The Scoundrel's Lover (21 page)

Both Rafe and Crispin shifted at that assessment, and Annabelle shot them a glare. Then she shook her head. “Very well, Mama. Let me start at the beginning.”

She grasped her mother’s hand and then began to tell the story. She left out her bargain with Marcus to explore desire, of course, but told them all the rest. About how she wanted to help Crispin and since Rafe wouldn’t she had followed him here and all the rest.

When she was finished, Crispin paced away to lean on Marcus’s desk, his back to her.

“Marcus helped me,” she explained, looking at him. He didn’t meet her stare. “He protected me, in fact.”

“Protected you into being compromised,” Rafe said, his fists shoved at his sides.

She waited for Marcus to explain, to deny what her brother said, but he still said nothing. He stood stoically, as if he were merely waiting for this to all be over.

Perhaps he was.

She swallowed. “The position you found us in tonight did not look well, I know. But…but Marcus did not compromise me. I am still untouched.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but in the sense that a future husband would know, it was.

“Bollocks,” Rafe growled.

“Do not make me explain myself to you,” Annabelle snapped. “Give me the respect of simply believing me.”

“So you didn’t come here because you didn’t truly want a Society marriage?” her mother asked.

Annabelle drew back. Was that disappointment in her mother’s voice?

“N-no.” She glanced at Marcus again. “My plans have not changed.”

“You did this for me,” Crispin muttered, the first time he’d spoken in a full ten minutes. “
Because
of me.”

Annabelle stepped toward him. “I love you, Crispin. I wanted to protect you, but I made my own choices.”

Crispin glared at Marcus. “
He
should have stopped you.
He
should have sent you home.”

Rafe nodded. “Yes, he should have. Rivers, how could you? How could you after everything we have been through, everything we’ve done?”

Annabelle turned her face at the admonishment. Now that she understood what Marcus had endured, she also knew how much her brothers meant to him. And yet he still remained stoic in the fact of their anger.

“I very much appreciate what you and your father did for me,” he said, his voice quiet. “And you’re right that I shouldn’t have allowed Annabelle to come here. It was…a weakness.”

She flinched. A weakness.
His
weakness. And knowing him, one he could overcome once she disappeared from his life. All they had shared would be forgotten, by him because he had to. By her because she chose a different path.

It was all so bloody awful.

Rafe’s brow wrinkled and he stared at Marcus closer, as if seeing something in him that he hadn’t ever noticed before. Annabelle stepped between them, hoping to diffuse the situation even though she knew she couldn’t.

“Vent your anger on me, not him,” she said softly. “He is and has ever been your friend. If anything, I took advantage of his kindness, nothing more.”

Rafe’s gaze flitted to her and he shook his head. “Come, we should go home. Enough damage has been done here to last you two lifetimes.”

Abbot, who had been silent since his entry into the room, stepped forward now. “I can show you all to a private exit so you do not have to walk through the hall and draw attention to yourselves.”

Annabelle’s mother nodded. “Thank you, that would be very appreciated.”

Abbot motioned to the door and her family began to filter out, but Annabelle stayed put, unable to stop looking at Marcus. He held her stare for the first time since he left her in his bed, but she could read no emotion in him. It was as if a light had been blown out, and she ached for it to return.

“Come, Annabelle,” Rafe said, his voice sharp.

“I want a moment,” she said.

Her brother moved toward her, but it was her mother who stopped him. “Leave her alone, Raphael,” she said softly. “It will take a moment for the carriage to be brought to the back at any rate. Leave her be.”

Rafe made an angry sound deep in his throat, but he said nothing more and left the room. Once the rest of them were gone, Annabelle stepped forward.

“Marcus,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Flynn,” he said, his voice stiff and formal.

“We shared something beautiful, Marcus. Please don’t pretend it was ugly.”

His lips pressed together and he shook his head. “It was never ugly. It was just a mistake. For both of us, Annabelle.”

She recoiled from those words. “Please don’t say that.”

He turned away. “Go home, Miss Flynn. And it would be best if you did not return.”

She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, stunned by his dismissal. Stunned further by how deeply it cut her to hear it. It was as if he had cut open her chest and removed her very heart with callous precision.

Stepping backward, she reached for the door handle. But before she turned it, she said, “I am so very sorry, Marcus. For everything I’ve done that has hurt you. I promise you it was not my intention. Good…goodbye.”

Then she turned and blindly fled the room.

Marcus leaned against the window, watching the thinning crowd below. How long had it been since Annabelle walked out of his life for good? A moment? An hour? It already seemed like forever because he knew it would be.

He had guaranteed that.

“And better for her,” he said, needing to hear those words out loud. Perhaps that would help him believe them.

The door behind him opened, and he turned just in case Rafe or Crispin had returned, spoiling for the duel he so richly deserved. But it was only Abbot who came in. His friend looked tired.

“You knew this was a bad idea from the start,” Marcus murmured as he returned his attention to the glass. “You may rub my nose in it if you like.”

Abbot said nothing, but he walked past Marcus and went to the sidebar where he poured two tall glasses of whiskey. He handed one over to Marcus and sighed.

“I hope you know me well enough to know I would not celebrate your pain, friend. Nor the horror that transpired in this room tonight.”

Marcus downed the drink in one swig and set the glass down on the desk behind him. “Did
they
leave?”

Abbot nodded. “Yes.
They
were almost entirely silent, except for the younger Mr. Flynn.”

Marcus winced. “He caused problems?”

“He would not stop talking and he refused to depart with the rest of his family. The Duke of Hartholm was quite angry, but left with the women without incident. And shortly thereafter Mr. Flynn called for his horse and rode off into the night. Should I have stopped him?”

“No. I’m afraid I am in no position to offer my help or friendship to him now. I have lost that right with my actions.” He cleared his throat. “How was…how was Annabelle?”

“Pale,” Abbot said, much quieter. “But not tearful.”

“Good.” Marcus sat down and pretended to stare at the paperwork before him. “Perhaps that means she recognizes the end of our affiliation is for the best.”

“Is it?”

Marcus looked up at his friend’s incredulous tone. “Surely you know it is. Look at the trouble is has caused for you, for me, for
her
…”

“I don’t know,” Abbot mused. “It seemed you two always looked happy when you were together.” When Marcus glared at him, he shrugged. “But what do I know? I’ve only been at your side for almost ten years.”

“Then you should know exactly why the idea of being with her…loving her…is so foolish,” he snapped. “You know where she comes from and what I am. She made it clear, numerous times, that she could not offer me everything.”

“With her words or her actions?” Abbot pressed.

Marcus slammed a hand on his desk. Why was his friend encouraging ridiculous thoughts that would only hurt him in the end?

“Both,” he snapped. “Words until tonight, but actions in the last few hours. She made her decision clear.”

Abbot was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. Then he finished his drink. “Then you are right to let her go.”

“I know that,” Marcus said through clenched teeth.

“I’m certain the loss hurts, though. Is there anything I can do?”

He looked up as his friend and found Abbot looked entirely serious. He appreciated the offer, but he shook his head. “Let me work. And don’t mourn for me, Abbot. I haven’t lost anything. I never had it to begin with.”

Annabelle poured herself a cup of tea and settled onto her favorite chair. She took a long breath and enjoyed the sound of silence around her in the parlor. Certainly it had been three days since she had experienced such a thing.

Ever since her removal from Marcus’s club…ever since he had told her never to return, she had been surrounded. Her mother clucked and implied, but never asked questions. Rafe checked in on her like he thought she would run away the moment everyone’s back was turned. And Serafina merely apologized and kept trying to do things that would “help.”

But no one could help. In the end, Annabelle had made her decision. Living with it was simply proving far more difficult than she’d ever expected it to be. Especially when thoughts of Marcus haunted her mind and kept her from sleep.

Today, though, her family had all seemed to recognize that she was safe to leave alone. Her mother had gone to call on a sick friend, Rafe had left town on estate business and there had been no hint of Serafina as of yet.

So Annabelle was alone with her thoughts and the memories that continued to haunt her.

“It’s only been a few days,” she told herself.

But that was a lie. The loss was so keen because she knew it was permanent. She would never see Marcus again, never touch him again, never hear his laugh or be able to talk to him about her life or his. What they had shared was resoundingly and permanently over.

And that truth was like a knife to the gut. A painful, slow death that made her want to weep whenever she pondered it for more than a moment.

The door to the parlor opened and her mother’s butler, Sanders, stepped in. She forced a smile for the man, for it wasn’t his fault that her world had been destroyed.

“What is it?”

“You have a visitor, Miss Flynn.”

“Not the duchess?”

He shook his head. “No, Miss.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly followed by confusion. “I’m not certain I am up for visitors, Sanders. Who is it?”

“It is Lord Claybrook,” he explained.

Annabelle froze. She had turned down two invitations since her final encounter with Marcus, so she had not seen Claybrook in days. Her heart actually sank at the thought of having to sit with him, pretend with him.

But that was what she had chosen, wasn’t it? And perhaps this was her punishment.

“Please send him in.”

The servant left and Annabelle rose to her feet, smoothing her gown and checking her hair in the mirror above the fireplace. It was important to be perfect, after all. It was important to be right.

And a tiny voice inside of her screamed,
It was never this hard with Marcus!

She ignored the voice as the door behind her opened and instead turned to greet Claybrook with a wide smile.

“My lord,” she said even as she nodded to Sanders to indicate he could depart.

“Miss Flynn,” Claybrook responded with a smile as the servant did just that, leaving the door at a very proper open position.

“Come join me, won’t you?” Annabelle asked motioning to the two chairs before the fire where she had just been exploring her reverie. Torturing herself.

Lord Claybrook nodded, and once she had seated herself, he did the same, careful to adjust his jacket so it wouldn’t be wrinkled. She observed him for a brief second before they began to speak. He was handsome enough, of course. Always polite. Never anything but kind.

But that little voice persisted. Not Marcus. Not Marcus. Not Marcus.

“And how is your family?” Claybrook asked.

Annabelle jolted, brought back to reality with his words. She smiled, trying not to think of the encounter at Donville Masquerade. About Crispin’s leaving them once again, guilt over her joining whatever other pain he felt.

“They are well,” she lied, her voice cracking a little.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Excellent, I’m happy to hear it. And is your mother in residence today? Or perhaps your brother will be here at some point?”

She blinked at his odd line of questioning. “I…no, actually. My brother has business to attend to today in the country. As far as I know, he will not be home for two days. But his wife is in residence at their home if you need to reach him.”

“Oh, no, it is nothing like that.” Claybrook wrinkled his brow. “Two days, eh? That is unlucky, but it isn’t the end of the world.”

Annabelle shook her head. He seemed to be muttering to himself rather than talking to her. “My lord?”

“And your mother?” he pressed.

She hesitated. “Mama is out calling on a sick friend. She will be back before supper.”

She certainly hoped he wouldn’t wait around that long. A few hours to herself were exactly what she needed now. And it was becoming increasingly clear that she didn’t feel like spending those few hours with this man.

That tiny voice screamed again and she wished she could gag it, for it was only confusing the issue.

Claybrook frowned, disappointment clear on his face. “Hmmm. Well, you and I can speak first, can’t we? It isn’t improper with the door open as it is.”

She fought the urge to scowl. “Why don’t you simply explain to me what you want to say, my lord? I find myself very confused at present.”

And annoyed, but she didn’t add that.

He cleared his throat. “You and I have spent some time together in the weeks since you came out in good Society. And I have enjoyed it.”

Annabelle blinked. She knew how she was expected to respond to this compliment, but in this moment the words felt very hard to say.

“Miss Flynn?” he said when she simply stared at him.

“I’m sorry. Yes, I have also enjoyed our time together.” She didn’t know why it felt so false to say that sentence. It wasn’t entirely untrue. She hadn’t
not
enjoyed their time together and it was almost the same thing.

“Good,” he said with a thin smile. “Miss Flynn…
Annabelle
…”

She stiffened. He had never said her given name before. It sounded very odd coming from his proper lips. In that moment, she tried to imagine him moaning it, whispering it, as Marcus had done so many times. She found it was impossible to do so.

Claybrook continued, utterly unaware of her inappropriate thoughts. “I know you have a desire to elevate yourself. And your dowry is very tempting. Since we get along so smashingly, I have come here this morning to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Annabelle sucked in a breath. Since she was a girl, she had pictured how she would be asked for her hand. When she was younger, the proposals were always very romantic, but as she realized that her name might affect her prospects, they had become less so.

But none had been so pragmatic as this. Claybrook stared at her, the same thin smile on his face as had been when he asked after the health of her mother. He didn’t seem nervous or excited or even especially
happy
to ask for this match.

“I—what?” she managed to squeak out, if only to buy herself time to formulate some kind of response.

His smile faded slightly. “I am asking you to marry me, Miss Flynn. Obviously, asking your mother and brother first would be proper, but in a way this is better.”

“Better?” she repeated, his words still rolling in her head.
Elevating herself, tempting dowry
…

He nodded. “Because I wish to talk to you about a small issue that will be of concern in our marriage.”

She stared. He was talking about their marriage before she had even agreed to a wedding. He was that certain in her answer. And why wouldn’t he be? He was a good catch, and no other man had expressed as much interest. She would be a fool not to capitulate.

She cleared her throat. “And that issue is?”

“Your brother,” he said solemnly.

“Rafe?”

He shook his head. “No, the
other
.”

He said the word with such disdain that she turned her face away from it like it was a physical blow.

“Crispin,” she managed to whisper. “His name is Crispin.”

Claybrook didn’t seem to care, for he continued on without acknowledging her correction. “I have heard some troubling things of late, Miss Flynn, about your brother.”

“Crispin,” she repeated.

And again, he ignored her. “I have heard he had an altercation of some kind with a club owner in the hells.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I do not frequent such places, of course, but many with influence choose to spend their nights with such riffraff.”

Annabelle pressed her lips together. Now this man wasn’t only dismissing Crispin, but Marcus. “I believe a great many do, my lord. I’ve heard whispers that such establishments are quite successful.”

He recoiled slightly, as if just her knowing something so basic were a disgusting fact.

“I have no doubt some men make their fortunes in such revolting ways, but that does not mean they are acceptable. Nor is the behavior that your brother has exhibited in front of a great many people. And not just with this incident. There are other rumors that have circulated, which I shall not repeat. Needless to say, I’m troubled by it.”

“Why?” She shook her head and tried to meter her tone. It was difficult when she was beginning to feel angry. “I don’t see why it has anything at all to do with you.”

“How can it not when I have just asked you such a question, Miss Flynn? Your family and whatever…
difficulties
they cause will directly impact me and the future of our heirs.”

He wasn’t wrong—she knew that better than most. Hell, it was why so many men refused to even consider her. But having him so directly broach the subject was still trying.

“And what would you have me do?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap, letting the nails dig into her skin to keep her from shouting.

He sighed. “If you are to accept my proposal, I must insist that you do not see your brother again. In order to protect both our reputations.”

Annabelle shot to her feet in surprise. He watched her, a mild expression on his always neutral face, but said nothing as she paced away from him. At the sidebar, she stopped and began to fiddle with the bottles of alcohol lined up there.

“You would ask me to abandon my family,” she finally said when she had found enough composure to speak.

She heard him stand. “Not your family. Your brother.”

She spun around to face him and couldn’t control her tone when she barked, “You do not think that is the same thing?”

“One of the rumors circulating is that your brother has already cut himself off from the rest of you. This cannot be much of a loss, Miss Flynn, especially when you consider the great advantages you would gain from our union.”

Nothing he said was wrong. This was exactly the mindset Annabelle had shared when she decided to use Rafe’s new position to enter upper Society. To pursue a marriage with a man of standing. And yet hearing Claybrook say it, hearing his terms, it was offensive to her.

“I love my brother,” she whispered. “I love Crispin.”

He cocked his head as if he didn’t fully understand the point she was making. “I think one would be very foolish to let love determine whether one made a match or not.”

Annabelle shook her head. She thought of her parents’ match, which had brimmed with love until the day her father died, and even beyond his grave. And she thought of Serafina and Rafe, who had nearly thrown away a love that burned so brightly between them that it made it hard to look at them sometimes. They were a partnership in every sense of the word.

And in that moment, Annabelle realized she wanted nothing less than what her family had already found. She also realized that the only man in the world who could give her that was Marcus Rivers. A man who understood and accepted her for all that she was.

A man who she loved with all her heart.

“You are smiling,” Claybrook said, stepping toward her. “Does that mean you have come to a decision?”

Annabelle blinked. Poor Claybrook. He was not going to like what she would say.