Then he lowered himself upon her, the sleek heavy weight of his body pressing her shivering thighs wide.
“You are my passion and my pain,” he whispered, his voice rough.
The restlessness inside her stirred harder, hotter.
When his rigid flesh sank into her, she gasped and held him closer, drawing him even more deeply, sheathing him tightly. And when he began to move, she wound her legs around him and lifted herself to match his fierce thrusting.
It was a short, almost violent mating, her soft whimpers turning to cries as her senses erupted in climax. She shuddered as the spasms convulsed through her.
Yet when the throbbing of her body finally ebbed, when the heated pulses faded away, she still felt unsated.
Raven stirred to wakefulness, feeling the sharp lash of disappointment. She had let her mind slip into her dream world of illusion where she usually found fulfillment, but this time the usual pleasure had been missing. Even now the hungry yearning was still there, clamoring inside her. The wildness still pulled at her, along with a strange emptiness…
Rolling over, Raven drew the sheet to her naked breasts. What had gone wrong? Her fantasy lover had never before failed her like this.
She had created him to fulfill her ideals. He was all she could ask for in a lover-tender, commanding, passionate, sharp-witted. A nameless, faceless soul mate who stirred her blood and calmed her restless spirit. He rarely spoke except to challenge her, seeing her as his equal, not a conquest to be dominated or subjugated.
With him she found the tenderness she craved, the love she dared not seek from any real man. Her pirate was her protection from heartache. She could surrender to him without fear of losing herself.
But he had never seemed so insubstantial as now.
Raven shut her eyes, envisioning her pirate lover. The hard, virile face. The thick, dark lashes. The eyes that were hot, intense, passionate…
Oh, God…Kell.
She groaned softly, trying to shut out his powerful image. He bore too damningly close a resemblance to her imaginary lover.
A twinge of panic coursed through Raven as she tried to rationalize this disquieting turn of events. There was a logical reason she’d found her fantasy so disappointing. She now had a standard to compare to.
For the first time in her life, she knew what real passion was. She knew the touch of a flesh and blood man, his taste, his scent, his fiery heat… She knew Kell.
She groaned again, remembering how he had aroused her passion on her wedding night.
Murmuring a low oath, Raven buried her face in the pillow, determined to crush her vivid memories of that night. Of him.
She couldn’t deny the distressing realization, though. Her fantasy lover was no longer as satisfying as her very real husband.
The elusive husband who wanted nothing to do with her.
Chapter Thirteen
Raven couldn’t regret her underhanded means of forcing Kell to cooperate in his own salvation, yet she worried he wouldn’t take their wager seriously. Determined to press her case, she canceled her ride the next morning and instead surprised her husband by joining him in the breakfast room.
Kell briefly looked up from reading The Morning Chronicle, appearing disgruntled that she would invade his domain. After a terse greeting, he returned to perusing the news.
Raven didn’t let his displeasure distress her. She filled her plate from the sideboard and took the seat at his right hand, addressing him as she spread strawberry jam on a muffin.
“I spoke to Dare and Lucian yesterday about our scheme to redeem your reputation. They intend to do their utmost to help, now that you have agreed to participate.”
The sound Kell made was something between a grunt and a sigh. “I know. They attended my club last evening.”
“Did they?” Raven smiled in relief. “I was certain I could count on them.”
She took a bite of coddled egg and studied Kell. He was dressed informally again with no cravat, but his rust-colored coat molded his muscular shoulders to perfection, while the pristine white of his shirt heightened his dark good looks. She was growing accustomed to his scar, but his unabashedly sensual appeal still had the power to unsettle her.
Chastising herself, Raven mentally searched for a subject to distract her thoughts from her husband’s dangerous masculinity.
“I have been wondering, Kell, about the climbing boy I met at your club yesterday. How is Nate doing?”
He didn’t look up from his paper. “Well enough.”
“I’ve been thinking…”
“That strikes me as hazardous,” Kell murmured, his tone dry.
Raven bit back a smile. “It seems to me that a gaming hell is no place for a boy to be raised.”
Kell did lift his gaze at that, regarding her intently over the paper. “You consider yourself an expert on how boys should be raised?”
“No-and I intended no criticism. I just thought that perhaps Nate would be better off living here. In your house, I mean, rather than at your club.”
His eyes held hers in a level stare. “You would actually consider taking in a wretch from the streets? You don’t fear he would purloin the silver or murder you in your bed?”
“Not in the least,” she responded, surprised he would ask such a question.
“Most ladies would.”
“Well, I don’t. And I should like to help.”
When Kell finally answered, his tone had lost its gruff edge. “It is generous of you to offer, but Nate has come to know the staff at the club, and I’m certain he would feel less apprehensive there than he would here. In any case, he will remain at the club only a few more days. I’m taking him to a foundling home once his bruises heal.”
Raven frowned. “I have heard some unpleasant tales about foundling homes. About the cruel lives their inmates lead.”
“Not all such places are cruel. And it will be best for Nate to be around boys his own age and to learn a trade. The lad is sharp-witted for all that he seems so cowed.”
“But it must be frightening for him to go to live in new surroundings.”
“This home is not so frightening,” Kell replied. “The headmistress is a jovial sort and gives out gingerbread to the newcomers to make them feel welcome.”
“I should like to see that,” Raven said thoughtfully. “Would you consider allowing me to accompany you when you deliver Nate there?”
Kell’s eyes narrowed with something like suspicion. “Why would you wish to?”
“Because I have little to occupy my time. And I would like to do something worthwhile, rather than moping around here, feeling lonely and sorry for myself. Please? I promise I won’t make a nuisance of myself or cause you any trouble.”
Reluctant amusement lit his eyes. “Your middle name is trouble, vixen. But if you seriously want to go…”
Raven gave him a brilliant smile. “I do.”
“Very well. Now will you permit me to finish my breakfast in peace?”
“Certainly,” she agreed, “if you will hand me a page or two of the paper. Are you always such a bear in the morning?” she couldn’t resist asking when he had complied.
Kell’s stare turned to one of exasperation. “Might I remind you that you were supposed to be a wife of convenience, not a termagant?”
Forcibly Raven swallowed her amusement and applied herself to the society page, content to retreat after her small victory.
Four days later she found herself accompanying Kell and Nate on the drive from London to Hampstead, where the Charity Home for Indigent Boys was located.