Raven would have liked to explore the gaming room, but her curiosity would have to wait. She had to quell her surprise, however, when she found herself in the kitchens, of all places.
Despite the chill of the winter day, the room was warm from the great hearth fire and ovens. Kell was seated at a worktable, dressed in breeches and a flowing white cambric shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to expose muscular forearms, while his collar was opened at the neck to reveal the soft whorls of black hair that sprinkled his chest.
Raven came up short at the unmistakably pleasant shock that rippled along her spine. She kept forgetting how strikingly handsome he was, despite the harshness of his features and the scar that marred his high cheekbone.
Then he looked up and his dark eyes met hers. The ripple turned to a sizzle, with all the impact of a bolt of lightning. Raven had difficulty catching her breath, very much like when she had interrupted him at his bath.
“Mrs. Lasseter, sir,” the majordomo said.
“Thank you, Timmons. That will be all.”
The servant’s exit left them alone, for the kitchen staff was nowhere to be seen, Raven realized.
It was then she noticed the deadly blade in Kell’s hand, which he was polishing with a cloth. Any number of weapons, both rapiers and pistols, lay spread across the table-
“What are you doing?” she was startled into asking. Her heart leapt to her throat as she thought of the most likely possibility.
“I prefer to care for my own weapons,” Kell replied, his face inscrutable.
“You aren’t preparing for a duel? Halford hasn’t challenged you?”
His eyebrow rose at the obvious panic in her voice. “Not as yet. Did you expect him to?”
Raven’s hand went to her breast in relief. “I wasn’t certain. When I spoke to him last week, he threatened to call you out at first…”
“Did he now?”
“Yes.” She swallowed, remembering. “Halford was so furious. He blamed you for my abduction, even though I swore I went along willingly.” She felt another stab of guilt for what she had led Kell into. “I truly am sorry.”
Yet he didn’t seem to want her apologies. “How touching that you are so concerned for my welfare,” he murmured, his tone holding a hint of mockery.
She made a face. “To be truthful, I was more concerned for Halford. You do have the more dangerous reputation, after all.”
Kell’s features grew cool, and Raven immediately regretted her impetuous tongue. “I didn’t mean to jest about it. I admit, Halford frightens me. He says he means to ruin you.”
“He can try.” The words were spoken casually, but there was an edge of steel in his voice that boded ill for his opponents.
“Why have you come?” Kell asked, abruptly changing the subject. “You shouldn’t be here. It won’t do your reputation any good to be seen in a gaming hell.”
He didn’t invite her to be seated, but Raven did so anyway, taking the end of the bench opposite him. “My reputation could hardly be more tarnished at the moment. And I cannot distance myself from your club completely, now that I am your wife. Besides, my visit is for a good cause. I had to speak to you, yet I’ve seen very little of you since we wed.”
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t involve yourself in my life, nor I in yours.”
“We also agreed we should keep up appearances for the time being. Ours was supposed to be a love match, remember?”
He bent his head to his task, removing a speck of dirt from the deadly blade. “We both know what a spurious tale that is.”
“The rest of the world doesn’t realize that. And I require your presence to maintain the charade. My friends Lord and Lady Wycliff are planning a ball in our honor, to celebrate our nuptials.”
Kell didn’t even hesitate. “I will have to decline the honor.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t care to move in your elite social circles.”
“You keep away by choice, Lord Wolverton says.”
Kell looked up; obviously she had surprised him. “You know Wolverton? The greatest rake in all England?”
“He is a family friend,” Raven admitted without embarrassment. “Dare claims this is his favorite hell.”
“I am honored,” Kell said wryly, although without his usual sardonic sting.
“I asked him about you. He says you would have been welcomed by the ton had you chosen to exert yourself.”
Kell lowered his long, black lashes-those thick lashes any female would envy-while his hard, beautiful mouth curled. But he didn’t speak. Instead he examined the blade for imperfections.
“Dare says you are an expert swordsman,” Raven said into the silence. “Is that how you came by your scar?”
He shot her a dark glance. “You have a great deal of curiosity for a mere wife of convenience.”
“I suppose so,” she replied, unfazed by his scowl. “Aunt Catherine considers it a prime failing of mine.”
Absently he reached up and touched his scar, running his finger along the jagged ridge. “My disfigurement was courtesy of my uncle’s signet ring, if you must know.”
The uncle he had supposedly murdered? Raven wondered. The question must have shown in her eyes, for Kell nodded.
“I could cheerfully have killed him. He sent my mother to an early grave, after taking her sons from her. There was no love lost between us.”
“And he struck you? In the face?” Her outrage was evident in her tone.
“Among other places. It’s no secret that we fought regularly.”
Raven studied him, wondering at his truthfulness. Had he told her that story merely to put off her questions? Or to gain her sympathy? Perhaps he used his scar to his own advantage, to hide the secrets he kept locked inside. Secrets that admittedly she was dying to know. She searched Kell’s face. His eyes were like polished obsidian, darkly reflective and damnably unrevealing.
How many other secrets was he hiding behind those fathomless eyes?
“Is that why you despise society so?” she said finally. “Because of your mother?”
Something hot and dangerous flared in those dark depths. It was a long moment before he answered. “Primarily. As an Irishwoman she was never good enough for my father’s kin-or most of the English Quality, for that matter. I want nothing to do with their ilk.”
“Then we have something in common,” Raven murmured with all seriousness. “I have no more admiration for many of the ton’s members than you do. On the whole they are cruel, soulless, unbelievably shallow. Certainly I have no desire to suffer their contempt and condescension. If I had my way, I would tell them all to go to the devil.”
His eyebrow shot up. “The toast of London professing to disdain the haute monde? Why don’t I believe you?”
“It’s true,” Raven insisted. “One doesn’t have to admire a set in order to aspire to their ranks.”
“Then why were you so eager to marry one of their scions?”
She hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. “In large part because I promised my mother. In her youth, she…had a falling out with her father and was banished to the West Indies for life. But she always regretted losing her position in society and denying me the chance for that sort of life. It was her dream for me that I marry a title and become accepted by the ton. Indeed, it was almost an obsession with her. She made me vow on her deathbed-”
Raven felt her throat close on the familiar pain. “My promise was all that let her die in peace,” she added, her voice uneven with emotion.
Kell’s face took on that familiar, enigmatic look. “I understand vows like yours,” he murmured. “I vowed to my own mother that I would care for Sean.”
Raven suddenly flushed, realizing she’d exposed far too much of herself for comfort.
“Please”-she returned to the subject at hand-“won’t you consider making an allowance just this once? I must face the wolves sometime if I’m to have any hope for redemption. And Brynn-Lady Wycliff-thinks a ball is the best means. But I can’t possibly succeed unless you stand beside me.”