Raven shut her eyes, envisioning her pirate lover. The hard, virile face. The thick, dark lashes. The eyes that were hot, intense, passionate…
Oh, God…Kell.
She groaned softly, trying to shut out his powerful image. He bore too damningly close a resemblance to her imaginary lover.
A twinge of panic coursed through Raven as she tried to rationalize this disquieting turn of events. There was a logical reason she’d found her fantasy so disappointing. She now had a standard to compare to.
For the first time in her life, she knew what real passion was. She knew the touch of a flesh and blood man, his taste, his scent, his fiery heat… She knew Kell.
She groaned again, remembering how he had aroused her passion on her wedding night.
Murmuring a low oath, Raven buried her face in the pillow, determined to crush her vivid memories of that night. Of him.
She couldn’t deny the distressing realization, though. Her fantasy lover was no longer as satisfying as her very real husband.
The elusive husband who wanted nothing to do with her.
Chapter Thirteen
Raven couldn’t regret her underhanded means of forcing Kell to cooperate in his own salvation, yet she worried he wouldn’t take their wager seriously. Determined to press her case, she canceled her ride the next morning and instead surprised her husband by joining him in the breakfast room.
Kell briefly looked up from reading The Morning Chronicle, appearing disgruntled that she would invade his domain. After a terse greeting, he returned to perusing the news.
Raven didn’t let his displeasure distress her. She filled her plate from the sideboard and took the seat at his right hand, addressing him as she spread strawberry jam on a muffin.
“I spoke to Dare and Lucian yesterday about our scheme to redeem your reputation. They intend to do their utmost to help, now that you have agreed to participate.”
The sound Kell made was something between a grunt and a sigh. “I know. They attended my club last evening.”
“Did they?” Raven smiled in relief. “I was certain I could count on them.”
She took a bite of coddled egg and studied Kell. He was dressed informally again with no cravat, but his rust-colored coat molded his muscular shoulders to perfection, while the pristine white of his shirt heightened his dark good looks. She was growing accustomed to his scar, but his unabashedly sensual appeal still had the power to unsettle her.
Chastising herself, Raven mentally searched for a subject to distract her thoughts from her husband’s dangerous masculinity.
“I have been wondering, Kell, about the climbing boy I met at your club yesterday. How is Nate doing?”
He didn’t look up from his paper. “Well enough.”
“I’ve been thinking…”
“That strikes me as hazardous,” Kell murmured, his tone dry.
Raven bit back a smile. “It seems to me that a gaming hell is no place for a boy to be raised.”
Kell did lift his gaze at that, regarding her intently over the paper. “You consider yourself an expert on how boys should be raised?”
“No-and I intended no criticism. I just thought that perhaps Nate would be better off living here. In your house, I mean, rather than at your club.”
His eyes held hers in a level stare. “You would actually consider taking in a wretch from the streets? You don’t fear he would purloin the silver or murder you in your bed?”
“Not in the least,” she responded, surprised he would ask such a question.
“Most ladies would.”
“Well, I don’t. And I should like to help.”
When Kell finally answered, his tone had lost its gruff edge. “It is generous of you to offer, but Nate has come to know the staff at the club, and I’m certain he would feel less apprehensive there than he would here. In any case, he will remain at the club only a few more days. I’m taking him to a foundling home once his bruises heal.”