Spellbound by Jaimey Grant Page A

house.
    Raven turned to her
“fiancé.” “That was unnecessary, Tristan. I had the situation under
control.”
    His look was disbelieving.
“Did you? It appeared to me that my brother was about to threaten
your virtue.”
    Raven pretended not to hear
the slight emphasis placed on his final word. She gazed at him
steadily, almost daring him to say more.
    She involuntarily shivered.
Tristan’s entire manner changed. “Good God, woman! Why didn’t you
say you were near frozen? Come back into the house.”
    Raven allowed herself to be
led back indoors. She was divested of her outer clothing and herded
into a saloon with a brightly burning fire.
    Tristan pushed her towards
a chair and rang the bell for tea. When it arrived, he laced hers
liberally with brandy and forced her to down every drop.
    “Now, tell me what the
blazes you were doing out there, anyway?”
    Raven stared at him, almost
bewildered at the past half-hour of flurried events. She shook her
head, set aside her teacup and struggled for a measure of her
habitual calm.
    “I was merely enjoying the
mild weather when your bother happened upon me. I did not purposely
met him if that is what you were implying.”
    It actually wasn’t. The
thought had never even entered his mind. He was still shook up from
seeing her so close to the water’s edge.
    “I was implying nothing of
the kind. You have an overactive imagination, madam.”
    She smiled. “I admit I do.
It is an asset at times.”

Chapter Six

    There was an added guest
besides Lord Greyden for dinner that evening. Reverend Mooney had
been invited just that afternoon to join them. He was always a
popular guest. He was witty, pleasant, and not too fawning. Tristan
always found himself at ease when in the other man’s
presence.
    The duchess, however, was
looking mightily pleased with herself. Tristan was convinced
something was up and he was equally sure he wasn’t going to like
it. He wondered how long he’d have to wait before his grandmother
decided to share her plans with them all.
    It was just after the last
course was cleared away and the port was brought out that the
duchess decided to make her announcement. Everyone watched,
startled, as the old woman ordered all the servants to
leave.
    “I have invited the good
reverend here for a specific purpose, my dears.”
    Tristan felt every muscle
in his body stiffen. He glanced at Raven and noticed her own
expression was far from easy.
    “He has agreed to perform a
wedding, at short notice, between my grandson, Windhaven and Lady
Rachael.”
    “Absolutely not!” roared
the duke before he could think better of it. The haughty look of
disapproval he received from the duchess went ignored. “I will not
be forced into marriage.”
    A look of confusion crossed
the features of the other dinner guests. Why would the duke
consider himself forced when he was to wed the girl
anyway?
    That exact thought entered
Tristan’s mind a second too late. He realized then how very
insulting his words had truly been to his “fiancée.” He turned to
see her reaction to all this and was astonished at her look of
utter composure. How could she remain so calm under these
circumstances? Was she human?
    “Perhaps his grace and I
should speak privately, your grace,” Raven said then into the
stunned silence.
    In moments, Tristan found
himself whisked from his grandmother’s presence and into a small
antechamber. Raven only released him after pushing him down into a
chair. He stared at her while she poured him a glass of brandy and
pressed it into his hand.
    “Why are you so calm?” he
finally demanded after downing the fiery liquid in one
gulp.
    “Her announcement was not
wholly unexpected, Tristan. It came earlier than anticipated, to be
sure, but it was still something she was expected to do. Why do you
lie to yourself?”
    Her question nearly made
him choke on his third glass of brandy. “What the devil do you mean
by that? I haven’t been lying to