“Yes,” Mr. Sutton said, as if he had access to the thoughts frantically wheeling through her mind. “I’m aware the document wasn’t written by the earl. He was displeased by the manner in which you left and made no secret of it.”
Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her gown but she forced herself to remain otherwise still. “How long have you known?”
Mr. Sutton inclined his head. “Since the first week you joined us. I ain’t the sort of chap who doesn’t believe in second chances, Miss Wren. But I also protect what’s mine. The penmanship on your letter was too damned flowery to belong to a cove, so I investigated.”
He had known from almost the beginning of her tenure here. It seemed impossible that he would know she had lied and yet keep her on.
“Nothing to say, Miss Wren?” he asked gently. “No need to look cow-hearted. I won’t be dismissing you over the letter of character.”
“You won’t?”
“Landsdowne is a bag of wind. Never cared for his opinion on anything. I only tolerate the man at my establishment because I like his coin. I’ve been watching you with Anne and Elizabeth, as has my wife. I trust our judgment far more.”
Lord Landsdowne was a blustery sort of fellow. And his son was even more despicable. The differences between her former employer and Mr. Sutton and Lady Octavia could not be more disparate.
“Thank you, sir.” Her relief was tentative, for there was more to this dialogue, another reason why she had been called before him.
Gregson’s whipping.
She swallowed.
“Gregson demanded an audience with you,” Mr. Sutton said.
Panic hit her with the force of a blow. For a moment, she could not catch her breath. The thought of once more facing him made bile rise in her throat. “Please, Mr. Sutton, do not require that of me.”
“No fears on that account either, Miss Wren. I don’t invite swine beneath my roof. This ain’t a barn.”
She would have smiled were she not so desperately on edge, fearful of what he would say next. “I am relieved, sir. However, I am uncertain what you want from me concerning this matter.”
His fingers gave another slow, rhythmic drum, and he watched her once more, with that calculating gaze that told her he was as shrewd as he seemed and that he saw far more than those around him wished for him to see.
“After I learned what had happened to Gregson, I found myself curious, Miss Wren. I made some inquiries.”
She glanced down at her lap, startled to discover her fingers were white with tension, and that she had nearly twisted her skirts into knots. “If you wish to dismiss me, Mr. Sutton, I understand.”
Although Gregson had attempted to force himself on her, there was a stain cast upon her virtue solely because of her sex. In her former life, she would have been compromised. Ruined. Lord Gregson would have had to wed her to save his honor and protect her reputation. In her new life, as Persephone Wren, a governess prayed she could move to her next situation bereft of the shame that accompanied such terrible circumstances.
“I’ll not be dismissing you, Miss Wren,” Mr. Sutton said, his voice gentling. “All I want is an answer. Just what the devil is between you and my brother Rafe?”
It was a fair question.
If only she knew the answer.
Nothing? Everything?
Looking back up at her employer, she thought about what had happened earlier that day and she could not control the warmth flaring in her cheeks. “Nothing, sir. As I said, Mr. Sutton has been a gentleman on the rare occasions when he was in my presence.”
Mr. Sutton raised a dark brow. “The morning after Lady Octavia was attacked, Anne and Elizabeth reported to us that Uncle Rafe told them Miss Wren was sleeping and that they weren’t to tell. As I recall, he also urged them to remind me of something in a similar vein as what you just said, that he is a gentleman. I ought to have addressed it when the incident was fresh, but your conduct has been excellent, and I was hoping the matter would take care of itself. Given what I have recently heard, I must ask.”
Yes, she supposed he must. Mr. Sutton was speaking of the morning Rafe had slept in her bed.
After she had slipped the laudanum into his brandy. What a terrible coil in which she found herself.
“I overslept that morning,” she lied, desperate to remain here. “Forgive me, sir. I believe Mr. Sutton agreed to help find me for the twins, but I was yet abed. The excitement of the day before had quite overset me, though it is no excuse.”
Just a bit more time. That was all she needed to be free.
“That is all, Miss Wren?” Mr. Sutton asked, his voice sharp, with a commanding edge.
“Yes, Mr. Sutton, sir,” she said, struggling to hold his gaze. “That is all.”
And that is a terrible prevarication.
“You may go, Miss Wren,” he said. “But please do yourself a kindness and stay far away from Lord Gregson and my brother both.”
She nodded. “Of course, Mr. Sutton. You have my word.”
But she also had a feeling part of her word was about to be broken, for Rafe called to her in a way she was not sure she could resist.
Even should he prove her downfall.
CHAPTER 8
Rafe returned to Jasper’s town house at an hour that was deliberately late. The rest of the house was abed, only the servants about.
Just what he wanted.
Nay, what he needed for his own self-preservation. If he were to spy even the slightest glimpse of Persephone, he was not certain he could trust himself. To that end, he had dined and finished conducting all his business prior to his return. On the morrow, he would need to return to The Sinner’s Palace II for another day of coordinating tradesmen and keeping Pen from turning on the waterworks. But after that, he had determined he would switch roles with his brother Hart, who had been running The Sinner’s Palace floor. Hart could stay in the West End and rub elbows with ladies, which would please him mightily.
Meanwhile, Rafe could return to where he belonged and forget all about the mysterious and equally delectable governess who had somehow cast a spell over him he could not shake.
Pleased with himself for avoiding her and settling upon a solution to his current problem of uncontrollable lust for a lady he could not shag, he crossed the threshold into his guest room.
And promptly discovered the source of what ailed him awaiting him, wearing a prim governess’s gown that did nothing to detract from her loveliness.
What in the devil’s arsehole was he to do with this development?
Rafe closed the door at his back and stalked across the fine carpets, irritated with himself for the way his heart hammered faster in his chest and his stupid prick twitched to life. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded.
His question emerged harsher than he had intended, for she flinched. “Forgive me for intruding, but I was hoping for a word with you, in private. This seemed the best way to ensure privacy.”
Privacy. With her.
Lord in heaven, what he could do with this woman, a closed door, and a bed just waiting to be defiled.
Calm yourself, you bleeding reprobate.
“This ain’t the place for it,” he ground out, taking her elbow in a firm grip and intending to haul her from the room.
“Please, Rafe,” she pleaded, putting up some opposition rather than allowing herself to be dragged nicely across the room as he had hoped she might. “I only need a moment of your time. Every minute I spend here risks my position, which I fear has already grown quite tenuous given what I heard from Mr. Sutton today.”
He stopped pulling and frowned at her, trying not to notice the way the bodice of her gown clung to her ample breasts. “Jasper spoke with you today? Christ, don’t tell me it was about what happened in the bleeding library this morning.”
“Actually, it was about what happened with Lord Gregson,” she said, worry in her tone and warm brown gaze.
The mere mentioning of the bastard’s name h
ad him longing to whip the whoreson again.
“What of ’im? Jasper ain’t the sort of chap to take a cove who forced himself on a lady lightly.” Indeed, if he knew his brother, Jasper had likely found the viscount himself and exacted his own retribution. “If he somehow discovered what happened to you when you were in Lord Landsdowne’s employ, I promise he ain’t going to hold it against you.”
She shook her head, and he realized that her hair was demurely hidden beneath an ugly cap. His fingers itched to pluck it off to allow the radiance of her hair to shine in the candlelight. But that would be foolish indeed.
He was already tempted enough.
“It is not about what happened to me,” she clarified softly, her countenance growing more concerned. “It is about what happened to Lord Gregson. Apparently, he was able to discover I am now in the employ of your brother’s household. He went to The Sinner’s Palace quite irate over what had befallen him in my name.”
The whipping he had received.
“Fuck,” Rafe muttered.
He could have kicked himself in the arse for invoking Persephone’s name. The only reason he had done so was because he had wanted Viscount Gregson to be bloody sure the reason he had received such a basting was because of what he had done to her. What he had tried to do to her. And to make certain he would think twice before ever attempting to force himself upon another innocent sharing his roof, a woman without the power to refuse him.
Belatedly, he realized Persephone’s cheeks were pink. He reckoned gentlemen didn’t use oaths in the presence of ladies where she came from. And then he wondered just where it was that she came from.
“Forgive me,” he said, with great feeling. “For the crudeness of my language and for any trouble I invited. If the bastard dares to return to The Sinner’s Palace making demands, I’ll whip ’im again.”
He meant those words. Lord how he meant them.
“Thank you, but I do not think it shall be necessary.” Persephone frowned. “At least I hope it shall not be.”
“Gregson ain’t going to cause any more problems for you, Persephone,” he vowed. “I won’t allow it.”
The fierce protectiveness he felt toward her was troubling, but like the sky above him and the sun rising every morning on a new day, it was simply there. Beyond his control.
“I have no wish to cause you any problems, either with your brother or at your gaming hell,” she said softly. “Mr. Sutton asked me about the morning Anne and Elizabeth came to my room and you told them I was sleeping. He told me he made some inquiries concerning what happened to Lord Gregson. I…I believe he may suspect you were involved.”
It was possible. Jasper knew Sophie too. Their circles hadn’t always been so damned lofty as they had now become, what with Jasper marrying into the quality.
“You won’t cause me problems, lovely,” he reassured Persephone, hating how fretful and tense she appeared, hating that Gregson could still affect her. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
The urge to take her in his arms and kiss away that frown was stronger than the need to take another breath. He banished it by sheer force of will.
“I thought you should know, should Mr. Sutton wish to speak with you about the matter.” Her brown gaze, flecked with hints of gold, seared his. “He has requested I stay away from you while you are a guest here.”
“He did, did he?” That rather nettled. What did Jasper think he was going to do? Tup Miss Wren?
Well, then he supposed his brother would not have been far from the mark. Hell.
“Yes.” Her lips compressed. “I am concerned he thinks there is more to our friendship than I admitted. You need not fear I told him about…about…what happened in the library. That is best forgotten, of course.”
Something inside Rafe, already stretched dangerously thin—some thread that was the last shred of honor he possessed—snapped. Severed beneath the weight of the moment, his desire for Persephone, Jasper interfering in his life, this business with Lord Gregson, everything.
One moment, he was determined to keep his distance, and the next, he was reaching for her waist, drawing her body slowly into his. He was careful to give her every chance to deny him, to withdraw. But she settled against him as if it were where she was meant to be.
And it felt as if she was. How perfectly they fit together, hip to hip, breast to chest. Her mouth was only a bit below his. Lowering his head enough to seize her lips with his required scarcely any effort at all.
Her hands were on his shoulders, not pushing him away but holding on to him, her eyes wide, fringed by cinnamon-colored lashes. A trail of freckles bedecked the bridge of her dainty nose.
“You can’t say it, can you?” he asked, devouring her with his gaze the way he longed to do with his lips.
“Can’t say what?” Her head tipped back, and the hideous cap slid, revealing some of her glorious hair.
He caught the thing between his thumb and forefinger and plucked it from her head, tossing it to the floor. “It’s a sin to cover your hair with that bleeding thing,” he told her before answering her query. “You can’t bring yourself to say what happened between us. That you kissed me.”
A flush stole over her cheekbones, painting them pink. “I was dreadfully forward. I must beg your forgiveness for my actions.”
He shook his head. “I’ll not forgive you. Nor will I forget it.”
“No?” Her countenance turned stricken.
“No.” He gave in to temptation and kissed the tip of her nose, where those mesmerizing little flecks dotted her creamy skin like pigment shaken from an artist’s brush. Her skin was smooth and warm and vital beneath his lips. He raised his head, holding her gaze. “Because I wanted you to kiss me, Persephone. And I bloody well loved it.”
Her lips parted, the coal-black discs at the center of her eyes going wide. “You did?”
“Yes.” He kissed her temple next, burying his nose in the curls which had burst forth to frame her face in the absence of the abysmal cap. “I want you to do it again. Now. Here.”
“But I promised Mr. Sutton…”
He kissed her ear, the sweet dip behind it, smiling against her silken skin when she sighed. “To the devil with my brother. He ain’t my king, and he ain’t yours either.”
Some part of him warned him this was foolish. That of all the terrible ideas he’d had in his years, this was by far the worst. But Persephone was in his arms, where she belonged. What would be the harm in keeping her here, just a bit longer?
He sensed the moment she surrendered to her own desires, the rigidity seeping from her body. She went pliant, her hands sliding along his shoulders to lock behind his neck. When her fingers slipped into his hair, her nails gently grazing his scalp, he could not suppress his groan.
“Your hair is so soft,” she said, wonder in her voice. “I never knew a man’s hair could be this silken.”
According to his long-departed ma, he had been born with a head of curls, and it had never left. As a lad, it had been a bane, but when he’d been old enough to draw the eyes of the lasses, he had realized it was his glory. And then later, as a man, he’d discovered it was not his only glory. Saints be praised for that.
“I like your hands in it,” he told her.
She touched him in a way no other woman had, with a hesitant admiration, as if she did not trust herself. And yet also with such tenderness, it made him ache. In his heart and lower, too.
“Have you always worn it longer than fashion?” she asked, still sifting through his hair as if it were a newly discovered treasure.
Damn, but he loved everything about the way she made him feel.
“I have always worn it as I wished, and to the devil with fashion.” He grinned against her skin.
“I should return to my room,” she said, but there was scarcely any intent in her voice to accompany the words.
No doubt about it, she should. She ought to run. Flee as fast as she could back to the safety of her small
room. But he could not bear the thought of watching her go.
He pressed a line of kisses down her throat. “Or you could stay a little while, now that you’ve risked all to find your way into my chamber.”
He was being reckless.
But where she was concerned, most of his good intentions had absconded.
He was consumed by his need to keep her here with him. To kiss her and pleasure her. Aye, there were ways to bring a woman to her pinnacle without tupping her. And no one would ever be the wiser. What Jasper didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
“I…oh…”
He found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and centered all his efforts there, sucking and licking and nipping her lightly with his teeth. She liked that, his prim governess. And suddenly, he would give his very life to make her come. To make her shudder and weep and know the heights of pleasure given as it should be, rather than to know the force of another’s attempt to wield his physical strength over her.
“What do you say, lovely?” he asked, holding his breath as he awaited her answer.
* * *
What did she say?
Good heavens, what could she say with his lips working their magic on her? Persephone was dressed in one of her most drab gowns, and yet, her modest bodice and the dull, gray linen and mobcap had apparently done nothing to dull his ardor. His hands were on her, his kisses too. Moving, shifting all the determination she had garnered within, and she was helpless to resist him.
His words swirled through her mind, adding to the pleasurable delirium being in Rafe’s presence created.
Because I wanted you to kiss me, Persephone. And I bloody well loved it.
For as long as she lived, and despite whatever came to pass in her future, these were sentences she would place in her heart and carry there forever. They would always be a part of her, as would these stolen, wicked moments with him.
She had come to his chamber this evening, knowing it would be a risk to do so and yet feeling indebted to him for his kindness to her. Mr. Sutton had been displeased, and she would no sooner cause strife for Rafe than she would herself. If Mr. Sutton wanted her to stay away from his brother, then she must honor his wishes. The alternative, losing her post, was tantamount to failure.
Sutton’s Sins: The Sinful Suttons Book 2 Page 9
