The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth

She leaned closer, revealing a portion of her beautiful breasts as she did so, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she looked at him pointedly, raising a brow.

He stared at her. Mesmerized. God, she was beautiful. A genuine true beauty. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He took in the perfect white skin, the flawless complexion, the arched black brows, the dark eyes full of hidden depths, the cloud of black hair, unbound tonight and worn hanging loose around her heart-shaped face. Her mouth was red, a brilliant red from the lip rouge, and it was luscious. She was luscious. Ripe for the picking. And such a temptress, tempting him. He felt a stirring between his legs as they held each other’s eyes.

He said, after a few seconds, ‘You have a questioning look on your face.’ His voice sounded hoarse to him. ‘What is it? Ask me, whatever it is.’

Margot put down the champagne glass, drew closer to him. He could smell the perfume of roses on her neck and breasts, intoxicating him, and he felt himself growing hot. At last, she whispered, ‘Will you be mine?’

Before he could stop himself he asked bluntly, ‘In the way my father was? Is that what you mean? All of me? Not just my loyalty to your cause? Is that what you want?’

He had startled her. ‘Yes,’ she answered finally.

‘I have a question,’ John announced after a moment’s consideration.

‘Ask me.’

‘What of Jack Beaufield?…what is there between the two of you?’

‘There is nothing between us. There was only a mild flirtation, of no consequence. There has never been anything between me and anyone else. That is, other than your father.’ She focused on him intently. ‘Truly. I promise. I am not a liar, whatever else I am.’

‘I believe you, don’t protest so.’

She smiled and then she began to giggle like a young girl.

‘What is it?’ He frowned, staring at her in bafflement.

‘Jack Beaufield said this room was like a honeypot.’

‘Did he now?’

There was a long moment of total silence between them, and then quite unexpectedly, all of a sudden, John took hold of her and pulled her almost roughly into his arms. He kissed her on the mouth; it was a deep and passionate kiss, and she returned it fully, sliding her tongue into his mouth, wanting to devour him.

John still held her tightly and kept on kissing her, then abruptly he moved his face and said against her ear, ‘But he was wrong. You are the honeypot.’

‘Your honeypot?’ she whispered.

‘Ah yes. Mine.’ After a moment, he said, ‘What of Henry? Is he sleeping?’

‘I gave him a sedative,’ she admitted.

‘The staff?’

‘It’s Sunday. They have the night off.’

‘So, we are alone. Nevertheless, I must lock the door, and draw the curtains.’

‘Yes, do,’ she murmured, leaning back against the cushions, fiddling with the buttons of the peignoir, opening it.

He was gone only a moment. When he came back to the fireplace he switched off two of the lamps, saying as he did, ‘It’s just a little too bright.’

When he turned around to face her he saw that she had opened the top buttons of the pink gown, then realized it was a robe not a gown at all. Even more of her beautiful breasts were revealed, most provocatively, and she was gazing up at him, a yearning expression on her face, her eyes locked on him.

He took her in his arms and held her close, whispering her name over and over, then began to kiss the voluptuous mouth. Within seconds they were both aflame.

Reaching for his hand, she placed it on her leg. He glanced down, saw that her legs were bare…soft, smooth and firm beneath his hand. Instantly he knew it was an invitation to explore. And he did so, running his hand along her inner thigh and across her stomach.

He heard her catch her breath and he looked down at her intently.

‘I am yours. Do what you want with me.’ As she spoke she tugged at the front of the peignoir and it came open fully.

Now she truly was revealed to him, and as he gazed at her slender white body he caught his breath. ‘Oh God, you’re beautiful, Margot!’ And he leaned over her, buried his face against her breasts.

‘Take me, take me,’ she moaned against his hair.

It took him a moment to get undressed, but when he was finally free of his jacket and trousers, he flung off his shirt and cravat, lay down with her on the huge sofa which enveloped them like a bed.

Their kissing and touching became more frantic than ever; her arms and legs went around him and he was poised over her, looking down into eyes the colour of jet.

‘Please, please,’ she begged, ‘take me to you.’

And very slowly and very carefully he did so, making himself part of her. They began a long ritual of rhythmic moving, and kissing, and he found himself drowning in her. And then in a moment of sudden and absolute clarity he wondered why he had ever fought her off, fled from her sexual desire for him. She was sheer bliss.

TWENTY-FIVE (#)

Every morning when he arrived at Deravenels, Edward spent several hours studying the books, brochures and pamphlets which Alfredo Oliveri had given him. As Oliveri had intended, Edward was gaining a greater understanding of all the divisions of Deravenels.

Almost immediately he had found himself gravitating to the mining division, discovered he was particularly interested in diamonds and precious stones. In only a few weeks he had become extremely knowledgeable, most especially about one stone—the diamond.

He had always had a prodigious memory, much better than most people’s, and when they were at Oxford together Will had announced that Edward had a photographic memory. It was true that after reading something twice he knew it by heart. ‘You would have made a good actor,’ Will had once told him, and Edward had laughed, and agreed, knowing that there was a lot of the actor in him.

This morning he was immersed in a book about Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, the merchant and traveller who had journeyed from Paris to India in the seventeenth century, usually heading for the famous Golconda mines, now extinct. Tavernier was the first person to bring diamonds back to Europe from the subcontinent of India. Louis XVI had bought diamonds from Tavernier, as had other members of his court who were able to afford them.

As he went on reading eagerly, Edward made notes on a pad. He had recently become intrigued by those very special diamonds which were both big and perfect, and because of this they were given a name. Thus each one became a famous diamond, much valued and coveted. Now he had just discovered that one of the first of these was called the Grand Mazarin, actually named after Cardinal Mazarin, who had owned it. On his death the Cardinal had bequeathed it to Louis XIV.

Unexpectedly, the door of Edward’s office burst open, and as he glanced up Alfredo came rushing in looking troubled.

Always pale skinned, Alfredo was as white as chalk, so much so his freckles seemed to stand out most prominently across the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones.

Edward knew at once that something was seriously wrong, and his stomach lurched. He couldn’t help wondering if Alfredo had finally been pushed out of the company, or at least instructed to return to Carrara.

Drawing to a standstill in front of the desk, Alfredo stood there staring at Edward, obviously perturbed. He seemed to have lost his voice.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Edward asked.

‘Aubrey Masters is dead.’

Dumbstruck, Edward simply gaped at the other man. He was shocked at this stark announcement, and felt a cold chill run through him.

Alfredo sat down heavily in the chair.