Nicole Jordan - Ecstasy

The uncle he had supposedly murdered? Raven wondered. The question must have shown in her eyes, for Kell nodded.

“I could cheerfully have killed him. He sent my mother to an early grave, after taking her sons from her. There was no love lost between us.”

“And he struck you? In the face?” Her outrage was evident in her tone.

“Among other places. It’s no secret that we fought regularly.”

Raven studied him, wondering at his truthfulness. Had he told her that story merely to put off her questions? Or to gain her sympathy? Perhaps he used his scar to his own advantage, to hide the secrets he kept locked inside. Secrets that admittedly she was dying to know. She searched Kell’s face. His eyes were like polished obsidian, darkly reflective and damnably unrevealing.

How many other secrets was he hiding behind those fathomless eyes?

“Is that why you despise society so?” she said finally. “Because of your mother?”

Something hot and dangerous flared in those dark depths. It was a long moment before he answered. “Primarily. As an Irishwoman she was never good enough for my father’s kin-or most of the English Quality, for that matter. I want nothing to do with their ilk.”

“Then we have something in common,” Raven murmured with all seriousness. “I have no more admiration for many of the ton’s members than you do. On the whole they are cruel, soulless, unbelievably shallow. Certainly I have no desire to suffer their contempt and condescension. If I had my way, I would tell them all to go to the devil.”

His eyebrow shot up. “The toast of London professing to disdain the haute monde? Why don’t I believe you?”

“It’s true,” Raven insisted. “One doesn’t have to admire a set in order to aspire to their ranks.”

“Then why were you so eager to marry one of their scions?”

She hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. “In large part because I promised my mother. In her youth, she…had a falling out with her father and was banished to the West Indies for life. But she always regretted losing her position in society and denying me the chance for that sort of life. It was her dream for me that I marry a title and become accepted by the ton. Indeed, it was almost an obsession with her. She made me vow on her deathbed-”

Raven felt her throat close on the familiar pain. “My promise was all that let her die in peace,” she added, her voice uneven with emotion.

Kell’s face took on that familiar, enigmatic look. “I understand vows like yours,” he murmured. “I vowed to my own mother that I would care for Sean.”

Raven suddenly flushed, realizing she’d exposed far too much of herself for comfort.

“Please”-she returned to the subject at hand-“won’t you consider making an allowance just this once? I must face the wolves sometime if I’m to have any hope for redemption. And Brynn-Lady Wycliff-thinks a ball is the best means. But I can’t possibly succeed unless you stand beside me.”

“Stand? That alone is a good enough reason to eschew your ball. My leg is injured-far too painful for me to stand on it, let alone dance.”

“Do you even know how to dance? It is a gentleman’s skill, after all.”

She had meant to be provoking, and from the flash of irritation in his eyes, she judged she had succeeded.

A long moment passed while he contemplated her.

Raven held her breath, waiting for an explosion of wrath, but it never came. Instead a glint of reluctant amusement entered his eyes, the warmth softening the intensity. “You are treading a fine line with your temerity, vixen. Aren’t you the least afraid your ‘dangerous’ husband might throttle you?”

Raven smiled. “Just this once, and I will never again ask for your presence. After the scandal dies down, we can give up any pretense of being in love.”

Kell grimaced. “Very well, I’ll attend your damned ball. But after that, you are on your own. Now take yourself out of here and try to salvage what little is left of your reputation. And leave me the hell in peace.”

When she was gone, however, Kell sat there without returning to his task of cleaning weapons. He had no desire to attend Raven’s blasted ball, but he still felt an unwilling sympathy for her. He did indeed understand the kind of promise she had made to her mother. He’d sworn a promise of his own to his mother.

Absently Kell reached up and touched his cheek, tracing the scar Raven had inquired about. He could could still feel his rage when he’d discovered his uncle’s crimes against his young brother, still feel the slashing sting of being wounded that day.

“You vile bastard! I’ll kill you if you dare touch him again.”

He’d attacked his uncle blindly, raining physical blows and receiving punishing ones in return. He eventually won the violent fistfight, but William’s signet ring had struck him viciously in the face, splitting his cheek wide open.

That night he had fled with Sean, stealthily making their way to Dublin, hoping to disappear. Those were desperate days on the streets, and they barely survived. With no time to seek medical attention, Kell’s cheek had healed raggedly, leaving the skin forever marred. Yet his scar was nothing compared to the scars William had left on his brother. Sean’s shame was a raw wound, festering in the dark depths of his soul.

And six months later William had tracked them down-

Forcing his thoughts away from that grim memory, Kell picked the foil he had been cleaning. Their uncle William had been an expert swordsman and should have won any contest with rapiers. Instead he’d wound up dead, slain by his own blade.

A fitting turn of events, Kell thought, setting his jaw. Even if he hadn’t been the one responsible.

The night of the ball arrived with chilling swiftness. After donning her armor, Raven dismissed her maid and stood staring at her reflection in the cheval glass. She saw a patrician young lady gowned in an elegant confection of peach and gold, her ebony hair piled high on her head and secured with a gold bandeau.

A comforting sight, she thought, encouraged. She was about to do battle and she would need every advantage she could muster. She glanced at the mantel clock. Shortly the hostilities would begin…

Defiantly Raven lifted her chin and turned to pace her bedchamber while she waited for her husband’s escort. Kell had returned home to dress, she knew, for she’d heard him moving around in the adjacent dressing room, speaking to his valet.

In only a few moments a knock sounded on her bedchamber door. When she opened it, a ruggedly beautiful stranger stood there. She stared at Kell, breathless.

“Well, do I meet with your approval?”

He looked dark and diabolically handsome in a blue superfine coat, pristine white cravat, silver brocade waistcoat, white satin knee smalls, and black patent pumps with silver buckles.

“Y-yes…” she stammered. “Yes, of course.”

His own glance raked her briefly, displaying merely a flicker of acknowledgment of her own appearance, before he offered her his arm. “Shall we go then?”

He escorted her downstairs, where they retrieved cloaks and gloves and Kell’s tall beaver hat before braving the chill winter night and settling into his barouche.

They were the first to arrive at the Wycliff mansion. As she alighted on the silent street, Raven felt her disquiet rise. Had she made a grave mistake, thinking that anyone at all would attend her ball?

The house was quietly magnificent, adorned with winter roses and hothouse flowers, the crystal chandeliers sparkling with candleflame.

Their hosts awaited them in the drawing room, and both Lucian and Brynn stepped forward at their entrance. Raven felt a strange measure of satisfaction at Brynn’s start of feminine awareness upon spying Kell. His smoldering masculinity would make any woman take notice, even a beautiful woman like Brynn, who was madly in love with her own stunningly attractive husband.

Brynn recovered almost immediately, however, offering Kell her hand along with a welcoming smile.

Her husband was more reserved in his welcome, but just as sincere. Tall, lithe, dark-haired, Lucian had once been one of the country’s premier rakes. He shook hands with Kell, his blue eyes keen and measuring.

“Raven has told us of your generosity in coming to her rescue, Mr. Lasseter, and I would like to express my thanks. We owe you an enormous debt of gratitude.”

“You owe me nothing, my lord,” Kell replied with little inflection.

“On the contrary. Raven is very special to us, like a sister”-Lucian cast her a smile that could melt stone-“and I assure you I intend to find some means of repaying you.”

Seeing Kell’s jaw harden, Raven thought to intervene, but she was spared when her great-aunt and grandfather were announced.

Lord Luttrell embraced her warmly, then allowed himself to be settled on a couch with a glass of sherry. Lady Dalrymple greeted Raven with chilling politeness and spoke not a word to Raven’s new husband, making it perfectly clear she was here under duress.

After a few awkward moments, however, the others in the company ignored the frosty atmosphere while their hosts expertly steered the conversation to non-controversial subjects.

Brynn had planned a quiet dinner before the ball with only the family in attendance, and the meal proceeded with unexpected cordiality. Raven was particularly surprised when Kell not only participated in the discussions, but did so with ease. He was putting himself out for her benefit, she knew, although he would not meet her gaze.