Ruined by Moonlight by Emma Wildes Page B

English lady.”
    “My mother is half-Castilian. It was her mother’s name.”
    “Elegant Elena,” he murmured.
    She made a face. “I have to admit the propensity of the
ton
to give silly nicknames is something I find irritating.”
    “I couldn’t agree more. The Raven isn’t precisely flattering when you think about it. Being likened to a bird who is primarily a scavenger is hardly a compliment.”
    “I think they are more referring to the color of your hair, my lord. It is very dark.”
    And deliciously thick.
The wayward thought invaded her mind. At the moment a curling ebony strand fell over his brow, giving him a boyish look that was hardly in keeping with his formidable reputation. She wondered what it would feel like to touch those ebony strands, to run her fingers through it…Would it be warm? Or like cool silk…
    “Is it?” His tone held a subtle silky texture of its own.
    With each passing moment, even in her inexperience she was beginning to understand more and more how all those women ended up in his bed. His charm was no doubt deliberate but it wasn’t deceptive. He had a sense of humor even in their less than perfect circumstances, and, yes, perhaps a certain innate arrogance, but at such short acquaintance she’d already discovered it was tempered by intelligence. While he was certainly aware of his good looks—by all accounts women had been throwing themselves into his arms for the past decade—Elena doubted he was vain. He might be cognizant of his attractiveness but wasn’t like the other handsome fops she knew at all.
    “Extremely dark,” she said with a slight lift of her chin. “Surely you’ve glanced in a looking glass a time or two.”
    “Your father’s estate is in Berkshire, is it not?”
    She blinked at the change in subject. It wasn’t surprising he’d know, for London’s elite society was a limited circle. “Yes.”
    “Do you prefer the country to the city?”
    Was his interest genuine? The better question, she decided a moment later, was, what did it matter if sincerity was the motivation? They had nothing better to do but talk and play cards, and the inquiring look in his eyes was compelling.
    “It is hard to say,” she answered, considering it. “They are quite different. Back at Whitbridge Manor the pace is slow and the servants more like friends than just people my father employs. On the other side of it, London is much more exciting. I have spent most of my life anticipating my debut.”
    What she didn’t add was that the endless rounds ofballs and teas and tedious luncheons bored her more than anything else, but she simply had no choice. Her recent engagement had been more a compromise than a coup as far as she was concerned, but at least it kept her mother from dragging her to every single event.
    Engagement.
Odd; up until now, she hadn’t thought about how Lord Colbert would react to her sudden unexplained absence. She really didn’t know him well enough to guess either, which was a disconcerting revelation. He was suitable and her father had been delighted when he’d proposed, so Elena had acquiesced. In a world where so many marriages were business arrangements, at least she’d had some measure of choice and her future husband was both pleasant and nice-looking.
    “Siblings?” Lord Andrews was saying. “I’m afraid your father and I are mere acquaintances so I do not know too much about your family.”
    Her father, if she had to guess, hardly approved of the licentious viscount. He wasn’t a puritan, but even she would concede he was a bit on the lofty side and a man with a reputation as notorious as the viscount’s would not meet with his approval. She hadn’t lied when she’d said that Randolph Raine was not someone whom she’d choose as a husband. Her father would not be pleased in the least.
    Obligingly, she told him, “Two younger brothers. Edgar, the heir, is only fifteen.”
    “I have a sister just a year older than your brother. I am