Page 5 of A Raven Reborn

What was wrong with her? She should be mortified to be sitting in a strange man’s bedroom wearing only his dressing gown, and instead, she sat smiling daftly. Until she remembered one big problem. “I have no money!” she blurted.

At that he burst out laughing. “I didn’t figure you were hiding a reticule under that peignoir.”

Rosalyn’s cheeks burned at the reminder of just how much of her he had seen.

“Forgive me,” he said, cringing slightly. “That was not well done of me.” In all her life, she’d never had a man apologize to her, at least not that she could remember. What was this world she had ended up in? He walked across the room and opened the door. A woman with a tanned complexion and dark hair, immediately sailed through, followed by two girls aged somewhere around fifteen. Both of them had their arms draped with multiple gowns. Bringing up the rear was Finch, carrying what must have been a fairly heavy chest, from the look of exertion on his face. He set it down with a thud.

“Careful with that, Finch. You don’t want to upset the tigress,” Patrick warned. The woman threw her head back and laughed.

“As long as he finishes up that necklace I’ve been waiting for, I will forgive him.” She patted Finch's cheek which had turned bright red.

“Enough with the flirting, you two,” Patrick interjected. “Ella, this is Rosie. Rosie, Ella.” He gestured between the two of them. “I’m sure Finch will be able to help you with anything you might require. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave you ladies to it while I get a bit of rest in my study.”

Did that mean he hadn’t slept because Rosalyn had been in his bed? No wonder he needed to rest. Before guilt had a chance to really set in, however, her thoughts were interrupted by Ella’s voice.

“Right, let’s get that robe off of you so I can see what I’m working with.”

Rosalyn’s eyes flicked instantly across the room to Finch. Was this what life was going to be now? Undressing in front of strange men whenever she was told to? She looked to Ella for some kind of answer.

Ella smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about Finch, love, he’s just one of us girls.”

Rosalyn looked back at Finch. What was that supposed to mean? He was definitely not a girl.

“Now, Ella,” Finch said with a nervous laugh. “The poor thing has had quite enough of a shock without you adding to it. Why don’t I go make you ladies some tea?”

Before the door had even clicked shut, Ella reached in and untied the sash at Rosalyn’s waist. She pushed the heavy robe off her shoulders and didn’t even bat an eye at the embarrassing garment beneath before handing it off to one of her assistants, as well.

Rosalyn fought the overwhelming urge to cover herself. This was the second time in two days she’d stood naked in front of a woman to be appraised. This time, however, she was met with a kind smile, unlike the derisive sneer Madame Bustier had worn.

“Yes, we will definitely be able to fit you into something suitable today,” Ella said as she waved for one of her assistants. The girl hurried forward.

“Let’s make you more comfortable, shall we, Miss?” The girl held up a chemise and Rosalyn gladly allowed her to slip it over her head.

Being covered by the fabric definitely helped, but she was put even more at ease by the nonchalant way they went about their tasks. It was amazing how efficient the two girls were. They had her laced into a corset in half the time it would have taken her to do it herself.

By the time Finch returned with tea, Rosalyn was wearing a dress made of cream-colored chiffon embroidered with roses, and a matching red velvet sash. It fit her surprisingly well. Ella insisted it was a hair too long, but it would get her by until some of the others could be altered to fit. It looked perfect to Rosalyn. Too perfect, in fact. She’d never owned a gown that wasn’t second-hand and mended multiple times, let alone one that wasn’t stained from kneeling down to tend the gardens or fireplaces.

What did it mean that Patrick was having her fitted for fine gowns rather than servant’s apparel? What was he expecting of her? She didn’t like not knowing and wanted to track him down and beg for some kind of answers, but she couldn’t bother him now. The least she could do was let him get some undisturbed rest.

ChapterThree

Patrick had always thought the plush armchair in his study to be quite comfortable. In the past, he’d only slept in it when he’d had a few too many drinks and couldn’t be bothered to stumble down the hall to his bed, so perhaps that made all the difference. He had managed to get a few hours of fitful, uncomfortable sleep, but now his head felt ready to burst. His neck protested loudly as he tried to straighten it, and the wound in his shoulder throbbed incessantly.

“Finch!” he called, as he slowly pushed himself out of the chair.

Finch entered barely a minute later. He merely raised a brow and shook his head at the sight Patrick presented.

“I’ll prepare a bath,” he said before hurrying back out of the room.

An hour later, he was clean, shaved, and dressed in a freshly pressed grey suit. Much better. On Thursdays, he met with his two partners at their club. Usually, he looked forward to their meetings, but today… what was he going to tell them about Rosie? Better yet, why was he not taking her to Raven House? She was exactly the kind of woman they took in to provide opportunities for a better life. But for some reason, he didn’t want to take her there. Not yet, at least.

The sounds of female laughter still escaped from his room at the end of the hall, which gave him a perfect excuse for avoiding Rosie and sneaking out like a coward. Finch would make sure she was taken care of while he was gone.

Fortunately, his feet knew the way to The Raven’s Den, because his mind was on other things. What could he possibly tell Ash and Michael about Rosie? Likely his cowardly behavior would continue, and he’d avoid the subject for now. Taking a deep breath, he let himself in through the back entrance. He made his way down the dimly lit corridor and through a curtain that opened into the main parlor. They had an office above, but they’d always preferred to hold their weekly meetings in the comfortable surroundings of the gaming floor.

Patrick joined his two friends at their customary table. Ash was dressed in his usual black from head to toe, his raven-topped cane resting on the table in front of him, a glass of brandy beside it. For the people in his inner circle, Ash was benevolent, had a good sense of humor, and was fiercely loyal. If you were outside of that circle, you’d best not mistake his kindness for weakness. Ash had a ferocious sense of justice. He would, unquestionably, rain hellfire down on anyone who harmed even a single hair on the head of someone he cared about.

Michael, on the other hand, was much more benign. He was jovial but reserved. He wasn’t ruled by his emotions the way Ash and Patrick both were, and he somehow had a way of helping the pair of them keep their dark demons in check. Having given up all spirits many years ago, he sipped on his ever present glass of barley water. His too-long, blonde hair was tied back neatly at his nape.

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