Swiftly Kell strode down the corridor to the bedchamber
he normally used when staying overnight at his club. The Golden Fleece was an elegant gaming hell, but the gambling took place on the ground floor below, while this floor held only private rooms.
The door to his bedchamber was locked, he discovered. Kell rapped sharply, uttering one terse word. “Sean.”
When there was no reply, he spun on his heel and made his way to the adjacent study, then crossed to a second door that connected with his bedchamber. Finding this one unlocked, Kell entered and came up short, taking stock.
On the bed, a disheveled woman lay on her side, her bound hands stretched overhead and tied to the headboard. She wasn’t quite naked, but her fine cambric shift was hiked up above her knees, exposing long slender legs, while her ebony hair flowed in wild disarray over her bare shoulders.
Kell felt his heart give an unsteady jolt. So this was Miss Raven Kendrick, the dazzling debutante who commanded the homage of nobles. Their paths had never directly crossed before, probably because he actively shunned her ilk and her elevated social circles-unlike his brother, who’d earnestly aspired to join her elite ranks.
Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t stir, yet she was clearly a damsel in distress.
Kell’s first urgent impulse was to rescue her from her plight, but he fought down his natural instincts-shock, horror, fury that his brother would treat any woman so cruelly. He had to remember who she was. A deadly temptress with a heart of ice. One who lured impressionable young men to their doom simply for sport. She deserved to be punished in some fashion for the misery and suffering she’d caused his brother-although this was unquestionably too harsh a penance.
Kell’s gaze shifted to his brother. Sean sat slumped in a wing chair near the hearth, cradling a whiskey bottle in one hand, a riding whip in the other. Three long scratches scored the left side of his face.
Involuntarily Kell reached up to touch his own cheek and the wicked scar there. But his scar was an old one and no longer painful, unlike the ones his brother bore, both visible and hidden.
Outwardly, though, they were much alike, with jet black hair and athletic builds, although Sean was slighter and not quite as tall, and his eyes were shamrock green, not nearly black like Kell’s.
Sean glanced up now, his green eyes bloodshot, as if he was deep in his cups.
Kell clamped down on his churning emotions, knowing he would need to remain calm in order to deal with this volatile situation.
“Would you care to explain why you’ve barricaded yourself in my bedchamber like this?” he said finally, stepping inside and closing the door.
Sean waved his bottle toward the quiescent beauty on the bed. “Thish is my revenge,” he muttered, slurring his words. “I abducted her. Ruined her noble marriagsh. Her curshed duke won’t have her now.”
“And the whip?” Kell asked.
“Mean to flog her like I was flogged. A whip, not a cat-o’-nine-tails. Won’t hurt as much, morsh the pity.” Sean made a scoffing sound deep in his throat. “Devil is…couldn’t do it shober…Needed courage…” He held up the bottle.
Kell felt a measure of relief that his brother couldn’t cold-bloodedly carry out his planned vengeance but needed to work himself into a drunken stupor. Sean was a charming, reckless rogue with the devil’s own tongue and a quick, hot temper-no doubt a product of his half-Irish blood-but his darker nature was purely the result of his English ordeals.
And in this case, Sean’s bitterness was entirely justified. Last June, the treacherous Miss Kendrick had sent her groom to thrash him for daring to aspire to her hand. Left unconscious on the London streets, Sean had been taken up by an impressment gang and forced to serve in the Royal Navy for four brutal months, an experience that had left livid scars on his back.
Kell couldn’t think of that time without dread and guilt. When his brother had suddenly disappeared, he’d searched frantically and finally rescued Sean from the inhumaneness of the British navy. Yet Kell had once more been tormented by self-blame because he hadn’t prevented Sean’s suffering or shielded the brother he’d vowed to protect.
Tears suddenly filled Sean’s green eyes before he lowered his head. “I loved her, Kell. Why’d shhhe have to do that? Taunted and teashed me, then spurned me to wed her cursed duke an’ dishposed of me like so much offal. Heartless bish.”
Kell himself was filled with anger at the vicious seductress who’d so callously orchestrated his brother’s impressment. Even so, flogging her now was insupportable.
Crossing to his brother, Kell reached for the whip. “You don’t really want to beat her, Sean. No matter her crimes, you can’t be reduced to brutalizing women.”
When he took the whip away, Sean immediately protested. “Yesh, I can… Sheesh my hostage. Gonna hurt her th’ way shhhe hurt me.”
Kell tossed the whip on the adjacent table and noted the other weapons his brother had staged there-a pistol and a lethal-looking knife. Sean had obviously come prepared for every eventuality.
Just then the woman on the bed stirred, giving a low moan. Taking up the knife, Kell went to her. Her patrician face was flushed and feverish, but he fought his feelings of sympathy, reminding himself of her treachery as he carefully sliced away her bonds and freed her hands.
For an instant she opened her eyes, looking up at him with a vacant stare, and Kell froze in reaction. Long, sooty black lashes rimmed incredible blue eyes, making him suddenly understand the bewitching effect she’d had on his brother.
From the huge size of her pupils, though, he could clearly see she’d been drugged. Her lashes lowered and fluttered against ivory skin. Then rolling over with a weak groan, she pressed her face into the pillow.
Deliberately he drew the corner of the counterpane over her, as much to shield her near nakedness from his sight as to ensure her warmth. He had no desire to fall victim to her dangerous allure, as his brother had.
“What did you give her, Sean?” he asked over his shoulder.