The Ravenstone Heir

Chapter Eight

Anna threw herself into baking early the next morning. By dawn the day's quota of bread baked in the ovens, and even more lay rising. She decided to bake ginger biscuits a day early, and apple tarts as well.

Work has ever been my refuge in times of sorrow. She pushed the thought aside, refusing to ascribe sorrow to the ending of what had been, after all, a business arrangement.

He came when the apple tarts sat cooling, and Anna, elbow deep in lemon cake batter trying, once again, to remove dropped eggshells, heard his voice mingle with her father's in the outer room. She determined to ignore him until she finished.

"We need to talk." She jumped at the sound of his voice so close behind her.

"What are you doing in the kitchen?" she demanded. She turned to face him with both arms held bent at the elbow, her hands and forearms covered in batter.

"Trying to speak with my betrothed," he replied.

"Walker is gone; the heir is here. You said—"

"I said a great many things, some of them foolish," he told her. Something in his expression made her insides quiver and turned her brain to mush. She couldn't formulate a reply; she could only gaze into his eyes, unable to move.

"Oh hell, I'm making a mull if it!" He exclaimed, pulling her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist and one hand on the back of her head while he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers, roughly at first but quickly gentling when his hand slid forward to cup her cheek and his tongue teased her lips.

Whatever Anna meant to say to him this morning fled at his touch. Her knees sagged, and she leaned into his embrace and his rock hard body. She clung to him with both hands at first, but when one began to caress his back, she ran the other through his thick hair, as she had longed to do for days.

When her father's growl from the door brought Fletch to his senses, he had cake batter in his hair, across his back, and all over one side of his face. "I presume you two have settled things," Papa said.

"Not yet, but we will," Fletch replied, taking her by the hand and dragging her out to the little garden behind the bakery.

Her head began to clear as she sat her on the stone bench next to her mother's lavender. "Fletch, you can't just—"

"I know. I just manhandled you again, and creatures don't like that—or so you claimed." He grinned a lopsided grin. "I promise the next time I make love to you, you will be a willing and enthusiastic participant."

"But Walker is gone."

"Forget about Walker. Forget about my cousin. I told you that so I would have an excuse to linger, to spend time with you."

"Why?" Her heart had begun to race, and she had so little breath the word came out as the barest whisper.

"I like you; I admire you," he said with that intense look that made her whole being heat. "I want you—" He broke off and ran a hand through his hair, coming away with cake batter. "Sorry. Ignore that last, at least for now."

Anna couldn't take her eyes away from the sight of Fletcher Graham licking his fingers clean of her cake batter. "What are you trying to suggest?"

"I suggest we remain betrothed," he replied

"But you've only known me for a week," she protested.

"What I know pleases me very much." He began to tick off reasons on his still sticky fingers, "I have before me the first lady I know who challenges my mind, refuses to put up with my nonsense—understands business for goodness sake, which is no small thing to a man of commerce."

"Just betrothed? Doesn't that mean we plan to marry?" she asked.

"We don't have to marry quickly, Anna, but give me a chance—for now just betrothed. It will give you time to get to know me, to see if you can spend your life leg-shackled to me, to be certain what you want."

"What about you, Fletch?"

"I'm already certain. Take a year, and I'll hope for less. That will give your father time to find someone for you to train, Gordon time to find his place—and me time to enjoy your company."

When had he slid so close to her on the bench? She turned her face and found his inches away. When she didn't move, he smiled. She returned it, and his mouth met hers before he pulled her into his lap. He leaned her head on one arm so he could deepen the kiss.

Long moments later Anna pulled away a few inches, just far enough to speak. "Six months," she said firmly. He frowned, raising one brow as if to ask what she meant. "Six months should be enough," she said. As she closed the distance between them she added, "and then we will marry."

So it was, and so they did.

THE END