Raven hesitated, glancing at the mantel clock, which showed the hour of ten. “It’s late. Perhaps I should retire.”

It was not an invitation to join her, Kell knew. She intended to keep as much physical distance between them as possible-her way of maintaining her emotional defenses, he realized.

Wisely Kell clamped down on his instinctive urge to protest. He would be far better off not touching her. He would have a hard enough time maintaining his own defenses without the temptation of Raven’s lovemaking to further arouse his heart’s longings.

He returned a wry smile. “This is early compared to the hours I usually keep. On a busy night at the club, it’s rare that I get to bed before three or four in the morning. I think I will stay up for a while, perhaps find a book to occupy me.”

“Grandfather’s library is well stocked,” Raven observed.

“Good. I’ll see what reading material is available.”

In unspoken accord, they quietly left the room. When Kell escorted her to the foot of the stairs, Raven paused with a nervous glance, as if wondering what he intended.

“Sleep well,” was all he said, putting a firm rein on his desires.

He wanted more than anything to accompany her upstairs to bed and resume where they’d left off last week. But he would first have to resolve two burning questions:

How could he break through Raven’s determined guard when she was so set on resistance?

And did he even wish to risk gambling his heart against such formidable odds?

To Raven’s dismay, keeping her distance from Kell proved impossible during the course of their visit-particularly since they were required to spend their nights together in enforced intimacy.

Even though she retired long before Kell did and intended to remain well on her side of the bed, once the fire died down, the wintery chill of the room drove her to unconsciously seek the warmth of her husband’s body. She woke each morning to find herself pressed against him, reveling in his heat.

The first time startled her. Raven lay gazing at Kell while he slept, her breath faltering as she studied his beautiful features. He looked slightly dangerous and disreputable, with his wicked scar and the early morning stubble shadowing his jaw. And yet his usual intensity was missing. His peaceful repose made him seem younger, more vulnerable-and roused an unwanted tangle of desire and tenderness inside her.

Savagely repressing the emotions, Raven eased away and rose to dress, shivering in the frigid air.

During the day, time hung heavily on her hands. It began to snow in earnest, with the storms sometimes developing into blizzards, so her fascination with the novelty of snow quickly wore off. Ordinarily she would have spent her mornings riding, even though her grandfather kept a meager stable, but hazarding the treacherous conditions would have been lunacy.

Raven found herself at loose ends until the viscount rose late in the mornings, when she could keep him company, reading aloud to him or playing cards. But still, her husband usually joined them, and being in the same room with Kell under such intimate circumstances for so many hours each day severely tested her nerves.

She was most discomfited by her infrequent glimpses into his past, when he shared fond memories. One was dredged up during a particularly chilly afternoon, when they had gathered before the drawing room fire to enjoy mulled cider spiced with cinnamon.

“Drink up, my boy,” Luttrell commanded. “I’ll wager you’ve never tasted better.”

Kell smiled as he stared down into his steaming mug. “No disrespect, my lord, but actually I have. My mother had a decided partiality for mulled cider and had her own family recipe. At Christmastime, she would bundle us up and send us out hunting for a Yule log with my father, and when we returned, she would ply us with hot cider. It tasted like nectar to me. After she died, though…” Kell shrugged, making Raven suspect he had never entertained the custom again. But then he recalled himself and raised his mug to the viscount in a salute. “But this comes a close second to my memories.”

Christmas came four days after their arrival and further strained Raven’s nerves. It started out safely enough when they exchanged gifts.

She had gotten Kell a matched set of foils of the finest steel, and he seemed pleased when he examined them.

“Remarkable quality. How did you find these? I wasn’t aware you knew anything about fencing.”

“I don’t. Dare selected them for me.”

Kell’s mouth tightened momentarily, but then he handed her his gift.

Raven opened the large package to discover a luxurious blue kerseymere cloak trimmed with marten fur, with a matching fur hat and muff.

“Emma chose them,” Kell remarked evenly.

Raven was gratified that his gift was relatively impersonal, yet she felt a familiar sting of jealousy when he mentioned the beautiful hostess.

To her further chagrin, Christmas dinner held a disturbing amount of closeness and warmth. They enjoyed a repast of roasted goose and plum pudding, followed by more carols. Then her grandfather surprised them by telling ghost stories, which led to a great deal of merriment. Dismayed, Raven knew she would be glad to return to London.

The next day, however, was Boxing Day, when Lord Luttrell distributed Christmas boxes of money to the poor and to his own servants, as well as opened his grand house for a tenant ball. Raven was required to dance several dances with her husband, which only reminded her of the sacrifice Kell had made in marrying her.

Shortly after the ball, winter tightened its grip on the countryside, not only making the snow too deep for riding but delaying their departure indefinitely; the roads to London had become impassable.

Impatient and restless, Raven began to think it was a mistake to have come with Kell, for there was no avoiding him. With him sharing her bed, she couldn’t even escape into dreams of her fantasy lover in an effort to dismiss him from her mind.

And then there was Kell himself. He seemed a kinder, more considerate man than the one she had wed-or at least he was making an effort to blunt the sharp edge of his sardonic wit.

He apparently noted her restlessness, though, for when Raven complained about having nothing to occupy her time, he offered to stave off her boredom by teaching her how to fence. She accepted with alacrity, desperately needing the distraction.

Thus, for several hours each morning, Kell instructed her on the use of foils, the tips of which were protected by buttons. He demanded that she work hard, but Raven found herself craving his praise. Even the slightest compliment warmed her more than was warranted.

She proved a fast learner and appeared to surprise him with her agility and quickness, but to her admittedly untrained eye, Kell’s skill seemed truly remarkable. When in an offhanded tone she asked how he had become so good, he surprised her by giving her a candid reply.

“It was a retaliation of sorts against my uncle. He was a champion fencer, and I was eager to deflate his pride. So I set out to compete on his level and even excel. I relished the day I was good enough to challenge him and win.” His mouth curled, evidently at some dark memory. “Uncle William considered me part devil, and I made it a point to live up to my reputation.”

Raven would have liked to hear more but refrained from asking, already regretting having given Kell an opening to share further confidences.

The following week, she thought she would finally have a brief respite from Kell when the sun made an afternoon appearance. Declaring she had to get outdoors or go mad, she bundled up in her new cloak and braved the frigid temperatures to tromp about in the heavy snow.

To her dismay, however, Kell accompanied her.

The countryside sparkled a crystalline white and offered a breathtaking view, but all Raven could think about was the man beside her, especially when he took her elbow to help her maintain her balance on the slippery paths recently cleared by the Luttrell gardeners. She had just begun to grow accustomed to the texture and depths of the icy drifts when she was startled to feel a thud on her shoulder and a burst of snow spraying her face.

Kell had thrown a snowball at her, she realized in astonishment.

“I expect you’ve never engaged in a snow fight,” he said with a challenging grin.

“Now where would I have learned that?” Raven demanded, placing her hands on her hips in annoyance.

“There is an art to fashioning a good snowball. Would you like me to teach you?”

“I suppose so,” she replied, intrigued despite herself.

Quite against her will, she allowed him to introduce her to the deliciously childish pastime of a snow fighting.

For a time the air was filled with flying snow and laughter and shrieks of protest. Raven couldn’t remember when she had enjoyed herself more-or when Kell had seemed happier. It warmed her to see him so lighthearted. His smile had always been so elusive that she delighted in his devilish grin as he stalked her.

But then she hurled a well-aimed missile that sent his hat sailing, and he retaliated by tackling her face-first in a snowbank.

“Pax!” she cried, weak with mirth as she struggled to turn over.

When she found herself pinned beneath his weight, Raven suddenly stilled, gazing up at Kell. The sun picked up the glinting blue highlights in the ebony waves of his hair, while the cold had flushed his cheeks and his sensual mouth…

Kell froze as well, staring back at her. He was drowning, drowning in the shimmering ocean of her eyes. When he felt Raven shift uneasily beneath him, the sharp yearning welled up in him like an ache. He wanted so badly to stake his claim on her. What he wouldn’t give to be in a real bed with her just now, bringing her to pleasure and taking pleasure in return.