He never should have touched her, Kell reflected darkly as he watched Raven Kendrick attempt to explain their sudden engagement to her disbelieving relatives. He’d hoped that physical intimidation might influence her to refuse his reluctant proposal of marriage, but regrettably, wrapping his arms around her had only reminded him of their feverish night together: the incredible feel of her aroused body, her passionate hunger for a man, his yet unfulfilled ache…
Bloody hell, but his ill-considered embrace had been a mistake, affecting his body and his senses on the most primal level. His body still throbbed, while his mind spun, unable to focus on the current conversation.
Moments ago they’d returned to the salon to announce their intention to marry, and for a brittle instant, both her great-aunt and grandfather had sat stunned. Then Lord Luttrell had practically exploded in protest, leaping to his feet and waving his cane in the air to punctuate his objections while Raven tried to calm him and prevent him suffering a true apoplectic fit.
His own mind distracted, Kell settled in a chair and watched his prospective bride, wondering exactly why he had felt compelled to save her. He didn’t want a wife of any kind. Certainly not a blue-blooded temptress who drove men like his impressionable brother wild. And he’d had at least one other option besides the parson’s noose. Determined to keep Sean out of prison or worse, he could have spirited his brother out of the country to avoid any retribution by Miss Kendrick or her enraged family.
There was his sense of honor, of course. Any man with a shred of decency would feel obliged to make amends for the violence she had been shown. And he actually had been the one to compromise her. It was his bed she had spent the entire night in.
But Kell suspected there were other, more profound reasons he hadn’t fought harder against having to make her his bride.
Simply put, if he didn’t wed her, she would have no defenses against society’s savagery. He didn’t want the image of her desperate and alone haunting him, the way the stark image of his mother still haunted him.
His mother had been an Irish physician’s daughter who’d fallen in love with one of her father’s patients-an Englishman injured in a hunting accident while touring Ireland. Fiona had married considerably above her station, into the wealthy English gentry, and was never accepted by the haughty Lasseters, even though her husband and her two sons adored her. Within months of being widowed, Fiona was banished to Ireland by the boys’ uncle William, who took over their guardianship, despite their anguished pleas and bitter protests. A year later she’d died in poverty.
Kell had blamed his uncle entirely for her death and came to hate William with an unforgiving ferocity. And that was before the bastard had violated his youngest ward’s innocence with his perversions…
Grimly Kell forced away the memory. He’d been unable to shield either his mother or brother all those years ago, but he didn’t intend to bear that burden of guilt again by standing idle while Raven Kendrick suffered.
For whatever reason, he felt a fierce, almost savage need to protect her. He wouldn’t abandon her now. Even if wedding her was wholly contrary to his own personal desires.
Kell gave a silent, humorless laugh. He’d once vowed he would never marry an aristocrat. Indeed, if he’d thought about it, he would have said he wanted to marry only for love; that he wanted a love match like his parents’.
But at least Raven Kendrick wasn’t the typical wide-eyed schoolmiss without a
n intelligent thought in her head. As husband and wife, they would doubtless frequently clash, but he would rather risk being shot again than be tied to a milksop for life. And while the singular Miss Kendrick might be virginal, last night he’d been given a tantalizing glimpse of another woman entirely. A staggeringly passionate woman with strength and fire and spirit enough to keep him constantly intrigued…
Too damned intrigued.
Kell cursed under his breath. He didn’t want to be fascinated by his unwanted bride’s spirit or her captivating beauty. He knew too well the danger she presented. Thankfully they’d agreed only to a marriage of convenience, a dispassionate arrangement that could be entered into without any emotional or physical involvement. After the obligatory consummation, they needn’t ever share conjugal relations. He would have to do his utmost to see their union never became more intimate than that.
Her grandfather, however, was acting as if he didn’t want the marriage to take place at all, Kell realized as he refocused his attention on the conversation. Oddly enough it was Lady Dalrymple who was championing the union.
“You cannot be thinking clearly, Jervis,” the dragon said in her usual frigid tones. “Raven has no option but to wed-”
“My thinking is quite clear, Catherine! You are the one who has gone maggoty. You said he was a damned murderer!”
“Well, I don’t know that for a fact. The rumors could be mere gossip.”
“But he is still a gamester.”
“True. Mr. Lasseter is the scandal of polite society. But Raven is just as notorious at the moment. And disreputable or not, his marrying her will at least provide her with a crumb of respectability. Furthermore”-Lady Dalrymple shot her great niece a glance full of dislike, if not actual malice-“I hazard to say they deserve one another.”
The undercurrents of tension in the room were palpable, and Lord Luttrell’s next accusation only added to the turbulence.
“Doubtless he’s nothing but a damned fortune hunter.”
Kell stiffened at that groundless indictment. He’d rightfully inherited the Lasseter wealth upon his uncle’s death but refused to touch it, turning the income and the use of the entailed estate over to his younger brother, along with the London town house, as recompense for what Sean had suffered. Instead, Kell had made use of his considerable skills as a gamester to amass a small fortune, which had allowed him to open his private gaming club. That success, along with several subsequent judicious investments, had increased his worth tenfold and made him sufficiently rich to earn a certain deference from any but the noble class.
Before he could respond, though, Lord Luttrell continued in a voice full of contempt. “And you can’t deny he’s a bloody Irishman!”
Raven broke into the altercation then, her tone grim. “I think you are forgetting that Ian Kendrick was part Irish. If he was good enough to be my father, then Mr. Lasseter is good enough to be my husband.”
Kell scarcely heard her argument, for he was fighting his own deep resentment and barely controlled rage. The notion that he wasn’t worthy of marrying a British viscount’s granddaughter made him seethe. He could never forget that his mother hadn’t been good enough for the English Quality; that even Irish gentry were considered beneath them.
That sort of upper class bigotry roused his defiance enough to have the opposite effect from the one Lord Luttrell intended; now Kell felt inclined to marry Miss Kendrick simply to spite her disdainful kin.
“But his bloodlines,” Lady Dalrymple broke in, “are inconsequential at this point, Jervis. If she doesn’t wed him at once, the scandal will descend upon all our heads.”