Drawn to Lord Ravenscar

OFFICERS AND GENTLEMEN

For duty, for honour, for love

Bound by honour and family ties, three brave men fought for their lives in France …

Now, back in the drawing rooms of England, they face a new battle as three beautiful women lay siege to their scarred hearts!

COURTED BY THE CAPTAIN Already available

PROTECTED BY THE MAJOR Already available

DRAWN TO LORD RAVENSCAR February 2014

This is the third in my latest Regency trilogy about cousins Adam Miller and Hallam and Paul Ravenscar. Both Adam and Hal have found love. Will Paul be able to put the tragedy of his brother’s death behind him and find happiness for himself—or will he be forever cursed with guilt? It should all have been Mark’s—the title, the estate, and most of all the girl Paul believed his brother loved … Lucy.

So here is the last of this current series about Regency star-crossed lovers. Enjoy—and tell me what you think through my website if you wish: www.lindasole.co.uk

Love to you all.

Drawn to Lord Ravenscar

Anne Herries

ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. Anne is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize. She invites readers to contact her on her website: www.lindasole.co.uk

Previous novels by the same author:

THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY

A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE*

AN INNOCENT DEBUTANTE IN HANOVER SQUARE*

THE MISTRESS OF HANOVER SQUARE*

THE PIRATE’S WILLING CAPTIVE

FORBIDDEN LADY†

THE LORD’S FORCED BRIDE†

HER DARK AND DANGEROUS LORD†

FUGITIVE COUNTESS†

BOUGHT FOR THE HAREM

HOSTAGE BRIDE

THE DISAPPEARING DUCHESS**

THE MYSTERIOUS LORD MARLOWE**

THE SCANDALOUS LORD LANCHESTER**

SECRET HEIRESS

BARTERED BRIDE

CAPTAIN MOORCROFT’S CHRISTMAS BRIDE

(part of Candlelit Christmas Kisses) A STRANGER’S TOUCH† HIS UNUSUAL GOVERNESS PROMISED TO THE CRUSADER COURTED BY THE CAPTAIN†† PROTECTED BY THE MAJOR††

*A Season in Town †The Melford Dynasty **Secrets and Scandals ††Officers and Gentlemen

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Prologue

‘Well, Ravenscar,’ the Duke of Wellington said. ‘I regret that you must leave us. You have been invaluable these past months, one of my best aides. However, your duty is clear. Your father needs you and asks for your return; therefore, you must go.’

‘I must resign my commission,’ Captain Paul Ravenscar said regretfully. He straightened his shoulders, a tall lean wiry man with an upright bearing. ‘My cousin Hallam has been attending to estate affairs since...the death of my brother, but he has his own duties and cannot continue indefinitely, for he is married and his wife is with child. Besides, it is my duty to care for the estate. If my father dies...’

Paul’s gaze wandered about the elegant room, which was small but tastefully appointed, the doors painted cream and gold. He had become used to working here with his leader and would miss the work and the comradeship of his fellow officers.

‘You are his heir,’ Wellington said. ‘You have my permission to leave. I vow it was easier to defeat Bonaparte on the field of battle than to settle the peace, but it is almost finished. I, too, shall return to England very soon.’

‘Yes, sir. I thought it must be so... I can only thank you for giving me the chance to serve you at a time when I was near to desperation. Had I not been able to throw myself into the work...’

‘No need to thank me, Ravenscar. I was glad to have you,’ Wellington said brusquely. ‘Get off with you then...and remember a man must always do his duty by his family, as he would his country.’

Paul clicked his heels, shook the duke’s hand and walked from the office that Wellington had used these past months. So much wrangling over the peace terms and the settlement of Europe had taken place that these walls had shaken with the ferocity of the duke’s anger, but it was as he said, the peace was settled now and they could all return to England.

Paul was thoughtful as he walked swiftly towards his lodgings. With luck, he would be at Calais within two days and another two should see him back at Ravenscar. He prayed that he would be in time, for Hallam’s letter had spoken of his father as being very ill.

He was struck by guilt, because he knew that he ought to have stayed at home to relieve his father of the burden that his estate must place on him—for even though Hallam had done everything he could, Paul knew that his father might have been easier had his one remaining son been there to shoulder his everyday cares.

He would blame himself if his father died. Yet he’d had to get away.

Paul had felt the death of his elder brother Mark like a crushing load that had almost suffocated him. Mark was the golden one, the hero—the chosen one who should have inherited the estate and title that would one day now pass to Paul. Lord Ravenscar had always favoured his elder son, but Paul could never blame him...everyone had adored Mark from the moment he was born. A big man with strong shoulders and thighs, he was better at everything, outshining his younger brother at every turn. Paul should have hated him or been jealous, instead, he’d worshipped Mark. He had resented nothing that Mark had...except for Lucy Dawlish...

A swathe of pain made him gasp, for Paul had not been able to forget her. He had tried, God knew, he had tried to put her out of his mind these past months he’d spent in Vienna with Wellington. He had no right to think of her. She had belonged to Mark, would have been his wife had not Mark been foully murdered. She loved him—and for a time she’d suspected Paul of having killed his brother. The memory of that look in her eyes had never left him, for it lay like a dark shadow on his heart.

Lucy had loved Mark. She had grieved for him. The last thing that Paul had heard of her was that she had returned from Italy, where her mama had taken her to recover from her grief, still unattached. He had thought all these long months that she would find someone and marry him, but she had not.

She was clearly still grieving, unable to forget the man who had so cruelly been snatched from her a few weeks before her wedding.

Paul knew he must not think of her. It would be impossible to marry the girl that his brother had loved, wanted as his wife...even if Lucy would look at him. As children they had quarrelled more often than not for even then, Lucy had followed Mark as an adoring puppy. Only once...at a ball in London just before they all went down to the country to prepare for the wedding...Only briefly then had Paul felt that Lucy might like him, might return the hopeless feelings of love he’d had for her.

He was mistaken. He must have been mistaken, for she had meant to go ahead with her wedding... She had been devastated when Mark was killed.

It was useless to repine. Paul could never have taken her from his brother, even if Mark had lived, and now it was impossible. His memory would always be enshrined in Lucy’s heart. She would never look at his insignificant brother.

Paul must put her out of his mind. There were enough beautiful ladies in Vienna to distract him, but apart from a brief flirtation or two with married ladies, Paul had remained indifferent to the female sex. He knew that he had aroused intense interest amongst the young women who had accompanied brothers or fathers to Vienna. Because he showed no more than polite interest in any of the gently-born young ladies, he was thought of as reserved, even cold, but that did not deter their interest. He was the heir to the Ravenscar fortune, attractive if not as devastatingly handsome as his brother had been, and personable. More than one lady of quality had tried to catch him in her net, but Paul behaved with impeccable politeness while remaining aloof...unreachable.

Paul found the attempts of some young women to compromise themselves with him vaguely amusing and took care to make sure that he was not caught behind closed doors alone with any of them. He had no desire to be married for his prospects...indeed, he had no desire to marry at all.

Paul knew that one day he would need to marry to secure the line, but for the moment he could not give serious consideration to the idea. As he shouted to his batman to pack his things, all Paul could think of was whether his father would live long enough to give him his blessing...and whether he could bear to live in the house that should have been his brother’s.

Chapter One

‘It was kind of you to visit an old man,’ Lord Ravenscar said and smiled as the young girl smoothed his pillows and set the glass of cold water closer to his hand. ‘Your pretty face has made me feel the sunshine, Miss Dawlish, and my days have been grey long enough.’

‘I wanted to visit you,’ Lucy assured him, ‘and Mama said that I might, as Jenny was visiting. You may remember that Adam’s wife is a good friend of mine, though I had not seen her for many months.’

A look of pain flitted through the old man’s eyes, for the day his nephew’s wife Jenny first arrived at Ravenscar was the day his eldest and adored son Mark had been murdered, nearly eighteen months ago now. The pain was plainly still too deep and grievous to be mentioned.

‘You were a long time in Italy, Miss Dawlish?’

‘We spent almost a year there,’ Lucy replied with a smile.

Her complexion was a little coloured by the sun, for her skin had taken on a slightly golden glow, which had not yet faded. Her hair was lighter than it had used to be, a silvery blonde and fine, making her eyes seem bluer and her mouth a delicate pink.

The room smelled of the roses she’d brought for him and was clean and sweet, for Jenny and Adam had come to stay to care for him in his last days, and the servants looked after their master, as they ought.

‘We visited Paris on the way home, but Papa was feeling lonely without us and so we came home last month.’

‘Yes, I dare say your father missed you. It is hard when your loved ones are far away...’ There was such pain and grief in his voice that Lucy was angry with Paul Ravenscar. How could he abandon his father this way? A month or two to come to terms with his grief would have been understandable, but no loving son could have stayed away this long, knowing that his elderly father was grieving.

Lucy had once thought that she might be in love with Paul. Already promised to his brother, whom she’d hero-worshipped for years, it had come to her suddenly when dancing with Paul at a ball in London that she might have preferred to marry him. She had been anxious in her mind and considered whether she should tell Mark when he was murdered. The shock had thrown them all, for how could someone as glorious be lost so easily to a murderer’s spite?

Guilt had swamped her and, for a time, she had wondered if Paul might have shot his brother in a jealous fit, but she had not truly believed it—and later, when Adam and Hallam trapped the real villain, Lucy had hoped... A little sigh rose to her lips, but she smothered it and smiled at Lord Ravenscar.

‘I am sure Captain Ravenscar will return soon, sir. Hallam wrote to tell him that you were unwell.’

‘He should not have done so,’ the old man said testily. ‘Paul was engaged on work for his country—one of Wellington’s aides. Why should he come rushing home just because—?’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘Though I shall admit that I have missed him sorely. I think I was unfair to him, Miss Dawlish. I do not believe I ever told him...’ He closed his eyes and a single tear trickled down his cheek. ‘Mark was the eldest and Paul...Paul stood in his shadow. That was unfair, Miss Dawlish...damnably unfair.’

‘Pray do not distress yourself, sir,’ Lucy said, feelings of pity tugging at her heart. ‘I am sure you will see him soon and then you may tell him yourself.’ She turned as the door opened and Jenny entered the room, bearing a tray with several little bottles, a glass and a hot drink.

‘Good morning, Uncle,’ Jenny said. ‘It is time for your medicine.’

‘I shall leave you with Jenny,’ Lucy said, ‘for you must take your medicines, sir—but I shall ride over again the day after tomorrow.’

‘Thank your mama for her calves’ foot jelly,’ he said. ‘I am sure I shall find it most restorative.’

‘Ride carefully,’ Jenny said. ‘It was lovely to see you again—and the silk shawl you brought me from Italy was gorgeous.’

Lucy inclined her head and then smiled at Jenny, before leaving the room. The two young women had talked and taken tea together before Lucy came up to visit Lord Ravenscar. Seeing Jenny acting the part of the mistress of the house had brought it home to Lucy that, had Mark lived, she would have been the one to care for her father-in-law. She had known him all her life and he was as an uncle to her, a dear friend—and it hurt her to see how fragile he had become. She could only pray that he would linger long enough to see his remaining son return.

Once again, she felt angry with Paul. How could he stay away all this time when his father needed him? As far as Lucy was concerned, it was disgraceful and she would not spare him when she next saw him...

* * *

‘How was dear Lord Ravenscar?’ Lady Dawlish asked when Lucy entered the house. ‘Was he able to speak to you, my love?’

‘He is failing and very weak, but fighting it, as you would expect of such a man,’ Lucy replied as she stripped off her riding gloves of York tan. She was a very pretty girl with a clear gaze, her hair wind tossed by a wayward breeze, a few springy tendrils hanging about her face where it had escaped from the fine net she wore to hold it when riding. ‘I felt so distressed for him, Mama. He so much wants to see Paul and fears he will not. How can he stay away all these months when he knows his father needs him? Surely he ought to have returned months ago?’

‘Do not be too critical,’ her mother said with a little frown. ‘You cannot know his circumstances, Lucy. The duke may have had need of him—’

‘The duke might easily have found another aide to organise his work or his balls,’ Lucy replied scornfully. Her mouth was hard at that moment, for in the past months since Mark’s death, she had learned to hide her true feelings and to shield her heart. She had cried too many tears, both for herself and for her lost fiancé and sometimes she felt that there were none left inside her—though she had felt like weeping when she saw how fragile Lord Ravenscar had become. ‘Paul is thoughtless.’

‘Now, dearest, I do not like that in you,’ her mother said in some distress. ‘You were always such a caring girl. Not that I mean you have changed towards your father or me—but you are harsh to Paul. You must remember that he was devastated by...’ Lady Dawlish faltered. ‘I know you, too, suffered grievously, my dearest...’

‘Yes, but some of my grief was guilt because I did not love Mark in the way I ought as his wife-to-be. He was my hero and my friend, Mama—but I was not in love with him. He swept me off my feet when he returned a hero from the wars and asked me. Had I married him we might both have been unhappy, for I do not think he was in love with me either. There were times when I sensed he wished to tell me something—but he was killed too soon.’

‘Oh, Lucy dearest...’ Her mother looked even more upset. ‘If that is true, why are you still so affected by what happened? I hoped that you might meet someone in Italy or in Paris. There were several gentlemen who showed interest, but you gave them no encouragement. Even that charming count who paid you so many compliments. I am sure he would have asked had you given him the least encouragement.’

‘I did not wish to marry any of them, Mama.’

‘Your father was asking me only last evening... He worries about you, Lucy. He wants to see you married and to know you are settled. We should both like grandchildren.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Lucy said and there was a catch in her voice. She turned her face aside, as she said, ‘I must be a sad disappointment to you, Mama. I did try to like the count and the Marquis de Sancerre was very pleasant...but I could not face the idea of being his wife. You would not wish me to marry simply for the sake of it?’

‘No, certainly not, Lucy,’ Lady Dawlish replied. ‘I am sad and disappointed, as you say, but only for your sake. I pray that you will find someone who can make you put the past behind you and think of a new life. I should not like to think of you wasting your youth.’

‘If I do meet someone who makes me feel that way, I shall tell you, Mama,’ Lucy promised. ‘For the moment I would prefer to live with you and Papa.’

‘Very well, I shall not lecture you. You know your own mind best, Lucy—but it would make Papa and I happy to see you the way you used to be. You were always laughing, talking so fast that I could hardly keep up with you. Now you seem so serious...’

Lucy smiled, but made no further reply. She went up to her room, to change her gown and tidy her hair. Catching sight of herself in the pretty oval-shaped mirror in its frame of satinwood with painted decoration, she saw a face slightly too pale beneath the tan, which would soon wear off now that she was back in England, her eyes were large and dark, her mouth set in a hard line. Had she changed very much? As a girl she had always been ready to laugh and tease her friends—but she had carried so much pain inside her for too long.

She was concerned that her manner was causing her parents distress, but she had not been aware that they sensed the change in her. Had she become hard or uncaring? Lucy did not think so...the only person she felt anger against was Paul Ravenscar.

He had stayed away so long. Before he went away to Italy, he’d spoken of visiting her when she arrived in that country; she’d believed that once his grief had abated he would do so, but long before she set foot in Rome, he had gone back to Vienna and joined Wellington’s staff. In all the long months since he had not once written to her.

He cared nothing for her! Lucy’s heart and her pride had felt the blow of his indifference. Had he loved her, he would surely have made an effort to visit her. Even if he believed it was too soon for them to marry, he could have told her of his feelings...asked her to wait until he was ready. Instead, he’d ignored her and Lucy’s grief over Mark’s death and her feelings for Paul had turned to anger.

Why had he looked at her that way when they danced? Why touch her hair with his lips? Why hold her and look into her eyes when he helped her dismount from her horse? Why, oh, why had he engaged her feelings if he cared nothing for her? She had been a fool to care for him. Mark was worth ten of him...and yet she had not truly loved him in the way that a wife should. She believed that, had they married, neither would have been truly happy.

Perhaps she was incapable of loving anyone with all her heart. Lucy dragged a brush through her tangled hair, her throat tight with distress. If she could not fall in love, then she must look for a man who could keep her in comfort and would be kind to her.

It was not the marriage she had hoped for, because she was a romantic girl, but perhaps it would be less painful—to love someone was to suffer. Lucy had learned that lesson well these long months.

She owed it to her parents to marry, so she must put away this foolish grief. She had grieved long enough for her friend Mark, and Paul was not worth her tears. She would not continue to think of him and make herself miserable.

She would forget the past and be happy. Somehow, she would make a new life...and if a gentleman she liked asked her to wed him, she would say yes.

* * *

‘How is he?’ Paul asked of the butler, as he handed over his hat, gloves and riding whip. His grey eyes were anxious, his dark-brown hair ruffled as he ran his fingers through it nervously. ‘Please tell me he isn’t dead.’

‘Lord Ravenscar is very weak,’ the man replied sadly. ‘However, he still lives—and will be glad to see you, sir.’

‘Thank you, John. I shall go up to him at once.’

‘Mrs Miller is with him, sir. She sits with him as much as she can, but he still has a few visitors. Miss Dawlish came this morning. She left no more than an hour since—’

‘Indeed? That was kind of her,’ Paul said stiffly. He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to shake off the dust of the roads in his anxiety. He knocked softly at the door of his father’s bedchamber and then went in. His gaze went immediately to the bed and the shock took his breath. Lord Ravenscar had been unwell when he left home, but still a strong man—the man in the bed looked thin and fragile, close to death. Guilt raged through him, making his chest tighten. By the looks of it he was almost too late.

‘Father...’ he said and went forward, his throat catching with emotion. ‘Forgive me for not returning sooner.’

‘Paul, my boy.’ The old man’s hand trembled as he offered it and Paul clasped it between both his hands. Jenny smiled at him and moved away from the bed.

‘I shall leave you together,’ she said. ‘Stay and talk to your father, Paul. We are all glad to have you back.’

‘Thank you... We shall talk later.’

Jenny nodded, going out of the sickroom. Paul sat on the edge of the large double bed, looking into his father’s face. ‘Forgive me, sir. I should not have stayed away so long.’

‘We both know why you went,’ Lord Ravenscar said and his voice was stronger as he held his son’s hand. ‘Your brother was dear to us both. Do you think I did not know how you loved him? We were both in awe of him, Paul—yes, I, too, for he enchanted us all, did he not?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Paul’s lean face tightened with pain. Bronzed by the sun, he had a craggy, weathered look that made him seem older than his years. ‘He was all that you could ever have wished for in a son or I in a brother. I longed to be like him, but I fear I failed...’

‘You did not fail in my eyes,’ his father said. ‘I have wanted to tell you, Paul. You were always as much my son...but you were different. I saw your mother in you, Paul. She had your hair and your eyes—Mark took after my father; he, too, was a man much larger than life and I was in awe of him.’

‘I could never live up to his standards. You deserved a son who could make you proud, sir. I would willingly have exchanged my life for his.’

‘No,’ his father said, shaking his head. ‘You make me proud, Paul. You might have gone off the rails, drinking and gambling—God knows, many would in your shoes. Instead, you buckled down to work and I know you have done well, for your commander wrote to me. He valued you, my son—and so do I.’