A knock sounded at his door then, disrupting his ruminations. Before he could bid the person enter, the door opened, and his brother Rafe sauntered over the threshold, curls looking as if a ladybird had recently run her fingers through them, his cravat comically askew, coat and trousers quite rumpled.
“I did not tell you to enter,” he pointed out, pinning Rafe with his sternest older-brother stare.
“I knocked,” Rafe drawled, unconcerned, as he tossed the portal closed with a loud report.
Jasper winced. “Need you be so bloody noisy? I’ve children and a wife abed upstairs.”
His brother’s brows shot up. “It’s a gaming hell, Jasper.”
Yes, it was. And for some reason, the reminder was rather like a splinter in one’s foot. Painful and in need of removal. He may have been born in the seediest stews of the East End, but Jasper was no fool. Octavia and the girls should not be living in the private chambers of a gaming hell. They ought to be in a fine home.
“It’s their ‘ome as well,” he said, only realizing he had lost his damned h too late. “For now.”
“For now?” Rafe threw himself into the chair opposite Jasper with an undeniable lack of grace. “You fleeing to the other half of London now? I never thought I’d see the day.”
He stiffened. “I’m not fleeing, and I never said I’d be going anywhere.”
His children and wife, however… They deserved far better than the life he could provide them here at The Sinner’s Palace. He thought then of Octavia’s outrage at Anne and Elizabeth learning how to curse from himself and his men and winced. He had not been prepared for the burden of being a father, it was true. But he wanted to learn. He wanted to be better. To give his daughters all the chances he had been denied and all the opportunities they deserved. To do far more than his bastard of a father had ever done for him.
“Jackey?” Rafe asked, apparently in search of a new vice now that he had just quit the other.
“I don’t have gin,” Jasper told him.
His brother blinked. “You always have gin.”
“Not any longer, I don’t.” Octavia had asked him what would happen if Anne and Elizabeth were to find their way into his stores.
The question had made him go cold. She didn’t know, of course, about his own rearing. But he’d been grateful he’d decided to sleep alone that night when the dream had returned, more forceful and painful than ever.
“Where are you keeping it?” Rafe asked. “This is about Lady Octavia, ain’t it?”
It was, and it wasn’t. Not even Rafe knew the complete story of what had happened when they had been young. Jasper had done everything in his power to protect the rest of his siblings from their father’s wrath.
“I don’t need it,” he said simply, and that was also true.
True, and he was proud of it. There had been a time when he had refused to touch a drop of the poison. But then, he had taken on the responsibility of all his siblings. It had not been easy, keeping them all fed and dry and safe. Father had left them the waterworks, but they’d needed to use all the revenue to build The Sinner’s Palace. With so much weight on his shoulders, Jasper had returned to that old familiar poison for comfort. Octavia and his daughters had shown him there was far more to life than drowning himself in drink.
“If you don’t need it, then may I humbly suggest you bequeath it to me?” Rafe asked, shaking Jasper from the heaviness of his memories and thoughts.
“You don’t look as if you need it either,” he said. “Where were you this evening? Madame Laurent’s?”
“The Garden of Flora.” Rafe grinned unrepentantly. “Christ, what a paradise.”
Jasper did not want to know. He was familiar with the name of one of London’s newer houses of the flesh, but he was not a patron. Nor would he ever be. Where once he would have been intrigued, would have even sought out the den of vice for some elusive pleasure like observation, the very notion of any other woman’s hands on his body made his cock shrivel.
There was only one woman he wanted, just as he had told Octavia.
“A dubious paradise filled with goddesses eager to assuage your every whim for the right price,” he said grimly.
It was not that he looked down upon the women who earned their keep by catering to the voracious needs of their patrons. Rather, it was that he understood they were driven by the same desperation he had been. It was an uneven exchange by any standard, but far more for the females. He had only had to give his soul for The Sinner’s Palace. The ladies had to give their bodies, night after night.
“Nothing dubious about what I saw tonight,” Rafe said. “They’ve viewing rooms, and—”
“Did you seek me out at this time of the evening to tell me about your latest debauchery?” he interrupted, not wanting to hear more.
“No.” Rafe blinked, almost as if he had emerged from a spell. “Bit in my cups. Apologies and all that. I wanted to tell you I swear I saw Loge tonight.”
Jasper stilled. Everything within him seemed to freeze.
“Our brother Logan is dead. You know it as well as I do.”
“What if ‘e ain’t?” Rafe asked, hope in his voice.
“You don’t believe Loge’s alive,” he countered. “If you truly thought you’d seen ‘im, you would’ve said so before now.”
“You were questioning me like a charley.” Rafe shook his head, blond curls—entirely the opposite of angelic on him—swaying. “What else was I to say? But I swear to you, Jasper, it was him. I’d recognize that auburn nest anywhere.”
Their brother Logan and their sister Pen had been the only Suttons to inherit their father’s reddish-brown locks. All the rest of them had their mother’s dark hair. Except Rafe and Lily, who somehow had inherited golden hair. A complex lot, the sinful Sutton family.
Perhaps not all of them shared the same father. Jasper had suspected on more than one occasion. But it hardly mattered. They were family. Loyal to each other. Which was why Logan’s disappearance had been such a brutal blow. They’d had another brother none of them discussed much, Terrance, who had died as a babe. Never forgotten, but seldom spoken of, for the sadness such memories brought.
Jasper drummed his fingers atop the desk, disliking Rafe’s insistence. He was already twisted up like bedclothes inside. Whispers of Logan resurfacing, like a ghost from the past, made him feel ill.
“Did you see the cove’s face, Rafe?” he asked, trying to remain calm.
“The side was all,” his brother answered, shifting in his chair as if his arse was not finding enough comfort.
It was true that Jasper had required the chairs in his office to be rigid. The thought of anyone lingering too long opposite him was unsettling. Unwelcome. A sore arse meant a hasty retreat. But Rafe was foxed. A man could ignore all manner of discourtesies when he was soused.
“You didn’t see enough to determine whether or not it was Loge,” he said firmly. “You were at a pleasure house, likely deep in your cups. You could’ve seen Prinny himself and mistaken him for Loge.”
Rafe chortled. “No chance of that.”
Fair enough. There was precious little resemblance between their brother and the Prince Regent. But that was beside the matter altogether. Jasper had been attempting to make a point.
“You didn’t see Loge,” he pressed, needing to believe those words for reasons he did not dare examine. “Our brother is gone to Rothisbones. Dead. You know it as well as I. Thinking you saw him ain’t the same as seeing him.”
Rafe’s shoulders slumped. “Suppose you ain’t wrong. I wanted it to be him. To just up and be gone…it ain’t right.”
Jasper wholeheartedly echoed that sentiment. From the moment their brother had simply vanished to now, he had vacillated wildly between the belief Logan had been taken captive and the sure knowledge he’d been murdered like so many poor, sotted coves. Likely dumped into the Thames, never to be seen again.
“It ain’t right,” he repeated Rafe’s worse. “I agree. We
shall miss our brother forever.”
“Fuck,” his younger brother swore, heaving a heavy sigh of disappointment. “Don’t know what I supposed.”
“I know what you supposed,” Jasper said, knowing a pang of sympathy for Rafe’s plight. “You wanted to believe he ain’t gone. I want the same damned thing. But the truth is…Loge’s gone, Rafe. The badgers took ‘im. We can’t bring our brother back.”
Badgers were thieves who robbed near waterways, villains who had no qualms about tossing the bodies of the men they’d stuck with their knives into the waters, letting them bleed out and drown. The thought of that, of Logan suffering, sent a shudder straight through Jasper. On any other day, he would have reached for his gin.
Not today.
Not any longer.
“Apologies for making you think…of him,” Rafe said haltingly. “I’ll take the public rooms until they’re cleared at dawn. You should get some rest.”
Jasper nodded, even wearier and more weighed down now than he had been upon initially entering his office. “Thank you. I think I’ll seek my bed.”
Chapter 12
Octavia woke to find she was not alone.
At some point during the night, Jasper must have joined her. He faced her, bedclothes tangled around his waist to reveal the beautiful contours of his naked chest. She took a moment to admire him, her eyes lingering on the bruises which were fading and would soon be gone, the scars traced over his skin. How she hated these signs of past pain. The knowledge that others had done him harm cut deeply.
He was still soundly asleep. Or so she thought. He had certainly fooled her once before. Tentatively, she reached for him, trailing her fingertips over his chest. He did not flinch, his breaths continuing evenly. How peaceful he was in slumber. There were many sides to Jasper Sutton, but this—his vulnerability—was the side that was hers alone. She relished in the time they spent together in the privacy of their chambers.
Not just for the physical intimacy they shared, but for the emotional intimacy as well. She was getting to know her husband in new and unexpected ways. This part of marriage, the bond growing between them, was something she had never anticipated. That he had come to her here last night instead of seeking out the peace of his own bed and chamber warmed her heart.
She told herself to stop touching him, to let him have his rest. Heaven knew what hour he had finally gone to bed. And yet, she could not seem to cease. She loved touching him.
I love him.
She froze, fingertips hovering over the protrusion of his collarbone.
She could not possibly… She had most definitely not…
Oh, good sweet heavens.
She was in love with Jasper Sutton.
When had it happened, and how?
He hummed low in his throat and shifted, one of his legs moving so that the bedclothes slid even lower on his torso, almost exposing him. That was when she noticed the pronounced ridge of him, pressed against the counterpane.
The new feelings swirling within her collided with the fiery storm of passion. He had introduced her to new realms of desire she had not imagined existed. He had taught her there was no shame in reveling in her body’s reaction to him.
“Jasper,” she whispered, suddenly needing him to wake up, not just so he could help assuage the hunger burning to life, but so he could offer distraction.
“Mmm,” he said, as if savoring something delicious, and stretched like a cat.
A big, handsome, dangerous cat.
She did not want to love him. Loving this man, she had no doubt, would not be easy. He was complex and forbidding and hard. But he was also soft when he was with his daughters, tender when he was with Octavia. He was so much more than she had ever supposed. He had proven himself to her, each day.
She gave his shoulder a small shake. “Jasper.”
His eyes blinked open, fringed with those sooty lashes most ladies would be jealous of. His hazel stare met hers, and she felt that same jolt she always had, right from the first moment she had dared to brazen her way into his edge-of-the-East End gaming hell.
“Minx.” The grin he gave her was slow and charming.
He quite took her breath.
“Good morning,” she managed.
“Is it?” He blinked and turned toward the windows where sunlight crept in through the edges of the curtains. “Blast. I’m damned tired.”
Guilt at waking him pierced her. “Then you should sleep more. Forgive me. I was not thinking about how little you must have slept.”
Indeed, all she had been thinking about was that they might indulge in one of her favorite aspects of married life. What a selfish wretch she was.
Jasper rolled toward her, burying his neck in her throat and nuzzling her. “Plenty of time for slumber later. Christ, you smell like heaven. What is that scent?”
He had noticed?
She could not suppress her smile. “Orange blossom, jasmine, lily of the valley, and carnation.”
One of her only nods to vanity, as it happened—her perfume, specially blended for her. She used it with the greatest of care, quite sparingly, but enough so that it lingered and she could smell it as she went about her day. It never failed to lift her spirits.
“And Octavia.” He kissed to her ear, finding that secret place where his mouth never failed to turn her insides to molten liquid. “There is something deliciously wonderful that’s just you.”
Oh, there was his masterful charm. Rough and yet so very effective.
“I am pleased you…” Her words trailed off as she briefly lost her ability to think when his tongue flicked against her skin. “Pleased you…enjoy…my perfume.”
His lips curved in what she knew must be a smile she felt on her eager flesh. “I enjoy far more than that, darling.” His hand cupped her breast, giving her a gentle squeeze that had her back arching. “Why the devil do you insist on sleeping in this nonsense? Much as I like taking it off you, I prefer you naked.”
He plucked at her nipple. She had to admit she disliked the barrier between them as well. But still. She had her modesty. And on more than one occasion, Anne and Elizabeth had come to her in the night, claiming they’d suffered the same terrible dream and in need of comforting.
“Take it off me then,” she dared him now, running her hands over the sculpted planes of his back.
He was so strong, skin so sleek and hot. How she loved him. Although her realization was new, these feelings were not. There had always been something within her that longed for Jasper Sutton. To her own downfall, perhaps. But here she was, and here he was.
“With pleasure,” he said on a growl, and then he was grabbing fistfuls of her night rail, and pulling it over her body.
She shifted, moving herself lower in the bed to enable him to lift the garment over her head and toss it to the floor. He rose on his knees on the bed, dragging the bedclothes away to uncover the both of them. Her eyes devoured him—the broad lines of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the lean slab of muscle that was his abdomen, and lower still. Those strong legs, the thick, long length of him engorged and ready.
She parted her thighs in welcome, words failing her. All she knew was that her body wanted Jasper every bit as much as her heart did. Once, she would have been shy. Too timid to show herself to him in this way. But she had learned that her husband found nothing more inspiring than her own desire. It seemed to undo him every time.
And knowing she held that power over him, such a strong, unshakeable man?
Well, how could she not be pleased?
His gaze was on her now, heated and appreciative. “Look at you, so pink and perfect and wet.”
She felt perfect. Felt worthy of his praise. Feeling daring, she traced her own seam with her forefinger, brushing over her pearl in the process and sending a jolt of pleasure through her.
“Yes,” he said, the lone word a sibilant sigh seemingly torn from him. “Touch yourself.”
Ever aware of his gaze following her eve
ry action, she toyed with the aching bundle of flesh that was most responsive, swirling over it with two fingers until pleasure hummed through her.
“Show me how you make yourself come when you’re alone and I’m tending to the tables,” he urged, voice low.
She had touched herself. Both before she had known Jasper, and more after. Before, it had always seemed a terrible sin. She would rejoice in the bliss and then be weighted down by the guilt of her secret shame. But he had taught her there was nothing wrong with enjoying the way he made her feel. Even the way she made herself feel, when he was not there. She rubbed over her pearl again and again as he watched, that feverish gaze making her feel as if she would do anything to please him.
“Lower,” he urged. “I want you to feel how wet and hot you are.”
Heeding him, she moved her touch through the slickness of her folds, parting herself. Following her own instinct, she allowed her fingertips to examine the dip where her entrance was. Her gaze still locked on Jasper’s, she sank a finger inside herself.
His guttural oath spurred her on. As did this new sensation—her channel gripping her own finger, holding it tightly.
“Fuck yourself for me,” he said.
She knew what he wanted. Knew what she wanted, too. Slowly, she withdrew her finger and then sank it inside once more in a parody of his lovemaking. It was a pale comparison, but there was something about the expression on his face and the rapid swelling of his cock—he was massive now, the slit on his crown oozing a pearly bead of mettle—that heightened the sensations.
Then, he was upon her, sliding between her legs, his head dipping. He sucked her into his mouth, then alternated with tantalizing flutters of his tongue. The combination of his touch and her own was enough to send her over the edge. She reached her pinnacle with a cry, her fingers sliding from her body, only to be replaced by Jasper’s tongue. He plunged into her on a groan, feasting upon her as if she were the most delicious dessert he had ever consumed. As if he could never get enough.
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