Raven shifted restlessly and eased herself from Kell’s embrace, claiming that she was warm enough. Even if it was a lie, she knew she would be wiser to maintain a formal reserve between them.
The situation grew even worse when they arrived at the Luttrell estate. There were some initial awkward moments when his lordship greeted Kell, and Raven worried that she would have to come to her husband’s defense. Then they were shown upstairs and she discovered her grandfather had allotted them only a single bedchamber, even though there were dozens of empty guest rooms throughout the huge manor.
When she eyed the bed unhappily, Kell merely shrugged. “We can manage for appearance’s sake.”
Dressing for dinner proved a further exercise in intimacy, for they had to share the small dressing room under the curious eyes of their servants. Raven was almost grateful when they could repair downstairs for dinner.
The entire manor house was bedecked for Christmas, with holly and ivy and evergreen boughs adorning the picture frames and stairway banisters. Raven saw Kell eyeing the greenery and wondered what he was thinking.
“I haven’t seen such decorations since my youth,” he answered her unspoken question. “My mother was fond of observing Christmas like this.”
The pleasure in his voice held a note of sadness that Raven could understand well enough. She herself had few fond memories of Christmas, but she missed her mother dreadfully.
They found the drawing room particularly festive. A huge Yule log burned in the hearth, while the mantel was brightened by red ribbons and holly sprigs.
Her grandfather awaited her in his favorite chair. At her appearance on Kell’s arm, Luttrell groped for his cane and started to rise, but Raven stayed him with a quick word.
“The decorations are lovely, Grandfather,” she said, bending to give him a kiss on his withered cheek.
“I wanted to make you feel welcome, my girl, so you would visit me more often. I am a lonely old man.”
He turned his attention to her husband. “So tell me, Mr. Lasseter,” the viscount said, plainly making an attempt to include Kell in the conversation, “how have you been getting on with my minx of a granddaughter? I trust she is not proving too troublesome?”
Kell shot Raven a provocative glance, his eyes suddenly gleaming with amusement. “Oh, she is proving exceedingly troublesome, sir, but I am managing somehow.”
Her grandfather gave a crack of laughter and then asked after his sister Catherine, who had remained in London for the holiday. “I confess I didn’t invite her to join us,” Luttrell added in a conspiratorial undertone. “I did not want her spoiling the occasion. Catherine’s shrewish tongue could vex the devil himself, isn’t that right, Granddaughter?”
Raven returned a politely ambivalent smile, although inwardly she was glad she didn’t have to deal with her aunt Catherine as well as her grandfather and her husband.
Dinner turned out to be far more congenial than she had expected, Raven noted with rueful surprise. Even though the two gentlemen found little in common, they both obviously endeavored to be on their best behavior.
When the sweets were finished, she looked expectantly at her grandfather, wondering if they would observe the more formal custom of the ladies repairing to the drawing room while the gentlemen remained behind to enjoy an after-dinner wine and possibly a smoke.
“Go ahead, my girl,” her grandfather urged. “We will join you shortly. I have an excellent port I wish Mr. Lasseter to try.”
Containing her reservations, she left them together and occupied herself by absently picking out tunes on the drawing room pianoforte from the sheet music provided, but she found herself glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantel with increasing frequency.
In the dining room, however, the viscount’s after-dinner conversation had taken Kell somewhat by surprise.
Luttrell began by offering a sincere apology for the chilly reception Kell had received into the family. “It alarmed me to think of my granddaughter wed to a man of your reputation, Mr. Lasseter. But I came to realize what I owed you for saving her. And Raven seems content enough. I trust she is not pulling any wool over my eyes?”
Kell had no desire to answer probing questions about the state of his marriage, and he fended the inquiry off politely. “You will have to ask Raven, my lord.”
Luttrell waved an impatient hand. “I doubt she would tell me if she were unhappy, since she wouldn’t wish to disappoint me.” He leaned forward, pinning Kell with an intent gaze. “I hope you will allow me to be frank, sir. I’m an old man and not much longer for this world, I fear. I want my granddaughter to be well cared for when I am gone-and not only in the monetary sense. Raven will be all alone, except for my sister Catherine, who has all the motherly instincts of a gorgon.”
“I understand Raven has a half brother,” Kell said carefully.
Luttrell frowned. “You know about that, do you? Well, it’s true, she does have a half brother, but she can’t acknowledge the connection without dredging up the past. Furthermore, Sabine is in America, and this infernal conflict with America makes the seas too dangerous to sail. You will be the only protection she has from a cruel world.”
“I assure you,” Kell vowed quite honestly, “I will care for Raven to the best of my ability.” He paused before adding, “I would be better prepared, though, if I understood more of her history.”
“You wish to know about Raven’s mother?”
“I gather you were estranged from her.”
“Yes.” The viscount’s rheumy eyes welled up with tears. “I treated my daughter so wretchedly. I wish to God I had acted differently…” Tears slipped down his wrinkled cheeks as he spoke of his lifelong regrets. “I repudiated my only child because of my stubborn pride, and I never saw her again. What a damned fool I was.” Wearily he shut his eyes. “When you come to be my age, you realize the importance of family. I have only myself to blame for my loneliness.”
They stayed for more than half an hour, with Luttrell lamenting his past mistakes and disclosing what little he knew of his granddaughter’s upbringing. When he finally composed himself, they joined Raven in the drawing room.
Her gaze immediately sought out Kell’s, but he kept his expression purposely enigmatic. Her countenance, however, clearly showed her relief that the two men hadn’t done mortal battle.
Lord Luttrell made straight for his chair and gave a sigh as he sank into it. “Play a carol for us, my dear, while I warm my old bones by the fire. I vow these damned winters are getting more brutal each year. Do you sing, Mr. Lasseter?”
“I haven’t in years,” Kell replied, going to stand near Raven at the pianoforte. “Not since my mother was alive.”
“Well, I am a bit rusty myself, but Raven has a voice like an angel and should keep us in tune. If you are willing to risk making a cake of yourself, so am I.”
Thus it was that Kell, to his amazement, found himself turning the pages for Raven and singing Christmas carols he hadn’t sung since his youth.
The evening was a strange one for Kell, disturbing in many ways, for it reminded him of everything he’d once had and lost. He hadn’t known such familial warmth since his father died.
He found himself relishing the easy laughter between grandfather and granddaughter. Luttrell obviously cared for Raven a great deal and profoundly regretted having lost the opportunity to witness her childhood and to see her grow to womanhood.
The viscount’s earlier sad utterances about loneliness echoed in Kell’s mind as he stood at the pianoforte beside Raven, feeling a strange melancholy. The warmth and intimacy of the evening only emphasized his own isolation, while the discussion of family had roused unwanted reflections about his own painful past and made him acutely aware of all that was missing in his life.
For so many years he’d had Sean and no one else… But now he had a wife. Raven. Unaccountably she filled him with unnamed longings, stirred desires in him that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for an eternity, desires that went beyond the physical. When he was with her, his shattering sense of loneliness faded, and he could almost envision a future that held something other than barren emptiness.