Chapter Nineteen
Kell wished he could be pleased by his brother’s return, but he couldn’t summon any joy at the news. Instead, his most prominent emotion was guilt for shirking his duty.
For the past two months he’d tried to avoid thinking much of his brother. Even a fortnight ago when he’d received an alarming complaint from the horse farm in Ireland, he hadn’t acted. According to the steward, Sean had whipped a mare until her coat ran with blood.
Kell knew he should have gone to Ireland then, but he’d been too wrapped up in pursuing his wife to spare time for his brother. The most he’d done was investigate a new doctor and inquire about uncommon treatments for someone of Sean’s savage moods.
And Sean’s mood would undoubtedly turn savage when Kell couldn’t deny he had fallen for his wife. Certainly Sean would feel betrayed.
Kell had hoped they could discuss the matter in private, but his brother wasn’t at the club, nor was he to be found at his lodgings.
Kell decided against traipsing all over London in search of him, but he withdrew his invitation to Raven to join him at the club that evening. He wasn’t going to hide, but he wanted Raven safely out of the way in case Sean’s reaction was explosive.
Yet he couldn’t shake the foreboding in his gut when the evening’s gaming began.
He spent most of the night accepting congratulations, for word of his new title had gotten around. Regrettably, his brother had already gotten wind of it as well.
When Sean arrived near midnight, he was three sheets to the wind.
Kell intercepted him as he entered the hazard room. “Welcome back,” he said, taking his brother’s elbow to steady him.
Angrily Sean brushed off his assistance. “I hear you’re a bleedin’ lord now.”
“Why don’t you join me upstairs and we can discuss it?”
“Doan wanna discuss it!” His glaze bleary, he glanced around him. “Where is she?”
“Where is who?”
“That shhlut you made your wife. Hear sheesh leadin’ you around by the nose.”
“Sean, that is enough!”
Sean cast him a glance full of fury and pain. “Damn you, Kell. I warn’ you what would happen.”
Turning, he stumbled out. Kell followed him to the front door and watched as Sean climbed awkwardly into a waiting hackney.
Unable to shake his disquiet, Kell hailed another hackney and took the club’s bruiser with him as a precaution. Raven was at home alone, with only a few servants for protection.
He arrived in time to see Sean pounding on the front door, yelling obscenities at the top of his lungs. Kell leapt from the hired carriage just as lights appeared in several windows. An instant later the door swung open to reveal O’Malley standing there.
Without warning Sean lunged at the groom. Unable to dodge the hands that were intent on choking him, the Irishman let fly a blow to the jaw that set Sean reeling backward down the front steps.
After tumbling several revolutions, he landed facedown with a groan. When Kell reached him, he was cursing violently again, but he brushed off any help and struggled to sit up.
“I’ll not be begging his pardon, m’lord,” O’Malley declared, flexing his fingers. “I would not let him harm Miss Raven.”
Kell glanced up, belatedly realizing he was the one being addressed as “m’lord.” Raven had come to the door, he saw. She was holding a candle aloft and clutching the lapels of her wrapper closed with her other hand, her hair a wild mane around her shoulders.
Climbing to his knees, Sean brandished his fists at the groom. “You’ll pay for that!” he growled, then pointed at Raven. “And so will you!”
With a curse of his own, Kell helped his brother to stand and escorted him forcibly to the first hackney. He paid the jarvey double the usual fee to see that the drunken gentleman got safely home and ordered his own man, Belker, to watch over Sean until he could call in the morning. The club’s doorman was a former pugilist and could easily overpower Sean if need be.
When the carriage had driven off down the dark street, Kell dismissed the second hackney. Then he returned to the house where Raven awaited with her groom and a dozen other concerned servants. Kell sent them all back to bed, but O’Malley remained, the set of his massive shoulders belligerent.
“I had no course but to use my fives,” the groom insisted, his gruff tone defensive.
“I agree,” Kell said evenly.