Sutton's Spinster: A Wicked Winters Spin-off Series (The Sinful Suttons Book 1)

by Scarlett Scott

  “To teach you a lesson, of course.”

  A lesson?

  Something warm slid through her. Something nothing at all like alarm but instead…anticipation.

  “Are you going to ravish me?”

  He stilled, his gaze burning into hers. “Do you want me to, minx?”

  Yes! Her body was clamoring with the need to reply in the affirmative. Yes in every way!

  “Absolutely not, Sutton,” she lied, making a show of righting the fall of her skirts about her. “This is unconscionable and terribly scandalous of you.”

  He moved toward her, looming tall and not menacing but somehow thrilling in the sinful shadows. “You like scandals, if I recall.”

  “Not my own.” Mirabel would be furious with her if she discovered her current predicament. “What is the meaning of bringing me here?”

  He flashed her a grin. “You’ll not be climbing any more trees this evening.”

  There was a distinct disadvantage to returning in the same fashion she had fled Tarlington House. Likely, climbing the tree from the courtyard would not be easy, given the injuries she had already sustained. However, there was the matter of her sister learning what she had done.

  Mirabel would not be happy.

  The repercussions would likely be quite damning.

  Why, her sister could even force her to return to Mama and Papa.

  “What does climbing trees have to do with bringing me to your chamber?” she asked instead of giving voice to the fears churning through her.

  “I’m keeping you safe, minx.” He sketched an exaggerated bow. “You’re welcome.”

  The alarm she had been lacking before stole through her now. “You cannot keep me here, Sutton.”

  He winked. “See if I can’t. Unlike most, I see the value in locks on interior doors. Never know when one needs to make use of them.”

  And then, the rogue began stalking from the chamber.

  Octavia slid from the bed, wincing when her sore ankle received the full weight of her body, and rushed after him. “Sutton,” she called after his broad, retreating back. “This is madness. Come back here!”

  Whistling a ditty, he crossed the threshold and closed the door at his back just as she reached it. The undeniable sound of a key turning and a lock sliding into place reached her. She pounded on the door. “Sutton?”

  No one answered.

  “You kidnapped a gentry mort.”

  His brother Rafe’s words drew Jasper’s attention from studying the remaining gin in his glass. “I wouldn’t say I did.”

  They were seated in one of the private rooms where patrons could dine if they chose. With the lateness of the hour, no one was in search of food. It was a slow evening, the tables not overrun as they were on some nights, and their younger brother Hart was watching the floor.

  “Oh? And what would you call it, wise brother of mine?” Rafe taunted.

  Rafe was second in command at The Sinner’s Palace. Each of the siblings had a role in the hell. Jasper had seen to it that they would. Family—his family—was all important. Through their darkest days, it was what had held them all together.

  “I would call it doing the lady a favor.” He swirled his gin and then tossed back the last of it.

  The burn was not as gratifying as it ordinarily was.

  Not tonight.

  Because there was an altogether different burning happening within him. One that had everything to do with the lady he had left shouting at him on the other side of his locked chamber door.

  What was he going to do with the minx?

  He knew what he wanted to do with her.

  “Locking her in your chamber is doing her a favor?” Rafe asked, quirking a brow. “With your reputation…”

  He allowed his words to trail off. But Rafe was one to talk. Jasper had gone through his share of ladybirds in his bed, but Rafe was worse. He had a different wench for each day of the week.

  “My reputation ain’t as bad as yours,” he reminded his brother wryly.

  “You planning to keep ‘er there all night?” Rafe asked instead of responding to Jasper’s taunt.

  “I reckon I may.” Even if there would be consequences for keeping her here at The Sinner’s Palace till morning.

  Rafe grinned and shook his head. “You’re dicked in the nob.”

  Maybe.

  There had been little sanity involved when he had taken her in his arms and carried her to his chamber. That much was certain.

  “Not any more than the rest of you,” he countered, wondering if he should fortify himself with another glass before he returned to her.

  He had no doubt Lady Octavia would be displeased with him. He would be returning to a hell cat. The notion sent more heat through him. This was a dangerous game he played. One false move…

  “You going to get snapped in the parson’s mousetrap?” Rafe prodded.

  Marriage to Lady Octavia.

  The idea held a strange, foreign appeal.

  But no.

  He poured some more liquor into his glass. “Damian Winter ain’t going to force me to marry Lady Octavia.”

  “I meant Mrs. Martin. That beautiful blonde widow Pen brought round for you earlier,” Rafe explained.

  To his shame, his face went hot. And it wasn’t on account of the drops of jackey he’d just tossed down his gullet either. Nor was it on account of Mrs. Martin. Rather, it was because he’d been thinking about his raven-haired minx again. Nary a thought for the woman he had invited earlier with the intention of seeing if she would make a decent mother for Anne and Elizabeth.

  “I ain’t sure if I’ll wed that one either,” he said, growing weary of their dialogue.

  Octavia was in his room.

  Waiting for him.

  What the hell was he going to do with her until the sun rose and he returned her to the bosom of her aristocratic family? Aristocratic with the exception of Damian Winter, that was.

  “Pen and Lily keeping your wild ones busy for the night?” Rafe asked, smirking.

  The arrival of Jasper’s daughters had been an endless source of amusement for Rafe. And Jasper could not deny it was ironic. Rafe himself had never yet spawned a bastard that he knew of, yet being the important word.

  “Our sisters are angels,” he said by way of response.

  “Not what you said about them before,” Rafe reminded.

  Ever helpful, his bloody brother. Their sisters were not quite the hellions his daughters were, but they were older. Which meant they could get into far more damning trouble than Anne and Elizabeth could.

  “They grew into their wings,” he grumbled. “Anne and Elizabeth aren’t running wild over the floor tonight.”

  Since he had been forced to remove Mrs. Bunton from her position, Lily and Pen were temporarily taking charge of his daughters while he attempted to carry on with his business. Business which included finding a woman to mother them. A woman whose role it would be to make certain they wanted for nothing and possessed the manners of a true lady.

  Someone like her, whispered an insidious voice again.

  But Lady Octavia Alexander was not the answer to his problems.

  “Do you intend to stay here drinking jackey all night long, or are you going to see to the lady?” Rafe queried, tearing Jasper from his whirling thoughts yet again.

  “Deciding what I’m to do with her is all,” he defended.

  “Take her where she belongs,” his brother suggested. “Winter ain’t going to be pleased, and we’ve just made peace with them not long ago. And it won’t be good for word to make the rounds that we’ve been kidnapping ladies.”

  There had been a time when the Winter family had been the biggest rivals of the Suttons. Recently, they had begun working together. It had all started with the sale of the waterworks. Caro’s marriage to Gavin Winter had truly cemented the truce, however.

  As for kidnapping? What shite! He could not kidnap a woman who had come to him of her own will—repeatedly. Now th
at he thought upon it, this was all her fault, really.

  “I’ll be the one deciding what is best,” he told Rafe. “Don’t forget who is the head of this family.”

  With that pointed reminder, he rose to his feet and quit the room before his brother could offer any further attempts at inciting his guilt. But he did not return to his chamber immediately. Instead, he found himself in the kitchens, dredging up some sweets and wine for her. Maybe she would be hungry or thirsty.

  With the provisions in his arms, he made the journey back to his chamber, wondering with each step what he was going to do. Rafe was right. Keeping her here was trouble. But if he returned her to her home at this hour, it would cause more trouble. And if he locked her in his chamber for the night…

  As he approached the door to his chamber, the silence greeting him gave him cause for suspicion. Drawing nearer, he discovered the door ajar. Why had he left the key in the lock, damn it?

  Cursing low, he shouldered the door open.

  The sight that greeted him was the last he had expected.

  Three heads were in his bed, the counterpane drawn to their chins. Eyes closed.

  Asleep, all of them.

  What angels they appeared—Lady Octavia in the middle, Anne and Elizabeth nestled close to her on either side. They must have somehow wandered from Pen and Lily, the hellions. He would give his sisters a stern talk in the morning.

  And yet, he could not be angry in this moment of quiet and peace. For there it was, the answer. The answer to his problems.

  Lady Octavia.

  Something shifted inside his chest. Something heavy. Something unfamiliar.

  Marry her. That was what he was going to do with her.

  Chapter 5

  Octavia awoke to girlish giggling, an aching ankle, and the sense she was being watched.

  Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she stretched her arms over her head.

  And froze. The chamber was not her own. The giggles belonged not to her niece Joanna as her slumber-fogged mind had assumed. Rather, it was Jasper Sutton’s daughters, dressed in nightgowns, their midnight hair in braids down their backs, playing some sort of game the two of them had invented together.

  The chamber was his as well. And the eyes on her—stony hazel, assessing.

  His.

  He was by the window, the curtains pulled back to send early morning light into the room, but he was watching her. And he was in a state of shocking undress. Wearing a shirt and trousers only, no neck cloth, no waistcoat. Barefoot. His dark hair damp, as if he had recently bathed. It was so very intimate. And he was so very handsome.

  “She’s awake,” announced Anne.

  “You should not’ve opened the curtains, Papa,” chastised Elizabeth, frowning at her father.

  Memories hit her. Climbing down the tree in a final attempt at convincing Jasper Sutton to aid her. Hurting her ankle. Him tending to her and then locking her in his chamber. Later, after an interminable length of time spent awaiting his return, it had not been her captor who had approached the door but rather his daughters. They had claimed they suffered from a terrible dream and found the key left in the lock.

  In an attempt to comfort them, she had settled beneath the covers with them and told them a silly story. The lateness of the hour had made her own eyelids heavy even after the girls had fallen asleep.

  She had spent the night at The Sinner’s Palace.

  Mirabel was going to throttle her.

  Octavia leapt from the bed. And pain promptly radiated from her ankle. “Oh!”

  He was there before she could even be aware he had moved, gathering her in his arms. “You must take care with your ankle, minx.”

  His voice was low and warm. Almost—dare she think it?—tender. A far cry from the whistling scoundrel who had locked her in his chamber without a word of explanation the night before. She did not want to feel the way she did, but her heart took command of her body, and she clutched at his strong arms, burrowing her face against his chest. The spicy male scent of him—nary a hint of smoke—curled around her, along with his reassuring heat.

  He helped her to a chair, and she sank upon it gratefully. Her cursed ankle felt worse this morning, and she had been so hoping it would be improved. If she was limping, how would she explain the reason to Mirabel?

  That concern was rather moot now.

  She swallowed, all too aware of the three people staring at her. All too aware of how bedraggled she must appear, wearing yesterday’s crushed, ripped gown, her hair coming free of all its pins. One stocking-clad foot peeping from beneath the hem of her dress, one foot bare.

  “It is morning,” she said stupidly.

  Her tongue felt as sluggish as her mind. Perhaps on account of the dread seizing her. When her maid discovered her gone, she would go directly to Mirabel. Perhaps the house was already in an uproar, fearing for her, wondering at her whereabouts. And when Mirabel discovered the truth…

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  Her stomach growled in response.

  “Thank you for telling us the story last night,” Anne told her shyly.

  “We slept so damned good,” Elizabeth added.

  Oh dear.

  “That is lovely, my dears,” she said weakly. “But Elizabeth, damned is an oath, and as such, is not to be repeated by ladies.”

  Elizabeth’s chin quivered. “You said it.”

  “Only to explain the word in question is not fit for a lady,” she added softly. “Do not be sad, dearest. I only wished for you to understand the difference. I have a niece not much older than you, and I am often helping her to learn what she should and should not say. When I was a girl, my older sister and my governess taught me.”

  “You can tell them apart?”

  Her gaze strayed to Jasper Sutton, who remained towering over her, his expression unreadable.

  Heavens, he was alluring. And rude.

  “Did no one ever tell you that it is impolite to stand in the presence of a seated lady?” she felt compelled to ask him, irritated by her unwanted reaction and the thought of what awaited her at home both. “Of course I can tell them apart. They are two different people, Sutton.”

  He quirked a brow. “This is the only chair, milady.”

  A glance around the chamber confirmed the truth of his statement. She supposed she could not find fault with that. But there remained the matter of his keeping her here against her will for the night and what would happen when she finally returned to Tarlington House.

  “So it is,” she agreed. “However, that does not absolve you of your other sins, sir. I must return to my home at once.”

  “Papa said you are going to live here now,” Anne announced.

  “Is it true?” Elizabeth asked.

  She blinked. Surely she had misheard. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

  “You are going to marry Papa,” Anne said, excitedly clapping her hands.

  Marriage? To Jasper Sutton?

  “Will you be our mama now?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I do not know where you obtained such a notion, my dears,” she said softly, not wishing to douse the girls’ happiness and yet needing to set the matter straight. “But your father and I are not getting married.”

  Indeed, he had a lovely blonde woman he was intent upon marrying. The reminder was both unwanted and unhappy. A searing sensation in her breast—surely not jealousy—took her by surprise.

  “Girls, go and find Auntie Pen for a moment, won’t you?” Jasper said.

  “But Papa—” Anne began.

  “Now,” he interrupted, his tone firm.

  After exchanging a glance of displeasure, the girls fled the room hand in hand, leaving Octavia alone with Jasper.

  Jasper. How odd to think of him so intimately. And yet, he had told her to. She had spent the night in his bed. Where had he slept? She wondered. Her mind was whirling with the consequences of the previous night’s misadventures.

  Irritated, she rose to her feet, wi
ncing at her ankle and yet determined to remove herself from this chamber and this gaming hell at once.

  “I cannot fathom how your daughters arrived at such a ludicrous notion, but you truly ought to tell them the truth,” she said, moving past him toward the door Anne and Elizabeth had recently exited.

  “Wait, minx.”

  Minx.

  She did not want to like the way the word sounded in his deep voice. Like a caress, sliding over her skin. She had to fortify her defenses against him. When Jasper Sutton chose to be charming, it was difficult indeed to deny him.

  His hand on her arm had a staying effect.

  She turned to find him just behind her, the three buttons at the top of his shirt undone to reveal his chest. Newly opened, she wondered, or had she merely failed to notice earlier?

  “What do you want, Sutton? I need to go before my family discovers me gone.”

  “They already know you are here,” he said, shocking her.

  Dread was a stone lodged behind her breastbone. “How?”

  “I sent word to Winter.”

  For the second time since she had risen that morning in Jasper Sutton’s bedchamber, Octavia was certain she had misheard. “You…”

  “Sent word to your sister’s husband, letting them know I have you.” His gaze searched hers.

  “You have me,” she repeated.

  Surely he did not intend to hold her captive here at his gaming hell? She searched that unreadable hazel stare for answers.

  Did he?

  “You’re trouble. I’ll not have you falling from any more trees. This time your ankle, next time your damned neck.”

  Was that worry she detected in his voice?

  “You need not concern myself with my ankle or my neck,” she informed him. “And the only cause of all this trouble is you. First locking me in your chamber and now sending word to my brother-in-law that I am here. Tell me you did not.”

  “Jasper Sutton is a lot of things, but liar ain’t one of them, minx,” he growled.

  Oh heavens.

  Oh dear heavens.

  No.

  “This is terrible,” she said faintly.

  “The way I see it, it’s luck.”