The Scoundrel's Lover (17 page)

Marcus sighed, his shoulders rolling forward. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I pay you to do that,” Crispin said, his voice low and angry.

Annabelle covered her mouth at his dismissive tone. But Marcus didn’t even flinch.

“You
pay
for the privilege of gaming and whoring in these halls,” he corrected softly. “A privilege I can remove at any time, my friend, although I hope you don’t push me so far.”

Annabelle knew what her brother would do even before he moved. She saw his posture stiffen, his fist form at his side, his face twist in animal, out of control emotion that had nothing to do with Marcus. He was going to swing.

“Crispin!” she screamed out as he did so.

Her brother jolted at her voice and his punch went wild. Marcus was easily able to step out of the way of it and Crispin staggered to the ground.

“What the hell?” he barked, looking around, looking directly toward the peephole where she stood. Worse, Marcus looked toward her too, his face a mask of horror.

She stepped back into the darkened hall, flattening against the wall opposite the peephole. What had she done?

Her brother stared in the direction of the hall for a moment more and then glared at Marcus. “Spies,
friend
?”

“You know these rooms,” Marcus said, his voice mild, though she could see the strain in his muscles.

“Go to hell,” Crispin snapped, then marched out of the room.

Annabelle ran down the darkened hallway and into the main room. She saw her brother weaving through the crowd, barely avoiding smashing into others. She took a step to follow him, but was stopped as Marcus stepped from the gambling room and caught her arm.

“Don’t,” he whispered, drawing her back. “He’s drawn enough attention to himself as it is, don’t drag yourself down with him.”

She spun on him. “I can’t let him go! Not in this state!”

Marcus said nothing, but motioned with his head to Abbot and began hauling her across the room, away from Crispin’s departing back.

“No!” she said, pulling against his grip, but to no avail. “Marcus!”

He ignored her and dragged her up the stairs to his office. Abbot followed and wordlessly closed the door behind them as Marcus released her.

“Marcus!” she repeated, pled, begged.

He nodded. “I know. I know you are upset, and you have every right to be. But Annabelle, what were you thinking saying his name, attempting to follow him when I specifically told you not to move?”

“He is my brother!” she shouted, slamming her hand on Marcus’s desk, as if she could make him understand if she brought the room down.

“And he is my friend,” he snapped back.

She stood for a moment, panting and staring at him. Then she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I saw that.”

“You have wanted Rafe to offer Crispin help. You’ve believed in your heart that if the offer was made, Crispin would take it,” Marcus continued, his voice softer now, filled with tenderness—not for Crispin, but for her. “But I offered him the same and he refused, Annabelle. Violently.”

Abbot cleared his throat. “Should I place Mr. Flynn on the banned list for the club?”

Annabelle spun on him. Crispin banned? She knew he deserved nothing less. After all, he had attempted an assault on the owner, flipped over a table and caused a disruption that those downstairs were likely screeching about, rather than whispering. He’d worn no mask during it all.

Her heart sank.

“No,” Marcus said.

Abbot shook his head. “No?”

“No,” he repeated, his eyebrows lifting as if to challenge Abbot to question him. “If Crispin doesn’t come here, he will have nowhere to go where he’ll be looked after. However, it’s obvious we need to control this situation more. When he gambles, be certain it is with one of our men. They won’t let the situation get out of hand and can return any ‘winnings’ at the end of the night.” He began to pace, and Annabelle could see his mind turning. “When he drinks, be certain it is watered down. And if you can steer him toward a woman, by God, do it. He’ll be less trouble.”

Abbot wrote down the notes carefully. “You intend to coddle him.”

Annabelle glared. Marcus’s man wasn’t wrong, but she hated him for pointing that out, regardless. He had influence, and he might change Marcus’s mind about taking care of Crispin.

“I intend to do everything I can for a friend who saved my life,” Marcus growled.

Abbot hesitated only a moment before he nodded. “Then it shall be done. I will go down and begin making arrangements and try to soothe the ruffled feathers. Unless there is anything else?”

“No,” Marcus said, leaning his hands on the desk, his head bent.

Abbot left the room and for a long time after he had left them alone, all Annabelle could do was stare at Marcus. This man, her lover, her brother’s champion, this unexpected man…he held such sway over her. And yet she could do nothing with her feelings.

“Marcus,” she whispered.

He lifted his head, but didn’t look at her. “Please don’t ask me how your brothers saved my life. Not tonight.”

She flinched. He would not share that story with her. It was too personal; perhaps she had not earned it. And yet she wanted to know.

“When, then?” she asked.

He finally turned toward her. “Next time. When our emotions are less heightened. I will tell you, Annabelle. I’ll tell you everything.”

She nodded before she moved toward him, sliding her hand against his cheek. “Thank you Marcus.”

She lifted to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He groaned at the touch, opening his mouth to grant her access. She took it, tasting his tongue, teasing him as he had teased her so very many times.

Then she stepped back. “And I’m so sorry,” she added before she adjusted the mask on her face and left the room. Left him.

And left herself more confused and in turmoil than she had ever been in before.

Marcus was sitting as his desk an hour later, looking at the swirling patterns of Annabelle’s handwriting, when there was a light knock. He tensed. After tonight, there was no one he wanted to see. No one he felt prepared to talk to.

And yet he had a club to run and he couldn’t ignore his duties.

“Yes,” he croaked out, his voice barely carrying.

The door opened slowly and Abbot stepped inside, leaning on the doorjamb as he examined Marcus at length. Marcus forced his gaze to the paperwork before him.

“Is there something going on downstairs that I need to know about?” he asked softly. Abbot didn’t respond long enough that Marcus looked up at him. “Well?”

“No, nothing downstairs.”

“If you have no club business to discuss, then I’d like to be left alone for a while,” Marcus ground out.

“I have club business,” his friend said, pushing off the door, shutting it behind him and settling into a chair across from Marcus.

“God, Abbot,” Marcus groaned.

“Are you lovers, then?”

Marcus glared at him. “It’s none of your damn business.”

“Perhaps not. Are you?”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, watching Abbot closely. He had known Paul Abbot for almost as long as he had run this club. They were of an age, and he trusted the man across from him with his money, his business…and he would even go so far as to say his life.

Despite all that, telling him something so personal was difficult. Marcus had been trained long ago by bitter circumstance not to give others too much of himself and had few confidantes.

“I’m not asking as your man of affairs,” Abbot said softly. “I don’t care about impact on the business, though later I may point out to you, yet again, that your actions could very well have one. But tonight, in this moment, I am asking you as a friend. Because I think you could use one. If you agree, then let me ask again. Are you lovers with Annabelle Flynn?”

Marcus rubbed a hand over his face, and then he shrugged. “It is more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

He met Abbot’s stare. “She requires she remain virginal for her nameless, faceless future husband who I will no doubt be unworthy to even shine his rotting shoe.”

Abbot leaned away. “She said that? She seems many things, but not cruel.”

“No, she never says it,” Marcus whispered. “But I know it, don’t I? We both know what I am.”

“A successful self-made man who was a friend to her late father, as well as both her brothers? A man who chooses to protect one of her brothers even to his detriment?”

Marcus pursed his lips. “She wants respectability. The kind that comes with a title. The kind I could never provide thanks to this club and my personal history.”

“Hmmm.” The noise Abbot made was noncommittal. “So no sex. But obviously a great deal else, judging from the scene I encountered earlier in the evening.”

“Yes,” Marcus admitted, his tone rough as he thought of the slick sweetness of Annabelle’s body, the aching drive he’d had to violate their agreement and claim her as his. The massive self-control it had taken not to do so.

“Does anyone else know?” Abbot asked.

“My mother.”

Abbot’s eyes went almost impossibly wide. “You told Calliope?”

Marcus shrugged. “I needed to talk to someone who would tell me exactly what I needed to hear. Who wouldn’t whitewash the truth.”

“Well, Calliope is certainly that. And what did she say?”

“Nothing to help,” Marcus said with a long sigh. “Though she did ask after you, of course.”

“That’s my girl,” Abbot said, his tone filled with teasing.

“You two are of a mind, at least.”

“That’s because your mother is an incredibly smart woman and we both care about you.” Abbot’s face was entirely sincere. “Though when I asked you if anyone else knew, I meant more from Annabelle’s part.”

Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I suppose she might have told someone, but considering her drive to protect her reputation, I doubt my name crosses her lips except when I force it here in this office.”

“And so this is why she comes here? For an almost-affair with you?”

“No. The situation between us arose because we both found ourselves drawn together, physically. I suggested we not fight it and this is as far as she will allow. So I take what I can get.” Marcus pushed from the desk. “But she comes here because she truly believes she can save Crispin. That if she can observe her brother at his worst, she can help bring back his best.”

“Do you agree?”

He stared out at the writhing bodies below. The night was coming to an end and most of those left in the club had given up on cards and were now focusing on far more pleasing activities. He hated them all for it, for taking something he couldn’t have.

“I don’t know. Annabelle is stubborn enough that perhaps she can force his hand.” He sighed. “But after tonight, after seeing Flynn so lost, I doubt she can fix him. He’ll have to want to do that all on his own, whatever demon haunts his every step. I fear it will hurt her deeply.”

“You care for her,” Abbot breathed.

Marcus stiffened. “Nonsense.”

“No, it isn’t. I can hear it in your words, I can see it in the way you watch her, the way you tense when you talk about her. The fact that you sought council from your mother reinforces my theory even more.”

Marcus glanced at his friend over his shoulder. “I know she isn’t for me, Abbot, you needn’t worry about that. Whatever we share is temporary at best. According to her eldest brother, the duke, her Season is going very well. I will likely be a unpleasant memory soon enough.”

He frowned at the thought. He hoped Annabelle wouldn’t come to regret him over time. But perhaps if she found a husband she loved and respected, she would wish she hadn’t surrendered so much to Marcus.

“Rivers,” Abbot said, his tone suddenly different. “Who wrote in your books?”

Marcus turned to find Abbot had stood and moved to his desk. He was leaning over the ledgers, both eyebrows raised. Marcus cleared his throat. “Annabelle is very clever with figures. And she has some good ideas for managing some of our affairs. Perhaps we can discuss them another day.”

Abbot looked up at him. There was no anger on his face, just pure, unadulterated surprise. “Be careful, my friend,” he said softly. “Not because I don’t trust your judgment, not because I dislike this woman, not because I don’t understand why you’re drawn to her…”

“Then why?” Marcus glared at him.

Abbot shifted in discomfort. “I’ve known you almost a decade, Rivers. You don’t normally allow yourself to feel for anyone, no matter the circumstances. You may not know the power it has when you care so deeply.”

Marcus gritted his teeth. He could tell Abbot again that he didn’t care about Annabelle. He could deny it to the sky and the moon and the sun until the world ended. But in his heart, he knew it wasn’t true. And he had a suspicion saying it out loud would only prove Abbot’s point all the more.

Instead, what he had to do was purge those feelings from his mind. Separate the desire he felt for Annabelle for any silly feelings he’d ever associated with her starting that long ago day when he first met her.

That was the only way to protect himself. The only way to save them both.

“I’m so glad we could have tea together, just the two of us today.”

Annabelle was pulled from her reverie by Serafina’s voice. She glanced over to find her brother’s wife watching her, a bright smile on her beautiful face but a strange look in her eyes. Annabelle pushed away thoughts of Crispin and Marcus, as she had been for nearly two days, and instead forced a smile for Serafina.

“I am as well,” she said, and did not have to lie. “I so enjoy our times together.”

“Yes.” Serafina refreshed her tea, her gaze flitting to Annabelle as she did so. “But I fear you are distracted much of late.”

Annabelle swallowed hard. “Am—am I?”

“I think you know you are, my dear. Would you like to talk to me about why?”

Annabelle searched Serafina’s face, trying to determine how much she knew. From her tone, it seemed she meant more than she said, but her face revealed nothing. But then, her sister-in-law had her reasons for developing such a skill, though she no longer had need to use it.

“I suppose anyone would be distracted by a foray into Society,” Annabelle said, dropping her gaze. Unlike Serafina, it was hard for her to hide her emotions and she feared they would be clear upon her face.

“I feel it is more than that.” Serafina reached forward and took both Annabelle’s hands. She squeezed gently, forcing Annabelle to look at her. “Are you certain there is nothing you need to tell me? Perhaps something that would be difficult for you to explain to Rafe or your mother? Because what is the use of having a sister if not to confess our deepest secrets and obtain advice, perspective and even aid?”

Annabelle sucked in a breath. She adored her brother’s wife. As Serafina had just said, she was the sister Annabelle had never had, and in the months she and Rafe had been married, the two had grown closer than ever. Which meant she wanted so desperately to tell her everything.

But telling Serafina anything meant telling Rafe the same. And she could not imagine her brother would not be enraged if he knew her desperate plans. If he knew how far she had gone with Marcus and how much further she longed to go.

Rafe would tell her to forget Crispin, to abandon him until he was ready to reach out to his family once more. After seeing her brother lose control two nights before, she couldn’t do that. Even if she knew it was sound advice somewhere in her heart.

And yet her lips parted, they trembled with the words she so desperately wanted to say out loud. Serafina leaned forward, anticipating the truth, blue eyes wide with readiness to comfort and council.

“I-I am only worried about my future in Society,” Annabelle finally said, turning her face so she wouldn’t see Serafina’s recognition of that bitter lie. “And worried about Crispin. He seems bent on destroying himself.”

Serafina sighed. “I can imagine your brother’s condition at present much troubles you. I never had a brother of my own, but I have come to care about you all so much since my marriage to Rafe that I also think of Crispin often and fear for his safety.”

Annabelle shot her a look. “Is there no way you can convince Rafe to reach out to him? To offer him assistance?”

Serafina tilted her head. “Do you not think he has? Over the past few months, when Crispin has sunk to his lowest, Rafe has offered him help multiple times, only to be rebuffed soundly and often rather cruelly. I assure you, it breaks his heart to let Crispin go, knowing he is in deep pain and that Rafe can do nothing to help him.”

Annabelle drew a breath at the tears that leapt into Serafina’s eyes at her words. She had been making the assumption that Rafe was simply choosing to be cold toward their brother, but she could see now his deep emotions, reflected in Serafina’s empathetic pain for him.

“I have been too hard on Rafe, I can see that,” she whispered. “And after what I’ve seen, perhaps he is right.”

Serafina jerked her face toward her. “What you’ve seen? What do you mean?”