“Nowhere,” she said brightly. “Why should you think I have been anywhere?”
“Because you came in from the mews and your gown is damp,” her sister said.
So she had been seen.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I went for a walk. I was unable to sleep.”
“Do not dare lie to me, Octavia. I know you have been going to The Sinner’s Palace these last few weeks.”
Her sister knew?
She sighed. She had supposed Mirabel had been too distracted by her new marriage to take note of Octavia’s secretive comings and goings. She had been paying the tiger who accompanied her quite handsomely for his silence.
“Will you allow me to explain?” she asked softly, knowing she had abused her sister’s trust.
It was one thing for Mirabel to allow her to consume scandalous caricatures from London’s print shops, but it was quite another for Octavia to venture to the edge of the dangerous rookeries where The Sinner’s Palace dwelled. She knew this, and she had intentionally kept the secret from her sister. Even for a self-avowed spinster, the mere action of going about unchaperoned in the evening—let alone in the East End and with a man such as Jasper Sutton—was well beyond the bounds of propriety. If anyone else knew her secret, she would be ruined.
Utterly.
And her shame would reflect poorly upon not only herself but Mirabel and her children, the eldest of whom was the young Duke of Stanhope.
“Come,” Mirabel said, unsmiling, taking Octavia’s arm in hand and propelling her into her bedchamber. “This is a discussion better had in private, I should think.”
“Yes,” Octavia agreed, the swelling tide of guilt threatening to choke her.
Going to The Sinner’s Palace and seeking out Jasper Sutton had been foolish.
Reckless.
Dangerous.
The door closed behind them more loudly than necessary, as if a remonstration itself. She turned to face her sister.
“Do you have any notion of how much peril you place yourself in, each time you venture to that part of town?” Mirabel asked.
“You went there, if you will recall,” she countered, thinking of the romance her sister had kindled with Mr. Damian Winter, who had been running a gaming establishment for ladies not far from The Sinner’s Palace. “If it was safe for you, should it not also be safe for me?”
“Octavia, your sneaking about the East End alone is different, and you know it. First, I was a widow where you are unmarried, and second, Lady Fortune is in a far better area, surrounded with guards to ensure the safety of its patrons.”
“The Sinner’s Palace has guards as well,” she defended weakly. “Hugh has been following me home each time I pay a call there.”
“Each time?” Twin patches of color appeared on her ordinarily calm sister’s cheeks, an indication of her ire. “How many times have you gone there, Octavia?”
“Three,” she admitted.
“It is worse than I feared. And who in heaven’s name is Hugh?”
“One of the guards. As I said.”
“You refer to him as his given name?”
“It is the only name I was told,” she answered weakly.
Mirabel in dudgeon was fierce. Not even the swell of her burgeoning belly beneath her gown or the maternal glow she was exhibiting could detract from her intensity.
“Why have you been going there?” was her sister’s next question.
“I wish to begin a journal of my own,” Octavia said. “A journal dedicated to scandals and rumors. Something witty and clever.”
Rather in the fashion of the mocking broadsides she collected. Only with words instead of art.
“I fail to see what that has to do with your sudden interest in The Sinner’s Palace.” Mirabel frowned at her. “Have you been compromised?”
“No.”
She thought then of Jasper Sutton’s knowing kisses. Of his hand on her breast. His thumb toying with her nipple. A small rush of sensation mingled with longing, passing over her.
Yes I have been. In the most delicious way possible.
“Of course not,” she added, even as a guilty flush crept over her.
“You are lying,” her sister accused.
“I am a dedicated spinster.” Octavia winced after issuing her rebuttal.
Was that the best she could do?
“Who has been spending time with a…a…Hugh!” Mirabel retorted. “If Mama and Papa were to discover my malfeasance where you are concerned, they would demand you leave my home. It was difficult enough persuading them to allow you to remain after my marriage to Damian. You know that, Octavia. This business you are pursuing, this aspiration of yours, while admirable, is not destined to be.”
Why was everyone so determined to see her fail before she could even begin?
“Et tu, sister?” she quipped in an effort to hide her disappointment. “Why should you be convinced my scandal journal is not meant to be? Have you never seen the manner in which people flock to the print shops for their next dose of humor? It is an elixir to save them from their daily drudgery. Imagine if there were a journal that provided reports of all manner of society gossip. I know it would be successful.”
“That may be true.” Mirabel patted her arm. “However, the manner in which you are attempting to secure this journal of yours is altogether wrong. Moreover, I do not understand what slipping into the East End and spending time with vagabonds has to do with your journal.”
“Sutton is not a vagabond. Is that what you think of your own husband?”
The denial fled her lips before she could think better of it.
Too late to recall. And it was wrong of her, she knew. Damian Winter was a wonderful man, a true gentleman in the definition of the word, and an excellent father to his and Mirabel’s growing brood. She felt devious for making the suggestion, despite the need to defend Jasper Sutton from Mirabel’s aspersions. It was unfair and wrong of her.
Her sister’s brows rose. “Of course not. My husband is a good man. Which Sutton are you assuming I have called a vagabond?”
Drat.
She lowered her gaze to the carpets, wishing she knew the given names of Jasper Sutton’s brothers. But she could not remember one. Only his.
“Octavia,” Mirabel prodded, her voice sharp. “Tell me.”
“Jasper Sutton,” she admitted, forcing her eyes back up to her sister’s. “He is the man I have been meeting, not Hugh. Hugh is one of the guards Sutton trusts implicitly.”
“Jasper Sutton,” Mirabel repeated, her tone as shocked as her expression.
Octavia nodded.
“Jasper Sutton.”
Perhaps her sister’s gentle condition was rendering her more easily confused.
“As I said,” Octavia confirmed yet again. “You did not mishear me.”
“Octavia!” Mirabel pressed a hand to her heart. “I know you have always possessed a wild streak, but Jasper Sutton? I would never have imagined… You must tell me everything. I have to know the damage that has been done before I can settle upon a solution, however dire.”
There was only one solution, as far as Octavia was concerned. “Nothing is dire, sister. I initially went to The Sinner’s Palace in the hope that Mr. Sutton would be willing to allow me to interview his servants, perhaps even pay them to give me information about the lords who go there to gamble and drink.”
Jasper Sutton had, of course, refused.
And kissed her.
No need to mention that part of the story.
“Why would you think a man like Jasper Sutton would be amenable to such a plot?” Mirabel asked.
“Foolishness?” she suggested.
Also, she had seen a caricature of him. And the scandalous broadside—well, she could not deny it had left her intrigued. She had used her sister’s distractions and trusting nature, along with her loose familial connection to Sutton, to gain her entrée on the first occasion.
“I trust he told you he would not c
ountenance something so nonsensical, Octavia. A gaming hell such as The Sinner’s Palace is dependent upon the trust of the lords and wealthy men who frequent it. If loyalty is not assured, they will simply move on to the next hell.”
Sutton had told her as much, though in bolder fashion.
And then his mouth had claimed hers for the first time.
She struck the thought of that deliciously wicked encounter from her mind.
“He did,” Octavia allowed.
“Naturally.”
“Which is why I returned.”
Her sister made a strangled sound of disapproval.
Octavia bit her lower lip, and unless it was her fanciful imagination at work, the lingering trace of Jasper Sutton’s kiss was yet there. “I am determined. You know that about me, Mirabel. I thought that if I persisted, he would change his mind.”
“I trust he has not?”
“Well, after the second time he denied me, I came upon a new course of action,” she admitted, still proud of herself for being insightful enough to understand the manner of man Jasper Sutton was. “I decided that he needed an alluring reason to aid me.”
Mirabel gasped. “Octavia Elizabeth Alexander. What have you done?”
Well, aside from allowing Jasper Sutton to put his tongue in her mouth and his hand on her breast, precious little.
But no need to say that, either.
Octavia summoned a bright smile. “I asked Sutton to become a partner in my business.”
“Your business? Have I missed something?”
“No, of course you have not. The business has yet to be opened. I was looking to Mr. Sutton for some assistance with that matter, which is why I sought him out this evening.”
“Good sweet heavens.”
Her sister’s response left her feeling defensive once more. “I have some funds of my own. The pin money Papa has given me…I saved it. I have, despite my best intentions, a hand with sewing. I have managed to alter my old gowns to avoid having to purchase new ones for my few social calls. As my invitations have waned, I found myself no longer requiring ball gowns. And yet, I wrote to mother and father with news of all the glittering fetes I have attended in my search of a husband.”
“Octavia.”
She winced at the pitch of her sister’s voice. “It was wrong of me, I know. But I wanted something for myself. From the moment I first saw one of the scandal broadsides, I knew that I wanted to do something very much like them, only better. However, a lady cannot so easily begin her own empire.”
“And so you sought out Jasper Sutton?” Mirabel was incredulous. “Why not ask myself, or my husband for that matter? Why sneak about in the darkness, putting yourself at risk, endangering not just your reputation but your very life?”
The reason was simple.
But Octavia still felt sheepish revealing it. “I wanted to build this myself. I did not want to ask for help.”
“And yet you did ask for help, but from an unscrupulous man like Jasper Sutton.”
Was he unscrupulous? Octavia did not like to think so.
But his final words to her returned just then, and she had to admit that perhaps some parts of him were indeed as bad as her sister suggested.
“I cannot explain it, Mirabel,” she said softly, her voice entreating, her eyes pleading her sister for understanding. “All I can say is that asking you and Damian for aid would be alms. I wanted to do this on my own terms.”
Still, she had failed thus far.
And now she had destroyed her sister’s trust.
Mirabel’s countenance was tinged with undeniable sadness. “Oh, Octavia. You have gone about this all wrong. How can you not see that?”
“I have disappointed you.”
“You have broken my heart.” There was a sheen of tears in her sister’s eyes that shattered Octavia’s heart in turn.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I hope you will forgive me.”
“I need to tell Damian about what has happened,” Mirabel said.
Oh dear.
“Must you?” she asked, for she had been hoping that her sister would continue her campaign of leniency when it came to Octavia and her foibles.
“We have no secrets from one another,” Mirabel confirmed, grim. “I have to tell him and see where we shall go from here.”
Chapter 3
He woke up as he always did when he had the dream.
Yelling.
Covered in sweat.
But this time, there were other cries of terror joining Jasper’s. High-pitched and girlish. Through the gloom of the early morning light slipping between the curtains, he discovered that he was not alone in his bed.
“Anne and Elizabeth,” he bit out, trying to keep the curtness from his voice, “what the devil are you doing in my chamber?”
They were meant to be in the chamber which had recently been turned into a nursery for them.
Loge’s chamber.
But now was not the time to think of his dead brother. His daughters had apparently been wandering the private quarters of the hell in the midst of the night. And the bloody woman who was meant to be watching over them had failed to take note.
He needed to find a wife.
“We ‘ad a dream that scared us,” Anne told him, speaking on behalf of her sister as she sometimes did.
The girls were often a we rather than an I.
“Mrs. Bunton were asleep,” Elizabeth added. “We couldn’t wake ‘er, so we found you.”
Could not wake her? Christ, was the woman gone to Rothisbone?
He tamped down the remnants of panic lurking in his chest and studied his children through the murk. “Was she breathing?”
“Snoring,” Anne confirmed.
Not dead, then.
He nodded, grateful he had not gone to sleep in the nude, as he oft did, but in a shirt instead. Jasper rose from the bed to light a brace of candles. After slipping on a banyan for modesty, something he did not ordinarily possess much of, he turned back to his daughters. They were watching him with wide, hazel eyes. In the low light, the similarity of their features rendered them almost impossible to tell apart. Little wonder almost everyone confused them.
“What dream plagued you?” he asked them, wondering if he ought to offer some sort of comfort.
But what sort?
He was unfamiliar with this new role he played, being a father. As the eldest and leader of his siblings, and in the absence of their parents, he had never been terribly adept at consoling his sisters. Caro was the healer of their motley lot.
But she was married now, and gone from The Sinner’s Palace.
“The dog with big teeth was chasing us,” Elizabeth elaborated.
“He bit me,” Anne added.
“You mean to say the two of you had the same dream, at the same time?” Suspicion stirred.
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered.
“No,” Anne said simultaneously.
He studied his daughters with great care, sensing there was more to their sudden appearance in his chamber and their unlikely story. “Are you fibbing, girls?”
They shared a guilty look.
And his suspicions were confirmed. He returned to the bed, where his daughters were snuggled together atop the coverlet in their night dresses, their long, dark hair running unruly down their backs. Jasper settled his arse on the edge of the mattress.
“Anne. Elizabeth.” He gave them his sternest stare.
The one he ordinarily reserved for his enemies. At least, he hoped it was. Attempting to be harsh with his daughters was damned difficult, even if he knew they were lying. They were just so cursed sweet-faced.
And there was a strange tightening in his chest—square in the vicinity of his black heart—every time he saw them.
“We wouldn’t fib,” Anne said.
“Not to you, Papa,” Elizabeth concurred.
More lies.
“Did you know that papas can always tell when their daughters are gammoning
them?” he asked, deciding upon a prevarication of his own.
Their eyes widened.
“Indeed, they can,” he continued. “And that is why I know the both of you are being dishonest with me. Tell me why you are here.”
“Mrs. Bunton said you don’t want us,” Anne said, looking down, her lower lip quivering.
“She was drinking gin,” Elizabeth added.
Mrs. Bunton was finished.
That explained the bloody snoring. Apparently, the woman had found her way into his liquor stores. And she had upset his daughters. There would be a reckoning for her daring.
“Is it true, Papa?” Anna asked softly. “Ma didn’t want us neither.”
He held open his arms. “Come.”
He did not need to offer the invitation twice. They threw themselves against him with more force than he had been anticipating from girls of their stature. Jasper nearly toppled off the bed as he awkwardly patted their backs.
“Of course I want you,” he reassured them, his voice gruff against a sudden rush of emotion he had not believed himself capable of feeling. “You are my family. A part of me. Suttons.”
Once, that name had not meant a damned bean.
But Jasper and his siblings had changed that. They had scrambled and clawed their way to the top of the East End.
“You won’t try to sell us?” Anne asked.
“Or make us go pickpocketing?” Elizabeth queried.
Both their voices were muffled against his banyan.
He swallowed against a knot of outrage. “Never. Who threatened you thus?”
“Ma,” they said as one.
The witch. Thank Christ she had abandoned them instead. Apparently, she had decided the girls were not worth the trouble of feeding any longer. When they had first arrived, they had been scrawny as a pack of starved alley pups. If he ever discovered where that bird had flown to, he was going to see that she paid for what she had done to his daughters. For keeping them from him for six damned years.
“You are with me now. You aren’t going to be hurt,” he promised.
Not over his dead, bleeding corpse.
“Forever?” one of the girls asked. With their faces still hidden, he could not be certain which of the two had spoken.
Sutton's Spinster: A Wicked Winters Spin-off Series (The Sinful Suttons Book 1) Page 3
