The Scoundrel's Lover (3 page)

“No. I will go with you, Mr. Abbot.”

“Absolutely not!” the man cried out. “Remove yourself this instant.”

“I shall not.” Annabelle folded her arms.

“I will go inside and call for the duke,” he threatened, but she could see from the expression on his face that he did not wish to do so.

“If you do, you’ll only anger him,” Annabelle said. “He might not even believe I did such a thing.”

That was a lie, of course. Rafe would certainly believe this man if he claimed Annabelle had stubbornly demanded he take her to one of the most notorious hells in London. Rafe knew her too well.

But
Abbot
didn’t know that.

“Please,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I understand Rafe’s position when it comes to Crispin, but he is my brother too. I cannot imagine that leaving him to ruin is the best course. Mr. Rivers obviously wanted someone from Crispin’s family to come to him, and I am your best bet.”

Abbot squeezed his eyes shut with a heavy sigh. “Very well. But Mr. Rivers will not be happy.”

“And I will take full blame,” she reassured him, almost bouncing with happiness as Abbot shut the carriage door and pounded on the carriage wall so that the driver would move again.

Abbot looked her up and down. “Very reassuring. However, I doubt Mr. Rivers will care. It will be both our heads, Miss Flynn, so I hope you remember that you wanted this when you feel his wrath.”

Annabelle stared. “I don’t recall him being so terrible when I met him.”

Abbot’s eyebrow arched high. “You’ve met Marcus Rivers?”

She nodded. “He and my brothers are friends of a sort. We have not socialized much, but I have been introduced to the man.”

She tried not to think of Rivers as she had in the parlor. Right now it was in her best interest to be cool and detached.

Even if that was the last thing she felt.

“I assume you did not encounter Mr. Rivers in the club,” Abbot asked.

She drew back a fraction. “Certainly not.”

He smiled, a thin expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you have never met Mr. Rivers. Not truly.”

He settled back against the comfortable carriage seat and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. But Annabelle could not stop her mind from racing to images of dark hair and eyes, dark expressions and rumors of the lion’s den she would now be entering.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a rather nondescript building in an area of London that Annabelle knew her mother would not approve of her visiting. She peeked around the curtains for the third time and shivered.

“Without a sign, how do your patrons know where to go?” she asked.

“It is a private club, Miss Flynn, very exclusive. Those who wish to find us have the means to do so.” Abbot reached into his jacket and withdrew a simple, gray mask from somewhere within the folds of fabric.

As he handed it to her, Annabelle gave him a questioning look.

“Most of our patrons wear masks in the club, Miss Flynn,” Abbot said. “It is not a requirement, but you should comply for your own protection. Since I expected to bring the duke back with me, it may be a bit large, but it will do the trick of protecting your identity. As for what you will see once you enter the club, I can only say that it will certainly be shocking to you. Once again, I encourage you to reconsider coming inside with me.”

Annabelle took a breath. The Donville Masquerade was not often discussed in polite company, but due to her brothers’ scandalous reputations, she sometimes heard about it. She knew it was a den of debauchery of all kinds. Exactly the kind of place she should not be.

And yet she was here. For Crispin. With that thought ricocheting through her mind, she set her jaw.

“I want to see my brother.”

Abbot looked at her for a moment, searching her face, and then he nodded. “Put on the mask and follow me.”

She did as she had been told and exited the carriage behind him. The door opened as Abbot approached and a finely liveried servant stood there. He was not wearing a mask and bowed to Abbot.

“Welcome back, sir.” He stepped aside to allow them entry.

Annabelle could not deny her curiosity as she stepped inside the foyer. It was a rather plain entryway, with nothing to show that it was anything else but a normal London home. The furniture was simple and the wall colorings the same.

But now that they were off the street, the sounds of faint music tinkled from far in the back of the building. Did they dance here, as if it were no different than Almack’s?

Abbot’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Where is Mr. Rivers?”

“I’m not certain, Mr. Abbot,” the servant said. “I have heard in his office, but when I was last in the hall he was back in the private room dealing with the, er,
problem
.”

Abbot’s gaze slipped to Annabelle and his brief expression made her eyes widen. Was
the problem
Crispin? And just how was Rivers dealing with him?

“Follow me,” Abbot said, heading down a long, twisting hall. The sounds of the music increased as they moved closer and closer to a large set of double doors, and were now joined with echoes of laughter and the occasional…

Annabelle blushed.

There were
moans
coming from the room.

“Last chance to change your mind,” Abbot said, as if he could read her thoughts.

“Open the door,” she said, more sharply than she had intended as she tried to convey a certainty she didn’t feel.

He did as she asked and revealed a huge hall, bigger than any she had ever been to in the country or in London. There were tables scattered about the room where men and women gambled together. Gambled and…other activities.

She turned her head with a gasp. People were engaging in very bold deeds! As much as she tried, she couldn’t avoid seeing a couple kissing right out in the middle of the room, their tongues tangling and their bodies grinding together.

In another corner a lady was pinned to the wall by her…could Annabelle rightly call him a suitor? Whoever he was, he had a handful of his companion’s skirt in his fist and was blatantly revealing her calves and even a flash of thigh to the room at large.

“Stay here a moment, I’ll find out where to take you,” Abbot said, his tone grim.

Annabelle watched him leave her side with a gasp. He was leaving her here alone! With such things going on around her?

She didn’t want to look. But she did, despite herself. Watched the man and woman against the wall as he dropped his head and began to kiss the swollen curves of her breasts, which peeked above her low-cut gown. The woman moaned brazenly and arched her back as if to offer more.

He took it, her skirt ruched higher so that he could place a palm against what Annabelle could plainly see was the woman’s bare backside.

Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut so she would see no more. She was a lady, not meant for these kinds of things. She had to remember that.

Or better yet, to forget the low, dark thrill that began between her legs. It had been a long time since she felt that throbbing need. A long time since she allowed her true nature to rear its ugly head.

“Not now,” she ground out to herself, willing her nipples to stop hardening, her legs to stop shaking.

Suddenly there was the grip of fingers closing over her upper arm and her eyes flew open. She found herself staring up into the dark green gaze of Marcus Rivers. Unlike those around her, he wore no mask and his face was alive with emotion in that moment. He looked...angry.
Very
angry. She couldn’t help but think of Abbot’s words in the carriage that they would both face this man’s wrath.

“Come with me,” Rivers said.

He didn’t wait for her to agree, but merely began to guide her through the crowded hall, past more gaming tables and entangled lovers. Annabelle tried to keep her gaze firmly on the floor below her, but she saw things. She heard things.

And God help her, she felt things, including Rivers’ firm grip on her arm, which seemed to send little lightning bolts of awareness through her all the more.

He nodded to a servant as he dragged her up a short flight of stairs. Only at a shut door at the top of the landing did he release her. He fished a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door before he opened it and motioned her to enter.

She stepped inside and immediately began to look for her brother. But he was nowhere to be found within the dimly lit office where Rivers had taken her.

The same office where they were now entirely alone. Where he was shutting the door behind him and staring at her.

Her breath caught as she waited for him to do or say something, because she had no idea how to react when he wasn’t.

“What are you doing here, Miss Flynn?” he asked at last, his voice rough as it raked over her very senses.

She blinked a few times as she gathered her emotions. Slowly, she folded her arms and glared at him. “I assume your man Abbot told you why when he informed you of my arrival.”

Rivers’ eyes narrowed. “I haven’t spoken to Abbot.”

She drew back a fraction. “But—but you came and collected me. You called me Miss Flynn,” she said slowly. “How did you know it was me?”

He motioned to the large wall of windows behind her. “I looked down over the club and saw you standing by the door. I recognized you.”

Now Annabelle could scarcely breathe. Rivers was watching her so closely, his eyes narrow and unreadable.

“You have only met me twice.” Her voice trembled, and she hated herself for it.

He waved a hand as if to dismiss that observation. “
You
are changing the subject. Why are you here, Miss Flynn?”

She observed him for a moment. She’d thought he looked angry before, and that emotion was still there, but here in the dimmer light of his private chamber she saw less harshness to his face. He was really very handsome, though there was nothing soft about him. He was all angles and frowns.

“Miss Flynn,” he said.

She shook her head. “You sent for me.”

Now his full lips thinned with displeasure. “I most certainly did not. I sent for your brother. I
sent
for the Duke of Hartholm.”

She couldn’t help how her frown deepened. “Apparently the duke does not think he should come to collect our brother. Your man has a message that explains all, I assume.”

“Except how you came to be here.”

She sighed. “I cannot agree with Rafe’s theory that Crispin should be left to hit the bottom before we save him. The consequences could be far too great and then none of us would forgive ourselves. When I realized my older brother wouldn’t come, I couldn’t allow that to be the last word. So I threw myself into your carriage with Mr. Abbot.”

“And he allowed you to come here?” Now the anger returned to Rivers’ voice.

She shook her head. “Not exactly. I’m afraid I may have…
threatened
him a little.”

Both Rivers’ eyebrows went up and then, to her surprise, he began to laugh. It was a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to wind its way around her, make her think of the intertwined bodies of the shocking lovers downstairs. She gasped at the image and turned away.

“You mock me,” she all but panted as she tried to rein in her body’s shocking reactions to this utterly unexpected night.

His laughter trailed away. “Never would I do something so foolish. I was only struck by the fact that you surprised me. And that, Miss Flynn, is not easy to do, I assure you.”

She glanced out the window bay behind him and shivered at the brief images of all the debauchery going on downstairs.

“I’m sure that is true,” she managed to grind out past gritted teeth. “But this is foolish. I want to see my brother, Mr. Rivers. Please, won’t you take me to him?”

Marcus had to keep himself from drawing another surreptitious whiff of Annabelle Flynn’s jasmine-scented hair and skin. It was almost impossible in the small room, and he hated himself for the lack of control the action indicated.

He wanted this woman. But this was no shock or surprise. He had wanted Annabelle Flynn from the very first moment he laid eyes on her years before. He had been invited to some small fete at her brother Rafe’s townhouse, long before the new duke had been elevated in status. The brothers had introduced him to Annabelle, and in that moment he had all but forgotten how to breathe.

She was a vision then and a vision now. An angel clothed in the finest spring green silk that made him want to run his hands up and down her sides, pull her softness against his hardness and find a way to take her in permanently.

He blinked at those errant thoughts. She believed they had only met twice, and that was almost true. Officially he had only shaken her hands that first night and once at a busy gathering the next year. He had also been at her father’s funeral, though that obviously hadn’t made much of an impression on her.

But he’d seen her plenty of times. A glimpse here, a stolen stare there. He had found reasons to drive past her mother’s gate and watch for her. And if she ever knew that, she would likely turn up her nose in disgust.

He was so very far below her.

“You wish to see your brother,” he said in answer to the demand she had made what seemed like an eternity ago.

She nodded, her expression icy cold and distant as she readied herself for any challenge he might make to her request. He made none, at least not for a beat. He was too fascinated by how different this detachment she practiced now was from the heated expression he’d seen on her face when he came upon her in the hall not half an hour before.