“My sympathies,” he offered. “You’ve yet to answer my question.”
“I want my daughters back.” Her pronouncement was punctuated by another hiccup.
Her pupils were wide discs in her eyes. He found himself wondering if gin was the only poison she had consumed with reckless abandon. And then he found himself damned grateful his daughters were in his care instead of hers. She could not take care of herself—that much was apparent. How could she have been responsible for two little girls?
“No,” he told her, succinct and firm.
“They’re mine, and I want them back, damn you.” She raised a fist, as if she meant to strike him.
As if she would be capable of inflicting any damage to a man of his size, much less when she was in such a drunken state.
He shook his head. “You’ll never be seeing them again. You abandoned them at the door in the middle of the night. You can’t return and expect me to surrender my children to a woman who reeks of gin and is filthier than a chimney-sweep.”
“I’m their mother.” She swung at him, but her movements were clumsy and slow.
He stepped to the side, neatly avoiding the blow, and she lost her balance and fell to the floor in a dirty heap of gown, her stained and torn stockings on full display. The disparity between Tess and the woman he was about to marry could not be clearer.
“They have another mother now,” he told her. “One far more suited to raising them than you are.”
“Another mother?” Confusion steeped her voice. “What’s this?”
“I’m getting married,” he said, offering her a hand and helping her to stand. “In less than two hours, in fact. I thank you for bringing Anne and Elizabeth to me, but you’ll not be taking them away. They will be far better protected and taken care of by myself and my wife.”
Rage distorted her face. “You can’t do that.”
“But I can.” The law favored the fathers in such matters. A female, particularly an unmarried one of questionable motive and mind who had abandoned her daughters, had no hope of having her children restored to her. “If you are able to reform yourself, you are more than welcome in their lives. Until then, you’ll not be seeing them.”
Perhaps he was being harsh, but his outrage at this woman for keeping his daughters from him for six years and then callously abandoning them remained. He had no wish to expose Anne and Elizabeth to her when she was in such a state. He could recall all too well what it had been like to be a boy with a drunkard for a father.
The dreams still haunted him some nights.
And he would be damned if he would consign his daughters into the same depths of hell he had once known. They deserved better, just as he had, just as every child did.
“Reform myself?” she sneered. “You think you’re so mighty, Jasper Sutton? Looking down your nose at me. I kept those girls for six years.”
“Only to leave them in the night with no word of when you would return, if ever,” he reminded her. “You’re deuced fortunate nothing ill befell them. I wouldn’t trust you with an old shoe, let alone my daughters.”
“They’re my daughters!” she howled. “You can’t steal them from me. Let me see them. I want to see them.”
“You’ll not be seeing them. Not unless you stop swilling your poison.”
He was going to be late for his own wedding, by God. This would not do.
Stalking past her, he threw open the door, gesturing for Hugh to enter the office. His big guard obliged, looking grim.
“See that Mrs. Bellington is taken somewhere she may find a meal and a bed for the night. Give her enough coin to last a month.” He turned back to Tess. “Don’t come back unless you’ve changed your ways.”
The shift in her countenance at the promise of funds confirmed his suspicions. Tess Bellington had not returned for her daughters. She had returned because she wanted money.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a wedding to attend,” he ground out, disgusted with her.
Disgusted with himself.
He could only pray Tess would accept his offer of aid and stay away from the gin. She deserved better, and so did their daughters.
Fortunately, today was a chance for a new day, a new beginning.
Hopefully, for them all.
If she had married a lord, Octavia would have been introduced to the servants immediately upon her arrival at her new husband’s townhome. But she had married Jasper Sutton. So instead, he led her into the private quarters of The Sinner’s Palace where she was greeted by three dogs bounding with energy.
One of them, a large brown bloodhound with floppy ears, leapt on her, nearly knocking Octavia off her feet.
“Down, Drunkard.” Jasper ordered, his voice firm and stern as he placed a staying hand upon Octavia’s back to keep her from falling.
Ah, the infamous Drunkard.
Octavia straightened her gown and bent to give the enthusiastic pup a pat on the head. His tongue lolled, and he licked her hand. Another dog approached, larger and—judging from his lumbering gait—a bit older. Jasper sank to his knees beside her, giving the dog an affectionate scratch on his neck.
“This is Barnaby.”
The low rasp of her new husband’s voice, along with his nearness, sent a trill of something sinful down Octavia’s spine. His other hand still rested on the small of her back, his warmth cutting through the layers separating them.
She patted Barnaby on his silken head as well, casting a sidelong glance at Jasper. He was staring at her, and for the first time since their earlier ceremony, he appeared relaxed. The man she had exchanged vows with had been serious, almost harsh. A collection of formidable angles and planes. Now, however, some of the tension had seeped from his bearing.
She wondered if it was the church which had set him on edge or the wedding itself. Perhaps both.
The sharp nip of teeth on her arm dragged her attention from Jasper, however. The third pup, presumably the dog Anne and Elizabeth had said liked to bite, was nibbling on her forearm.
“Motley, no,” Jasper commanded. “Sit and be a gentleman.”
The pup released its hold on Octavia and settled on his rump, gazing adoringly at his master. He whined as if apologizing. She was impressed by the manner in which Jasper directed the dogs. He was tender but firm, and they appeared to respect and adore him in return.
Motley shifted, as if he could not bear to remain sitting. Barnaby and Drunkard flanked him on either side. The result was almost comical—three dog faces with lolling tongues facing them.
This was not the welcome she had supposed she would find. And yet, when had she ever been able to predict anything when it came to Jasper Sutton? The answer was as plain as it was simple. Never.
“The lads can be a bit eager,” Jasper said, his gaze searching hers, his tone almost apologetic.
Perhaps even approval-seeking, though it hardly seemed possible coming from a man such as he.
“I do not mind their enthusiasm,” she said. “Just as long as little Motley comes to understand he cannot make a meal of my arm.”
Jasper winced, then offered her his hand. She accepted it and together, they rose. She was suddenly aware, in a way she had not been before during their journey from the church, that they were married.
This man was her husband.
She was his wife.
How impossible and vexing and thrilling and illicit, all at once. It occurred to her then that she was living a scandal right now. A lord’s daughter who had married one of London’s most incorrigible scoundrels. From the moment the banns had first been read, Mirabel and the well-connected Winter clan had done their utmost to blunt the whispers and scorn. But Octavia had seen herself illustrated in more than one recent caricature. Neither her representation nor Jasper’s had been flattering.
He kept their fingers twined together. Their gloves and outerwear had been shed promptly upon their entrance, allowing her the luxury of his skin on hers. The gesture and the moment both felt intima
te.
“Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Sutton,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips to place a kiss on her inner wrist.
It was a spot she had never found particularly sensitive. However, as with every other part of her they had come into contact with, those wicked lips of his brought her to life.
“Thank you,” she forced herself to say, struck by a wave of uncertainty.
Having been blessed—or perhaps cursed, depending upon the person one consulted—with a keen sense of curiosity, Octavia had managed to collect a plethora of information about what passed between a husband and a wife. Or a husband and someone else’s wife. Or an unmarried man and woman. Yes, she had read a number of illicit treatises. Gossip was not the only forbidden vice she traded in.
However, she did not know what Jasper expected of her. Heavens, she was not certain what she expected of him either. Would he wish to consummate their marriage? And if so, when? Her head swam with questions, none of which were particularly polite.
“Penny for your thoughts, minx?” he asked, the low timbre of his voice affecting her every bit as much as the kiss he had placed on her inner wrist had.
How to tell him?
Did she dare?
“It is quiet,” she observed instead. “I expected your siblings and Anne and Elizabeth to join us.”
She had also supposed his guards, who had stood solemn protectors at the entrance to the small church, would be about. His siblings and daughters had joined for the ceremony, of course, but she and Jasper had left following the proceedings, alone. Octavia had been surprised to discover a gleaming high phaeton was to be their mode of travel to The Sinner’s Palace. Jasper had handled the reins expertly, of course.
“I told everyone to make scarce while I settle my bride or I’ll feed the lot of them to the dogs,” he said, his expression as serious as his voice.
“An idle threat, surely,” she suggested weakly, glancing toward the trio of hounds watching them. “Barnaby, Drunkard, and Motley would never eat anyone.”
A grin pulled at the corners of his lips. “What do you think, Octavia?”
Octavia.
It was the first time he had referred to her thus, simply a name. No Lady Octavia. She liked the omission. The informality seemed to spell the promise of a new intimacy between them.
“I think you are telling me a Banbury story,” she decided. “These three gentlemen do not look as if they would harm anyone. Not truly.”
“Not unless I order it,” he said enigmatically, before turning to the hounds. “Stay.”
The command in his voice was undeniable.
Motley whined.
“None of that,” Jasper said.
Motley obeyed.
Barnaby sneezed.
Drunkard yawned.
“Stay, lads,” he ordered.
And then he tugged Octavia deeper into the maze of halls she had only begun to familiarize herself with in her jaunts to The Sinner’s Palace.
Jasper pulled the new Mrs. Sutton across the threshold of her chamber. He had intended to show her the room, give her a thorough tour of The Sinner’s Palace, and find some sustenance. He released her fingers and moved to close the door at her back.
But when he turned her once more, all his good intentions fled. He had never wanted another woman as much as he wanted her. The force of the realization nearly had him stumbling.
The gown she had chosen for their nuptials was fashioned of white satin, striped gauze, and creamy lace. It put her breasts on loving display and clung to her hips in a fashion that would have tempted even a saint. He was no saint. Silk flowers bedecked the skirt of her gown and decorated her bodice and dark hair. There was a strand of pearls at her throat.
The hour was yet early, not quite noon. The hell would not come to life for some time. No one was underfoot to stop him. And the only hunger burning to life inside him had nothing to do with food. It was a fire, licking through him, burning hotter and brighter with each passing second.
“Your chamber,” he said through a throat gone thick with need.
His gaze was not on the room, however. Pen and Lily, who had moved to separate chambers after Caro’s departure, were once more sharing so that Octavia could have her own space. It was what a lady would expect, and he meant to keep her comfortable even if he was not particularly interested in playing husband aside from when it meant he could bed her.
But Octavia’s honey-brown eyes were not on him. They were on her surroundings. Jasper knew it was not the luxury to which she would have been accustomed as the daughter of a lord. Pen had taken care with the wallcoverings and furnishings, freshening the room in anticipation of Octavia’s arrival.
“How lovely the chamber is,” his wife was saying now, genuine appreciation lacing her soft voice. “Thank you.”
Her gratitude sent a spear of shame to chase some of the lust. “Thank my sister Pen. I had naught to do with it.”
“I see.” Her gaze returned to his, and unless he was mistaken, there was disappointment in her face, in her tone. “I will endeavor to thank her when I see her next. When will that be, do you suppose? Your family cannot keep away from The Sinner’s Palace for long, I presume.”
He tamped down a surge of irritation at her concern for his family. “They’ll be about. Don’t worry yourself over that lot. They turn up like bad pennies.”
She smiled. “Of course.”
What was this? He did not like the change in her.
“You’re displeased,” he observed, frowning.
They were not meant to be at odds just now. They were meant to be naked on her bed.
“I am merely growing accustomed to all the changes which have happened today.” She moved past him, beginning a cursory circumnavigation of the room. “This writing desk is lovely. I shall make good use of it.”
He planted his hands on his hips and watched her, the longing rising, supplanting all else. “If there is aught you need, merely ask. I will see it brought for you.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder. “There is only one need I have at the moment.”
His cock, already tortured after the weeks he had spent waiting to make Octavia his wife, stiffened against the placket of his trousers. Jasper had never been the sort of man who suffered privations when it came to female companionship. Since he and his siblings had built The Sinner’s Palace into the formidable success it had become—not without some dubious means, he would admit—he had never been without eager bedmates.
And yet, ever since his eyes had first lit upon an ebony-haired, brown-eyed lady, no other woman would do. As a result, he had been celibate for weeks upon weeks, and he was nearly mad with longing. He fervently hoped her need was the same as his. But something—perhaps common sense—suggested it was not.
“Oh?” he managed, silently praying she did not take note of the effect she had upon him.
His body knew no shame. His mind, however, did. It was a novel sensation for him. Satan’s teeth, this reaction to her was stronger than he had anticipated. He was not sure he liked it.
“The ability to start my own scandal journal,” she told him.
He had been correct. That was not the answer he wanted.
“That ain’t meant to be.” He moved toward her, deciding some distraction was in order.
Namely, his lips on hers.
Her body stretched out beneath his.
His tongue mercilessly lashing her clitoris until she came.
She was frowning at him, another problem he needed to rectify. Along with the distance between them.
“Why not?” she queried, watching him with a careful expression. Almost as he would expect a mouse eyed a cat. “You have what you want. Should I not have what I want as well?”
Stubborn, daring minx.
He stopped before her. Her scent hit him, capturing him as surely as any snare.
“Who said I have what I want yet, Mrs. Sutton?” he asked, taking great pleasure in her change of status.
This woman—every part of her—was his. It was terrifying and exhilarating and the knowledge made him more eager than ever to have her mouth beneath his. He allowed his gaze to rake down her form, lingering where he wished. Her elegant nose, those full pink lips, the tip of her chin, the ivory wonder of her throat, encircled by hundreds of perfect, costly pearls. Her breasts, accentuated by the fit of her bodice and the way it lovingly clung. Back to her mouth.
Her lips parted. “What else do you want, Mr. Sutton?”
How good of her to ask.
Jasper settled his hands on her waist and pulled her body against his. Soft, supple curves melted into his hardness. “You.”
Chapter 7
“You.”
The lone proclamation, issued in Jasper’s low, gruff tones, shook Octavia’s composure. Or perhaps it was the heated stare he had given her. Or the warmth crackling between them like a roaring fire.
Whatever the reason for the leap in her pulse and the heady sense of anticipation unfurling in her belly, it was here. The moment she had been anticipating ever since she had signed her name on the register signaling her lifetime devotion to Jasper Sutton had finally arrived.
She forced herself to remain calm, to reveal not a bit of her inner maelstrom. “You have me. This morning made certain of that.”
His smile made liquid heat bloom between her thighs. “My darling wife, I have yet to begin to have you.”
He was sure of himself, not ill at ease in the slightest. She ought to be alarmed. This was Jasper Sutton, alone with her, looking at her in the manner she fancied a starving lion looked upon its prey.
And mere hours ago, she had married him.
Her hands settled on his shoulders, where he was broad and strong, her fingers curling into the fine fabric. He was dressed as finely as she had ever seen him. Indeed, he was indistinguishable from any lord. Except for the fire in his eyes, the possessive hold of his hands on her waist, the way he had pulled her into him.
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