She didn’t like having to lie to him but felt the tale was necessary not merely to save her reputation, but to provide a balm to Halford’s wounded dignity. The duke had an immense sense of pride, and she had savaged it, however unintentionally. Thus she was glad that her heartfelt apology had a sincere ring of truth.
And even in the midst of her misery, she couldn’t deny a vague feeling of relief that she wouldn’t be required to wed Halford after all. Losing him wasn’t the devastating blow it might have been had she truly loved him.
Forcibly ignoring her despondent thoughts, Raven sanded and sealed her letter, then sent for O’Malley and commissioned him to deliver it for her. A mistake, she realized, for it gave him the opportunity to quiz her relentlessly about her decision to wed the man whose brother had made her life a misery.
“I’ve heard tell of Lasseter, Miss Raven,” the groom protested almost as vocally as her grandfather had done earlier. “His reputation is shady, without a doubt.”
“I know all about his reputation,” Raven replied quietly. “But I have to believe it is much exaggerated.”
“But his brother-”
“Kell is nothing like his brother, O’Malley; I am certain of that. If he were, nothing could induce me to wed him. But as you said, I have little choice. Marrying Mr. Lasseter is the only possible way to extricate myself from this disaster.”
“Maybe so,” O’Malley agreed with grave reluctance, “but I’d not like to see you hurt again.”
“I know. But the worst is over.” She gave him a smile of reassurance and repeated her arguments until he finally abandoned the fight and complied with her request to deliver her letter.
When he was gone, Raven sighed. She couldn’t take O’Malley to task for exceeding the bounds of the servant-mistress relationship, for he enjoyed the status of an old friend, and she knew he worried for her. He had looked after her since she was a young girl.
She felt her stomach clench with familiar anguish as she recalled the first time the groom had consoled her. She had been ten years old at the time, nearly dancing in anticipation of attending the birthday celebration of the Honorable Miss Jane Hewitt. Eleven-year-old Jane was the daughter of the highest-ranking nobleman on the island, and all children of the Quality had been invited.
Raven, however, had made the mistake of asking her stepfather for a new dress-a request Ian Kendrick not only denied but maliciously ridiculed.
“You will not need a new dress, Raven, because you are not going. A bastard does not belong in such elite company.” He eyed her coldly, making a scoffing sound. “You would never have been invited were your low origins known.”
Bastard. Savage pain sliced through Raven at the vicious word, and it was all she could do to hold back her tears. It wasn’t that she needed or even wanted a fancy dress; she was much more at home in her worn riding habit than flounces and ribbons. But to be forcibly excluded because of her birth, and worse, to suffer her stepfather’s implied threat to tell the world about her origins…His cruelty made her stomach churn.
She had fled to the stables and hid in the hayloft, where O’Malley found her sobbing her heart out. Hunkering down beside her, he eventually coaxed from her the reason for her grief.
“I am a bastard, O’Malley. I will never be anything better. I am a nobody.”
“ ’Tis not true, Miss Raven. You’re a beautiful young lady, I’ll be thinking. And who sired you isn’t as important as who you are inside, here.” He touched his chest.
“But I have no father.”
“If you want a da, I’ll be your da.” He patted her shoulder. “There now, dry your tears and come with me to see the new filly. She’s a beauty, with a coat as black as your hair…”
Ian Kendrick had died two years later, but Raven had never extinguished her private fear of being publicly branded a bastard.
Nor was it only her mother who had dreamed of the day Raven could travel to England and take her place among the nobility, of when she could prove herself worthy of joining the elite ranks that would have scorned her had they known the truth.
With an illustrious title attached to her name, Raven was certain, she could bury the secret shame of her past once and for all. No one would dare utter a word against her when she was a duchess. And at last she would belong somewhere.
But now those dreams of belonging had been shattered.
Steeling herself against the bitter despair roiling inside her, Raven forced herself to ring for the housekeeper. She had felt alone for most of her life; she could endure it again if need be.
She managed to choke down a light tea, but by the time she went upstairs to the bedchamber she’d been allotted, her feeling of hopelessness had returned full force. All the tension and emotional turmoil of the past day had taken a toll, leaving her with only desolation.
The thought of dressing for her wedding was more than she could face. Perhaps she would feel better if she could just rest for a moment.
Slipping out of her borrowed gown, she undressed down to her shift, then crawled beneath the covers and closed her eyes. In only an instant she had fallen asleep, but it was a slumber troubled by restless dreams of her fantasy lover.
His anger was something new. His eyes burned like black coals as his hands twined in her hair, tilting her mouth roughly up to his. Raven drew a sharp breath at his painful assault. He had never acted this violently before.
“You cannot love him,” her pirate snarled against her lips. “He will never own your heart.”
“No,” she promised, “never. Only you can possess my heart.”
He drew back, and she gave a start as the glitter of his gaze swept over her. This was not her pirate! He had the same intense, burning eyes, and his handsome features held the same anger. But this was Kell Lasseter.
His face filled her vision, harsh with emotion, savage with demand. He was a beautiful devil, infinitely more dangerous than her pirate lover.
Alarmed, she pressed her palms against his chest, encountering corded muscle and searing heat. She felt the forceful beat of his heart along with the frantic trembling of her own as she met his scathing glance. He was wildly angry at her-for hurting his brother, for being trapped into marriage.
And yet she was angry at him as well, for ruining her plans, destroying her life. She stared back defiantly.
His mouth crushed down over hers then, claiming her lips in a brutal kiss. Her senses reeling, she tried to fight the shivers that suffused her body. She ached to repudiate him, to conquer him. It was as if they were battling for control…a duel of desire that neither of them could win.
She could feel his angry passion as he drew her hard against him. Heard herself whimper as he thrust his tongue ruthlessly into her mouth, his kiss hot and compelling.
She arched against the steel band of his arm, but he pulled her closer, grinding his loins into hers, rubbing the hard ridge of his manhood against her soft mound. Her nipples tightened unbearably, while a similar ache throbbed in her lower body.
Her thighs were clamped together, but he managed to slide one finger between them, finding her hot, honeyed crease. A shudder rocked her, and he made a rough sound of satisfaction, thrusting even deeper into her slick, swollen flesh folds.
Helplessly she parted her legs and opened to him fully. She couldn’t deny the hunger of her body. This was what she craved, the hard fierce lovemaking of this incredible man. Their mouths locked together, and she felt herself surrender to the wild, lashing urgency…