Nicole Jordan (7 page)

“You are not a prisoner, Miss Kendrick. You are availing yourself of my hospitality.”

“Indeed?” Her voice dripped with disbelief. “Your hospitality leaves much to be desired. First you lock me in, then you keep me waiting for hours.”

“It has been but an hour.”

“An hour longer than necessary. And I have nothing to wear. Miss Walsh promised ages ago to find me some decent clothing.”

“I told her to delay. I didn’t want you disappearing before we had a chance to discuss your situation.”

“We have nothing to discuss. I wish to go home immediately.”

His midnight eyes regarded her speculatively. “I hoped I could prevail on your better nature.”

“At this moment, sir, I have no better nature.”

The half smile he gave her held a wry charm that might or might not have been deliberate. “I have a name, Miss Kendrick.”

“I don’t doubt it. Blackguard, knave, miscreant…”

The smile became a wince. “I can understand your sense of ill-usage—”

“Ill-usage! Is that what you call what you and your brother did to me?”

He went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “But you seem intelligent enough. You must comprehend the predicament you are in.”

“Oh, I comprehend perfectly.” She looked away for a moment, striving for composure. “I am facing catastrophe.”

“It would benefit us both if we could come to some mutual agreement. What will it take to have you forget this incident ever occurred?”

Her gaze flew to his. “You think to bribe me to secure my silence?” She gave him a smoldering glance. “If you expect me to let your brother go unpunished, you have taken leave of your senses. Even if I were willing to overlook his transgressions—which I am not—my grandfather will be enraged enough to prosecute. Your scoundrel of a brother will be fortunate if he doesn’t spend the rest of his life in prison.”

His dark eyes narrowing, Lasseter studied her from beneath heavy black lashes. “Naturally you would wish redress for your grievances. But I’m a gamester. I’d lay odds you would prefer to find a way out of this debacle.”

“Of course I would. But there is no possible way to hush up a scandal of this nature.”

“You could go abroad till the tempest dies down. I am a wealthy man. I would be willing to fund an extended stay.”

Her own smile held scorn. “No amount of wealth or time will salvage my reputation.”

He hesitated. “There is always marriage.”

Raven stared. “Are you mad?”

“It isn’t mad at all. Under the circumstances, it may be your only option.”

“And just whom do you propose I marry? What gentleman would be willing to have me now that…” Furiously she quelled tears that suddenly threatened. “Now that I am damaged goods.”

His expression remained enigmatic. “I imagine some acceptable candidates could be found for a woman of your…advantages. Perhaps no one with the title and fortune your duke possessed, but—”

“No, a title is doubtless beyond my reach now,” she said bitterly.

Hearing the humiliating tremble in her voice, Raven shook herself, refusing to cry. Instead she rose to her feet, pointing her pistol directly at her nemesis. “I should like to go home now, sir.”

Kell Lasseter’s eyes suddenly hardened, probing her with an even stare. “I am not a man who likes to be threatened, Miss Kendrick.”

“I frankly don’t give a fig for what you like. You will do as I say and allow me to leave.”

He gave a devilish laugh, blithely ignoring her wrath. “Or what? You will shoot me?”

“Yes, exactly. You will have Emma bring me a gown and then you will provide me with a closed carriage to deliver me home.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I am not bluffing, Mr. Lasseter. And I am reckoned a good shot.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his very stance challenging. “You intend to shoot me in cold blood? Somehow I doubt it.”

His supreme arrogance spurred her temper, already seething beyond caution. She couldn’t remember ever being this angry.

“Go ahead then,” he ordered, his own tone mocking. “Do your worst.”

Seeing that smirk on his sensual mouth was the culmination of all the past hours of fear and frustration and despair; Raven’s wrath boiled over.

Consigning him to perdition, she took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.

Chapter

Five

The explosion was deafening. With a startled grunt of pain, Lasseter doubled over to clench his left thigh. Almost at once a crimson streak spread beneath his fingers to stain his buff-colored breeches.

Aghast, Raven pressed a hand over her mouth, scarcely believing that she had actually shot him. Her gaze flew to his, only to find him skewering her with a menacing stare. With his beautiful, scarred face and coal black eyes, he looked supremely dangerous.

When he moved toward her, she took a defensive step backward. His scar stood out in a livid white line, and for a moment, all she could see was that and the promise of vengeance in his eyes. Yet instead of coming after her, he stumbled over to the bed, where he sat back against the headboard, grimacing in pain.

Blood was already soaking into the tangled sheets, Raven saw with horror as he grabbed a handful of linen to press against the wound.

“Are you badly hurt?” she murmured weakly.

Lasseter shot her a searing look. She had to school herself not to flinch from the smoldering intensity of his eyes.

Wanting to be of help, Raven started toward him, but his eyes flashed a warning and narrowed on the pistol in her hand. “For God’s sake, put that damned thing down before you do any more damage.”

Just then the door flew open and Emma Walsh stood there, a look of alarm on her beautiful features. “What happened?” she demanded, her gaze flying between Raven and the wounded man on the bed. “I heard a gunshot.”

“Miss Kendrick has come to no harm,” Lasseter bit out, “if that’s what concerns you. Although she has mortally wounded me.”

“Merciful heavens,” Emma breathed, taking a step toward the bed.

Abruptly he held up a hand to forestall her. “I’ll be all right. Just fetch some bandages.”

When the hostess had hurried away, Raven spoke in a contrite tone. “Did you mean it? Are you really all right?”

“No, devil take it!” he retorted. “I am certain to be crippled for life.”

Remorse filling her, Raven set the pistol down on the table and moved to the bedside. “Let me see.”

When he growled a protest and made to rise, she pressed him back down with her palm, finding his chest firmly muscled beneath the crispness of his shirt. Keenly aware of his masculinity, she bent over him and pushed his hand away from his leg so she could inspect the injury. She uncovered a gash perhaps an inch long on the side of his thigh.

“It doesn’t look too deep…. Certainly not a mortal wound as you claimed.”

“I am devastated to disappoint you.”

His reply was rough with pain and edged with hostility.

“There is no call for you to be so nasty, Mr. Lasseter. I am sorry I hurt you—”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Her cheeks flushed with hot anger. “I think I was entirely justified in shooting you.”

“That is purely a matter of opinion. You could have deprived me of my manhood, if not put a period to my existence.”

“It is only a flesh wound,” Raven said defensively. “I could have injured you far worse had I wished to.”

“Regrettably you will have to be satisfied with my bleeding to death.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “You are trying to make me feel guilty, aren’t you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

He raised a sardonic smile to her glare, which only increased her vexation. When her fingers curled reflexively on his thigh, he flinched and grasped her hand to hold it away.

Raven abruptly went still. A shimmering awareness of danger of another kind filled the air as she met his glittering gaze.

Kell felt the same danger and cursed silently. His wound was far from lethal but painful enough to aggravate the devil out of him, so how could he possibly be feeling aroused at her mere touch? But there was no question his cock was swelling into an unmistakable erection. His only excuse was that he’d just spent a long, excruciating night of unsated hunger with this blue-eyed spitfire….

Gritting his teeth, he damned her for causing him such pain, equally damning himself for wanting her so much. Intent on driving her away, Kell deliberately reached up and pulled his shirttail from his breeches. To his satisfaction, Raven Kendrick gave a start and jumped back.

“What are you doing?”

“Removing my breeches so I can see to my wound.” He sent her a challenging glance. “Don’t worry, Miss Kendrick. I don’t intend to assault you. I prefer my women warm and willing.”

Her chin lifted. “Will you please stop calling me Miss Kendrick in that odious tone?”

“What would you have me call you? Vixen? She-devil?”

When she merely looked daggers at him, he grinned tauntingly. “If you don’t want your sensibilities offended, you had best turn your back. But first bring me that basin and pitcher of water.”

With unaccustomed meekness, Raven did as she was bid, carrying the basin to the nightstand beside the bed, then fetching the pitcher and a towel. When Lasseter gave her a hard look, she scurried across the room to stand before the hearth, keeping her back to him.

She heard a rustle of clothing, then heard him swear as evidently he peeled the fabric of his breeches and drawers away from the wound.

Raven bit her lower lip. She had not wanted to injure him severely, merely to nick him and bring his level of arrogance down a peg or two. But either her aim had been slightly off, or he had moved at the last instant.

“I truly am sorry,” she offered in a small voice after a moment.

“I trust you are.” He gave a disgruntled sigh. “But I suppose the fault is as much mine as yours. I should have known better than to provoke an angry female with a gun.” To her amazement there was an edge of dark humor in his voice.

His next question surprised her just as much. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“Well…my groom taught me. O’Malley instructed me on any number of skills—riding and shooting particularly.”

“O’Malley?” The hardness returned to his voice. “The same O’Malley who thrashed my brother and left him for the impressment gang?”

Fortunately she was spared having to reply when Emma Walsh entered, her arms laden with bandages and salves.

Glancing over her shoulder, Raven saw the hostess deposit her supplies on the bed, then inspect the bloody gash on Lasseter’s leg. He had removed his breeches and used them to cover his loins, yet seeing the woman’s lovely blond head bending over his bare thigh, Raven was startled to feel a prick of jealousy sting her. It shouldn’t bother her in the least that they were behaving with the intimacy of lovers….

“The wound doesn’t look too severe,” Emma said softly. “Do you need help bandaging it, Kell?”

“I can manage,” he replied tersely. “You can clean up this bloody mess afterward, if you will.” He hesitated, and Raven suddenly felt his gaze bore into her. “And pray do something with Miss Kendrick. Escort her to your room and dress her. I’ll take her home before she has a chance to wreak any more destruction.”

Raven gave a slow exhalation of relief, even as she felt an unexpected sense of regret. By shooting Kell Lasseter, she had achieved precisely what she wanted. So why did she feel so little satisfaction at hurting the insufferable man?

Half an hour later, Raven found herself wearing a borrowed kerseymere gown that was several inches too long and a bit large in the bosom. But at least the high neckline covered her modestly and left little reminder of the wanton she’d been a short while earlier. More thankfully, she had tucked her mother’s pearls safely in the pocket of her own cloak, which Emma had also managed to rescue the previous night.

When a rap sounded on the bedchamber door, the hostess opened it to reveal her employer. He was limping slightly, Raven saw as he stepped into the room. Her gaze going to his left thigh, she noted he had changed into a new pair of breeches; she could barely see the outline of a bandage beneath the stockinet fabric.

“The damage doesn’t appear to be too extensive,” she murmured pointedly, “if you can walk without the aid of a cane.”

His mouth curled up at one corner. “I’ll survive, my sweet termagant. But don’t make the mistake of thinking I forgive you.”

Whatever contrition she had started to feel was instantly dashed. Her irritation was only exacerbated when he perused her oversized gown, lingering on her breasts as if he could see beneath the excess fabric. His probing gaze took liberties with her figure no other man had ever dared, the reprobate.

Pulling the lapels of her cloak closed, Raven raised her chin defiantly.

Still, it was hard to maintain a semblance of hauteur when he escorted her along the corridor, for she was required to hold up her too-long skirts to keep from tripping. It was even harder to ignore the smarting of her conscience, for Lasseter’s unsteady gait was clearly unfeigned, and she knew he must be in some pain.

He paused at the end of the hall and startled her by reaching up to draw her hood around her face. “I don’t expect any guests to be present at this early hour, but I see no need to advertise your identity.”

Raven felt her heart sink at the reminder of her plight, but she determinedly tried not to think about it.

When they descended the grand staircase, she received a glimpse of the entrance hall and the rooms beyond. For a gaming hell the decor seemed surprisingly elegant, with the gleam of rich wood and polished silver and sparkling crystal catching her eye. The huge chandelier in the entryway alone must have cost a fortune. Clearly the Golden Fleece was a successful enterprise.

She stole a glance at its enigmatic owner, wondering how a man who gave every outward appearance of being a gentleman had come to be involved in such a disreputable trade. Lasseter wasn’t the devilish scoundrel she might have expected, given his dangerous aura and his brother’s propensity for violence. Despite his biting wit, he hadn’t strangled her when she’d shot him. And last night, he had treated her with the tenderness of a lover—