”
    “Of course,” he said, equally unembarrassed. Cressida realized that she’d hoped to put him out. “Give me your word that you won’t try to run away before we talk again, and I’ll provide you with a private room and all comforts.”
    She blinked at him. “You’d accept my word?”
    “It is not binding?”
    She wanted to rap out,
Of course
, but she wasn’t quite sure. No one had ever asked her for it before, and being practical…
    “Clearly not,” he remarked, brows rising.
    “If you were a villain, Your Grace, and I could escape by giving you my word, I’m afraid I would do it.”
    He smiled. “Clever and honest.”
    Her heart did a somersault. He was definitely the sort of man who drove women to make fools of themselves, and it wasn’t entirely because of his rank.
    Not her, she resolved. Not her.
    “So,” he said, “you must decide if I am a villain or not.”
    Suddenly irked by her position, she scrambled off the bed. “You are a highwayman,” she pointed out, empowered by being vertical.
    “Not true.”
    “How can you say ‘not true’? You just held up a coach and kidnapped me!”
    “Very well, somewhat true.”
    Improperly, he sat while she was standing, sat on the bed, leaning back against one of the carved bedposts, his right arm around his raised knee. She didn’t think she’d ever in her life been with a man so casually— casually dressed, casually arranged, casually mannered.
    And this was a duke! The Duke of St. Raven. She’d think she must be dreaming except that she could never conjure up anything so outrageous.
    “But I was only playing at it for the one night.”
    She remembered now that he was said to be wild. “You find being a thief amusing?”
    “After a fashion. This consequence, after all, is certainly novel.”
    “I think you’re mad.”
    His lips twitched. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Quite alarming to be in the power of a madman.” He let that sink in for a moment, then added, “To return to the matter of your parole, I cannot allow you to go to Lord Crofton’s, so unless I’m sure that you will be here in the morning, I’ll have to