The Scoundrel's Lover (4 page)

She had been watching a couple grind against each other, and there was no denying the arousal in her expression and the way her breath caught.

His cock began to come to life, and he turned away to keep that fact from her. “You will not like how you find him.”

She huffed out a breath. “If he is alive, that is all that matters to me. Please!”

He spun around at the desperation in her voice. He had felt that way before, he knew the clenching pain of it around the heart. “Very well. Come with me, please.”

She blinked, but nodded once, her attitude as formal as his own. He crossed the room, feeling her behind him with every step, and moved down the stairs. As they reentered the hall together, he heard her breath catch and knew she was looking around, seeing what his club was, perhaps equally titillated and disgusted by it.

He ignored his desire to look at her and instead marched across the room and into the maze of side chambers. Moans came from within, echoes of the passions his patrons came there to share. When he reached one of the doors, he stopped and turned to face her.

“I must warn you, he is bound.”

She gave a cry and launched toward the door, but he placed a hand across it to keep her from bursting in. She was not in the right frame of mind yet.

“Why?” she cried out, and her hands fisted at her sides like she wanted to strike him in defense of Crispin. “Why would you do such a thing to him?”

Marcus arched a brow at the fire in her. There, hidden in proper depths, was a flash of the same wildness that her brothers possessed. That Flynn quality that made them all the rage even as it cloaked them in notoriety.

“For his protection,” he said softly. “Your brother, I’m afraid, was very deep in his cups, trying to gamble away a small fortune. He was also thrashing about and spoiling for a fight. Tying him to the bed inside was the best method of protecting him from himself. And others.”

Her fists relaxed and she tilted her head in question. “Tied to…to a bed? Why would you have a bed in a gambling hall public room?”

“Surely you are not so innocent, Miss Flynn.”

Her lips thinned. “I am a lady,
Mr.
Rivers.”

He forced himself not to smile so that she would not again believe he was mocking her. “An unconventional one, I think,” he said, watching her every caught breath, her dilating pupils, her shaking hands. “I saw you watching when you came in. Taking in the men and women who come here to…play together. Certainly you cannot think that only happens in the main hall.”

She swallowed hard, but did not deny his accusation that she had played the voyeur in his hall. “I see.”

She took a moment, and he watched her gather herself, calm herself until her emotions were covered and she was once again the collected lady.

“And there just happened to be rope in the room where you tied him?”

He smiled. “Silken rope, Miss Flynn. I assure you it is nothing that will harm him. It was left there by a very special patroness.”

“I don’t understand.”

She said the words, but Marcus was more than aware of the flash of heat in her stare that told him otherwise. There was something more to Miss Annabelle Flynn that he never would have seen if she hadn’t come to his lair. And oh, how he was enjoying this. Far more than he should.

“Some of the members here like to be tied, Miss Flynn,” he explained. “To lose all control.”

Her lips parted slightly and her tongue darted out to wet them. Marcus felt the action deep in his groin, and the responding need was all too powerful.

“I can’t believe someone would want that,” she whispered.

He leaned in, unable to help himself. “You have no idea.”

Marcus could picture her now, spread out on his bed, helpless to his ministrations. Writhing to reach him.

Blinking, he turned back to the door. “Now that you understand, let us go in.”

He opened the door, and the man he had put in the room to watch Crispin immediately rose. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of proper Annabelle, despite the protection of her mask.

“You may go, thank you,” Marcus said softly.

The man bowed his head and left the room, shutting the door behind himself. It was only then that Marcus looked at Annabelle.

She stood just a few steps inside the chamber, staring across the room at her brother. Crispin had been tied to the bed, but at some point he had obviously stopped thrashing and passed out. He lay limply on the mattress, the extra-long cords of the bindings loose at his wrists.

“Oh, Crispin,” she said softly, moving toward him with uncertain steps.

Flynn jerked his head up and let out a low groan of pain, but he didn’t open his eyes. Marcus saw Annabelle’s face crumple ever so slightly, a flash of emotion she hadn’t meant to reveal, if the way she covered it was any indication.

“Crispin,” she whispered, but again he made no reply. Her eyes widened, and she let out a cry as she dove toward him, grasping one of his tied hands. “Crispin!” she cried out.

Marcus moved toward her, despite knowing it was foolish to do so, and took a long breath. He was going to touch her. It was going to be heaven and hell at once.

Slowly, he leaned forward and let his hands close gently over her shoulders. “Annabelle,” he whispered, finally allowing himself to say her given name. “It’s all right. He isn’t hurt, just unconscious. He’ll sleep it off and probably not even recall any of this tomorrow.”

She stiffened beneath his touch and looked at him over her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if she was comforted or disgusted by his hands on her, but she met his eyes either way. “How can you say that? I’ve never seen my brother this way.”

He drew her to her feet and turned her toward him, away from her unconscious brother. Then he released her, though he could still feel his warmth in his palms, his fingers, his arms, his entire body. “He drank a great deal, that is all.”

She blinked. “How much?”

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment. “He can hold a great deal of liquor, so I can only imagine.”

She fisted her hands at her sides and continued to stare at her brother. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I couldn’t even begin to move him by myself. Even if I could…where to take him? I couldn’t thrust this upon my mother, not when she is so heartbroken about him as it is. And Rafe has already refused to help, so I cannot take him there. And home, Crispin’s home? Do I dare leave him there alone if he is this out of control?”

Marcus sighed. For no other person in the world would he make the offer on his mind. A fact he refused to consider overly much when he said, “You may leave your brother here.”

She blinked up at him. “Here?”

“Yes. He can stay in this room and I’ll be sure he is in reasonable shape to return home on his own in the morning. I’ll even have one of my men watch over him until he wakes, to ensure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“But—but you sent for my brother,” she stammered.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly. “I did indeed, believing the duke would come and collect him. But you somehow showed up instead and I wouldn’t leave the duty to you. It would not be…
right
.”

He almost laughed. As if she would believe him. It was obvious he did not live his life in terms of right and wrong. She had seen what went on in the rooms around them. Seen more than a lady of her station and quality should see, that was certain.

But she did not call him on the half-truth. Instead she simply stared at him, and her tone was filled with gratitude when she whispered, “Thank you.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

“You are kind when you do not need to be.”

Marcus watched her for a moment, a burst of freshness in his jaded world. Then he looked behind her at her brother. He shrugged.

“He is a friend.” Once he had said the words, he felt compelled to correct them, because they revealed too much. “And a good customer. But he obviously cannot go on like this.”

“No,” she agreed, and her eyes swelled with tears she fought valiantly to keep from falling.

She failed, and one streamed down her face. Marcus couldn’t help it. He reached out and brushed it away with his thumb, his fingers cresting over her impossibly soft skin and setting him on fire once again.

Marcus Rivers touched Annabelle’s face, and she found herself looking up and up at him. She should have pulled away from the intimate stroke of his fingers over her flesh, but she could not.

She had seen him before, met him before. He was a friend of her brothers’ and one she tried not to think of since he was so disconcerting to her. But now, as she met his dark green gaze full on, she could not deny that she felt
things
when he touched her. Those dark things she didn’t want to feel.

But he was so close to her now and he smelled so good. Like…decadent promises and pleasure and
need
. She found herself leaning in, leaning closer, letting his warmth surround her, letting his breath touch her face.

What are you doing?

The voice in her head was so powerful, she almost feared she had said the words out loud as she jerked away from Rivers and his hypnotic, forbidden touch. She spun so her back was to him, hands clenched at her chest and breath coming far too short.

“I should go home,” she gasped.

He was quiet for long enough the she nearly turned to face him. But finally he said, “I will escort you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Considering her feelings, her desires, that was a terrible idea. To be alone with him for close to half an hour? To be shoehorned into a carriage together where it was dark and close when she wanted to feel his fingers on her flesh again?

A very bad idea.

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” she said, her voice shaking.

His eyes narrowed. “You came here with my man and he is now busy, so there is nothing to it. I will take you back to your brother’s home, Miss Flynn.
That
is the end of the discussion.”

Annabelle suppressed a very strong urge to turn around and have a wildly inappropriate tantrum, and instead smiled at him when she faced him again. “Fine. I appreciate your concern.”

“Wait here a moment, I’ll have the carriage brought back and then I’ll escort you through the main hall.” He cast her one more look before he slipped from the room.

When he had closed the door behind himself, Annabelle let out a long, ragged breath. The man stole all the air in the room when he stood there, looking so intimidating and handsome and…delectable.

“Stop thinking those things,” Annabelle ground out to herself through clenched teeth. “Stop. Stop.
Stop
.”

“So sorry.”

She froze at the sound of Crispin’s voice from the bed behind her. She moved toward him. In the firelight, he looked very young. Very lost. But his eyes were still closed, his mouth a frown even in his inebriated and semi-conscious state.

Marcus said he wouldn’t remember this night. She hoped that was true. She wished it were true for herself.

Gently, she smoothed a dark blonde curl away from his forehead. “It will all be better in the morning,” she whispered.

But it didn’t feel like it would be better. Suddenly all the perfect plans she had been making for her debut, catching a respectable man and living a staid life seemed threatened and not just by her brother’s unpredictable behavior.

The door opened, and Marcus Rivers stepped back into the room. He motioned for her, and she leaned down to press a brief kiss to her brother’s forehead.

“Will anyone know who I am?” she asked as she slipped from the room.

Rivers motioned for a servant who returned to the chamber to watch over her brother, then shut the door firmly behind them.

“That’s why Abbot had you wear a mask. Protection,” Rivers explained.

“And my brother? He wore no mask.”

Rivers’ lips thinned. “He took it off at some point, I suppose. Many forego them, especially the men. They do not feel it as important to protect their identities. They are more allowed to pursue their desires in the open.”

Annabelle tried very hard not to stare at the very low cut gown of a lady playing cards with a group of men in the main hall. They were all in varying levels of undress and leering at each other openly.

Her body stirred, and she ignored it. “But their actions…
his
actions…could have an impact on others in their lives.”

Rivers maneuvered her into the foyer and down the steps where the carriage she had come in was waiting for them. Back in she went, only this time it wasn’t the thin, disapproving Abbot who was her companion, but Rivers. And he looked ever so much more handsome in the dim light.

“I suppose that is true,” Rivers said slowly as the carriage began to move. “And I also suppose you mean yourself.”

She hesitated and took a moment to remove her mask and set it on the carriage seat next to her. Sharing her fears with this man seemed an intimate exercise indeed. But talking about her plans could only remind her about her decorum. Perhaps it would silence the needs that bubbled up whenever she thought of the Donville Masquerade or its owner’s dark eyes.

“I am going out into Society,” she explained.

He drew back a fraction. “Were you not out already?”

“Reminding me of my age, are you?” she asked, but there was no heat to the tone. In fact, she smiled as he searched for some way to fix his faux pas.

He saw her face and grinned. “You tease me.”

“A little. I am no debutante, no. And I own my years. But I have never been out in London Society, in the company of the Upper Ten Thousand. Now that Rafe is a duke, it opens doors for me.”

Rivers observed her closely. “And those are doors you wish to be opened?”

He seemed so incredulous. As if she could never want or perhaps never fit into that world. Was she so obvious? Did he see through her façade and into the darkness she fought so hard to hide?

“Of course I want those doors opened,” she snapped, more harshly than she would normally speak. Her defensiveness took her off guard and she softened her tone. “This is the best chance I have to marry well and live a respectable life.”

“No one could say you haven’t already been living a respectable life,” he offered, turning his head to look out the window toward the passing city lights.

She shook her head. “You do not know me, perhaps, but you know my brothers. My reputation is often linked with theirs, so there are many who would no doubt refute your claim. But right now is my chance. Rafe is celebrated as duke, and if I can manage to land a husband before
they
remember what
we
are…”

She trailed off, but Rivers seemed to understand. He nodded slowly. “I see.”

“At any rate, I fear Crispin will damage my chances.”

He leaned in, and she caught a brief whiff of his scent again. Just as it had in his office an hour ago, it made her body clench desperately.

“But that isn’t your only reason to worry,” he said.

She met his stare, albeit briefly. “No,” she whispered. “I am terrified he’ll hurt himself. Not socially, but physically. Do you think he would?”

Rivers drew away. “Why would you ask me?”

“You said you were my brother’s friend and judging from your behavior tonight, I believe that.”

“Why?”

“Because you could have simply thrown him into the gutter when he became a difficulty,” she said with a shiver at the thought.

Rivers shifted. “As I said, he is a good customer.”

Annabelle looked at him when he said it. He appeared very uncomfortable when he was praised for caring for Crispin. Did he think she would take advantage of that fact? Did he believe kindness equaled weakness?

But perhaps in his dangerous world, it did.

She opened her mouth to say more, but Rivers spoke first. “When you snuck from the duke’s home, did anyone see you?”

Annabelle blinked at the change of subject. “I—no, I don’t think so.”

“A footman? A groom? The butler?” Rivers pressed.

She hesitated, and that elicited a frown from Rivers. “Why do you look at me that way?”

He shook his head. “I simply like to know what lion’s den I’m entering, Miss Flynn. Because if your oldest brother thinks my man, say, spirited you away to my naughty little club, I can’t imagine he will be happy to see me.”

Annabelle folded her arms. “I’m certain Rafe went to your club many times before he married.”

Rivers laughed, but neither confirmed nor denied her charge. Instead, he said, “What is good for the gander is very rarely allowed for the goose. And you know it. You’re too intelligent not to know.”

“And what would you know of my intelligence?” Annabelle challenged him, though she had no idea where the impulse came from. “You who have met me all of three times now. Twice I was at a party, not exactly an intellectual high point and tonight I invaded your club demanding to rescue my brother.”

Rivers looked her up and down, a lazy perusal that felt infinitely wicked even though he never made so much as a move to touch her. “I hear things,” he said.

“Hear things?” Annabelle repeated in confusion, but before they could discuss the subject further, the carriage turned into Rafe’s gate and slowed.

“Damn it,” Rivers muttered under his breath as he looked out the window.

“What is it?” Annabelle asked.

“I just hate being right sometimes,” he sighed.

Before Annabelle could say anything or look out the window herself, the door to the carriage was pulled open and Rafe’s face appeared there. His very dark, very angry face.

“Good evening, Annabelle, Rivers,” he said, obviously through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you two join me in my study? It appears we have much to discuss.”

Marcus followed behind Annabelle and Rafe, watching the way her hips twitched beneath her gown. How he had come to be in this situation, he really couldn’t say. One moment he was minding his business, trying to do the right thing, the next he had been descended upon by a woman who seemed determined to drive him mad with her presence.

This
was why he avoided emotional entanglements.

Rafe opened his study door and ushered them all inside. He said nothing as he crossed the room and poured himself a brandy. He glared at Marcus, then poured him one too.

As he crossed the room to hand him the drink, Rafe said, “An hour ago, a servant came to my chamber, interrupted my slumber and nearly woke my wife. Apparently he had seen something he was loathe to share and had been hemming and hawing about it ever since. Do you want to know what he saw?”

To Marcus’s surprise, Annabelle rolled her eyes in response.

Rafe continued, “He saw
you
, dear Annabelle, sneaking into a carriage and disappearing in the middle of the night. And now here you are. Do either of you want to explain what the hell is going on?”

Marcus might have said something in an attempt to mitigate Rafe’s anger toward Annabelle, but she gave him no chance. With no thought for consequences, Annabelle hurtled forward and stood toe to toe with her brother.

“Mr. Rivers sent his man to you tonight, asking for your help when it came to Crispin, and you refused him,” she said, her body all but vibrating with the accusation.