“ ’Phrodisac. Made her drink it. Thash when she scratched me.”
“Not cantharides?” Kell said sharply. “Did you give her Spanish fly?”
“No…not that. Shomething Oriental. S’posed to work as well. Got it from Madame Fouchet.”
Kell felt another twinge of relief. Madame Fouchet was the proprietor of a high-class brothel Sean frequented. She would have knowledge of aphrodisiacs and appropriate doses. More crucially, she would have shunned Spanish fly, which reportedly could be deadly. Even so, it would likely be many hours before this drug wore off…
Kell ran a hand impatiently through his hair, wondering what to do about this damnable situation.
“Why an aphrodisiac?” he asked absently. “Why not simply a sleeping potion if you wanted to render her unable to fight you?”
“To make her want me.” Sean flashed a sad, watery smile. “Like she once did. She wanted me, Kell. She was so hot…could not get enough of me.”
With that, Sean struggled to his feet and moved toward the bed, determination etching his features. “Gonna use her body the way she did mine…”
Just as determinedly, Kell stepped in his path.
Sean blinked at him, then frowned. “You mean to stop me?”
“You can’t go about ravishing young ladies, no matter how reprehensible they are.”
“But sheesh no lady,” Sean replied plaintively. “She looks innochent enough, but she gave me her body. An’ doan forget, she’s Englissh.”
The reminder was like twisting a knife inside Kell. Miss Kendrick had reportedly turned down his brother’s proposal of marriage not simply because Sean was untitled, but because he was half-Irish.
Kell felt his jaw clench with familiar fury. Undoubtedly the haughty temptress had the same callous contempt for those beneath her social standing that the disdainful English Lasseters had had for his Irish mother. The same contempt that had led to his mother’s death and that still made him seethe.
He glanced over his shoulder, torn between his brother’s rightful desire for justice and his own reflexive urge to protect the helpless beauty in his bed.
He shook his head at his particular vulnerability-caring too much for the weak and powerless. How could he possibly feel sympathy for a femme fatale who’d so viciously left a trail of broken hearts across half of England? Especially when he’d sworn years ago never to let anyone hurt his brother again?
Yet, still…he would be protecting Sean by preventing his vengeance. Sean had evidently planned to seduce and abandon the beautiful Jezebel, but there would be hell to pay as a result.
“You don’t honestly want to see her tortured,” Kell asserted in a low voice.
“Yesh, I do!”
“What of the club? Do you want my reputation destroyed by a violent assault on a reputed lady?”
Grimacing, Sean brought his bottle to his lips. “Doan care,” he muttered.
Kell narrowed his gaze, belatedly wondering why Sean had brought Miss Kendrick here instead of to his own town house. Perhaps deep inside he’d wanted to be prevented from carrying out his planned vengeance. Or perhaps he’d purposely involved Kell in his machinations, bent on another sort of revenge…
Feeling a familiar ache at his brother’s festering resentment, Kell put a hand on his arm. “You should go home, Sean. You won’t find any further satisfaction by hurting her. Miss Kendrick’s reputation is thoroughly ruined now. Adequate enough revenge, wouldn’t you say?”
With a snarl, Sean shook off the restraining hand. “No! Not enough.”
Kell gave his brother a steady, intent stare. “Sean,” he said in a quiet, warning voice.
The younger man ducked his head, suddenly looking as if he might cry. After another glance at the helpless woman on the bed, however, he nodded drunkenly.
Kell led his brother to the main bedchamber door and unlocked it,
glad to find Emma waiting anxiously in the corridor.
“Have someone take him home,” Kell murmured. “I will deal with him tomorrow when he’s in his right mind.”
“Yes, of course,” Emma said, putting a supporting arm around Sean’s waist and urging him toward the far staircase.