Raven frowned in dismay. “Surely something can be done to stop him.”

“Well, I can help Lasseter make up for lost business by patronizing his hell more often. And I could ensure that my fellow Hellfire League members do the same.”

“Would you, Dare, please?”

“Of course. But no amount of patronage can repair a club’s tarnished reputation. It’s much like a lady’s good name. Once lost, it is almost impossible to regain.” Dare pursed his sensual lips thoughtfully. “It would no doubt help if Lasseter made an effort to become better known to his more celebrated clientele-give them the opportunity to size up his honor and character. As it stands now, he’s merely a notorious enigma.”

“But how is that to be accomplished?”

“He could start by getting about in society more. I would be perfectly happy to sponsor him, as I’m sure would Lucian, but your husband must be willing to take part.”

“I don’t think he would,” Raven said ruefully. “He despises society.”

“Even to save his club?”

“I don’t know. I will have to ask him.”

She visited the club that afternoon but was informed by the hulking doorman that Mr. Lasseter was away. Emma Walsh, however, came down the stairs at just that moment and greeted Raven with a graciousness that seemed unfeigned.

Raven felt herself flush with embarrassment. She had not seen the beautiful hostess since her abduction and wasn’t quite certain how to act.

But Emma seemed determined to put her at ease. “Kell is at a fencing match, but he should return within the hour. Would you care to wait for him?”

Absurdly, it irked Raven that she knew less about her husband’s whereabouts than this woman did. Surprised by the invitation, though, she accepted readily. When Emma had directed the doorman to have a tea tray sent into the bookroom, Raven surrendered her cloak and followed the hostess, gazing about her covertly.

Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of tasteful richness: the sheen of waxed wood, the sparkle of crystal chandeliers, the sumptuousness of velvet and brocade furnishings.

Emma evidently noticed her interested glances. “Have you ever seen the inner workings of a gaming club?”

“No, but I admit to a vast curiosity.”

“After tea I would be happy to show you about if you wish.”

“I would like that very much.”

“This is the most comfortable room in the place,” Emma said, leading Raven into the library. “It is designed to give the club an air of refinement and remind our patrons of their libraries at home. Here they may enjoy a cheroot or a short respite from the gaming tables.”

When they were seated around the tea table, Emma gave her an assessing glance. “Perhaps you might be interested to know that Sean has left for an extended stay in Ireland.”

Raven drew a hopeful breath. “Truly? He is gone?”

“Yes. Kell persuaded him to go.”

“I wonder how he accomplished that?”

“I am not quite certain, but Kell is the only one who can influence Sean when he turns wild. They are very close, even for brothers. I expect you must be relieved.”

Pressing a hand to her temple, Raven managed a smile. “You cannot imagine how much.”

Emma’s own smile was sympathetic. “I am truly sorry for your ordeal. I tried to stop Sean that day, but all I could do was send for Kell.”

Remembering, Raven shuddered.

“If I may be of any assistance to you,” Emma offered, “you need only ask.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Actually…” She leaned forward. “There is a way you could help me. I find myself in…an awkward situation, wed to a stranger. I don’t doubt you know far more about my husband than I do. It would be helpful if you could tell me more about him. I have only heard bits and pieces regarding his past, and some of those were ugly rumors.”

Emma hesitated a moment before answering. “I suppose you mean the rumors about him murdering his uncle.”

“Yes. Sean intimated to me that they were true.”

Anger filled Emma’s eyes, while her mouth pressed together in a tight line. “I don’t know how their uncle came to die, but I would stake my life on it-Kell Lasseter is not a murderer. And Sean is an ungrateful wretch to imply otherwise after all Kell has done for him!”

Her vehement defense of Kell pleased Raven and only strengthened her own belief in his innocence. “I didn’t think Kell guilty,” she observed. “But he wouldn’t confirm or deny the rumors. All he would say was that his uncle sent his mother to an early grave after taking her sons from her. And that his scar was the result of a blow from his uncle’s signet ring.”

Emma nodded. “I don’t think I would be betraying Kell’s confidence to share what is common knowledge. You know his mother was Irish?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she was not of the gentry, merely the daughter of an Irish physician, and the Lasseters despised her for it. When she was widowed, William Lasseter became her sons’ guardian and threatened to withhold every cent of their inheritance unless Fiona gave up all claim to them.”

“And did she?”

“Yes. From what Sean told me, she couldn’t bear to deprive her sons of their birthright. And she didn’t have the means to fight so powerful a family. She returned to Ireland and died there of an ague, alone and penniless. William refused even to let her sons go to visit her grave.”

“Then it is understandable why Kell would loathe his uncle.”

“Yes, but that isn’t the only reason. According to Sean, William was a tyrant. And someone with Kell’s rebellious nature wouldn’t take kindly to such dictatorial control. Some years later, he became involved in a violent dispute with his uncle, which is when Kell received his scar. He escaped with Sean to Ireland and hid out on the streets of Dublin, barely managing to survive. Sean told me that more than once they had to resort to eating rats-although he might have made that story up simply to unsettle me.”

Raven felt herself shudder. “So what happened next?”

“That isn’t so clear. Eventually William pursued them to Dublin, where he took up lodgings and spent weeks searching for his nephews. But one day he simply disappeared. His body was discovered on a road outside Dublin. Apparently he’d been set upon by highwaymen and killed for his purse.”

“Then why was Kell suspected of his murder?”

“Because William had been run through with a sword blade-an unusual choice of weapons for road agents, who normally use pistols. And Kell was a skilled swordsman. Sean says Kell learned the sport so he could hold his own with his uncle, who was a champion fencer. The theory was that Kell killed William in a duel and then disposed of the body.”

“That seems flimsy evidence on which to base charges so serious as murder.”

“Well, the charges actually came a bit later, from William’s family. They were outraged by his death and felt certain Kell was to blame, but they could never prove it. And it didn’t help that Kell never expressed any grief over his uncle’s demise, or that he refused to return to England. He wanted nothing to do with the Lasseters or their wealth, even though he had to turn to gaming to scrape out a living. He was determined to raise Sean on his own, away from their influence. Kell even refused to accept the inheritance that was rightfully his. Everything you see here, he earned through his own efforts.”

Raven glanced around the lavish room, feeling a touch of guilt. Despite the trials of her childhood, she’d had an easy life compared to Kell’s. She had to admire a man who would make such a sacrifice for his brother. And even though his past was shadowed in secrets, she thought she knew Kell well enough by now to be certain he couldn’t be guilty of cold-blooded murder.

Emma started to speak again but was interrupted when a boy of perhaps ten entered the library, unsteadily carrying a tea tray. He was followed by the majordomo whom Raven had met before.

Under Timmons’s watchful regard, the boy carefully set the tray on the tea table, then looked up at the servant, seeking approval with a hint of fear in his eyes.

Raven could scarcely contain her dismay at the boy’s appearance. Even though he was clean and well-groomed, he was thin to the point of emaciation. Worse, his face and hands sported numerous bruises and open sores that looked suspiciously like burns.

“Thank you, Nate,” Emma said gently. “That was well done of you.”

“Oi, mum.” His coarse accent suggested his lower class origins.

When both the butler and boy had gone, Emma took up the teapot to pour, but she evidently saw Raven’s troubled frown and hastened to explain. “Nate was a climbing boy until last week. Kell discovered him in an alleyway being beaten by his master and forcibly purchased him.”

Raven winced at the image. Climbing boys were little more than slaves and so often ill-treated-by being prodded up chimneys with knives and flaming torches-that they sometimes died.

“I know.” Emma agreed with her unspoken thought. “A life of hell. But at least he has a future now. When his wounds heal, he will go to the foundling home that Kell supports.”

“Foundling home?”

“For orphaned boys.” Emma smiled. “Nate makes the thirteenth street urchin that Kell has rescued. A baker’s dozen. Kell feeds and clothes them, provides for their education, and sees they learn an occupation.”

“How admirable,” Raven murmured, thinking how few true good deeds she had rendered in her own life.

“Yes,” Emma replied. “I owe Kell a great deal myself. He saved me from a…a difficult situation with my former protector.”

And me as well, Raven thought. Kell had saved her from a life as an outcast. “He seems to make a habit of rescuing people.”