She dreamed of Kell that night. Not intentionally, the way she did her pirate, but just as powerfully. His sensual passion invaded her body, her mind, her very senses, a dark lover who left her gasping… Raven woke, struggling for breath, fighting against the feeling of being overwhelmed.

She would have liked to forget her new husband’s very existence, and yet there were appearances to consider. At the very least she would have to produce Kell for the ball being planned in their honor. But she had no opportunity to ask for his escort until five days after their unexpected union, when she returned home from her morning ride.

Upon being informed that Kell was still in his rooms, she went up to her bedchamber, intending to enter his by way of their adjoining dressing room. She walked in on him just as he was emerging from his bath.

Kell froze at her unexpected entrance while Raven instantly came to halt, staring at the spellbinding sight of his naked male body. Her fantasy lover in the flesh.

His splendid anatomy was the stuff of her most erotic dreams. The powerful play of sleek muscles in his arms and shoulders. The crystals of water glistening in the dark hair of his chest, dripping in rivulets down his hard, flat abdomen to his groin…

Her breath caught as her attention was drawn to that masculine flesh that could give such wild pleasure. His virile maleness made her pulse race and her throat go dry. Worse, it made her recall their wedding night and the ecstasy they had shared.

For an instant she saw the same vivid memory flare in Kell’s dark eyes. But then he casually picked up a towel and draped it around his narrow hips and lean flanks.

“Did you ever consider knocking?”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I beg your pardon…” she stammered. “I didn’t realize…I thought…”

He had not yet shaved, and a bluish black shadow darkened his jaw, accenting the groove in his cheek when his mouth curled at the corner. “Did you want something of me, madam wife?”

“It can wait,” Raven croaked.

Backing out, she shut the dressing room door quickly, but the sight of Kell’s magnificent nudity remained imprinted on her mind. It was only hours later that she realized she’d forgotten in the awkwardness of the moment what she had intended to ask him.

When two more days passed and she still had not managed to have a private word with her husband, Raven realized she would have to go to him.

Girding her loins for battle, as the saying went, she set out for the gaming club on St. James Street. She wore a veil and hid behind the anonymity of a closed carriage, and she took O’Malley with her for protection. But still she felt strangely tense as she mounted the front steps to the house and raised the door knocker.

Some ladies considered it a fashionable diversion to attend a gaming hell, but she had never done so, unwilling to risk her reputation when she was so close to achieving her goal of marrying into the nobility.

Now she had far less to lose. So why did she feel as if she were engaged in a forbidden sin, her heart beating as if she had run a great distance? She didn’t like to think it was in anticipation of seeing her husband again. More likely, her erratic pulse was caused by her remembrance of the passionate night she’d recently spent here in Kell’s bed.

A brute of a doorman opened the door. His hulking frame resembled O’Malley’s, but this man might once have been a pugilist, for his nose was set crookedly and he was missing a front tooth.

She wasn’t required to deal with him, however, for a stately majordomo appeared directly.

“May I help you, madam?” the august servant queried.

“I am Mrs. Lasseter. I should like to speak to my husband.”

A flash of surprise and disapproval crossed his face before he schooled his features to impassivity. “I will ask if Mr. Lasseter is receiving.”

Refusing to be rebuffed, Raven stepped inside. “I prefer not to be kept waiting on the doorstep.”

“Very well, madam. If you will come with me.”

She followed him, not upstairs as she expected, but to the nether reaches of the large gaming house. Along the way, she passed several elegant chambers, similar to those of the more famous gentlemen’s clubs like White’s and Boodle’s she had heard described: a library boasting gleaming mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound tomes; a large dining room with several tables set with gleaming crystal and china; three smaller rooms arranged, possibly, for private games of cards; and finally what must be the public gaming room, where vast fortunes were won and lost.

Raven would have liked to explore the gaming room, but her curiosity would have to wait. She had to quell her surprise, however, when she found herself in the kitchens, of all places.

Despite the chill of the winter day, the room was warm from the great hearth fire and ovens. Kell was seated at a worktable, dressed in breeches and a flowing white cambric shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to expose muscular forearms, while his collar was opened at the neck to reveal the soft whorls of black hair that sprinkled his chest.

Raven came up short at the unmistakably pleasant shock that rippled along her spine. She kept forgetting how strikingly handsome he was, despite the harshness of his features and the scar that marred his high cheekbone.

Then he looked up and his dark eyes met hers. The ripple turned to a sizzle, with all the impact of a bolt of lightning. Raven had difficulty catching her breath, very much like when she had interrupted him at his bath.

“Mrs. Lasseter, sir,” the majordomo said.

“Thank you, Timmons. That will be all.”

The servant’s exit left them alone, for the kitchen staff was nowhere to be seen, Raven realized.

It was then she noticed the deadly blade in Kell’s hand, which he was polishing with a cloth. Any number of weapons, both rapiers and pistols, lay spread across the table-

“What are you doing?” she was startled into asking. Her heart leapt to her throat as she thought of the most likely possibility.

“I prefer to care for my own weapons,” Kell replied, his face inscrutable.

“You aren’t preparing for a duel? Halford hasn’t challenged you?”

His eyebrow rose at the obvious panic in her voice. “Not as yet. Did you expect him to?”

Raven’s hand went to her breast in relief. “I wasn’t certain. When I spoke to him last week, he threatened to call you out at first…”

“Did he now?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, remembering. “Halford was so furious. He blamed you for my abduction, even though I swore I went along willingly.” She felt another stab of guilt for what she had led Kell into. “I truly am sorry.”

Yet he didn’t seem to want her apologies. “How touching that you are so concerned for my welfare,” he murmured, his tone holding a hint of mockery.

She made a face. “To be truthful, I was more concerned for Halford. You do have the more dangerous reputation, after all.”

Kell’s features grew cool, and Raven immediately regretted her impetuous tongue. “I didn’t mean to jest about it. I admit, Halford frightens me. He says he means to ruin you.”

“He can try.” The words were spoken casually, but there was an edge of steel in his voice that boded ill for his opponents.

“Why have you come?” Kell asked, abruptly changing the subject. “You shouldn’t be here. It won’t do your reputation any good to be seen in a gaming hell.”

He didn’t invite her to be seated, but Raven did so anyway, taking the end of the bench opposite him. “My reputation could hardly be more tarnished at the moment. And I cannot distance myself from your club completely, now that I am your wife. Besides, my visit is for a good cause. I had to speak to you, yet I’ve seen very little of you since we wed.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t involve yourself in my life, nor I in yours.”

“We also agreed we should keep up appearances for the time being. Ours was supposed to be a love match, remember?”

He bent his head to his task, removing a speck of dirt from the deadly blade. “We both know what a spurious tale that is.”

“The rest of the world doesn’t realize that. And I require your presence to maintain the charade. My friends Lord and Lady Wycliff are planning a ball in our honor, to celebrate our nuptials.”

Kell didn’t even hesitate. “I will have to decline the honor.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t care to move in your elite social circles.”

“You keep away by choice, Lord Wolverton says.”

Kell looked up; obviously she had surprised him. “You know Wolverton? The greatest rake in all England?”

“He is a family friend,” Raven admitted without embarrassment. “Dare claims this is his favorite hell.”

“I am honored,” Kell said wryly, although without his usual sardonic sting.

“I asked him about you. He says you would have been welcomed by the ton had you chosen to exert yourself.”

Kell lowered his long, black lashes-those thick lashes any female would envy-while his hard, beautiful mouth curled. But he didn’t speak. Instead he examined the blade for imperfections.

“Dare says you are an expert swordsman,” Raven said into the silence. “Is that how you came by your scar?”

He shot her a dark glance. “You have a great deal of curiosity for a mere wife of convenience.”

“I suppose so,” she replied, unfazed by his scowl. “Aunt Catherine considers it a prime failing of mine.”

Absently he reached up and touched his scar, running his finger along the jagged ridge. “My disfigurement was courtesy of my uncle’s signet ring, if you must know.”