Raven flashed a tremulous smile. He was right, of course. The title itself wasn’t as important as what it represented; she could indeed keep the promise she had made to her mother.
She felt her eyes burn with tears. “Kell…I don’t know how to thank you. My mother would have cherished this.”
His own smile was wry. “My mother would have been pleased as well. She was never one for retribution, but she would have enjoyed watching her son become a lord after all the slights she endured because of her modest origins. I wish she were alive to see it.”
Raven heard the sorrow in his voice and realized it was a measure of how far they had come that Kell let her see his pain rather than try to conceal it from her.
Raven turned away to hide her dismay at another realization. She knew with frightening clarity that if she let herself, she could love Kell.
I can’t fall in love with him, she murmured fiercely to herself. Loving Kell would be reckless, foolish, mad. He had made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing but her body. He wasn’t the kind of man to surrender his heart in undying passion, especially to the woman he’d been compelled to offer his name in marriage.
Losing control of her own heart could be utterly disastrous. She could spend the rest of her life yearning for what she could never have.
And yet she very much feared he would leave her no choice.
Just then she felt his presence behind her. When Kell slid his arms around her and bent to nuzzle her nape, Raven tensed, calling on every ounce of willpower she possessed not to respond.
Fortunately she wasn’t required to, for she heard a throat being cleared from the doorway. Feeling a surge of relief at the interruption, Raven turned to find the butler awaiting them, his gaze politely averted.
“Yes, Knowles?” Kell demanded without much patience.
Assuming an apologetic look, the servant handed him a folded slip of paper. “A message from Miss Walsh, sir.”
Raven watched as Kell scanned the contents and saw his face cloud over with that same enigmatic mask he’d once worn.
“What is it?” she asked, not knowing whether to be alarmed.
“It seems my brother has returned to London,” Kell said gravely, his dark eyes hooded as they met hers.
Chapter Nineteen
Kell wished he could be pleased by his brother’s return, but he couldn’t summon any joy at the news. Instead, his most prominent emotion was guilt for shirking his duty.
For the past two months he’d tried to avoid thinking much of his brother. Even a fortnight ago when he’d received an alarming complaint from the horse farm in Ireland, he hadn’t acted. According to the steward, Sean had whipped a mare until her coat ran with blood.
Kell knew he should have gone to Ireland then, but he’d been too wrapped up in pursuing his wife to spare time for his brother. The most he’d done was investigate a new doctor and inquire about uncommon treatments for someone of Sean’s savage moods.
And Sean’s mood would undoubtedly turn savage when Kell couldn’t deny he had fallen for his wife. Certainly Sean would feel betrayed.
Kell had hoped they could discuss the matter in private, but his brother wasn’t at the club, nor was he to be found at his lodgings.
Kell decided against traipsing all over London in search of him, but he withdrew his invitation to Raven to join him at the club that evening. He wasn’t going to hide, but he wanted Raven safely out of the way in case Sean’s reaction was explosive.
Yet he couldn’t shake the foreboding in his gut when the evening’s gaming began.
He spent most of the night accepting congratulations, for word of his new title had gotten around. Regrettably, his brother had already gotten wind of it as well.
When Sean arrived near midnight, he was three sheets to the wind.
Kell intercepted him as he entered the hazard room. “Welcome back,” he said, taking his brother’s elbow to steady him.
Angrily Sean brushed off his assistance. “I hear you’re a bleedin’ lord now.”
“Why don’t you join me upstairs and we can discuss it?”
“Doan wanna discuss it!” His glaze bleary, he glanced around him. “Where is she?”
“Where is who?”
“That shhlut you made your wife. Hear sheesh leadin’ you around by the nose.”
“Sean, that is enough!”
Sean cast him a glance full of fury and pain. “Damn you, Kell. I warn’ you what would happen.”
Turning, he stumbled out. Kell followed him to the front door and watched as Sean climbed awkwardly into a waiting hackney.
Unable to shake his disquiet, Kell hailed another hackney and took the club’s bruiser with him as a precaution. Raven was at home alone, with only a few servants for protection.
He arrived in time to see Sean pounding on the front door, yelling obscenities at the top of his lungs. Kell leapt from the hired carriage just as lights appeared in several windows. An instant later the door swung open to reveal O’Malley standing there.
Without warning Sean lunged at the groom. Unable to dodge the hands that were intent on choking him, the Irishman let fly a blow to the jaw that set Sean reeling backward down the front steps.
After tumbling several revolutions, he landed facedown with a groan. When Kell reached him, he was cursing violently again, but he brushed off any help and struggled to sit up.
“I’ll not be begging his pardon, m’lord,” O’Malley declared, flexing his fingers. “I would not let him harm Miss Raven.”
Kell glanced up, belatedly realizing he was the one being addressed as “m’lord.” Raven had come to the door, he saw. She was holding a candle aloft and clutching the lapels of her wrapper closed with her other hand, her hair a wild mane around her shoulders.
Climbing to his knees, Sean brandished his fists at the groom. “You’ll pay for that!” he growled, then pointed at Raven. “And so will you!”
With a curse of his own, Kell helped his brother to stand and escorted him forcibly to the first hackney. He paid the jarvey double the usual fee to see that the drunken gentleman got safely home and ordered his own man, Belker, to watch over Sean until he could call in the morning. The club’s doorman was a former pugilist and could easily overpower Sean if need be.
When the carriage had driven off down the dark street, Kell dismissed the second hackney. Then he returned to the house where Raven awaited with her groom and a dozen other concerned servants. Kell sent them all back to bed, but O’Malley remained, the set of his massive shoulders belligerent.
“I had no course but to use my fives,” the groom insisted, his gruff tone defensive.
“I agree,” Kell said evenly.
“I’ll not let him harm her.”
“I should hope not. I’m grateful she has you for protection, Mr. O’Malley.”
Giving Kell an assessing stare, the Irishman finally nodded.
Raven couldn’t relinquish her own anger so readily, but she didn’t wish to give vent to it in front of her groom. “I am grateful as well, O’Malley,” she interjected. “Thank you. Why don’t you return to bed now?”
With a tug of his forelock, he disappeared toward the back service stairs.
She gave her husband a blazing glare when they were alone. “Kell, you must do something. This cannot go on.”
Kell’s jaw tightened. “I know.” Turning on his heel, he went into his study.
Almost trembling with rage, Raven followed. She shut the door carefully behind them and set down her candle before she threw it.
“What do you intend to do about Sean?” she demanded as Kell went straight to the brandy decanter and poured himself a glassful. “He is nothing but a dangerous bully.”
Kell winced as if struck. Staring down at his liquor, he spoke in a low voice. “I had hoped Sean would have a chance to heal in Ireland, but spending time there doesn’t seem to have helped him.”