“Stand? That alone is a good enough reason to eschew your ball. My leg is injured-far too painful for me to stand on it, let alone dance.”
“Do you even know how to dance? It is a gentleman’s skill, after all.”
She had meant to be provoking, and from the flash of irritation in his eyes, she judged she had succeeded.
A long moment passed while he contemplated her.
Raven held her breath, waiting for an explosion of wrath, but it never came. Instead a glint of reluctant amusement entered his eyes, the warmth softening the intensity. “You are treading a fine line with your temerity, vixen. Aren’t you the least afraid your ‘dangerous’ husband might throttle you?”
Raven smiled. “Just this once, and I will never again ask for your presence. After the scandal dies down, we can give up any pretense of being in love.”
Kell grimaced. “Very well, I’ll attend your damned ball. But after that, you are on your own. Now take yourself out of here and try to salvage what little is left of your reputation. And leave me the hell in peace.”
When she was gone, however, Kell sat there without returning to his task of cleaning weapons. He had no desire to attend Raven’s blasted ball, but he still felt an unwilling sympathy for her. He did indeed understand the kind of promise she had made to her mother. He’d sworn a promise of his own to his mother.
Absently Kell reached up and touched his cheek, tracing the scar Raven had inquired about. He could could still feel his rage when he’d discovered his uncle’s crimes against his young brother, still feel the slashing sting of being wounded that day.
“You vile bastard! I’ll kill you if you dare touch him again.”
He’d attacked his uncle blindly, raining physical blows and receiving punishing ones in return. He eventually won the violent fistfight, but William’s signet ring had struck him viciously in the face, splitting his cheek wide open.
That night he had fled with Sean, stealthily making their way to Dublin, hoping to disappear. Those were desperate days on the streets, and they barely survived. With no time to seek medical attention, Kell’s cheek had healed raggedly, leaving the skin forever marred. Yet his scar was nothing compared to the scars William had left on his brother. Sean’s shame was a raw wound, festering in the dark depths of his soul.
And six months later William had tracked them down-
Forcing his thoughts away from that grim memory, Kell picked the foil he had been cleaning. Their uncle William had been an expert swordsman and should have won any contest with rapiers. Instead he’d wound up dead, slain by his own blade.
A fitting turn of events, Kell thought, setting his jaw. Even if he hadn’t been the one responsible.
Chapter Ten
The night of the ball arrived with chilling swiftness. After donning her armor, Raven dismissed her maid and stood staring at her reflection in the cheval glass. She saw a patrician young lady gowned in an elegant confection of peach and gold, her ebony hair piled high on her head and secured with a gold bandeau.
A comforting sight, she thought, encouraged. She was about to do battle and she would need every advantage she could muster. She glanced at the mantel clock. Shortly the hostilities would begin…
Defiantly Raven lifted her chin and turned to pace her bedchamber while she waited for her husband’s escort. Kell had returned home to dress, she knew, for she’d heard him moving around in the adjacent dressing room, speaking to his valet.
In only a few moments a knock sounded on her bedchamber door. When she opened it, a ruggedly beautiful stranger stood there. She stared at Kell, breathless.
“Well, do I meet with your approval?”
He looked dark and diabolically handsome in a blue superfine coat, pristine white cravat, silver brocade waistcoat, white satin knee smalls, and black patent pumps with silver buckles.
“Y-yes…” she stammered. “Yes, of course.”
His own glance raked her briefly, displaying merely a flicker of acknowledgment of her own appearance, before he offered her his arm. “Shall we go then?”
He escorted her downstairs, where they retrieved cloaks and gloves and Kell’s tall beaver hat before braving the chill winter night and settling into his barouche.
They were the first to arrive at the Wycliff mansion. As she alighted on the silent street, Raven felt her disquiet rise. Had she made a grave mistake, thinking that anyone at all would attend her ball?
The house was quietly magnificent, adorned with winter roses and hothouse flowers, the crystal chandeliers sparkling with candleflame.
Their hosts awaited them in the drawing room, and both Lucian and Brynn stepped forward at their entrance. Raven felt a strange measure of satisfaction at Brynn’s start of feminine awareness upon spying Kell. His smoldering masculinity would make any woman take notice, even a beautiful woman like Brynn, who was madly in love with her own stunningly attractive husband.
Brynn recovered almost immediately, however, offering Kell her hand along with a welcoming smile.
Her husband was more reserved in his welcome, but just as sincere. Tall, lithe, dark-haired, Lucian had once been one of the country’s premier rakes. He shook hands with Kell, his blue eyes keen and measuring.
“Raven has told us of your generosity in coming to her rescue, Mr. Lasseter, and I would like to express my thanks. We owe you an enormous debt of gratitude.”
“You owe me nothing, my lord,” Kell replied with little inflection.
“On the contrary. Raven is very special to us, like a sister”-Lucian cast her a smile that could melt stone-“and I assure you I intend to find some means of repaying you.”
Seeing Kell’s jaw harden, Raven thought to intervene, but she was spared when her great-aunt and grandfather were announced.
Lord Luttrell embraced her warmly, then allowed himself to be settled on a couch with a glass of sherry. Lady Dalrymple greeted Raven with chilling politeness and spoke not a word to Raven’s new husband, making it perfectly clear she was here under duress.
After a few awkward moments, however, the others in the company ignored the frosty atmosphere while their hosts expertly steered the conversation to non-controversial subjects.
Brynn had planned a quiet dinner before the ball with only the family in attendance, and the meal proceeded with unexpected cordiality. Raven was particularly surprised when Kell not only participated in the discussions, but did so with ease. He was putting himself out for her benefit, she knew, although he would not meet her gaze.
Afterward they repaired to the ballroom to await the guests’ arrival. The light from myriad candles cast a shimmering glow over the vast chamber and took the chill from the winter evening, but no amount of flame could warm the growing ice in Raven’s stomach.
Her tension only mounted as they formed a receiving line. Her cowardly inner voices were encouraging her to flee, while her own rebellious instincts were clamoring for her to give up her aspirations of redeeming her ruined reputation.
She glanced at Kell, who stood grimly at her side, and for some inexplicable reason, she took heart. If he could endure what must seem like torture to him, then she could as well.
The Marquess of Wolverton was the first to arrive. Shunning proper etiquette entirely, Dare kissed Brynn’s cheek and then Raven’s, affably greeted Lucian and Kell and Lord Luttrell, and bowed deeply over Lady Dalrymple’s hand, pressing his lips to her fingers with a lingering sensuality that made the elderly lady flush.
Finally she snatched her hand away, muttering something under her breath about rogues and libertines and looking as if she would like to strike him with her fan.