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  When he moved toward her, she took a defensive step backward. His scar stood out in a livid white line, and for a moment, all she could see was that and the promise of vengeance in his eyes. Yet instead of coming after her, he stumbled over to the bed, where he sat back against the headboard, grimacing in pain.

  Blood was already soaking into the tangled sheets, Raven saw with horror as he grabbed a handful of linen to press against the wound.

  “Are you badly hurt?” she murmured weakly.

  Lasseter shot her a searing look. She had to school herself not to flinch from the smoldering intensity of his eyes.

  Wanting to be of help, Raven started toward him, but his eyes flashed a warning and narrowed on the pistol in her hand. “For God’s sake, put that damned thing down before you do any more damage.”

  Just then the door flew open and Emma Walsh stood there, a look of alarm on her beautiful features. “What happened?” she demanded, her gaze flying between Raven and the wounded man on the bed. “I heard a gunshot.”

  “Miss Kendrick has come to no harm,” Lasseter bit out, “if that’s what concerns you. Although she has mortally wounded me.”

  “Merciful heavens,” Emma breathed, taking a step toward the bed.

  Abruptly he held up a hand to forestall her. “I’ll be all right. Just fetch some bandages.”

  When the hostess had hurried away, Raven spoke in a contrite tone. “Did you mean it? Are you really all right?”

  “No, devil take it!” he retorted. “I am certain to be crippled for life.”

  Remorse filling her, Raven set the pistol down on the table and moved to the bedside. “Let me see.”

  When he growled a protest and made to rise, she pressed him back down with her palm, finding his chest firmly muscled beneath the crispness of his shirt. Keenly aware of his masculinity, she bent over him and pushed his hand away from his leg so she could inspect the injury. She uncovered a gash perhaps an inch long on the side of his thigh.

  “It doesn’t look too deep… Certainly not a mortal wound as you claimed.”

  “I am devastated to disappoint you.”

  His reply was rough with pain and edged with hostility.

  “There is no call for you to be so nasty, Mr. Lasseter. I am sorry I hurt you-”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Her cheeks flushed with hot anger. “I think I was entirely justified in shooting you.”

  “That is purely a matter of opinion. You could have deprived me of my manhood, if not put a period to my existence.”

  “It is only a flesh wound,” Raven said defensively. “I could have injured you far worse had I wished to.”

  “Regrettably you will have to be satisfied with my bleeding to death.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “You are trying to make me feel guilty, aren’t you?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  He raised a sardonic smile to her glare, which only increased her vexation. When her fingers curled reflexively on his thigh, he flinched and grasped her hand to hold it away.

  Raven abruptly went still. A shimmering awareness of danger of another kind filled the air as she met his glittering gaze.

  Kell felt the same danger and cursed silently. His wound was far from lethal but painful enough to aggravate the devil out of him, so how could he possibly be feeling aroused at her mere touch? But there was no question his cock was swelling into an unmistakable erection. His only excuse was that he’d just spent a long, excruciating night of unsated hunger with this blue-eyed spitfire…

  Gritting his teeth, he damned her for causing him such pain, equally damning himself for wanting her so much. Intent on driving her away, Kell deliberately reached up and pulled his shirttail from his breeches. To his satisfaction, Raven Kendrick gave a start and jumped back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Removing my breeches so I can see to my wound.” He sent her a challenging glance. “Don’t worry, Miss Kendrick. I don’t intend to assault you. I prefer my women warm and willing.”

  Her chin lifted. “Will you please stop calling me Miss Kendrick in that odious tone?”

  “What would you have me call you? Vixen? She-devil?”

  When she merely looked daggers at him, he grinned tauntingly. “If you don’t want your sensibilities offended, you had best turn your back. But first bring me that basin and pitcher of water.”

  With unaccustomed meekness, Raven did as she was bid, carrying the basin to the nightstand beside the bed, then fetching the pitcher and a towel. When Lasseter gave her a hard look, she scurried across the room to stand before the hearth, keeping her back to him.

  She heard a rustle of clothing, then heard him swear as evidently he peeled the fabric of his breeches and drawers away from the wound.

  Raven bit her lower lip. She had not wanted to injure him severely, merely to nick him and bring his level of arrogance down a peg or two. But either her aim had been slightly off, or he had moved at the last instant.

  “I truly am sorry,” she offered in a small voice after a moment.

  “I trust you are.” He gave a disgruntled sigh. “But I suppose the fault is as much mine as yours. I should have known better than to provoke an angry female with a gun.” To her amazement there was an edge of dark humor in his voice.

  His next question surprised her just as much. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “Well…my groom taught me. O’Malley instructed me on any number of skills-riding and shooting particularly.”

  “O’Malley?” The hardness returned to his voice. “The same O’Malley who thrashed my brother and left him for the impressment gang?”

  Fortunately she was spared having to reply when Emma Walsh entered, her arms laden with bandages and salves.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Raven saw the hostess deposit her supplies on the bed, then inspect the bloody gash on Lasseter’s leg. He had removed his breeches and used them to cover his loins, yet seeing the woman’s lovely blond head bending over his bare thigh, Raven was startled to feel a prick of jealousy sting her. It shouldn’t bother her in the least that they were behaving with the intimacy of lovers…

  “The wound doesn’t look too severe,” Emma said softly. “Do you need help bandaging it, Kell?”

  “I can manage,” he replied tersely. “You can clean up this bloody mess afterward, if you will.” He hesitated, and Raven suddenly felt his gaze bore into her. “And pray do something with Miss Kendrick. Escort her to your room and dress her. I’ll take her home before she has a chance to wreak any more destruction.”

  Raven gave a slow exhalation of relief, even as she felt an unexpected sense of regret. By shooting Kell Lasseter, she had achieved precisely what she wanted. So why did she feel so little satisfaction at hurting the insufferable man?

  Half an hour later, Raven found herself wearing a borrowed kerseymere gown that was several inches too long and a bit large in the bosom. But at least the high neckline covered her modestly and left little reminder of the wanton she’d been a short while earlier. More thankfully, she had tucked her mother’s pearls safely in the pocket of her own cloak, which Emma had also managed to rescue the previous night.

  When a rap sounded on the bedchamber door, the hostess opened it to reveal her employer. He was limping slightly, Raven saw as he stepped into the room. Her gaze going to his left thigh, she noted he had changed into a new pair of breeches; she could barely see the outline of a bandage beneath the stockinet fabric.

  “The damage doesn’t appear to be too extensive,” she murmured pointedly, “if you can walk without the aid of a cane.”

  His mouth curled up at one corner. “I’ll survive, my sweet termagant. But don’t make the mistake of thinking I forgive you.”

  Whatever contrition she had started to feel was instantly dashed. Her irritation was only exacerbated when he perused her oversized gown, lingering on her breasts as if he could see beneath the excess fabric. His probing gaze t
ook liberties with her figure no other man had ever dared, the reprobate.

  Pulling the lapels of her cloak closed, Raven raised her chin defiantly.

  Still, it was hard to maintain a semblance of hauteur when he escorted her along the corridor, for she was required to hold up her too-long skirts to keep from tripping. It was even harder to ignore the smarting of her conscience, for Lasseter’s unsteady gait was clearly unfeigned, and she knew he must be in some pain.

  He paused at the end of the hall and startled her by reaching up to draw her hood around her face. “I don’t expect any guests to be present at this early hour, but I see no need to advertise your identity.”

  Raven felt her heart sink at the reminder of her plight, but she determinedly tried not to think about it.

  When they descended the grand staircase, she received a glimpse of the entrance hall and the rooms beyond. For a gaming hell the decor seemed surprisingly elegant, with the gleam of rich wood and polished silver and sparkling crystal catching her eye. The huge chandelier in the entryway alone must have cost a fortune. Clearly the Golden Fleece was a successful enterprise.

  She stole a glance at its enigmatic owner, wondering how a man who gave every outward appearance of being a gentleman had come to be involved in such a disreputable trade. Lasseter wasn’t the devilish scoundrel she might have expected, given his dangerous aura and his brother’s propensity for violence. Despite his biting wit, he hadn’t strangled her when she’d shot him. And last night, he had treated her with the tenderness of a lover-

  Swiftly Raven crushed the feelings of warmth she’d so briefly entertained. Kell Lasseter didn’t deserve her admiration. He was a mere gamester, one who doubtless had rescued her only because he didn’t want his brother being thrown in prison for life. And he had held her there against her will. She should despise him for his despicable treatment of her.

  A closed carriage awaited them on the street. When asked, Raven gave the coachman her great-aunt’s address and allowed Lasseter to hand her inside.

  Without speaking, he settled beside her and then remained silent as they got under way. Perversely Raven almost wished Lasseter would talk to her, even if only to harangue her again for shooting him. She needed the distraction. The knots in her stomach had returned with a vengeance, for she recalled just how hopeless her future now was.

  Disaster stared her in the face. Her character was in ruins, her dreams shattered. Her grandfather would doubtless disown her the way he had his own daughter. And her mother…Mama would have been devastated to see her mired in scandal and disgrace.

  Raven shut her eyes, remembering her mother’s final moments-her once-beautiful face wasted by fever, her strength drained by the fatal illness. But her grip had been fierce on her daughter’s wrist as she had pleaded in a voice hoarse with desperation:

  “Promise me, Raven. Swear to me you will wed a nobleman who can protect you from my folly.”

  “I promise, Mama. Of course I promise.”

  The pale lips had formed a frail smile of relief. “I can die in peace now.”

  Oh, Mama.

  Tears welled up in the back of Raven’s throat at the memory, while the chaos of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her again. Elizabeth Kendrick had lived for the day her daughter could return to England and take her rightful place in society without fear of being branded a bastard. And now that dream lay in ashes.

  Pain sliced through Raven, while a sickening sense of inevitability swept her. There was no possible way for her to fulfill her promise now. And she had no one to turn to. She felt desperately alone, bereft of all sense of direction or purpose.

  “Here,” she heard a low male voice murmur beside her.

  She took the handkerchief Lasseter offered her and brutally bit back a sob, cursing herself for being such a weakling. When she felt his penetrating gaze on her, she turned her face away and clenched her jaw till it ached.

  Raven had herself under better control when the carriage drew to a halt. But she sat staring out the window a long moment, knowing there was no way to avoid a tempest when she faced her relatives.

  “Do you need more time?” Lasseter asked. Amazingly enough, his dark gaze held sympathy.

  “Yes, but I suppose it would be pointless, since the outcome wouldn’t change.” She stiffened her spine. “There is no hope for it. I must brave the dragon.”

  “Dragon?”

  “My great-aunt, Lady Dalrymple. She has been waiting for me to cause a scandal since the day I arrived in England. No doubt she’ll derive great satisfaction because I have lived up to her poor opinion of me.”

  “You think she will hold you to blame for what happened?”

  “Absolutely. I’m certain no other young lady of her acquaintance would have managed to be abducted on her wedding day.”

  His sensual mouth curved in a half smile that strangely was devoid of sarcasm. “You are indeed rather unique in my experience, Miss Kendrick,” he remarked, making it sound more a compliment than a slight.

  He opened the carriage door and carefully descended, then turned to help Raven down. When he shut the door and made to accompany her, she shot him a quizzical look.

  “I intend to see you safely inside,” Lasseter said, and Raven didn’t argue. She was absurdly glad to have him beside her.

  They had started up the flight of steps together when she saw him grimace. Realizing his wound must be paining him, she offered her arm for support. Lasseter gave her a long, measuring glance, but after a moment’s hesitation accepted her assistance, draping his arm around her shoulders and allowing her to bear some of his weight.

  “You really should have a cane,” she murmured, striving to ignore the intimacy of the contact. “My grandfather keeps several here at my aunt’s house. I will find one for you.”

  Thankfully he released her when they reached the landing. Her stomach churning, Raven pushed open the front door and entered with Lasseter behind her.

  For a brief moment she considered taking the coward’s way out and simply sneaking up to her rooms. But the two footmen standing at attention in the entrance hall had already spied her. And just then her aunt’s butler appeared.

  “Miss Raven!” Pleasure and relief wreathed his lined face. “You have returned! Were you harmed?” The aging butler caught himself. “Forgive me, miss. We have been frantic with worry, awaiting word of you.”

  “Thank you, Broady.” Raven managed a smile. “I wasn’t seriously harmed. Will you please inform my aunt that I am home?”

  “Certainly, miss, and his lordship as well. Your grandfather has taken to his bed, he was so distraught over your disappearance.”

  Raven felt a renewed surge of guilt. She had been so concerned with her own dire circumstances, she hadn’t wanted to think about how her grandfather’s health would be affected by her abduction. The shock of her ruination might very well kill him.

  Just then her aunt called out from the rear parlor. “Raven, is that you?” The silver-haired dame came into the hall. “In God’s name, are you all right?”

  “I’m well enough, Aunt.”

  “What happened? We feared the worst.”

  “Perhaps we should speak in private,” Raven suggested, preferring not to air the shameful details in front of the servants.

  It was no doubt a measure of how overset Lady Dalrymple was that she ignored the suggestion. “All we could think of was that someone held a grudge against Jervis…or perhaps Halford. Who were those brutes who abducted you?”

  Raven gave Lasseter a quick glance. His mouth was set grimly, and she sensed the tension in the muscular lines of his body. He expected her to denounce his brother, she knew, and yet she found herself hesitating.

  What point would be served by naming Sean Lasseter as her abductor? Did she truly want to see him in prison? And what of the consequences to Kell? He could very well be implicated in his brother’s machinations.

  She owed him more than that, Raven realized. He had saved her from his b
rother’s violence, after all. And he had behaved honorably last night, after a fashion. He’d succored her in her dire need without taking advantage of her terrible vulnerability. How many other men would have acted with the same nobility? And then she had shot him for his efforts…

  Raven took a steadying breath, committing herself. “I’m not certain who they were, Aunt. They wore masks and never showed themselves before they struck me unconscious.”

  Beside her, she sensed Lasseter’s sharp glance. She could feel his gaze boring into her as she went on with her fabricated tale. “Thankfully, this gentleman rescued me. This is Mr. Kell Lasseter, Aunt. Mr. Lasseter, my great-aunt Catherine, Lady Dalrymple.”

  He gave a brief bow, while the elderly lady stiffened.

  “Lasseter? Of the Derbyshire Lasseters?”

  “The same, my lady,” he responded.

  “You are Adam Lasseter’s eldest son.” When he didn’t deny it, a mingled look of horror and distaste claimed her haughty features. “I am acquainted with your unsavory reputation, sir! You are a notorious gamester, your mother was an Irish nobody, and it is common knowledge that you murdered your uncle!”

  Shocked by the last charge, Raven couldn’t help but stare at Lasseter.

  The smile he gave was dangerous. “I wonder which you consider my greatest crime, Lady Dalrymple? The fact that I’m a gamester, of Irish blood, or rumored to be a murderer?”

  She shuddered, while her hands rose to her cheeks in dismay. “Dear God. I had hoped…We are ruined!” She suddenly glowered at her great-niece. “How could you, Raven? How could you bring this murderer into our midst?”

  “Murderer?”

  Raven gave a start to hear her grandfather’s gruff voice. He had descended the stairs halfway, garbed in his dressing gown, and his face was flushed with outrage.

  Holding on to the banister with one shaking hand, Lord Luttrell pointed his cane at Lasseter. “Seize that man!”

  For a moment, no one moved. Then the footmen suddenly understood the command and hastened to obey, leaping forward to apprehend Lasseter.