“It’s true,” Raven insisted. “One doesn’t have to admire a set in order to aspire to their ranks.”
“Then why were you so eager to marry one of their scions?”
She hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. “In large part because I promised my mother. In her youth, she…had a falling out with her father and was banished to the West Indies for life. But she always regretted losing her position in society and denying me the chance for that sort of life. It was her dream for me that I marry a title and become accepted by the ton. Indeed, it was almost an obsession with her. She made me vow on her deathbed-”
Raven felt her throat close on the familiar pain. “My promise was all that let her die in peace,” she added, her voice uneven with emotion.
Kell’s face took on that familiar, enigmatic look. “I understand vows like yours,” he murmured. “I vowed to my own mother that I would care for Sean.”
Raven suddenly flushed, realizing she’d exposed far too much of herself for comfort.
“Please”-she returned to the subject at hand-“won’t you consider making an allowance just this once? I must face the wolves sometime if I’m to have any hope for redemption. And Brynn-Lady Wycliff-thinks a ball is the best means. But I can’t possibly succeed unless you stand beside me.”
“Stand? That alone is a good enough reason to eschew your ball. My leg is injured-far too painful for me to stand on it, let alone dance.”
“Do you even know how to dance? It is a gentleman’s skill, after all.”
She had meant to be provoking, and from the flash of irritation in his eyes, she judged she had succeeded.
A long moment passed while he contemplated her.
Raven held her breath, waiting for an explosion of wrath, but it never came. Instead a glint of reluctant amusement entered his eyes, the warmth softening the intensity. “You are treading a fine line with your temerity, vixen. Aren’t you the least afraid your ‘dangerous’ husband might throttle you?”
Raven smiled. “Just this once, and I will never again ask for your presence. After the scandal dies down, we can give up any pretense of being in love.”
Kell grimaced. “Very well, I’ll attend your damned ball. But after that, you are on your own. Now take yourself out of here and try to salvage what little is left of your reputation. And leave me the hell in peace.”
When she was gone, however, Kell sat there without returning to his task of cleaning weapons. He had no desire to attend Raven’s blasted ball, but he still felt an unwilling sympathy for her. He did indeed understand the kind of promise she had made to her mother. He’d sworn a promise of his own to his mother.
Absently Kell reached up and touched his cheek, tracing the scar Raven had inquired about. He could could still feel his rage when he’d discovered his uncle’s crimes against his young brother, still feel the slashing sting of being wounded that day.
“You vile bastard! I’ll kill you if you dare touch him again.”
He’d attacked his uncle blindly, raining physical blows and receiving punishing ones in return. He eventually won the violent fistfight, but William’s signet ring had struck him viciously in the face, splitting his cheek wide open.
That night he had fled with Sean, stealthily making their way to Dublin, hoping to disappear. Those were desperate days on the streets, and they barely survived. With no time to seek medical attention, Kell’s cheek had healed raggedly, leaving the skin forever marred. Yet his scar was nothing compared to the scars William had left on his brother. Sean’s shame was a raw wound, festering in the dark depths of his soul.
And six months later William had tracked them down-
Forcing his thoughts away from that grim memory, Kell picked the foil he had been cleaning. Their uncle William had been an expert swordsman and should have won any contest with rapiers. Instead he’d wound up dead, slain by his own blade.
A fitting turn of events, Kell thought, setting his jaw. Even if he hadn’t been the one responsible.
Chapter Ten
The night of the ball arrived with chilling swiftness. After donning her armor, Raven dismissed her maid and stood staring at her reflection in the cheval glass. She saw a patrician young lady gowned in an elegant confection of peach and gold, her ebony hair piled high on her head and secured with a gold bandeau.
A comforting sight, she thought, encouraged. She was about to do battle and she would need every advantage she could muster. She glanced at the mantel clock. Shortly the hostilities would begin…
Defiantly Raven lifted her chin and turned to pace her bedchamber while she waited for her husband’s escort. Kell had returned home to dress, she knew, for she’d heard him moving around in the adjacent dressing room, speaking to his valet.
In only a few moments a knock sounded on her bedchamber door. When she opened it, a ruggedly beautiful stranger stood there. She stared at Kell, breathless.
“Well, do I meet with your approval?”
He looked dark and diabolically handsome in a blue superfine coat, pristine white cravat, silver brocade waistcoat, white satin knee smalls, and black patent pumps with silver buckles.
“Y-yes…” she stammered. “Yes, of course.”