The Scoundrel's Lover (6 page)

Except it didn’t really feel like that. And she feared it never would.

“Rafe didn’t want to come in with you?”

Annabelle jumped at the words called out to her from the parlor and poked her head into the dim room to find her mother curled up on a settee, reading by candlelight.

“Rafe wanted to get home to Serafina,” she said as she entered the room and pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead. “I didn’t know you would still be up.”

A smile was her response. “I will likely always wait up for you, it is an old habit.”

“It must have been a dreadful one when my brothers still spent their nights here,” Annabelle teased.

When her mother didn’t return her smile, Annabelle took a seat next to her.

“What is it?” Annabelle asked.

Her mother shifted. “Nothing at all. Tell me, how was your night? A coming out. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend, but your brother’s title gives you far more influence in those circles than I could, I think.”

“I would still like you to come with us one night,” Annabelle assured her. “If only to see the finery. And my night was…well, it was a debut, I suppose.”

Her mother frowned. “It did not go as planned?”

Annabelle stared at the fire for a moment. “I was not asked to dance by anyone besides Rafe, I’m afraid. I was watched by a few men. And a handful spoke to me when I was in the company of other ladies. But only one man approached me in any way that could indicate interest.”

“Only one? What ninnies.”

Annabelle laughed. “There were a great many of those, yes. But it was the Earl of Claybrook who came to talk to me especially.”

“He didn’t ask you to dance?” her mother pressed.

Annabelle shifted. When said like that, it sounded a bit like a set down. “No,” she said slowly. “He didn’t. But we took a long turn about the room and talked. Perhaps next time he will ask me to dance.”

Her mother pushed to her feet and walked across the room. She poured herself a glass of sherry before she looked back at Annabelle. “I do not like the sound of that.”

“It was fine. We all knew it wouldn’t be easy. Our family has shunned such society for so many years and there are the antics of my brothers and even our father to contend with.”

They exchanged a sad and knowing smile. Being a Flynn woman was not always easy. Not for either of them. But their trials and worries over their male relations had brought them together. Annabelle saw her mother as a friend and confidante.

She forced a smile. “Of course Rafe’s title and the money in my dowry will help.”

Instead of showing relief, her mother’s face fell further. “That sounds like a man will settle for you, despite misgivings.”

Annabelle flinched. “Perhaps that is the best we can hope for. You needn’t worry, though. I would only ever pick a man I had some liking for on some level.”

She thought again of Claybrook, but also of Marcus Rivers. Two different men there could not be. So why did each cross her mind at this moment? She was obviously overly tired.

“Still, I do not want you to find someone who cannot see your fine qualities—your humor, your wit, your intelligence, your talent, your beauty.”

Annabelle blushed at the recitation of her supposedly finer qualities. It was likely good her mother could not read her sometimes very dark and dangerous thoughts or she might not think so highly of her.

“We cannot all have a love match,” she said softly.

Her mother frowned. There was a moment of reflective silence again and then she cleared her throat. “Do you think Crispin’s recent behavior will come back to haunt you?”

Annabelle leaned in. There were lines of worry around her mother’s eyes and she could see now that she had been crying.

“What has happened?” she whispered.

Her mother dipped her chin. “I am too obvious, I see.”

“Mama!”

“Crispin came here tonight, a few hours ago. He did not look well.”

Annabelle gripped her fists at her sides. Neither she nor Rafe had told their mother about the strange night that Crispin had spent at the Donville Masquerade. It would only worry her and that did no good.

“Was he in his cups?” Annabelle whispered.

“I think he’d had a drink,” her mother admitted. “But he wasn’t drunk. Yet there was a hollowness in his eyes, a wildness to his behavior that concerned me greatly. I asked him to stay here with me, but he refused.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Annabelle asked, thinking again of the Donville Masquerade. Of Marcus Rivers.

She blinked and tried to maintain focus on her mother’s answer. “He said something about a card game, a masquerade?”

Annabelle let out her breath in relief. If her brother had gone back to Rivers’ club, there was a very good chance he would look out for Crispin. She didn’t understand why he would do so, but he did. And there was more to that than Rivers’ mere explanation that Crispin was a good patron.

But would the other man know when her brother had truly reached his limit? Would he keep an eye on him at all times, no matter what? Would he refuse him if that was what Crispin needed or intervene at the right moment?

Those questions haunted Annabelle.

“Rafe seems to think our brother requires the rope to hang himself, I fear,” she whispered.

Her mother squeezed her eyes shut, and the pain was plain on her face. “I hate to think that will be the solution, but he may be correct. Crispin changed after Rafe inherited his dukedom. It is as if he was lost, and I don’t know why it affected him so powerfully. It is almost as if there was more to it, though he won’t confide in me.”

Annabelle nodded. “Or anyone.”

“And that is the material point that Rafe’s attitude addresses. If Crispin doesn’t want to be reached, I don’t know what else we can do. He is of sound mind and body and far into his maturity.”

Annabelle snorted at that comment. Crispin was not acting like a man “far into his maturity” at all. “I’m surprised you are willing to take Rafe’s side.”

“What else could I do? It isn’t as if I could follow him to the club every night, watching over him like a hen.” Her mother sighed. “Now it is late and I think we both will feel better about these situations once we rest.”

Annabelle nodded, but as her mother rose and kissed her on the cheek, leaving her alone in the parlor, her mind had begun to spin a plan. One that could certainly get her into more trouble, but might also save her…and her brother.

Although he made his money in the wee hours of the night, Marcus always preferred his club during the day. In the quiet hours before patrons began to trickle in for passion and profit, the rooms seemed huge, the silence never-ending. He could lose himself in mindless accounting or reading over reports and forget, if only for a moment, that he didn’t deserve any of the riches that he had made off the backs of the prosperous and titled.

He let his eyes flicker up and out the large windows of his office. Down below, the tables were empty and the room echoed whenever the servants spoke as they readied for another night of randy entertainment.

Normally, he would feel pleasure in that fact, but lately he had begun to be troubled by the desperate element that drove some of his membership, his patrons. Crispin Flynn had been back at the Donville Masquerade the night before and while he had been less out of control, Marcus couldn’t help but think of Annabelle while he watched his troubled friend.

Annabelle and her bewitching dark eyes, her soft skin, her sad expression when she spoke of the brother she loved and was losing thanks to whatever darkness drove him. Annabelle, who Marcus longed to touch, to kiss, to possess on a deeply physical level.

There was a light knock on the door, and Marcus jerked as he was brought back to reality. “What is it?” he barked out, his tone sharp as he moved to accommodate an increasing erection thanks to his inappropriate thoughts.

Abbot opened the door and stepped inside. His face was long and drawn down, and Marcus frowned at the sight of him.

“Please don’t tell me you are still brooding over our discussion about you allowing Annabelle Flynn into my carriage?”

Normally Abbot wasn’t one to pout, but they had exchanged some rather strong words after Annabelle’s unexpected entry into Marcus’s lair.

Abbot shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Then why is your face drawn into such a sullen frown?” Marcus pressed, getting up now that his body no longer betrayed him.

“Because she is
back
,” Abbot said.

Marcus froze. He could not have understood that sentence correctly. Abbot couldn’t mean Annabelle had returned to the club—it was not possible. The lady had fulfilled whatever duty she had to chase her brother; it was clear they would never see each other again. In fact, Marcus had been counting on that to clear his mind of these troubling thoughts of her.

“
She
who?” he asked, hating how his voice was now cracked and broken.

“
She
the bloody queen. Who do you think?”

Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you telling me that Annabelle Flynn is here, in my club, at…” He paused to look at the clock. “…at two in the afternoon?”

“Precisely. She beat on the door until poor Vale had no choice but to answer and then refused to leave until she saw you. She and her maid are in the foyer as we speak.” Abbot tilted his head. “I would like to point out that this time it is not my fault.”

Marcus pursed his lips. “The woman is a menace.”

“Indeed.”

He paced to the window again. From here he couldn’t see the trouble waiting just outside the main double doors. But he could picture her perfectly, down to her full, pink lips perfectly made for sin.

“Send her in,” he managed to growl out. “But make sure her maid stays behind.”

“Why?” Abbot asked, his eyes widening.

Marcus gave a half-smile. “If she insists on seeing a wolf, I would like to remind her that she is a sheep. Perhaps
that
will stop her from coming here.”

Abbot nodded and left the room, but as soon as he was gone, Marcus all but collapsed back into the chair. He might bluster a good game, but his heart had already begun to pound erratically in his chest at the mere idea that Annabelle was in such close proximity. She shouldn’t be. And he hoped he could frighten her off.

And yet he
wanted
her here. With him. In his office. With no one else around to ruin the atmosphere.

He heard them on the stair and got back to his feet. The door opened and Abbot motioned her inside. “May I get you anything else?” he asked.

Marcus stared at Annabelle and didn’t look away as he said, “No.”

The door shut and he drank the look of her in. Her green and yellow striped day dress only accentuated the slender lines of her body. It was expensive—but of course it would be—and fitted to perfection. It fastened in the front. How long would it take to remove it?

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice rough.

She had been watching him intently, but his question seemed to break the spell between them because she finally blinked. “I-I—” she stammered.

With a curse beneath her breath that he was surprised a lady knew, she hurried past him and stood at his window where he had brooded not a few moments ago. Her back was to him, but he saw her taking a few long breaths, as if to calm herself. Were her nerves because of whatever she’d come here to say or because of him?

“It is different here in the day,” she mused, almost as if to herself.

He held his gaze on her back, stunned that she had just voiced exactly his musings before she stepped into his club for the second time.

“Yes,” he said, his voice still stiff and formal. “And I must ask again, why are you here?”

She faced him, and he saw the determination on her face and the light of strength in her eyes. He couldn’t deny how much he admired them both, even before she explained herself.

“I have been pondering Crispin a great deal,” she began.

“Have you?”

“Yes. I believe he may have been here again last night,” she explained.

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Please do not tell me you snuck into my club again last night.”

Her brow knitted. “I have never snuck into your club at all, sir!”

He let out his breath in frustration. “You know what I mean. Did you come here last night, Annabelle?”

“No! I was at a ball last night. I surmised this was where Crispin might have gone from clues he gave my mother.” She broke her gaze from his at last. “I did
consider
coming here—”

“Miss Flynn—”

“—but I did not do it,” she finished. “I know my sneaking out frightened Rafe, and I would not do that to my mother, at least not without a good deal of planning ahead of time so there would be no chance she might find out. She was in enough of a state as it was, thanks to Crispin. I am the closest thing to a respectable child as she has. I couldn’t create worry over me.”

She sucked in a breath as she finished that statement. Her face was flush with emotion and her eyes lit up with even more.

“Will you sit down?” he offered, wanting in some strange way to calm her.

She seemed to ponder the merits of accepting his offer for a moment as she looked around his austere office. “Your guests, your members, they do not…they do not take their fun
here
, do they?”

Marcus lifted his brows. “No. This is my private office. There is no entertaining done here.”

Of course, through a door just behind her was a bedroom where he could easily change that. But he shoved the thought aside to gather with the other inappropriate things this woman brought out in him.

She touched one of the wooden chairs across from his desk, gliding her fingers across the surface before she slowly sank into its seat. She sighed as if she had been holding back exhaustion. “You must think me quite hysterical,” she said without looking up at him.

He came around the desk and perched on the edge in front of her. He looked down at her, watching how the light hit her face. “No,” he said softly. “You are worried about your brother. I admire your loyalty to him. Though I certainly did not expect you to invade my club before opening.”

She glanced up at him. “I did not invade—” When he met her gaze, she stopped. “Fine, I suppose invasion is not such a bad comparison. I only wished to talk to you in private, before there would be…be distractions.”

“You mean my patrons,” he said, thinking of what he’d caught her staring at just a few nights before.

She nodded, a blush darkening her cheeks.

“You are here now. Talk to me,” he urged softly, even though he knew he should order her to go home and probably tell the Duke of Hartholm what she had been doing on her own.

But he didn’t.

She shook her head. “I don’t know you, I realize that. And you owe me nothing, not even the kindness you have shown toward me so far. I realize I sound like a frantic woman, silly to the core, but my brother means the world to me. I don’t know what has driven Crispin to this wild behavior now, but I do know he is swiftly passing to the point of being out of control. And I fear for him, Mr. Rivers.”

She looked up at him, luminous brown eyes locked on his and creating a lush prison where he feared he could be locked up forever and not complain.

“Rafe thinks he knows best, and I cannot argue with the logic of his response. However, he is busy with his new role as duke, his marriage and the baby he has on the way so soon. Perhaps if he wasn’t, he might see things differently.”

“You mean he might pursue your brother as you wish to do,” Marcus said softly.

She nodded, her face lighting up as if she were happy he understood what she meant on some small level. “Yes. That is it exactly. Rafe might see that we could lose Crispin if we don’t act. And I can’t lose him.”

Marcus pressed his lips together. This was building to something, that was clear. Annabelle hadn’t just come here to vent her feelings to a highly inappropriate stranger. Her intelligent, bright face told him there was more to her visit.

“And what do you want to do?” he asked.

She stood up suddenly and moved forward a fraction. With him seated on the edge of his desk, they were almost the same height, and now her face was too close to his. He could smell her intoxicating scent, heady jasmine that he wanted to get his fill of.

“I do not think it would be fair to ask you to watch over him,” she said, seemingly oblivious to what her closeness did to him. Though her voice was more breathless when she continued, “But I would like to—to do that. Myself.”

He leaned away. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want to come here and watch over my brother,” she repeated. “With your permission, of course.”

Marcus stood up, and now they were even closer. He was going mad from her scent and could hardly see anything but her. “You cannot mean that.”

“But I do. I would not be in your way, I assure you. I’ll wear a mask at all times. I could even pay a membership fee if you would like.”

“Damn it, it isn’t about the money, Annabelle!”

She blinked at his sudden outburst and stiffened. “What is it?”

“Your safety, both physical and mental,” he snapped. “You are an innocent—you cannot possibly understand.”

“I saw things, you know,” she said, that fierce blush returning to her skin. “My brothers had a few books that I found, I read, and they were quite descriptive. If you are talking about the acts I saw here at your club, I’m certain in time the shock would wear off and I would hardly notice them anymore.”

Marcus shook his head. He had seen her increased breath when she watched the couple grind against each other the first night she came here. He’d seen how focused she was on the intimacies they shared. In some way, she was titillated by the acts, by the voyeurism. And oh, how he liked that idea. On a deep, visceral level, he had loved watching it. He had wanted to awaken those dark and hidden desires even more.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t allow her tempting offer.

“I would not ask for you to take responsibility for me,” she insisted.

“But I would
be
responsible,” he said. “At any rate, you are now out in Society. How would you ever pull off such a feat?”

She stared at him a moment, and then she began to laugh. It was a warm sound that seemed to fill the cold room with light and color. It touched his ears and curled through his blood, settling low in his groin.