Nicole Jordan (24 page)

He bent closer, his eyes dark as polished onyx, his lips hovering above hers. She trembled at the warm breath dazing her senses, fearing how she would respond if Kell decided to kiss her, wondering if she could possibly deny him.

But she wasn’t required to make a decision, for suddenly he gritted his teeth and stepped back, putting a safe distance between them, his features totally shuttered.

“Go. Now,” Kell demanded. “Get out before I think of something even more cruel to do to you.”

Raven wisely decided to take his advice. Shakily she picked up her dice and fled the room.

Emma was in the entry hall, apparently waiting to say farewell. Raven exerted herself to respond calmly as she accepted her cloak from the doorman.

She had turned to go when she felt Kell’s presence. When she glanced back, she saw he had moved to stand beside Emma, one hand resting lightly on the blond-haired woman’s shoulder.

Raven felt her stomach twist with a different kind of awareness; that intimate gesture was one of a man toward his lover.

She drew a painful breath. It stung to think that the beautiful hostess was the one claiming Kell’s attentions at night while she lay alone in her bed.

Pasting a frigid smile on her mouth, though, she made a dignified exit, her head held high.

She stirred restlessly in the twilight between waking and sleeping, seeking release from the growing wildness inside her. Her pirate’s worshiping mouth was on her naked breast, roughly tender, his lips suckling her taut, straining nipple. She quivered with her quickened breathing as his rasping tongue laved in a fiery circling.

Below she felt the brush of his fingers stroking possessively against her moist cleft, rimming the slick, honeyed entrance to her body. She arched, wanting him, aching for him.

In response, his caressing lips left off tormenting her bare breasts and moved lower, his open mouth seeking her sex, his breath hot on her exposed, sensitive flesh. She released a choked moan of pleasure as he probed the swollen, aching folds with his tongue.

When she began to writhe, he pressed his face harder between her legs, both hands gripping the curves of her buttocks to hold her to him while his tongue licked and stabbed her with fire, making her burn with desire.

Her body clenched unbearably, her fingers clutching in his hair.

Yet he refused to satisfy her. Pressing one last tantalizing kiss to the core of her, he rose above her. His face was shadowed, but she could feel his intensity, his burning sensuality as he stroked the velvet hardness of his arousal against her.

Then he lowered himself upon her, the sleek heavy weight of his body pressing her shivering thighs wide.

“You are my passion and my pain,” he whispered, his voice rough.

The restlessness inside her stirred harder, hotter.

When his rigid flesh sank into her, she gasped and held him closer, drawing him even more deeply, sheathing him tightly. And when he began to move, she wound her legs around him and lifted herself to match his fierce thrusting.

It was a short, almost violent mating, her soft whimpers turning to cries as her senses erupted in climax. She shuddered as the spasms convulsed through her.

Yet when the throbbing of her body finally ebbed, when the heated pulses faded away, she still felt unsated.

Raven stirred to wakefulness, feeling the sharp lash of disappointment. She had let her mind slip into her dream world of illusion where she usually found fulfillment, but this time the usual pleasure had been missing. Even now the hungry yearning was still there, clamoring inside her. The wildness still pulled at her, along with a strange emptiness….

Rolling over, Raven drew the sheet to her naked breasts. What had gone wrong? Her fantasy lover had never before failed her like this.

She had created him to fulfill her ideals. He was all she could ask for in a lover—tender, commanding, passionate, sharp-witted. A nameless, faceless soul mate who stirred her blood and calmed her restless spirit. He rarely spoke except to challenge her, seeing her as his equal, not a conquest to be dominated or subjugated.

With him she found the tenderness she craved, the love she dared not seek from any real man. Her pirate was her protection from heartache. She could surrender to him without fear of losing herself.

But he had never seemed so insubstantial as now.

Raven shut her eyes, envisioning her pirate lover. The hard, virile face. The thick, dark lashes. The eyes that were hot, intense, passionate…

Oh, God…Kell.

She groaned softly, trying to shut out his powerful image. He bore too damningly close a resemblance to her imaginary lover.

A twinge of panic coursed through Raven as she tried to rationalize this disquieting turn of events. There was a logical reason she’d found her fantasy so disappointing. She now had a standard to compare to.

For the first time in her life, she knew what real passion was. She knew the touch of a flesh and blood man, his taste, his scent, his fiery heat…. She knew Kell.

She groaned again, remembering how he had aroused her passion on her wedding night.

Murmuring a low oath, Raven buried her face in the pillow, determined to crush her vivid memories of that night. Of him.

She couldn’t deny the distressing realization, though. Her fantasy lover was no longer as satisfying as her very real husband.

The elusive husband who wanted nothing to do with her.

Chapter

Thirteen

Raven couldn’t regret her underhanded means of forcing Kell to cooperate in his own salvation, yet she worried he wouldn’t take their wager seriously. Determined to press her case, she canceled her ride the next morning and instead surprised her husband by joining him in the breakfast room.

Kell briefly looked up from readingThe Morning Chronicle, appearing disgruntled that she would invade his domain. After a terse greeting, he returned to perusing the news.

Raven didn’t let his displeasure distress her. She filled her plate from the sideboard and took the seat at his right hand, addressing him as she spread strawberry jam on a muffin.

“I spoke to Dare and Lucian yesterday about our scheme to redeem your reputation. They intend to do their utmost to help, now that you have agreed to participate.”

The sound Kell made was something between a grunt and a sigh. “I know. They attended my club last evening.”

“Did they?” Raven smiled in relief. “I was certain I could count on them.”

She took a bite of coddled egg and studied Kell. He was dressed informally again with no cravat, but his rust-colored coat molded his muscular shoulders to perfection, while the pristine white of his shirt heightened his dark good looks. She was growing accustomed to his scar, but his unabashedly sensual appeal still had the power to unsettle her.

Chastising herself, Raven mentally searched for a subject to distract her thoughts from her husband’s dangerous masculinity.

“I have been wondering, Kell, about the climbing boy I met at your club yesterday. How is Nate doing?”

He didn’t look up from his paper. “Well enough.”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“That strikes me as hazardous,” Kell murmured, his tone dry.

Raven bit back a smile. “It seems to me that a gaming hell is no place for a boy to be raised.”

Kell did lift his gaze at that, regarding her intently over the paper. “You consider yourself an expert on how boys should be raised?”

“No—and I intended no criticism. I just thought that perhaps Nate would be better off living here. In your house, I mean, rather than at your club.”

His eyes held hers in a level stare. “You would actually consider taking in a wretch from the streets? You don’t fear he would purloin the silver or murder you in your bed?”

“Not in the least,” she responded, surprised he would ask such a question.

“Most ladies would.”

“Well, I don’t. And I should like to help.”

When Kell finally answered, his tone had lost its gruff edge. “It is generous of you to offer, but Nate has come to know the staff at the club, and I’m certain he would feel less apprehensive there than he would here. In any case, he will remain at the club only a few more days. I’m taking him to a foundling home once his bruises heal.”

Raven frowned. “I have heard some unpleasant tales about foundling homes. About the cruel lives their inmates lead.”

“Not all such places are cruel. And it will be best for Nate to be around boys his own age and to learn a trade. The lad is sharp-witted for all that he seems so cowed.”

“But it must be frightening for him to go to live in new surroundings.”

“This home is not so frightening,” Kell replied. “The headmistress is a jovial sort and gives out gingerbread to the newcomers to make them feel welcome.”

“I should like to see that,” Raven said thoughtfully. “Would you consider allowing me to accompany you when you deliver Nate there?”

Kell’s eyes narrowed with something like suspicion. “Why would you wish to?”

“Because I have little to occupy my time. And I would like to do something worthwhile, rather than moping around here, feeling lonely and sorry for myself. Please? I promise I won’t make a nuisance of myself or cause you any trouble.”

Reluctant amusement lit his eyes. “Your middle name is trouble, vixen. But if you seriously want to go…”

Raven gave him a brilliant smile. “I do.”

“Very well. Now will you permit me to finish my breakfast in peace?”

“Certainly,” she agreed, “if you will hand me a page or two of the paper. Are you always such a bear in the morning?” she couldn’t resist asking when he had complied.

Kell’s stare turned to one of exasperation. “Might I remind you that you were supposed to be a wife of convenience, not a termagant?”

Forcibly Raven swallowed her amusement and applied herself to the society page, content to retreat after her small victory.

Four days later she found herself accompanying Kell and Nate on the drive from London to Hampstead, where the Charity Home for Indigent Boys was located.

Nate at first seemed overwhelmed by the luxurious interior of the coach and by the unfamiliar sights of the passing countryside. He sat rigidly, not daring to speak as he stared out the window, yet he was obviously listening avidly to every word Kell said.

It amazed Raven to watch Kell reassure the boy.

“If you don’t like the place, you don’t have to stay. But there will be other lads your own age. And you will learn a trade that will allow you to be your own master some day.”

“Not a sweep?” Nate asked in a small voice.

“No, never again. But you will have to learn to read and cipher.”

His nose screwed up in distaste. “Why must oi learn to cipher, sir?”

“Because if you can calculate numbers, you won’t have to toil at physical labor. You could be a tailor’s apprentice or shopkeeper’s assistant or perhaps even a clerk. And you will be less likely to be fleeced by merchants who are eager to cheat you out of your hard-won earnings. Trust me, when you are at the beginning of your career, you can’t afford to forfeit even a penny.”

With a sleight of hand, Kell pulled a penny from behind the boy’s ear and presented it as a gift.

Nate stared wide-eyed in wonder and delight.

“Here, lad,” Kell added, fishing in his pocket for a small purse. “You will need a little spending money to see you through your first weeks.”

The boy was speechless, while Raven felt tears sting her eyes. Doubtless such kindness was rare in Nate’s young life.

When they arrived at the charming village of Hampstead and dismounted from the coach, the boy clung to Kell’s hand. The large, mellow brick manor covered with ivy looked much like a country gentleman’s residence, but behind the house stood outbuildings and fields more appropriate to a farm, with chickens and pigs and grazing livestock in view.

Much to Raven’s relief, the headmaster who greeted them seemed kind and intelligent. And his wife was indeed a jolly soul who won Nate over with gingerbread and soon had him answering gentle questions about his origins.

Nate knew nothing of his father, but apparently his mother had been a Covent Garden doxy who’d sold him into the hellish life of a sweep when he was five. And he was clearly terrified of the man who had been his master.

Mrs. Fenton assured him solemnly that no one here would beat him or force him to climb anything except perhaps a ladder to the haylofts in the barns. Eventually she introduced Nate to a half dozen other boys who took him off to tour the outbuildings, while Mr. Fenton explained the workings of the place to Raven.

The home housed perhaps forty orphans, many of whom were former beggars, cutpurses, or climbing boys. They slept in dormitory rooms according to age and were required to do daily chores around the farm, but they spent several hours each day in the schoolroom and the remainder apprenticing with masters of various trades.

When Mr. Fenton asked what trade Nate might be best fitted for, Kell answered thoughtfully. “He can’t read a word, but he shows an aptitude for mathematics. He can accurately tally the counters at my gaming tables.” Kell gave a wry smile. “He also has a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. And I should warn you, he isn’t partial to bathing. With some decent food, his scrawny form should fill out in time, but I doubt he will ever be cut out for heavy physical labor.”

“We’ll do our best to make him prosper, sir, God love you,” Mrs. Fenton said.

“I’m certain you will,” Kell replied. “You’ve managed to work miracles with the other poor wretches I’ve brought here.”

The healing miracles had already begun for Nate, Raven realized. When he came running back, his eyes shone with the delights he had seen at this, the first real home he had ever had known. His happiness was so palpable, he might have been in heaven—a happiness that only dimmed a bit when Kell and Raven took their leave.

Kell remained silent until they were seated in the coach on their way back to London. “Well, are you satisfied he isn’t being condemned to a life of cruelty?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I cannot imagine a better place for him.”