Nicole Jordan (36 page)

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.

“I’ll not let him harm her.”

“I should hope not. I’m grateful she has you for protection, Mr. O’Malley.”

Giving Kell an assessing stare, the Irishman finally nodded.

Raven couldn’t relinquish her own anger so readily, but she didn’t wish to give vent to it in front of her groom. “I am grateful as well, O’Malley,” she interjected. “Thank you. Why don’t you return to bed now?”

With a tug of his forelock, he disappeared toward the back service stairs.

She gave her husband a blazing glare when they were alone. “Kell, you must do something. This cannot go on.”

Kell’s jaw tightened. “I know.” Turning on his heel, he went into his study.

Almost trembling with rage, Raven followed. She shut the door carefully behind them and set down her candle before she threw it.

“What do you intend to do about Sean?” she demanded as Kell went straight to the brandy decanter and poured himself a glassful. “He is nothing but a dangerous bully.”

Kell winced as if struck. Staring down at his liquor, he spoke in a low voice. “I had hoped Sean would have a chance to heal in Ireland, but spending time there doesn’t seem to have helped him.”

“No, it doesn’t!” When he made no reply, Raven strove for control. “You don’t mean to defend his behavior, do you? Even though he was beaten so horribly during his impressment, you cannot excuse his violence now.”

“No,” Kell said grimly, “I can’t make excuses for him any longer. But Sean was fighting his demons long before his impressment.”

“What difference does that make?”

A bitter smile touched Kell’s lips. “Because I cannot excuse myself, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t a pretty tale.”

He tossed back a large swallow of brandy, then flung himself into a chair. Raven took a seat across from him, her hands clasped tightly together as she waited.

Kell was silent for a long moment before he spoke in a harsh murmur. “Sean wasn’t always like this. My uncle is largely to blame for his suffering now. You once asked how I got my scar, and I told you I fought with my uncle William. But I didn’t tell you why. For months while I was away at university, my uncle…sodomized my brother. Sean was only thirteen at the time.”

She heard the revulsion and hatred that edged Kell’s voice, and felt her own stomach churn with horror. Sodomy was a serious crime, but to perpetrate it on a young, defenseless boy was abominable.

Raven swallowed hard, tasting bile in her throat. She’d always suspected Sean had a tormented past, but he was burdened with more pain, more desolation than she could imagine. And so was Kell, she had begun to realize.

He was staring down blindly at his glass, his face ravaged by grief. “Living with his shame has…twisted Sean. But I’m as much at fault as my uncle for the way he turned out. I left him alone with that bastard.”

“Kell, you cannot blame yourself for what your uncle did.”

“No?” The word was caustic as he sent her a fierce glance. “You should understand about vows, Raven. You made one to your mother. Well, I made a vow as well. I vowed to protect my brother. But I failed utterly. And I escaped unscathed while he suffered.”

His voice dropped again to an anguished murmur. “Sean has never forgiven me for abandoning him…and I can never forgive myself.”

Mutely Raven bit her lower lip. She could indeed understand Kell’s dilemma more clearly. He felt a tremendous guilt because he’d escaped his uncle’s perversions but hadn’t protected his young brother. Most likely he had been doing penance all this time.

She wondered if Kell could ever let go of his guilt, but nonetheless, Raven knew her fear of his brother was justified. Sean had grown too dangerous. And she had to make Kell see it. He had to prevent Sean from becoming more destructive, even if compounding his brother’s suffering would wound like a rapier.

“Kell, what happened to Sean is truly terrible,” she said softly. “But that still doesn’t excuse his violence. He can’t be allowed to continue threatening people. And I’m afraid you are the only one who can control him.”

“I know.” His voice was a harsh whisper. He rubbed a hand roughly over his eyes. “I should have acted after he abducted you. But the choices were so grim—prison or a madhouse. I wasn’t sure I could bear locking up my own brother in an asylum.”

“You may have no choice now,” she said quietly.

When Kell met her gaze, she could see the torment in his dark eyes. But he didn’t refute her.

After a moment, he looked away. “I’ve arranged for Sean to go to a private house just outside London, to be treated by a doctor who specializes in disorders of the mind. If that doesn’t work…” His tone turned bleak. “I will have to commit him to Bedlam.”

The following morning Kell went to fetch his brother and escort him to his new dwelling in the country.

Hearing the plans for his incarceration, Sean grew white about the mouth and clenched his fists in cold fury, his expression clearly seething. But all he said was one word.

“Traitor.”

Two nights later, however, Kell realized he had left the decision too late. He was at his club, playing host to a sizable crowd in the hazard room, when Timmons appeared and murmured in his ear.

“Mr. Lasseter…my lord…there is something you should see.”

“My brother?” Kell asked, his heart giving a ragged skip. His first thought was that Sean had somehow fled the new doctor’s care and come here to create worse trouble than his last drunken episode.

“No, not Mr. Sean.”

The majordomo looked curiously pale, but Kell tamped down his alarm and followed the servant out to the corridor. Timmons held a handkerchief to his mouth and seemed to have trouble speaking.

“Well, what’s amiss?” Kell demanded. “Spit it out, man.”

“There is a man…in the rear alley. I fear…he is…dead.”

“Dead?” Kell’s stomach lurched. “Not my brother?”

“No…It appears to be your lady’s groom, O’Malley.”

Kell stopped breathing. Swiftly he made his way out to the alley behind the club. Several of his servants had gathered around a prone figure, and in the lantern light he could see the dead man was indeed Michael O’Malley. He was coatless, and a dark stain of blood covered his chest.

Kell knelt down. Sweet Christ, had Sean done this? He clenched his jaw in rigid denial, and yet who else would have committed such an atrocity—or even wished the groom ill? Sean had vowed revenge on the Irishman for striking him two nights ago and for being the cause of his impressment last summer.

There was no blood on the ground, Kell saw. The body evidently had been carried here to the alley. He bent forward, probing for wounds. He wouldn’t put it past his brother to have deliberately picked a fight with Raven’s groom—

Kell suddenly froze when his fingers found the tiny hole beneath the dead man’s breast. O’Malley had been stabbed in the ribs with a blade of some kind. Very much like his uncle William’s mortal wound.

Kell suddenly felt sick, dazed, while his throat burned.

“Sir?” Someone coughed deferentially.

He forced himself to look up while he tried to take in the enormity of what had happened.

“What shall we do with the body?”

He found it hard to speak. “Send…for the coffin-maker…. And notify the vicar. We will give him a decent burial.” He would have to tell Raven—

Just them Emma Walsh appeared at his shoulder. “Kell,” she began, but her quiet murmur turned to a gasp. “Oh, my God…”

Numbly Kell rose to his feet, pushing Emma back and shielding her shocked gaze from the dead man.

“Is that…?”

“O’Malley,” he returned grimly as he escorted her back inside. “What is it you wanted?”

She visibly shuddered and seemed to recollect what had brought her out to the alley. “Raven…she is here…and she seems distressed. I asked her to wait upstairs in your rooms.”

“I’ll go to her” was all he could manage to say.

Raven was pacing the floor of his study when he entered, her expression one of anxiety as she turned to him. “Kell, I am worried about O’Malley. He hasn’t come home—in fact, I haven’t seen him since our morning ride. This is so unlike him to disappear without a word.”

“Raven…I’m sorry,” he said, taking her by the shoulders.

“Sorry?”

“I have painful news…. O’Malley is dead.”

She simply stared. “Not O’Malley. That’s not possible. He cannot bedead .”

“I just returned from examining his body. It was left in the alleyway behind the club.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes stark with anguish as she seemed to absorb what he’d said.

“Noooo.” Her cry of denial was a keening moan of pain. She took a step backward, her face twisted in torment.

Kell felt the same pain piercing him. Desperately wanting to comfort her, he tried to take her in his arms, but she wrenched herself away, refusing to be consoled. Instead she sank to the floor, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake as muted sobs welled up in her and she gave vent to her grief.

She cried for a long while, while Kell watched helplessly until she began to quieten. Her body was still racked by convulsive shudders, but at least she didn’t protest when he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Immediately he picked her up and settled in a chair with Raven on his lap.

Even when he kissed her trembling mouth, though, she wouldn’t look at him. Her cheeks were stained with tears, the dark crescent of her lashes squeezed tight against the horror. “I can’t believe O’Malley is actually dead. He was like a father to me. He set me on my first horse and taught me to swim…. Oh, God, I can’t bear it….”

Fresh tears ran hotly down her cheeks as she hid her face in the curve of Kell’s shoulder.

He encircled her with his arms, his voice soft against her hair. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“It is my fault. He died protecting me.”

Her grief made his eyes burn and his heart hurt. He held her more tightly, feeling an anguished tenderness for her—and a fierce, despairing anger at his brother.

It was a long moment before she drew a shuddering breath. “How…how was he killed?”

“A stab wound to the chest, I think.”

He felt her stiffen before she drew back. “Emma said that was how your uncle was killed.”

Kell flinched, hearing her put into words the dreaded conclusion he had already made. He’d assumed—prayed—all along that his uncle’s killing was an accident, for Sean had claimed self-defense all those years ago. Now he wasn’t so certain. The similarities between the two deaths were too close to be coincidence.

Raven was staring at him with dawning understanding, her tearstained cheeks pale. “You weren’t the one who killed your uncle, were you? It was Sean.”