She led the way into the parlor and was glad when all three followed her. Only her grandfather, however, took a seat. He was clearly making an effort to control his temper, Raven thought, but he didn’t look particularly well.
She remained standing, not only because she felt less vulnerable that way, but because she could more easily hide her inner turmoil. The violent fisticuffs just now had shaken her more than she would have expected, but so had her relatives’ precipitous anger at her rescuer. It disturbed her to see Lasseter condemned out of hand. The charge of murder was a grave one, certainly, but despite the aura of potential danger that hovered over him, she found it hard to credit that he was actually a murderer. At the very least, she was willing to reserve judgment about his past until she had proof one way or the other.
Yet it was her own future that distressed her most. She could think of no tolerable outcome to this nightmare. And the worst could still happen. Her grandfather’s health could prove irrevocably damaged by the shock he’d sustained. Or he could try to throw Lasseter in prison or challenge him to a duel… What a disaster that would be.
She cared about her grandfather-and even her great-aunt-and didn’t want them to be hurt further by this debacle. But how could she spare them? She could flee England, as Lasseter had suggested, in an effort to shield her family from disgrace, but where would she go? And her escape would still leave them to bear the brunt of her shame. Unless she could somehow manage to extricate herself from the scandal, she would take them down with her.
Her great-aunt had resumed ranting, Raven realized belatedly, but she had missed most of what had been said.
“Catherine, you will give Raven a chance to explain what happened,” Lord Luttrell interjected gruffly.
Raven bestirred herself to respond. “I am sorry, Grandfather, but I have no good explanation for yesterday’s events. Believe me, I would have spared you this if I could.”
“I take leave to doubt that!” Aunt Catherine asserted. “You have been waiting to humiliate us ever since you arrived.”
To Raven’s surprise, she felt Lasseter move to her side, as if prepared to defend her, and she was heartened by his unspoken support.
“That is totally untrue,” Raven answered her aunt, setting her jaw. “You make it sound as if I chose to be abducted.”
“Well, whatever the truth, we are totally ruined now. Several hundred people saw you jilt Halford at the altar. We did our best to hush up the scandal, announcing that you were suddenly taken ill. But no one will believe that flimsy tale for long. Indeed, we are already suspected of prevarication. Halford has been here three times demanding to see you and was furious when we couldn’t produce you. The last time he declared he had washed his hands of you and would cut all connection with us. And Lord and Lady Wycliff clearly smelled a lie…”
Raven bit her lip in dismay. Brynn Tremayne, Lady Wycliff, was one of her closest friends. And Brynn’s husband, Lucian, had been like a guardian to her when her other dearest friends had left for America last summer. They both would have been gravely concerned for her. In fact, had Lucian known the truth of her abduction, he might very well have invoked all his vast resources at the Foreign Office, where he worked, and turned London upside down searching for her.
“Not to mention the ignominy of your disappearance,” her aunt continued scornfully. “You vanish for an entire night and return with this…this criminal.” Her nose rising two inches, she looked down it at Lasseter, while disdain dripped from her voice. “No, there is no hope for it. We must find a husband for you at once.”
Raven stiffened at the raw nerve her aunt had struck. “I will not allow you to find a husband for me, Aunt Catherine.”
“What do you mean, you won’t allow it? Marriage is the only thing that could possibly save us from utter ruination!”
“Perhaps so, but you won’t choose my husband for me.”
“You obviously have no conception of the shame you have brought down upon our heads!”
“I understand quite well, Aunt, but I won’t meekly permit you to marry me off the way you did my mother.”
Lady Dalrymple drew herself up to her full height. “I cannot credit your insolence! This is the gratitude you show me for taking you in? Well, hear me, young lady. You are no longer welcome in my house!”
“That is quite enough, Catherine!” her brother exclaimed.
“No, Grandfather,” Raven said tightly. “She is right. It would be best for all of us if I left. I will not remain where I am not wanted.”
Defiance blazed in her eyes, and from the sidelines of the battle, Kell watched in fascination. She reminded him of his mother when her Irish temper was riled; Raven Kendrick was scrappy like his mother, certainly. A beautiful spitfire who aroused his own primitive male instincts more keenly than any woman he’d ever met.
Against his will and better judgment, he’d begun to admire her spirit and courage in the face of adversity, not to mention her sharp wit and beauty. A supremely dangerous combination.
Mentally Kell shook his head, realizing how significantly his opinion of her had changed in a few short hours. Until this morning, he’d thought his brother almost justified in want
ing revenge against a treacherous temptress who took cruel pleasure in destroying men’s lives. Yet now Kell found himself questioning that version of the tale, and worse-struggling against the unwanted feelings of protectiveness Raven Kendrick stirred in him.
She was still a dangerous temptress, he had no doubt, but the vulnerability in her remarkable eyes struck a responsive chord in him. After what his brother had done to her, he honestly didn’t want to see her hurt further. And the scorn she was facing just now lay bare his own raw memories of his mother’s treatment at the hands of her contemptuous English in-laws.
He felt fiercely compelled to defend Miss Kendrick, although she seemed to be holding her own well enough against her dragon of an aunt. She was trembling with courageous anger. The stubborn set of her jaw couldn’t disguise the loveliness of its line, or suppress her inner fire. The kind of fire a man could sink right into…
Shaking off his errant thoughts, he reluctantly stepped into the fray. “Might I have a word with you, Miss Kendrick? In private?”
She broke off her heated argument with her aunt to stare at him, while Lady Dalrymple snapped, “What can you possibly have to say in this matter? You have done quite enough damage!”
“Leave him alone, Aunt Catherine!” her niece responded. “You have no right to take your anger out on Mr. Lasseter. And I would be pleased to speak to him.”