When she eyed the bed unhappily, Kell merely shrugged. “We can manage for appearance’s sake.”
Dressing for dinner proved a further exercise in intimacy, for they had to share the small dressing room under the curious eyes of their servants. Raven was almost grateful when they could repair downstairs for dinner.
The entire manor house was bedecked for Christmas, with holly and ivy and evergreen boughs adorning the picture frames and stairway banisters. Raven saw Kell eyeing the greenery and wondered what he was thinking.
“I haven’t seen such decorations since my youth,” he answered her unspoken question. “My mother was fond of observing Christmas like this.”
The pleasure in his voice held a note of sadness that Raven could understand well enough. She herself had few fond memories of Christmas, but she missed her mother dreadfully.
They found the drawing room particularly festive. A huge Yule log burned in the hearth, while the mantel was brightened by red ribbons and holly sprigs.
Her grandfather awaited her in his favorite chair. At her appearance on Kell’s arm, Luttrell groped for his cane and started to rise, but Raven stayed him with a quick word.
“The decorations are lovely, Grandfather,” she said, bending to give him a kiss on his withered cheek.
“I wanted to make you feel welcome, my girl, so you would visit me more often. I am a lonely old man.”
He turned his attention to her husband. “So tell me, Mr. Lasseter,” the viscount said, plainly making an attempt to include Kell in the conversation, “how have you been getting on with my minx of a granddaughter? I trust she is not proving too troublesome?”
Kell shot Raven a provocative glance, his eyes suddenly gleaming with amusement. “Oh, she is proving exceedingly troublesome, sir, but I am managing somehow.”
Her grandfather gave a crack of laughter and then asked after his sister Catherine, who had remained in London for the holiday. “I confess I didn’t invite her to join us,” Luttrell added in a conspiratorial undertone. “I did not want her spoiling the occasion. Catherine’s shrewish tongue could vex the devil himself, isn’t that right, Granddaughter?”
Raven returned a politely ambivalent smile, although inwardly she was glad she didn’t have to deal with her aunt Catherine as well as her grandfather and her husband.
Dinner turned out to be far more congenial than she had expected, Raven noted with rueful surprise. Even though the two gentlemen found little in common, they both obviously endeavored to be on their best behavior.
When the sweets were finished, she looked expectantly at her grandfather, wondering if they would observe the more formal custom of the ladies repairing to the drawing room while the gentlemen remained behind to enjoy an after-dinner wine and possibly a smoke.
“Go ahead, my girl,” her grandfather urged. “We will join you shortly. I have an excellent port I wish Mr. Lasseter to try.”
Containing her reservations, she left them together and occupied herself by absently picking out tunes on the drawing room pianoforte from the sheet music provided, but she found herself glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantel with increasing frequency.
In the dining room, however, the viscount’s after-dinner conversation had taken Kell somewhat by surprise.
Luttrell began by offering a sincere apology for the chilly reception Kell had received into the family. “It alarmed me to think of my granddaughter wed to a man of your reputation, Mr. Lasseter. But I came to realize what I owed you for saving her. And Raven seems content enough. I trust she is not pulling any wool over my eyes?”
Kell had no desire to answer probing questions about the state of his marriage, and he fended the inquiry off politely. “You will have to ask Raven, my lord.”
Luttrell waved an impatient hand. “I doubt she would tell me if she were unhappy, since she wouldn’t wish to disappoint me.” He leaned forward, pinning Kell with an intent gaze. “I hope you will allow me to be frank, sir. I’m an old man and not much longer for this world, I fear. I want my granddaughter to be well cared for when I am gone-and not only in the monetary sense. Raven will be all alone, except for my sister Catherine, who has all the motherly instincts of a gorgon.”
“I understand Raven has a half brother,” Kell said carefully.
Luttrell frowned. “You know about that, do you? Well, it’s true, she does have a half brother, but she can’t acknowledge the connection without dredging up the past. Furthermore, Sabine is in America, and this infernal conflict with America makes the seas too dangerous to sail. You will be the only protection she has from a cruel world.”
“I assure you,” Kell vowed quite honestly, “I will care for Raven to the best of my ability.” He paused before adding, “I would be better prepared, though, if I understood more of her history.”
“You wish to know about Raven’s mother?”
“I gather you were estranged from her.”
“Yes.” The viscount’s rheumy eyes welled up with tears. “I treated my daughter so wretchedly. I wish to God I had acted differently…” Tears slipped down his wrinkled cheeks as he spoke of his lifelong regrets. “I repudiated my only child because of my stubborn pride, and I never saw her again. What a damned fool I was.” Wearily he shut his eyes. “When you come to be my age, you realize the importance of family. I have only myself to blame for my loneliness.”
They stayed for more than half an hour, with Luttrell lamenting his past mistakes and disclosing what little he knew of his granddaughter’s upbringing. When he finally composed himself, they joined Raven in the drawing room.
Her gaze immediately sought out Kell’s, but he kept his expression purposely enigmatic. Her countenance, however, clearly showed her relief that the two men hadn’t done mortal battle.
Lord Luttrell made straight for his chair and gave a sigh as he sank into it. “Play a carol for us, my dear, while I warm my old bones by the fire. I vow these damned winters are getting more brutal each year. Do you sing, Mr. Lasseter?”
“I haven’t in years,” Kell replied, going to stand near Raven at the pianoforte. “Not since my mother was alive.”
“Well, I am a bit rusty myself, but Raven has a voice like an angel and should keep us in tune. If you are willing to risk making a cake of yourself, so am I.”
Thus it was that Kell, to his amazement, found himself turning the pages for Raven and singing Christmas carols he hadn’t sung since his youth.
The evening was a strange one for Kell, disturbing in many ways, for it reminded him of everything he’d once had and lost. He hadn’t known such familial warmth since his father died.
He found himself relishing the easy laughter between grandfather and granddaughter. Luttrell obviously cared for Raven a great deal and profoundly regretted having lost the opportunity to witness her childhood and to see her grow to womanhood.
The viscount’s earlier sad utterances about loneliness echoed in Kell’s mind as he stood at the pianoforte beside Raven, feeling a strange melancholy. The warmth and intimacy of the evening only emphasized his own isolation, while the discussion of family had roused unwanted reflections about his own painful past and made him acutely aware of all that was missing in his life.
For so many years he’d had Sean and no one else… But now he had a wife. Raven. Unaccountably she filled him with unnamed longings, stirred desires in him that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for an eternity, desires that went beyond the physical. When he was with her, his shattering sense of loneliness faded, and he could almost envision a future that held something other than barren emptiness.
Kell gazed down at her as she completed the final verse of a carol, and the yearning intensified. He’d been so mistaken about her. He’d once considered her a conniving, title-hunting schemer and tarred her with the same brush as he did the elite society he despised. Instead Raven had proven him completely wrong, continually surprising and delighting him. Deliberately or not, she’d challenged and provoked and aroused him-both hi
s body and his heart.
A flicker of tenderness rippled through him, and he found himself wishing their circumstances could be different, that they could have something more than a cold marriage of convenience.
Mentally Kell scoffed at the absurd notion. Raven didn’t want a real marriage. Certainly she didn’t want love. She didn’t even want passion from him. She would rather escape into her fantasies with her imaginary lover.
A renewed arrow of jealousy suddenly stung him, and Kell felt his mouth tighten in a sardonic line. Sweet hell, he was mad to be jealous of a damned fantasy. And yet he still wanted fiercely to tear Raven away from her fictitious lover, to drive him from her mind and take his place…
She glanced up at him just then, her eyes an incredible blue beneath a poignant sweep of ebony lashes. He had little defense against those eyes-or against Raven herself. It scared him that his resistance toward her was crumbling…
They both fell silent, staring at each other. A log crackling in the grate broke the spell, but it took Kell a moment to realize that the drawing room had grown quiet.
Glancing over at the viscount, he saw that Lord Luttrell had dozed off in his chair. Evidently they’d been the only ones singing for some time.
The slight flush that colored Raven’s cheeks suggested she realized their circumstances as well.
“I wonder if we should call someone to put him to bed?” she whispered.
Kell shook his head. “Let him sleep. He’ll likely waken on his own, and if not, his servants undoubtedly know his habits and will care for him.”
Raven hesitated, glancing at the mantel clock, which showed the hour of ten. “It’s late. Perhaps I should retire.”
It was not an invitation to join her, Kell knew. She intended to keep as much physical distance between them as possible-her way of maintaining her emotional defenses, he realized.
Wisely Kell clamped down on his instinctive urge to protest. He would be far better off not touching her. He would have a hard enough time maintaining his own defenses without the temptation of Raven’s lovemaking to further arouse his heart’s longings.
He returned a wry smile. “This is early compared to the hours I usually keep. On a busy night at the club, it’s rare that I get to bed before three or four in the morning. I think I will stay up for a while, perhaps find a book to occupy me.”
“Grandfather’s library is well stocked,” Raven observed.
“Good. I’ll see what reading material is available.”
In unspoken accord, they quietly left the room. When Kell escorted her to the foot of the stairs, Raven paused with a nervous glance, as if wondering what he intended.
“Sleep well,” was all he said, putting a firm rein on his desires.
He wanted more than anything to accompany her upstairs to bed and resume where they’d left off last week. But he would first have to resolve two burning questions:
How could he break through Raven’s determined guard when she was so set on resistance?
And did he even wish to risk gambling his heart against such formidable odds?
To Raven’s dismay, keeping her distance from Kell proved impossible during the course of their visit-particularly since they were required to spend their nights together in enforced intimacy.
Even though she retired long before Kell did and intended to remain well on her side of the bed, once the fire died down, the wintery chill of the room drove her to unconsciously seek the warmth of her husband’s body. She woke each morning to find herself pressed against him, reveling in his heat.
The first time startled her. Raven lay gazing at Kell while he slept, her breath faltering as she studied his beautiful features. He looked slightly dangerous and disreputable, with his wicked scar and the early morning stubble shadowing his jaw. And yet his usual intensity was missing. His peaceful repose made him seem younger, more vulnerable-and roused an unwanted tangle of desire and tenderness inside her.
Savagely repressing the emotions, Raven eased away and rose to dress, shivering in the frigid air.
During the day, time hung heavily on her hands. It began to snow in earnest, with the storms sometimes developing into blizzards, so her fascination with the novelty of snow quickly wore off. Ordinarily she would have spent her mornings riding, even though her grandfather kept a meager stable, but hazarding the treacherous conditions would have been lunacy.
Raven found herself at loose ends until the viscount rose late in the mornings, when she could keep him company, reading aloud to him or playing cards. But still, her husband usually joined them, and being in the same room with Kell under such intimate circumstances for so many hours each day severely tested her nerves.
She was most discomfited by her infrequent glimpses into his past, when he shared fond memories. One was dredged up during a particularly chilly afternoon, when they had gathered before the drawing room fire to enjoy mulled cider spiced with cinnamon.
“Drink up, my boy,” Luttrell commanded. “I’ll wager you’ve never tasted better.”
Kell smiled as he stared down into his steaming mug. “No disrespect, my lord, but actually I have. My mother had a decided partiality for mulled cider and had her own family recipe. At Christmastime, she would bundle us up and send us out hunting for a Yule log with my father, and when we returned, she would ply us with hot cider. It tasted like nectar to me. After she died, though…” Kell shrugged, making Raven suspect he had never entertained the custom again. But then he recalled himself and raised his mug to the viscount in a salute. “But this comes a close second to my memories.”
Christmas came four days after their arrival and further strained Raven’s nerves. It started out safely enough when they exchanged gifts.
She had gotten Kell a matched set of foils of the finest steel, and he seemed pleased when he examined them.
“Remarkable quality. How did you find these? I wasn’t aware you knew anything about fencing.”
“I don’t. Dare selected them for me.”
Kell’s mouth tightened momentarily, but then he handed her his gift.
Raven opened the large package to discover a luxurious blue kerseymere cloak trimmed with marten fur, with a matching fur hat and muff.
“Emma chose them,” Kell remarked evenly.
Raven was gratified that his gift was relatively impersonal, yet she felt a familiar sting of jealousy when he mentioned the beautiful hostess.
To her further chagrin, Christmas dinner held a disturbing amount of closeness and warmth. They enjoyed a repast of roasted goose and plum pudding, followed by more carols. Then her grandfather surprised them by telling ghost stories, which led to a great deal of merriment. Dismayed, Raven knew she would be glad to return to London.
The next day, however, was Boxing Day, when Lord Luttrell distributed Christmas boxes of money to the poor and to his own servants, as well as opened his grand house for a tenant ball. Raven was required to dance several dances with her husband, which only reminded her of the sacrifice Kell had made in marrying her.
Shortly after the ball, winter tightened its grip on the countryside, not only making the snow too deep for riding but delaying their departure indefinitely; the roads to London had become impassable.
Impatient and restless, Raven began to think it was a mistake to have come with Kell, for there was no avoiding him. With him sharing her bed, she couldn’t even escape into dreams of her fantasy lover in an effort to dismiss him from her mind.
And then there was Kell himself. He seemed a kinder, more considerate man than the one she had wed-or at least he was making an effort to blunt the sharp edge of his sardonic wit.
He apparently noted her restlessness, though, for when Raven complained about having nothing to occupy her time, he offered to stave off her boredom by teaching her how to fence. She accepted with alacrity, desperately needing the distraction.
Thus, for several hours each morning, Kell instructed her on the use of foils, the tips of which were protected by buttons
. He demanded that she work hard, but Raven found herself craving his praise. Even the slightest compliment warmed her more than was warranted.
She proved a fast learner and appeared to surprise him with her agility and quickness, but to her admittedly untrained eye, Kell’s skill seemed truly remarkable. When in an offhanded tone she asked how he had become so good, he surprised her by giving her a candid reply.
“It was a retaliation of sorts against my uncle. He was a champion fencer, and I was eager to deflate his pride. So I set out to compete on his level and even excel. I relished the day I was good enough to challenge him and win.” His mouth curled, evidently at some dark memory. “Uncle William considered me part devil, and I made it a point to live up to my reputation.”
Raven would have liked to hear more but refrained from asking, already regretting having given Kell an opening to share further confidences.
The following week, she thought she would finally have a brief respite from Kell when the sun made an afternoon appearance. Declaring she had to get outdoors or go mad, she bundled up in her new cloak and braved the frigid temperatures to tromp about in the heavy snow.
To her dismay, however, Kell accompanied her.
The countryside sparkled a crystalline white and offered a breathtaking view, but all Raven could think about was the man beside her, especially when he took her elbow to help her maintain her balance on the slippery paths recently cleared by the Luttrell gardeners. She had just begun to grow accustomed to the texture and depths of the icy drifts when she was startled to feel a thud on her shoulder and a burst of snow spraying her face.
Kell had thrown a snowball at her, she realized in astonishment.
“I expect you’ve never engaged in a snow fight,” he said with a challenging grin.
“Now where would I have learned that?” Raven demanded, placing her hands on her hips in annoyance.
“There is an art to fashioning a good snowball. Would you like me to teach you?”
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