Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

LONDON, 1816

N ot bloody again .

Jasper Sutton's booted foot had connected with something soft as he seated himself at the desk in his office at The Sinner's Palace. The gaming hell he and his siblings owned together was teeming with drunken lords. The hour was despicably late by anyone's standards, even for a voluptuary such as himself. He wanted gin and he wanted quim, and not necessarily in that order.

What he did not want was one of his twin daughters hiding beneath his desk when she was supposed to be abed.

"Elizabeth," he guessed, for she was undeniably the naughtiest of the two children who had been unexpectedly delivered to his hell a fortnight ago.

Abandoned was a better fucking word for what their mother—whomever she was—had done. That was the trouble with possessing an insatiable appetite for rutting. Sooner or later, the rutting produced brats.

And sometimes, the mothers of the brats decided they did not want the burden of extra mouths to feed. And also sometimes, the mothers abandoned their daughters on the steps of a gaming hell at dawn and left them there for any despicable bastard to abuse, without a thought or a care. Until, thank the Lord , his men had arrived and taken the girls within before something had befallen them.

Jasper had always tried to take care to avoid siring a bastard. But he could admit the resemblance the children bore to him was apparent. Black hair, hazel Sutton eyes, the dent in his chin. There had been nights when he had been too deep in his cups to know where he'd spent his seed.

And now, he had daughters to look after. Twin devilish imps who were six years old and filled with mischief.

Still, no child emerged or responded. He tapped the girlish lump beneath his desk with the tip of his boot. "Anne?"

The rustle of fabric met his ears, followed by two sets of giggles.

Christ. The both of them were at it tonight. Sinner that he was, he sent a silent prayer for patience heavenward. And then with a scowl, he rose from his chair and hunkered down to peer beneath the massive piece of furniture which had only recently been repaired after a pistol had blown a portion of it apart. Two sets of grins and hazel eyes greeted him.

"Girls," he chastised sternly, "you are meant to be sleeping. What the devil are you doing hiding beneath my desk at this time of the evening?"

"We miss playing 'idey," Elizabeth announced, unrepentant.

Hidey , as he had come to learn, was a game his daughters had established to enliven their evenings when one of their mother's gentlemen callers paid a visit.

"Ma always told us it were fun to 'ide when the gentlemen arrived," Anne added brightly.

It was clear their mother had been a Covent Garden nun. Could have been one of the doxies employed by The Sinner's Palace for the entertainments of his patrons. Could have been someone else. The girls said her name was Ma Bellington.

Bellington was a right fancy name for an East End whore. He suspected the woman had never told their daughters her true name, as Bellington did not mean a thing to him. Not that he expected it to. There had been occasions when he had not bothered to exchange names with his bedmates, it was true.

He wasn't proud of his past now that he was older and wiser. But he'd been a reckless, wild rakehell in his youth. No denying it. Just as there was no denying these hellions were his.

"Out from under the desk," he ordered the twins sternly. "We've talked about this before, no?"

"We wasn't tired," Elizabeth announced, crawling from beneath the desk in her nightdress and standing to eye him balefully. "It's right dull 'ere, it is."

Anne emerged from beneath the desk as well, frowning. "I told Lizbeth I didn't want to do it, but she made me."

He sighed. It had only taken him hours to discover that Elizabeth was the twin who delighted in galloping all over the hell, leaving mischief in her wake, and asking him so many questions he feared his head might explode like a melon tossed from a roof. Anne had a saucy disposition, was quick to turn into a watering pot, and liked to blame everything on her sister.

"What did I tell you yesterday when I caught you hiding beneath the hazard table?" he asked with as much calm as he could muster.

He'd been furious at the sight of his children wandering about the gaming hell, disrupting confused patrons. The discovery had made his need of a wife—someone to tame and look after his wayward offspring—all the more apparent.

"You said we couldn't go where the fancy coves be," Elizabeth said.

"You didn't say nothing about your desk," Anne added mulishly.

Before he could address either of them, a knock sounded on the door. Three raps in quick succession, which signified more trouble.

"Christ," he muttered.

"That's the Lord," Anne told him.

"I am aware," he said, silently praying for strength. And patience. And strength.

"You owe 'im an apolology," Elizabeth announced with a superior air.

Sodding hell. " Apology , Elizabeth," he corrected.

"What's sodding mean?" Anne asked.

Damnation. Had he said that bit aloud? To his utter shame, he discovered that he—Jasper Sutton, scourge of the East End—was bloody flushing .

He coughed to cover his embarrassment and called out to Hugh, who was on door duty this evening. "What is it now?"

" She's returned," Hugh called, his tone grim.

Jasper did not need to ask whom his man was speaking of. Over the last few months, one woman had continually appeared, ignoring his warnings, his threats—hell, even his kisses.

Lady Octavia Alexander.

And damn him if the mere name of the dark-haired beauty did not make his cock twitch to life. Until he recalled his children were still standing before him.

Children.

His.

He was yet growing accustomed to this abrupt change of circumstances.

"Tell her to go back to Mayfair where she damned well belongs," he ordered Hugh, for he had far more important matters awaiting him this evening.

Namely, the twins who had once more escaped from their shared room to wander about unattended.

The door burst open, and Lady Octavia crossed the threshold, elegant, beautiful, and maddening as hell. Her vivid brown eyes settled upon him first, and how he despised the bolt of lust that hit him. So, too, the memories of the frantic kisses they had shared, her tongue in his mouth.

The minx.

Christ , she was delicious.

And infuriating.

And delicious.

Damnation.

"You are not welcome here, Lady Octavia," he told her, just as he had on numerous occasions in the past. "I will have one of my men escort you back to the safety of your sister's home."

"Children, Sutton?" she asked, her gaze flitting from his daughters, to him, then back again.

"Aye," he ground out. "Children. Mine ."

She had not trespassed at The Sinner's Palace in three weeks. Not that he had been counting. And not that he had missed her irritating intrusions. Because he most certainly had not.

Her mouth dropped open. Pretty, lush mouth. Not a spinster's mouth at all, and that bothered him for reasons he didn't care to examine. Lady Octavia Alexander had no desire to marry. All she wanted was to be at the helm of a gossip journal. Hers, of course. When she had initially approached him with the idea, he had laughed. And then he had kissed her senseless. And then she had been the one laughing.

The bloody nuisance.

" Your children," she repeated at last.

"Mine," he said again, willing her to go away.

To go far, far away.

To the Continent, in fact.

Or mayhap the Americas.

Out of his reach, wherever that took her.

Was the moon a possibility?

" You are a father."

He did not miss the manner in which she emphasized the you , as if the very notion of his paternal state were blasphemy.

"Aye," he gritted, frowning at her. "Are you daft, woman? I've just said so."

He was being rude, and he knew it. Also, he did not care.

"Don't say daft ," he added as an afterthought, addressing his wide-eyed daughters.

"I would never," Anne breathed. "It would be unkind, Papa."

Papa. His cold, dead heart never failed to warm at the title, and curse him if he knew why. He'd certainly not wanted spawn. Still didn't want them. Not particularly. They were trouble, these two.

Hence his need for a wife.

Yesterday.

A plain, appreciative woman without expectations who was willing to guide his children and turn a blind eye to whatever the hell he wished to do that did not involve her.

Lady Octavia was grinning at him like the cat who'd got into the cream. "Yes, Papa. It is most unkind to call a lady who has only ever been polite to you daft ."

"Do not call me Papa," he growled at her, stalking forward.

Toward her.

Pulled.

Always, always pulled. This woman was vexing and she was intoxicating, and he wanted more of her, and he wanted her to go away and never to return.

But mostly, he wanted more of her.

"Papa?" asked one of his daughters, and he was ashamed to admit that with them at his back, he could not distinguish one voice from the next.

He paused, stopping just short of Lady Octavia. "What is it now, daughter?" he asked, casting a glance over his shoulder.

"I want a cat," Anne said.

"I want a dog," Elizabeth announced.

"Then you shall have both," Lady Octavia proclaimed, her voice cheerful, benevolent.

Annoying.

He turned back to her, pinning her with a glare. "Hold your tongue, Lady Octavia."

She winked, the outrageous baggage. "Force me to if you dare."

Challenge accepted, milady.

He would have great fun with her tongue. Later. Not with his children as an audience. Kisses could wait. Anne and Elizabeth needed to get to bed.

"I would never dare force a lady to do anything she did not wish," he told her smoothly instead, ever aware of their audience.

He even gave her his most pleasant smile.

Which was probably a grimace.

Satan's teeth, he needed some drops of jackey.

Lady Octavia's honey-brown eyes were on his. Her lips were smiling. Full. Delicious. Perfectly pink. The number of times he had taken himself in hand while imagining those lips wrapped around his cock was appalling.

But he would not think about that now.

Or ever.

"How…gentlemanly of you, Mr. Sutton," the minx dared.

If she knew him—truly knew him—she would not dare such taunts. Strangely, the notion of correcting her assumptions about him held little appeal at the moment.

"Do you ‘ave a dog and a cat?" Anne asked, skirting round Jasper to peer inquisitively at Lady Octavia.

"Your cat ain't going to like my dog," Elizabeth told Anne. "It must be one or the other."

Christ.

He stabbed at his suddenly throbbing temples with his forefingers. "Curse it, girls. You ain't going to be having cats and dogs. I've already dogs aplenty."

Anne's nose wrinkled. "Barnaby snores."

"Drunkard slobbers," Elizabeth added.

Jasper winced.

Lady Octavia's dark, winged brows arched. "You have a dog named Drunkard ?"

He released his aching head and planted his hands on his hips. "He was named after the tosspot who abandoned him. Do you object, milady ?"

"Arsehole likes to bite," Anne declared before her ladyship could answer.

Well, hell. Not that he gave a damn what Lady Octavia thought of him, but even Jasper Sutton knew it was not done to allow his children to curse. It was true that Motley, yet a young pup, liked to nip with his sharp little teeth. Some of the guards at The Sinner's Palace had taken to referring to him as Arsehole instead of his proper name. Apparently, Elizabeth and Anne had overheard. He was going to have to put the fear of eternal damnation into Randall, Hugh, Bennet, Timothy, and Anthony.

"His name is Motley," he growled at his daughter. "That other word ain't for ladies and I'll not have you repeating it again."

"We ain't ladies," Elizabeth and Anne declared in unison.

He glowered down at the pair of them. He had carried out some despicable deeds in his life. He had thieved and he had beaten men with his fists, had stabbed them with blades. He had even killed. He ruled his family's gaming hell with the ruthlessness such a position required. But no duty he had ever taken on in his life had been more difficult than being a father to these two hellions.

Lady Octavia drew nearer, tearing Jasper's gaze from his daughters as she sank to her knees before them, caring little for her fine gown. "Of course you are ladies," she said. "It is plain to see. What are your names, if you please?"

"I am called Anne Bellington," Anne said gravely.

"And I am Elizabeth Bellington," her sister added.

"Sutton," he reminded grimly. "You are Suttons."

"Ah." With another raised brow, Lady Octavia cast a knowing glance in his direction. "You have only recently arrived at The Sinner's Palace, then?"

There she went. Asking questions. Causing trouble.

He frowned at the bothersome wench. "My lady, why are you here? You were told not to return."

Before he had kissed her thoroughly.

Damn him, but owning her mouth had been the best sin he had committed yet.

Wait until I own her cunny as well.

No. Hell no. Jasper struck the unwanted thought from his mind. Ladies were a bad halfpenny. Lady Octavia Alexander in particular brewed more problems than an entire brigade of them. And a virgin lady? He suppressed a shudder and tamped down the desire which never failed to simmer to the surface in her maddening presence.

Terrible.

"You were blustering, Sutton," Lady Octavia declared, tearing him from his thoughts. "You like my visits."

Yes, he did. Curse her. Not that he would ever admit such stupidity aloud.

He pinned her with a glare. "I was not blustering."

"You were."

"Papa does lots of blustering," Anne informed their unwanted guest helpfully.

"And cursing," Elizabeth added. "Not nearly as much as Ma did, though. And he doesn't have gentlemen friends."

"But he does have lady ones," Anne continued where her twin had left off.

"Only, they ain't truly ladies neither," Elizabeth concluded.

Lady Octavia's luscious mouth suddenly took on a pinched quality. "I can well imagine they are not, my dear girl."

He snorted. "Enough of all this shi— nonsense . Lady Octavia, my daughters need to seek their beds for the night. Hugh will see you safely to wherever you belong."

Which was decidedly not here at The Sinner's Palace.

And not in his arms or bed, regardless of how much he wanted her there.

Damned inconvenient cock, lusting over a fancy lady.

He took Anne and Elizabeth gently by the arms and escorted them from his office as they protested, skirting past a disapproving Lady Octavia. And blast her, but the sweet scent of her still haunted his nostrils long after he'd slammed the door at his back.

Lady Octavia Alexander paced the new and well-appointed carpets of Jasper Sutton's lair, ignoring the broad-shouldered guard glowering at her every movement. Not much had changed within these four walls since she had last dared to venture here. The same massive desk with its carved lion legs—albeit the addition of a recent repair, which rendered a slight difference in the wood staining on the front panel. Still the same sconces on the walls. The same sense of the forbidden. The same scent of him : smoke and sin and sandalwood, running through it all like the currents in the sea.

Tempting, dangerous, forbidden .

But never mind that. She straightened her shoulders and paced with greater intent as she awaited his return.

Octavia knew a great deal about Jasper Sutton.

Or at least, she thought she had.

Ruthless head of his family, leader of London's wickedest gaming hell The Sinner's Palace, rogue, deliriously wonderful kisser, and now one more to add to the frustrating list…

Father.

Jasper Sutton was a father .

He had twin daughters, Miss Anne and Miss Elizabeth, who shared his coal-dark hair and hazel eyes and the divot in his chin. They were adorable, far too forthright, and the girlish images of their father. She had taken one look at them and longed to bundle them up and take them home with her. A foolish, ridiculous urge, that. Octavia was a dedicated spinster. She had no home of her own, nor any funds. She loved children. But she preferred her freedom—that which seemed to remain forever beyond her clawing grasp—more.

"Mr. Sutton says you're to go, my lady, and you'll be going before ‘e returns, or it ain't going to go well for neither of us."

The low, brusque voice sliced through her wildly flitting thoughts.

On a sigh, she flicked her glance back to Hugh, whose surname she still had yet to learn, despite the number of times he had been tasked with escorting her home. Yes, Jasper Sutton was fond of ordering her to leave his family's gaming hell.

And Octavia? Well, she was fond of ignoring him until she had no other choice save fleeing. Much as she had on the last occasion she had sought his aid here. When he had kissed her…

Nay!

Do not think of that now.

You must not.

She would only lose her determination if she did.

Casting his guard a pointed frown, she prodded him, "Mister…"

"You," he said.

Actually, what he had said was Hugh , sans the H . Which sounded just like you .

She blinked. "Mr. Hugh?—"

"Ain't no mister, milady. ‘ugh is all."

Blasted man. Every bit as stubborn as his master. Every bit as devoid of mirth.

But her quarrel with Hugh hardly mattered when the door to Sutton's office flew open and the man himself stalked over the threshold.

His hazel glare swept over her as he stopped, his unforgiving countenance grim and harsh and lethally handsome all at once. "My lady. I told you to be gone."

She shrugged, feeling bold.

And desperate.

"And I decided not to be."

"Not to be what?" he drawled. "Sane?"

"How ungracious of you," she clipped in return. "Not to be gone . I require an audience with you, Mr. Sutton."

"Forgive me, sir," Hugh interjected, sounding remarkably apologetic for a man of his brutish nature. "I know you said she ‘ad to go, but milady wouldn't leave."

Octavia wondered, not for the first time, just what it was that Jasper Sutton used to keep his men so very loyal. Money? Force? Threats? Everything all at once? With a man of Sutton's reputation, anything was possible.

Sutton's eyes narrowed to piercing slits. Without casting a glance in his manservant's direction, he issued a stinging dismissal. " Out , Hugh."

"But sir?—"

"Go," Sutton interrupted. "I will find you when I need you."

Hugh did not hesitate in his retreat. The door clicked closed on his brawny back. And then Octavia was alone.

Alone with Jasper Sutton.

Mayhap he has a wife , she reminded herself. And he had kissed her. Scoundrel! She ought to box his ears. Why had he never mentioned his daughters before? The questions tumbled over each other in her mind, regardless of how many times she told herself she should not concern herself with the complexities of his life.

He prowled toward her, his expression implacable, silken menace in every step of his pursuit. "I thought we ‘ad a square thing, my lady."

A square thing? It did not bode well when he eschewed the h on had . Or that he had reverted to speaking cant. She knew him well enough to understand that.

Octavia was not fearful of Jasper Sutton, and yet, she found herself retreating as he neared. Until her bottom connected with the edge of his desk, stopping her. He paused before her, bracing his palms on either side of the desk.

Trapping her.

His heat seared her through the layers of fabric separating her body from his.

"I…" she faltered, her gaze dipping to his cruelly beautiful mouth. "I needed to speak with you."

He made a low sound that was somewhere between a growl and a hum. "You needed to speak with me?"

He managed to make the question sound…sultry.

Sensual.

The memory of his lips on hers returned, taunting her before she hastily banished it.

"Yes," she forced herself to say, running her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. "As I said."

"Ah, but do you recall, Lady Octavia, what I told you when you last intruded upon my gaming establishment?" His head dipped.

He was taller than she was. Taller than most gentlemen in her acquaintance. Broad of shoulder, lean of hip. Beneath his coat, the arms caging her to his desk appeared strong and vital. She settled her hands on them against her better judgment.

Judgment? Who was she fooling?

She had none when it came to this man.

Else, why would she be here?

"I must confess that I have tried to forget the conversation that passed between us when I last paid you a call," she countered.

Like Jasper Sutton, she was blustering.

Daring.

"Allow me to remind you, milady." Hazel eyes burned into hers as he leaned even nearer. "I told you that this ain't a place for ladies. That you are trouble. That you need to stay in Mayfair where you belong. This addle-headed notion of yours to use The Sinner's Palace to find scandal and gossip ain't going to work."

He had also kissed her.

Had he forgotten?

Octavia told herself whether or not he had was no concern of hers.

"Do you have a wife, Mr. Sutton?" she blurted.

He quirked an inky brow. "Why should you care?"

Why indeed?

"You kissed me." Her cheeks went hot as she uttered the words, much to her dismay.

"Did I?" His tone was mocking.

Her heart thumped. "Yes, you did."

Did he truly kiss so many ladies that he could not remember whom he had wooed? The question was sobering. But nevertheless, it did nothing to quell the desire to have that wicked mouth on hers once more.

What was wrong with her? She had not ventured to The Sinner's Palace for more kisses from its enigmatic owner.

"Be careful whom you carry that tale to, Lady Octavia. I'd hate to be the cause of your ruin." His lips curved in small smile.

A taunting smile.

And that was when the truth occurred to her.

Jasper Sutton was trying to fluster her. To make her uncomfortable. He wanted her to flee.

She summoned a smile of her own. "Are you worried about my reputation, Mr. Sutton? How gentlemanly of you."

"You and I both know I ain't a gentleman."

No, he was not.

Unfortunately, that was one of the qualities he possessed that rendered him so alluring to Octavia.

Also, his handsome face, sinful lips, and heavens above, those hands of his. There was something about Jasper Sutton's hands that never failed to incite a fury of longing within her. Just the knowledge that they were there, splayed on the desk, mere inches from her, was enough to make a familiar, unwanted heat unfurl in her belly.

"You did not answer my question," she reminded him. "Are you married?"

"Not yet," he said cryptically.

The heat within turned to ice.

"Betrothed?" she guessed next.

"Not yet," came the same response as the first.

She frowned, trying to make sense of what he had said. "Do you intend to be soon, then?"

"What's this, milady?" His grin deepened. "You found your way to The Sinner's Palace to ask about who I'm dabbing it up with?"

She did not know what dabbing it up meant, and she was sure that was best.

"Of course not," she hastened to say, struggling to remind herself of the true reason for her call. "Your daughters…"

"Their mother abandoned them a fortnight ago," he explained, his voice forbidding.

"How terrible." Her heart gave a pang for the girls.

"I take care of my own," he said, his voice a low, assertive rasp. "Now that I know they're mine, I'll keep them safe."

She believed him. Jasper Sutton was many things, but he was also a man who cared deeply for his family. She knew as much from her ties to the Winter family. Sutton's sister Caro had recently married Gavin Winter, and Octavia's sister Mirabel had wed Damian "Demon" Winter. The connections between Octavia and Jasper were distant and yet close enough. It sounded as if he had only learned of the existence of the twins when they had been abandoned. What a shock it must have been for him and the girls both.

But the circumstances in which Jasper Sutton and his daughters found themselves mired was not her problem. And after today, she would not need to return to The Sinner's Palace for any reason. Provided that he agreed to her new plan, that was.

Why did the thought make her heart pang anew?

"I am certain you will be a good father to them, Sutton," she told him.

He stilled. "I am not as certain, but I'll do my damnedest. Now, tell me why you've come to me despite my orders to keep your pretty little nose out of The Sinner's Palace."

Here it was at last. Her hands were still on his arms, her fingers clenching on his muscles of their own accord.

She took a deep breath. "I want you to be my partner."