Which meant hundreds of thousands of pounds had exchanged hands, Kell knew, which meant a tidy profit for
the house. At least something in his life was going well.
He nodded, glad that he didn’t have to face Emma Walsh at just this moment. He didn’t have the energy to explain about his sudden unwanted marriage.
Favoring his wounded leg, he climbed the stairs to his private study. Emma had left neat stacks of receipts and promissory notes on his desk, along with several ledgers, but he had no interest in reviewing her accounting, or really any need. She was entirely capable of running the club as well as he.
Instead, Kell entered the adjoining bedchamber and eased himself onto the bed, where two nights ago he’d spent countless passionate hours ministering to his feverish patient-
Trying to block out the scorching memory, he flung his arm over his eyes and let his thoughts return to the dark days after discovering his uncle’s perversions.
They had escaped William Lasseter’s guardianship and fled to Ireland, where Kell had done his best to rear his brother and try to help him overcome his tormented past. Utilizing his gaming skills, Kell had managed to claw their way out of poverty and eventually accumulate significant wealth, so that by the time he reached his majority, he no longer needed the inheritance left in trust by his father. But he’d made serious mistakes with his brother.
Guilt-wracked and filled with self-remorse for what he’d allowed to happen, he’d tolerated Sean’s excesses more than was wise, providing him all the advantages money could buy, indulging him, not making him accept responsibility for his binges of drinking and gaming and whoring. He’d taken Sean to see the best doctors in Edinburgh in an effort to control his black moods, but he hadn’t enforced their recommendations that Sean live a quiet life.
Perhaps if he’d been sterner…
It was several years before Kell realized his failure. Longer still before he finally acknowledged that his brother’s simmering resentment at being abandoned to their uncle’s depravity remained a festering sore between them.
Then last summer Sean’s torment had been compounded when he was smitten with a heartless beauty and found himself impressed in the cruel arms of the British Royal Navy.
Raven Kendrick wasn’t directly responsible for that tragedy, Kell knew now, but there was no question that her irresistible allure had led Sean into more suffering. He would always bear the brutal scars on his back as proof-even though their uncle no doubt had scarred Sean far worse than the navy ever could.
Those brutal shipboard beatings had sent Sean over the edge, Kell could see that now. Sean clearly hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d abducted Raven. And no doubt he deserved retribution for his vicious treatment of her. But Kell was still desperately determined to protect his brother.
Enough to wed the woman Sean professed to love and risk his hatred.
Kell grimaced, remembering Sean’s bitter accusations of betrayal and the charge that he’d fallen for the wiles of a practiced schemer.
He hadn’t fallen for her, of course. Yet he would have to take care if he didn’t want to be led around by his cock. He could still feel the silk of Raven’s hair, the warmth of her skin, her beguiling combination of passion and innocence. He still ached with the hungry frustration of being unable to fully satisfy his own rampant sexual need…
Hell and damnation, Kell swore under his breath. He would do whatever it took to remain immune to her allure. At the very least, he owed it to his brother to keep his distance. He couldn’t add further insult to injury by rubbing Sean’s nose in his marriage. He wouldn’t fulfill those accusations of betrayal.
And that meant doing his damnedest to keep away from his new bride.
Raven’s morning was as trying as Kell’s, for she gathered her courage and forced herself to face her jilted betrothed, determined to apologize in person. She owed Halford that much.
Since a lady did not visit a bachelor’s residence, though, and since she preferred not to risk a public rebuff, she penned a note to the duke, asking him to call on her. She waited restlessly for several hours before he deigned to appear.
Her heart was pounding uncomfortably as his grace was shown into the drawing room, but one glimpse told Raven he was not inclined to accept her apology.
Charles Shawcross, the Duke of Halford, was every inch a nobleman, tall and distinguished and rather attractive in a stern sort of way. With his brown hair graying at the temples, he looked more like her father than a prospective bridegroom, yet despite his age and studied aloofness, they had enjoyed an unexpected compatibility. She’d come to admire his keen intelligence, while he had been attracted-against his will, Raven suspected-by her liveliness and even her unconventionality.
At her murmured invitation, Halford took a seat on the damask settee, crossing one leg over the other, regarding her without speaking. He had always been a private man of few words, but his simmering silence spoke volumes. She had never seen his expression so harsh.
There was anger in his blue eyes, as well as some darker emotion… Could it possibly be grief? Raven wondered in dismay. She had never expected to cause him real pain. She’d thought her defection had merely wounded his august pride.
“Well?” he said finally, his tone glacial.
“You read my letter yesterday?” Raven asked.
“I did, madam. Thus I see no purpose for this interview. You made your feelings quite clear.”
She clasped her fingers in her lap, striving for patience. “I wanted the chance to explain in person, to beg your forgiveness.”
“Indeed? You expect forgiveness for the dastardly trick you played?”
“Yes, Charles…I truly am sorry. You did not deserve such wretched treatment.”