Nicole Jordan (34 page)

Her gaze lowered, focusing on his bare chest. “I told you. I never intend to succumb to hopeless passion the way my mother did.”

“You never speak of your father,” Kell observed evenly.

Her tone turned wary. “What is there to say?”

“I understand he wasn’t your real father.”

“Grandfathertold you?” Dismay etched her beautiful features.

“He said he regretted forcing your mother to marry. I would like to hear about Kendrick. You must not have cared much for him.”

Kell saw her blue eyes flash before she averted her gaze again. “I didn’t care for him. And he never cared for me. He never let me forget that I was not his child.”

“Was he cruel to you?”

She hesitated, but he could sense her pain simply in her silence. “Not in the physical sense,” she finally whispered in a raw voice. “He never struck me. He just constantly reminded me of my illegitimacy. In public he claimed me as his own, but in private he called me his little bastard.” The tremulous note in her voice held a touch of bitterness. “I suppose he ridiculed me simply to hurt my mother, because he was wounded by her sadness. She ignored him and hurt him with her continued pining, and he grew resentful.”

Kell put a finger under her chin, compelling Raven to look at him. “So that was the true reason you wanted to marry your duke?”

“Largely.” Her mouth twisted in a humorless, self-mocking smile, before she continued in a hoarse undertone. “A child of love, my mother always called me. But still I couldn’t help feeling the shame of being conceived out of wedlock. Being titled would ensure my respectability, even if the question of my parentage ever became common knowledge.”

Her voice was so low, he barely heard her admission. “Mama wanted that fear put to rest as well, but she was more concerned with my taking my rightful position in society…. To assuage her guilt, she said. For denying me my birthright.” Raven’s gaze took on an anguished, faraway look, as if she were lost in distressing memories. “I told her it didn’t matter, but she insisted. I held her hand while she was dying, and she made me swear to wed a grand title…. But in the end, I couldn’t keep my promise.”

Tears burned in her blue eyes, and a shudder swept her body.

Kell wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. A surge of hunger coursed through him at the intimate contact, yet mixed with his lust was a painful tenderness for her, a raw desire to protect and cherish. It wrenched his heart to realize how Raven’s dreams had been shattered and to know that his own brother had been responsible. He had pretended not to care, but he did care…deeply.

“You weren’t to blame for breaking your promise,” he said quietly.

“No,” she replied, the word a harsh murmur. “I had no control over that. But I can keep the vow I made to myself—never to make the same mistake my mother made, losing myself to a man and becoming so powerless. Never to let love destroy my life.”

Drawing a slow breath, Kell spoke into her hair and lied. “You needn’t worry about love developing between us. I told you I’m not interested in love.” Pulling back, he raised himself on one elbow. “You have only to give me your lovely body.”

Raven hesitated, torn. She wanted to surrender to the dark desire his words had stirred, wanted to give in to Kell. Yet she wasn’t certain she could trust herself to make love to him and not hunger for more, for something even deeper than the closeness and comfort and warmth she already craved from him.

Involuntarily she reached up and touched her fingers to his sensual mouth, then higher, along his cheekbone and the scar she rarely noticed anymore, it seemed so much a part of him.

When she remained silent, Kell eased away from her, interrupting her roiling thoughts. She watched in surprise as he rose from the bed. He wore no nightshirt, only his drawers, and as usual the sight of his muscled build, sleek and elegant and superbly athletic, made her breath falter.

Going to the hearth, he built up the fire to a crackling blaze, then went into the adjoining dressing room. A moment later he returned with the black satin bag that contained the sponges.

“The decision is yours,” he said, handing her the bag.

Rejoining her beneath the covers, he stretched out beside her, close but not touching. For a long moment he simply lay there, watching her. Waiting for her answer.

The room was warmer now, Raven realized. Or perhaps it was only she who was warmer. The heat in Kell’s eyes was blazing enough to scorch her.

It grew hotter still when she murmured her hushed reply. “Perhaps just this once.”

He smiled and pulled her into his arms, his mouth seeking hers.

“Kell…”

Tenderly he silenced her protest with a scorching kiss. When she yielded with a needy whimper, his lips left hers to skim hotly against her throat, sending a wild surge of desire coursing through her.

“It’s only sex,” he whispered as he pressed her down into the pillows. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Raven moaned in response, though not quite believing as she gave herself over to wanton abandon.

Chapter

Eighteen

The heavy snows eventually ceased, allowing their return to London at last. Kell resumed spending his nights in his own bedchamber and his days at his club, yet Raven was less grateful than she might have imagined. Without his company, her loneliness seemed magnified.

Moreover, although the new year had dawned bright with hope that the interminable war with Napoleon might soon be over, the winter was the coldest in local memory. So cold that even the Thames River itself began to freeze.

The absence of her closest friends from town didn’t help, Raven knew. She had too much time on her hands to remember Kell and his lovemaking—the exquisite torment, the paralyzing pleasure—and the dangerous temptation he posed. During their intimate holiday interlude, he had probed her deepest emotions, exposed her greatest pain, and now she was left to deal with the aftermath, where her private yearnings battled her long-held fears.

Kell, too, was fighting his own battle. Business had dwindled significantly at the Golden Fleece, due both to the holidays and to the frigid weather, and he had little occupation to help drive thoughts of Raven from his mind or to make him forget her recent confession about her parentage.

She hadn’t wanted to reveal so much about herself, Kell knew. Raven kept the emotions that hurt the most locked deep inside, as he did. But he’d heard the pain in her voice when she spoke of her illegitimacy, seen the grief in her eyes at breaking her promise to her mother—and he’d felt shaken by a profound tenderness.

He had tried not to let her concerns become important to him, but they had. And now he found himself wanting to make amends.

He could at least undo some of the damage his brother had wrought, Kell decided; he was wealthy enough to purchase a title for Raven. The Prince Regent’s coffers were always in need of replenishing, since Parliament often refused his exorbitant requests for funds. And the Crown had been known to create new titles, regrant extinct ones, and recommend peerages in exchange for services rendered. Kell had little doubt he could be knighted or awarded a barony for the right price.

He asked Dare’s opinion about the matter when the marquess returned to London at the end of January.

“No, it shouldn’t be difficult for you to acquire a title,” Dare responded with only a slight lift of an eyebrow. “Blessingham obtained his earldom by making Prinny a loan that was never expected to be repaid. If you like, I can put a discreet word in the Regent’s ear. But I thought you disdained our snobbish aristocratic set.”

Kell returned a wry smile. “I do. But Raven being able to attach ‘Lady’ before her name would set her mind at ease and let her fulfill the vow she made to her mother to wed a title.”

Dare only nodded in approval, but the amused gleam in his eyes suggested incredulity that Kell would even consider such a step.

It amazed Kell as well. He had never aspired to join the ranks of society’s upper crust, but now he was actually contemplating letting go of his anger for Raven’s sake, relinquishing his self-imposed, admittedly lonely sentence as an outcast.

Indeed, his entire outlook on life had changed since wedding her. Before their marriage two months ago he would never have envisioned the lengths he would go to simply for the hope of seeing her smile.

By the first few days of February, the Thames had frozen to a solid surface, and Kell surprised both himself and Raven by inviting her to the impromptu fair on the ice that the papers were calling a Frost Fair. It was a sign of her restlessness that Raven accepted so readily, Kell suspected.

The scene between the London and Blackfriars Bridges did resemble a huge fair, with immense crowds milling on the frozen river, enjoying the spontaneous festivities. There were countless stalls and booths selling food and liquor and wares. Swings and merry-go-rounds. People dancing reels and playing skittles. And even printing presses turning out handbills and broadsides to commemorate the occasion.

Raven appeared delighted by the novelty, especially the gaming, which included E.O., Rouge-et-Noir, and Wheels of Fortune.

“Are you certain you don’t want to set up your own booth?” Raven laughingly demanded of Kell. “You could bring your hazard table here and make an outrageous profit, as these vendors appear to be doing.”

“I think I will spare myself the trouble. The ice isn’t likely to last, and I’d rather not run the risk of having my expensive hazard table sink to the bottom of the Thames.”

They wandered about, munching on toasted cheese and hot chestnuts and gingerbread. Fascinated by the skaters, Raven made Kell pause to watch. Some of the performers appeared to be quite skilled, gliding gracefully across the ice like dancers, while others frolicked with amateurish glee, displaying clownish antics and clumsy pratfalls.

“I would never see anything like this in the West Indies,” Raven murmured with delight.

In silent admiration Kell surveyed her heart-shaped face framed by glossy black tendrils. With her cheeks flushed rosy from the cold, her eyes bright with wonder, she looked more like an enchanting girl than a dazzling debutante.

“Do you miss your island?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she replied almost wistfully. “Certainly I miss the warmth. But my mother is gone, and without her there…And I’ve made a new life here.”

“You might like to return there someday.”

“Perhaps. England doesn’t truly feel like home to me.” She glanced up at him. “Do you consider England home?”

Kell reflected on the question thoughtfully. “Not really. I don’t claim any place as home.”

“Not even Ireland?”

“No. My happiest memories are of Ireland during my youth, but after my mother died…” He left the bitter thought unspoken. “When I returned as an adult, the magic was gone. And I found it difficult to earn a reliable livelihood at the hells there. Dublin isn’t London.”

“But now that your club is successful, would you want to go back?”

“I don’t believe so. It took only a few months of living in city stews to realize that I’d developed an idealized view of the country from the stories my mother used to tell. And being half-English was a drawback. The Irish don’t think any better of the English than the reverse.”

“Would you ever want to visit the Caribbean?”

“Possibly.” Kell smiled. “Just now your tales of hot sun and warm beaches sound infinitely appealing.”

They spent another hour enjoying the Frost Fair before Raven started to shiver. When Kell insisted on returning her home, she thought it only polite to offer him a respite from the bitter cold by asking him to stay for tea.

They were ensconced in the drawing room by the fire, sipping hot tea, when he spied a set of foils lying on a side table—foils that belonged to him.

Raven flushed. “I didn’t think you would mind my borrowing them.”

“You’ve been practicing your fencing, then?”

“A little. But I’m not certain if I’m doing it correctly. Dare offered to continue my lessons but he hasn’t yet found the time.”

She saw Kell’s eyes narrow for an instant. “I’m perfectly capable of continuing your lessons,” he observed, almost as if he were jealous.

“I didn’t think you would wish to trouble yourself.”

“I was only waiting for an invitation. Would you like a lesson now?”

Though surprised, Raven nodded. “Yes, indeed. Not only would I enjoy it, but I would do anything to get warm.”

And so she found herself quite unexpectedly dancing across the drawing room, practicing the elements of thrust and parry and riposte with Kell.

It took only moments for Raven to realize her mistake. During their entire visit to the fair, she had been physically attuned to him…to his casual glances, to his nearness, to his slightest touch. But now her sexual awareness intensified.

Kell had removed his coat and waistcoat, and the fabric of his shirt stretched taut, revealing flowing muscles across his shoulders and arms. The sight so distracted her that she had to fight to recall any of the fencing skills he had taught her. And when she clumsily lunged against him and met the hardness of his thigh against her loins, the sensual shock of it scattered her thoughts so badly that she lowered her guard altogether.

Instantly she found herself disarmed, the buttoned point of his foil pressed against her throat.

Kell grinned, his bold, provocative look reminding her so much of her pirate that her breath faltered. Deliberately he backed her against the wall, his dark eyes gleaming in challenge. Her pulse took up an erratic rhythm when his rapier slid lower, brushing the swell of her bodice teasingly.

Then suddenly all teasing was gone. When their gazes locked, a sizzling tension leapt between them, the result of fierce need tightly leashed.

Kell breathed her name in a rough whisper and tossed aside his own foil. His eyes smoldering, he caught Raven to his chest, crushing her hard against him.

His kiss was carnal from the first, frankly sexual, his hard mouth bruising her with delicious force, his knee thrust between her thighs.

Raven whimpered. She hadn’t intended to make love to him, but when his tongue ravished her mouth, her hesitation melted into liquid fire. She wanted him deep inside her, needed the heat of his savage passion.