Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

not to admit to, when she found him extremely attractive, even compelling. The memory of the things he had done to her in the tower haunted her. To her astonishment she had enjoyed it, and craved such intimacy again.
    She saw him retreat now, his expression becoming shuttered, his long arms folded across his chest almost protectively.
    “Would you like to see the gallery?” His tone was conciliatory.
    “The family portraits? Shall I take you?”
    “Anything to get indoors, to get away from the daylight?” she teased, smiling.
    Raven gave a small laugh, making him seem almost human, quite like an ordinary man. “Yes, my dear, that and these tedious gardens.”
    “Thank you, my lord. I would like to see your family portraits,”
    she responded, allowing her anger at his past conduct to dwindle as they returned to the castle.
    The gallery was up the main staircase and down a long corridor.
    Raven opened a door allowing her in first. It was pitch black. “I think I may have some difficulty viewing the family portraits under these conditions, my lord,” Evangeline observed.
    “Yes, I thought you might. Wait here.”
    Instead of lighting a lamp as she expected, he walked some distance away, disappearing into the darkness. Unexpectedly, the room flooded with light and Raven stood at the far end of a very long room dropping the pull cord of the curtains as he shielded his eyes from the daylight. He was momentarily stunned, hardly able to move.
    Before she knew it Evangeline found herself hurrying toward him.
    “There is a chair just here, my lord, sit down and compose yourself.”
    She led him to the chair as if he were a blind man and stood by for some minutes while he adjusted to the light and put on his glasses.
    At last he was able to squint at her. “Thank you, dear child, you are most kind.”
    “Let us close the curtains again. I can still see the paintings.” She drew the draperies until two thirds of the windows were covered.

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    When she turned back he was watching her. His gaze ran over her from top to toe and she discerned a softness in his eyes she had not observed before. A little ripple of awareness passed through her and her mind flew back to when he had spanked her buttocks, arousing her against her will. What a strange way to achieve pleasure, and yet she had been highly stimulated. She looked quickly away, forcing her attention to the paintings along the walls. Raven smiled as if he had read her thoughts. “Let us begin over here where the earliest portraits are.”
    Over the next hour Raven told her the names and relationships of Ravenscrofts dating back to the 1200s and right up to the present day.
    There were numerous pairs of twins in the family all through the ages and there were also, here and there, those born into the family, as well as a few who married into the family, who differed from the tall, thin, dark-haired Ravenscrofts.
    “Who was she?” Evangeline pointed to a portrait of a fair-haired young woman in the dress of the Elizabethan period.
    “Margaret Ravenscroft, born 1565. Her mother was a Ravenscroft, but her father was not of the blood . Even so, you see how odd she was.”
    “She was not odd, she was lovely. Do you think I’m odd?” She looked up at him.
    “Yes,” he said bluntly. “But I concede you are also very lovely.”
    “Oh.” She smiled. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”
    The door opened, admitting Munk. “My lord, I have been searching for you this hour. I have a letter brought by courier.”
    Raven crossed the room to open the letter in private, swearing softly under his breath. “This is not a good time. I need to send a letter back,” he said to Munk.
    “I’m sorry, my lord, the courier left at once.”
    Raven raised a weary hand to rub his face and shook his head.
    “Then it’s too late. Never mind, Munk, prepare for a visitor for dinner.”

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    Munk dipped her head and left.
    “Is somebody coming?” Evangeline asked. “You seem upset, my lord. Has someone else caught the fever?”
    “No, my dear, it is nothing for you to worry about, merely business.” He reached out a hand to her, which she took, and he led her back to the portraits.
    “My parents.” Raven pointed at a huge gold-framed painting of two stunningly attractive people obviously done when they were in their twenties. Evangeline saw Raven in them both. His eyes were like his father’s, though the artist had painted them flatteringly