Nicole Jordan (12 page)

If her sensual memories of last night were anything to judge by, Kell Lasseter would make an exceptional lover.

Shutting her eyes, Raven made a sound of distress deep in her throat. She didn’twant an exceptional lover. She didn’t need a real lover when she had her pirate. For tonight, however, there was no hope for it. She would have to become Lasseter’s wife in truth.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. Surely she could manage to resist his dangerous appeal for one night.

Determinedly attempting to dismiss her chaotic thoughts, Raven made her way to the drawing room to compose what was certain to be a difficult letter to her former betrothed.

It took over an hour, as well as a half dozen drafts before Raven was satisfied with her letter to Halford, explaining how she had been stolen on her wedding day by a man who’d captured her heart long ago.

She didn’t like having to lie to him but felt the tale was necessary not merely to save her reputation, but to provide a balm to Halford’s wounded dignity. The duke had an immense sense of pride, and she had savaged it, however unintentionally. Thus she was glad that her heartfelt apology had a sincere ring of truth.

And even in the midst of her misery, she couldn’t deny a vague feeling of relief that she wouldn’t be required to wed Halford after all. Losing him wasn’t the devastating blow it might have been had she truly loved him.

Forcibly ignoring her despondent thoughts, Raven sanded and sealed her letter, then sent for O’Malley and commissioned him to deliver it for her. A mistake, she realized, for it gave him the opportunity to quiz her relentlessly about her decision to wed the man whose brother had made her life a misery.

“I’ve heard tell of Lasseter, Miss Raven,” the groom protested almost as vocally as her grandfather had done earlier. “His reputation is shady, without a doubt.”

“I know all about his reputation,” Raven replied quietly. “But I have to believe it is much exaggerated.”

“But his brother—”

“Kell isnothing like his brother, O’Malley; I am certain of that. If he were, nothing could induce me to wed him. But as you said, I have little choice. Marrying Mr. Lasseter is the only possible way to extricate myself from this disaster.”

“Maybe so,” O’Malley agreed with grave reluctance, “but I’d not like to see you hurt again.”

“I know. But the worst is over.” She gave him a smile of reassurance and repeated her arguments until he finally abandoned the fight and complied with her request to deliver her letter.

When he was gone, Raven sighed. She couldn’t take O’Malley to task for exceeding the bounds of the servant-mistress relationship, for he enjoyed the status of an old friend, and she knew he worried for her. He had looked after her since she was a young girl.

She felt her stomach clench with familiar anguish as she recalled the first time the groom had consoled her. She had been ten years old at the time, nearly dancing in anticipation of attending the birthday celebration of the Honorable Miss Jane Hewitt. Eleven-year-old Jane was the daughter of the highest-ranking nobleman on the island, and all children of the Quality had been invited.

Raven, however, had made the mistake of asking her stepfather for a new dress—a request Ian Kendrick not only denied but maliciously ridiculed.

“You will not need a new dress, Raven, because you are not going. A bastard does not belong in such elite company.” He eyed her coldly, making a scoffing sound. “You would never have been invited were your low origins known.”

Bastard. Savage pain sliced through Raven at the vicious word, and it was all she could do to hold back her tears. It wasn’t that she needed or even wanted a fancy dress; she was much more at home in her worn riding habit than flounces and ribbons. But to be forcibly excluded because of her birth, and worse, to suffer her stepfather’s implied threat to tell the world about her origins…His cruelty made her stomach churn.

She had fled to the stables and hid in the hayloft, where O’Malley found her sobbing her heart out. Hunkering down beside her, he eventually coaxed from her the reason for her grief.

“I am a bastard, O’Malley. I will never be anything better. I am anobody .”

“ ’Tis not true, Miss Raven. You’re a beautiful young lady, I’ll be thinking. And who sired you isn’t as important as who you are inside, here.” He touched his chest.

“But I have no father.”

“If you want a da, I’ll be your da.” He patted her shoulder. “There now, dry your tears and come with me to see the new filly. She’s a beauty, with a coat as black as your hair….”

Ian Kendrick had died two years later, but Raven had never extinguished her private fear of being publicly branded a bastard.

Nor was it only her mother who had dreamed of the day Raven could travel to England and take her place among the nobility, of when she could prove herself worthy of joining the elite ranks that would have scorned her had they known the truth.

With an illustrious title attached to her name, Raven was certain, she could bury the secret shame of her past once and for all. No one would dare utter a word against her when she was a duchess. And at last she would belong somewhere.

But now those dreams of belonging had been shattered.

Steeling herself against the bitter despair roiling inside her, Raven forced herself to ring for the housekeeper. She had felt alone for most of her life; she could endure it again if need be.

She managed to choke down a light tea, but by the time she went upstairs to the bedchamber she’d been allotted, her feeling of hopelessness had returned full force. All the tension and emotional turmoil of the past day had taken a toll, leaving her with only desolation.

The thought of dressing for her wedding was more than she could face. Perhaps she would feel better if she could just rest for a moment.

Slipping out of her borrowed gown, she undressed down to her shift, then crawled beneath the covers and closed her eyes. In only an instant she had fallen asleep, but it was a slumber troubled by restless dreams of her fantasy lover.

His anger was something new. His eyes burned like black coals as his hands twined in her hair, tilting her mouth roughly up to his. Raven drew a sharp breath at his painful assault. He had never acted this violently before.

“You cannot love him,” her pirate snarled against her lips. “He will never own your heart.”

“No,” she promised, “never. Only you can possess my heart.”

He drew back, and she gave a start as the glitter of his gaze swept over her. This was not her pirate! He had the same intense, burning eyes, and his handsome features held the same anger. But this was Kell Lasseter.

His face filled her vision, harsh with emotion, savage with demand. He was a beautiful devil, infinitely more dangerous than her pirate lover.

Alarmed, she pressed her palms against his chest, encountering corded muscle and searing heat. She felt the forceful beat of his heart along with the frantic trembling of her own as she met his scathing glance. He was wildly angry at her—for hurting his brother, for being trapped into marriage.

And yet she was angry at him as well, for ruining her plans, destroying her life. She stared back defiantly.

His mouth crushed down over hers then, claiming her lips in a brutal kiss. Her senses reeling, she tried to fight the shivers that suffused her body. She ached to repudiate him, to conquer him. It was as if they were battling for control…a duel of desire that neither of them could win.

She could feel his angry passion as he drew her hard against him. Heard herself whimper as he thrust his tongue ruthlessly into her mouth, his kiss hot and compelling.

She arched against the steel band of his arm, but he pulled her closer, grinding his loins into hers, rubbing the hard ridge of his manhood against her soft mound. Her nipples tightened unbearably, while a similar ache throbbed in her lower body.

Her thighs were clamped together, but he managed to slide one finger between them, finding her hot, honeyed crease. A shudder rocked her, and he made a rough sound of satisfaction, thrusting even deeper into her slick, swollen flesh folds.

Helplessly she parted her legs and opened to him fully. She couldn’t deny the hunger of her body. This was what she craved, the hard fierce lovemaking of this incredible man. Their mouths locked together, and she felt herself surrender to the wild, lashing urgency….

A low, insistent voice calling her name brought her out of her disturbing dreams. Raven froze to see her lover sitting beside her on the bed. No, not her lover. Her soon-to-be husband. Kell Lasseter had one hip resting on the mattress, a hand pressed against her arm to urge her awake.

In the lamplight, his features looked starkly sensual, reminding her of his fierce passion in her dreams. When she met his dark, unsettling eyes, the power sent a shock wave rippling through her.

Her body was aching shamelessly for him. Did he know what she had been dreaming?

Just then his gaze strayed lower, and Raven felt her face flush. She had thrown off most of the covers, while the bodice of her shift had slipped down over one shoulder, exposing the swell of her breast.

Flustered, she crossed her arm over her bosom to shield herself, but Kell pretended not to have seen her immodest display.

“It’s time,” he said simply, his grim tone more that of a man facing execution than his nuptials.

Chapter

Seven

Her wedding was nothing like Raven had planned. Instead of an elegant church ceremony with hundreds of elite guests in attendance, her marriage took place in the drawing room of a country pleasure house, with O’Malley and the Goodhopes to serve as witnesses. She wore a simple, long-sleeved gown of lilac kerseymere, with her hair dressed in a plain knot at her nape.

Her intended husband, too, was vastly different from the nobleman she’d expected to be united with in holy matrimony. Instead of possessing an illustrious title and vast estates, her darkly handsome groom owned a gaming hell and was shrouded in scandal. And he was certainly not the safe, comfortable spouse she had wanted. There was nothing safe or comfortable about Kell Lasseter.

As she listened to the ritual words that would bind her to him for life, Raven realized her trepidation must be showing, for halfway through the exchange of vows, Kell bent to murmur bracingly in her ear, “Smile, vixen. You’re about to be wed, not attend a funeral.”

She stiffened her spine and managed to pledge her troth in a reasonably composed tone, but all too swiftly it was over. Ordinarily a celebration would have followed. Had she wed her duke yesterday, she would have enjoyed a sumptuous wedding breakfast. Instead, a light repast was to be served in the dining room for the bridal couple alone.

Raven, however, temporarily forgot her misgivings when she accompanied her new husband there, for she saw him limping, even with his cane.

“My leg stiffened after all the jarring travel today,” he replied to her questioning glance.

Remorse returned to smite her. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“No. But I’m afraid you will have to take the lead tonight. I am not fit for the normal exertions expected of a bridegroom.”

Reminded of the night to come, Raven felt her stomach muscles clench.

Throughout dinner, she merely toyed with her food, a thrumming awareness of her new husband setting all her nerves on edge. She answered his every attempt at conversation with monosyllables.

Her reserve puzzled Kell at first. Last night in his bed, she had been so flame hot, so hungry for him, that she’d practically torn his clothes off. But then last night she had been suffering under the influence of a powerful aphrodisiac. And she hadn’t known who he was—a half-Irish gamester who was rumored to be a murderer.

Resentment returned to settle in his gut. The fact that Raven Kendrick had a beloved Irish groom and professed not to be repulsed by his Irish roots didn’t convince Kell that she was different from the other contemptuous, purebred English members of her class. Certainly his blue-blooded bride would be comparing him to the duke she should have wed. And naturally she would find a mere commoner sorely lacking.

Kell’s fingers tightened reflexively around his wineglass—but then he swore at himself. What the devil did it matter what his bride thought of him? After tonight they would not need to see much of each other.

Yet that galled him as well. Raven considered him good enough to save her from disaster but not good enough to make a life with her as her husband—even if he didn’t in the least want that sort of life with her.

He wantedher , though. Kell bit back an oath. The pain of his wound throbbed less than the pain in his groin.

“Shall we retire?” he said finally, struggling to control his foul mood.

His wife visibly stiffened. And when Kell pushed back his chair and came around the table to help her rise, she hesitated, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

“I thought you said you were not afraid of me,” he said tightly.

She bit her lower lip. “I am not, really.”

“Then stop looking like a frightened doe. I have no intention of assaulting you. Sex is more pleasurable when the woman is willing.”

His sardonic comment made her chin rise, which was precisely what Kell had hoped for. He preferred her blue eyes flashing defiance, for then he wouldn’t experience the illogical feeling that he was taking advantage of her.

Kell stood back as she rose and, with a gesture of his arm, invited her to precede him from the room. He escorted her upstairs to the master bedchamber and let her enter first. The room was softly lit by a single lamp, while a fire burned warmly in the hearth—perfectly appropriate for a bridal couple on their wedding night.

As he closed the door behind them, he saw Raven stop and take stock of the huge bed with its brocade curtains. The covers had been turned down invitingly. Her glance quickly shied away to focus on anything else.

“I suppose this is where you conduct your orgies?” she asked—whether out of belligerence or curiosity or merely to buy time, he wasn’t certain.

“What would a well-bred young lady know about orgies?” he drawled.