The Scoundrel's Lover (7 page)

“What is so funny, Miss Flynn?”

“You forget who I grew up with,” she said, her laughter fading to a bright smile. “I will have responsibilities to attend to, yes, but nothing could be simpler than dodging a chaperone, whether it is my mother or my brother. I can tell one that I’m with the other and trust me, my family doesn’t verify these things. I could be spending the night with a friend or sneak out my damned window if it comes to that. Mr. Rivers, you have no idea of the depth of my ability to be a Flynn in every way that works in my advantage.”

Marcus smothered a smile. It was hard not to be impressed with the woman who stood before him. She was confident and bright, as well as beautiful. But the idea that she would come here, that she would be here with him in his den of inequity…it was as dangerous as it was tempting.

“Your brothers’ books may not fully prepare you for what you find in these walls,” Marcus said and found himself inching forward until her skirts brushed his thigh. “What you saw the first night you came here is only the beginning.”

To his shock, Annabelle’s pupils dilated at that statement and her pink tongue shot out to wet her lips. Staring up at him with an expression of both innocence and desire, she was suddenly no longer a temptation he could resist.

He cupped her chin, tilting her face toward his even more. He waited for her to step back, or to wallop him with a punch he was certain one or both of her brothers had taught her to throw over the years. But she did neither—she just looked up at him, trembling in anticipation.

Whatever small shred of civility he had left floated away on the harsh exhalation of her breath, and he lowered his mouth and claimed her lips just as he had been dreaming of doing since the first moment he laid eyes on her so many years ago.

Annabelle had been kissed before, but those caresses paled in comparison to Marcus’s…
possession
of her. His mouth slanted over hers, demanding entry that she had no choice but to give. His tongue swept past her lips, massaging and tasting, teasing and tempting and without meaning to she moaned deep in her throat.

That low sound only drove him on. His arms came around her, dragging her against him, and she was helpless to resist the animal desires he stoked in her. She lifted to her tiptoes to get closer to him.

He tasted so good, like fresh mint with a hint of smoky whisky. She could easily drown in those flavors, lose herself entirely as she let her tongue tangle with his.

Her response seemed to stoke him further. He let out his own groan, and then his hands slid down her sides. He cupped her backside through her gown and tugged her against him even harder. She felt the rigid length of his erection against her belly.

Her mind flashed to images of the first night she’d come to Marcus’s club. To the tangled man and woman, how they ground together in a sensual rhythm. How the man had cupped the woman’s bare bottom.

She wanted to do those things. She wanted to surrender her body to this man and have him teach her about the dark desires that sometimes all but overtook her in her bed and made her fingers work wildly over her sex. She wanted to be
his
.

The thoughts made her jolt in shock, and she pressed her hands to his chest and shoved.

“No,” she said, but the word had no heat behind it.

Despite that fact, he immediately released her and retook his seat on the edge of his desk. He said nothing as she backed away from him, but watched her with such intensity that she had no choice but to turn away just so that she could remember how to breathe.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rivers. I’m certain you must think very low of me,” she whispered.

“Why would I think any less of you, Annabelle?” he asked, his voice soft and seductive over her shoulder. She couldn’t help but turn and found his expression utterly unreadable. “I believe it was I who kissed you.”

She swallowed. That was most definitely true. She might have wanted to kiss him, in that dark place she needed to destroy, but she never would have been so bold as to actually instigate the caress.

“But I—I responded,” she said, shaking her head as she relived that response in every nerve ending of her shaking body.

“Yes, you did that. But again, I couldn’t judge you. In fact, I very much enjoyed it.”

Heat filled her cheeks, and Annabelle fought hard to remember her goals. Her desires. Respectability would not be found with a notorious club owner who awakened the worst longings in her.

“Still, I can’t,” she whispered. “So I shouldn’t have so eagerly allowed this transgression.”

“You can’t, Annabelle, or you won’t?”

Annabelle clenched her hands. His question was at the core of her current situation. Yes, she could give in to what her body seemed to want more and more. She
could
march over to Marcus’s desk and continue what they’d started.

But she wouldn’t, because she knew once she surrendered to that part of herself, that very Flynn element that haunted her every thought and action, there would be no going back. And for a woman like herself, there would very likely be ruin and pain.

“Either can’t or won’t, the result is the same,” she said. “I am not like them. I can’t be. Or won’t be. You can take your pick if it pleases you.”

He didn’t look pleased as he stared at her, holding her as if he had pinned her to her spot. She had no idea of his thoughts, and she found she wished she did. Rivers was…fascinating.

He got up and moved around to sit properly at his desk. The barrier between them made it somehow easier to breathe, and she allowed herself to ease back toward him as she awaited his response.

“Your brother is a regular visitor here on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he said, his tone brusque and professional again. “He comes at other times during the week, but those are the times I can almost guarantee he will be here. He comes around ten most nights.”

She blinked. “Are you saying you will allow me access to the club to watch over him?”

He hesitated, and she could see this was truly a struggle for him. Whether it was because he didn’t want to the trouble of her coming here or because he felt she would be in danger or he simply was upset that she had pulled away from his kiss, she didn’t know.

After a moment, he said, “Yes, you may come on those nights. And I will attempt to inform you of other times Crispin comes to the Masquerade.”

Her heart leapt and she stepped closer. He watched her as she did so, and her body reacted accordingly. She ignored the tingling response.

“Tomorrow is Thursday,” she stated.

He nodded. “Yes. If you come, be sure to bring a mask and put it on before you leave your carriage. Make sure your maid has one as well, if you insist on bringing her as you did today. She will be taken to the servant area.”

Annabelle worried her lip. “Will Deirdre be safe there?”

“You think the debauchery here continues below stairs?” Marcus asked, brow arched.

“It would be foolish to assume it didn’t. I may have no choice but to bring my maid and I would never want to put her in danger.”

Marcus smiled slightly at that answer. “The servant quarters do sometimes get wild, but those who want to partake in the same kind of fun as their mistresses and masters must go to a different area. It is policed as carefully as upstairs is. No one comes to my club and is forced to do anything they don’t wish to do. So your Deirdre will be very safe, I assure you. Your only worry will be her wagging tongue.”

Annabelle shook her head. “She would not betray me, I’m certain. But I’ll be sure we both have masks. Are there any other instructions I should know about?”

“At the door, they will require a name, to check it against our membership roster,” Marcus said.

Annabelle froze. She hadn’t thought about that fact, but of course it would be true. Part of how Marcus made his money was through the memberships and he couldn’t allow just anyone off the street inside, both for financial and safety concerns.

“I would obviously prefer not to be on your books,” she whispered. “Though I could give you the fee if you tell me what it is.”

“Three hundred pounds per annum for a basic membership,” he said softly. “Five hundred for the inclusion of the use of private rooms. A lifetime membership can be purchased for five thousand pounds.”

She blinked. “That is more than many people’s income entirely.”

He smiled, but there was little pleasure to the expression. “People are willing to pay for pleasure and privacy, Annabelle.”

“I can get you three hundred pounds,” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“I wouldn’t ask you for a fee,” he said. “But I do have a request since you are not officially on our books.”

Annabelle nearly sagged in relief. She had the money, of course, but to remove that much for her pin account would likely raise the eyebrows of the solicitor. He would report the activity to her mother and probably to Rafe.

And she couldn’t imagine either one would be happy to know what she’d spent her funds on.

“What is it, Marcus—” She broke off abruptly and brought her hand up to her mouth. Had she just called him by his given name? “I’m sorry, Mr. Rivers.”

His eyes lit up and she saw his desire as plainly as could be. “Now I have
two
requests.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. That hypnotic, seductive tone of his couldn’t bode well. “What are they?”

“First, that you will call me Marcus, at least when we are alone.”

Her lips parted. The intimacy of his first name was almost as great as the intimacy of the kiss they’d shared. And she’d already made it clear that she couldn’t ever repeat the kiss.

But what could she do, deny him this simple request and jeopardize the boon he was allowing her? That seemed very foolish.

“Very well, Marcus,” she whispered, hating herself for how much it moved her to say his name aloud again. “What is your second demand?”

“Request,” he corrected her. “And the second one is that when you come to the foyer, give my man the name Jasmine. I’ll be sure that is on the list of allowed guests and it will protect your identity. It will also signal to my staff that you are to be brought directly to me.”

“Do you mind if I ask you why you chose the name Jasmine?”

He held her gaze steadily. “Because you smell of it.”

She stood captive to both that simple statement and to the very complicated look on his face. This man wanted her. He wanted her very much. But she had been in a room with him before and not seen it, so why now?

Unless she just hadn’t wanted to see before. After all, his intensity had always troubled her, making her think about him for days after any encounter between them.

“You say your staff will bring me to you—why is that?” she asked, this time her voice no more than a dry croak.

He leaned back in his chair. “So that I may protect you, Annabelle.”

“Why?” she whispered, uncertain she was ready to hear the answer, but desperate to do so anyway.

“Because I want to,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now, no more questions. Go home, Miss Flynn, and I will see you tomorrow evening.”

He tilted his head and his focus returned to the ledger on his desk. She watched him for a moment despite his dismissal of her and couldn’t help but shiver at the sensual curve of his lips and the angled perfection of his jaw and cheeks. He was dashedly handsome, damn him.

And he was right. It was far past time to go before she made more of an idiot of herself than she already had.

The carriage turned onto the street away from the private, sheltered drive of the Donville Masquerade before Annabelle’s maid folded her arms and stared at her across the distance. She shifted with discomfort. Deirdre did not look pleased.

“Miss Annabelle, do you know what kind of place that is that we just left?” her maid began, the light tones of her Irish accent strengthened by high emotion.

Annabelle almost laughed as she thought of her first night at Marcus’s club and all she had seen. “Yes.”

Her maid’s blue eyes widened further at her one-word, certain answer. “I don’t understand.”

Annabelle brought a hand up to cover her face. Deirdre had been her maid for well near a decade now, and Annabelle knew she could trust her. Certainly Deirdre had never whispered to anyone about the family’s eccentricities and Annabelle could well imagine her maid had been asked about them below stairs from the spying servants of others.

“You know Crispin is struggling,” Annabelle whispered.

Her maid blushed slightly and nodded. “Yes, Miss.”

“He comes to that place, to the hells, to gamble and…” She shook her head. “And God knows what else. I have gotten the owner of that particular club, Mr. Rivers, to agree to let me come and watch over my brother from a distance.”

Her maid drew back. “You cannot mean to bring yourself to that place at night, when there are people there doing…doing things unfit for a lady’s eyes and presence!”