Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

T he townhome was larger than Jasper had realized when he had hastily secured the lease. He hadn't the slightest inkling what to do with a drawing room instead of a parlor or servant quarters or a damned library. Fortunately, Octavia did.

And that was why he had accompanied her on a shopping excursion. He watched, amused and not a little in awe of his wife, as she excitedly made her way through the bookseller they were currently patronizing. Fancy that—a day of shopping. Jasper Sutton, being led about Bond Street by his beautiful aristocratic wife. He never would have imagined himself in such a position before.

Why, he almost felt like a nib.

Almost, not quite.

He didn't belong here, and he knew it. But he would strut about like a princely cove all bloody day for her.

Octavia turned to him, a book in hand. "I would dearly love to read this to the girls. They do so enjoy when we share stories in the evening. What do you think?"

He thought she could have whatever she wanted. And that he was damned lucky he'd settled upon marrying her, even if the means of procuring the match had been rather…foul on his part. Aye, he'd been a bastard, coercing her into becoming his wife. Yet, how could he entertain even a modicum of regret when she had forgiven him and she was his?

"As I said," he told her instead of giving voice to the maudlin sentiment running rampant in his foolish head, "anything you wish."

She smiled at him and resumed poking about the wares of the tidy shop. He had never bought anything for a woman before. Then again, he supposed he still had not. Octavia had been quite busy shopping for everyone but herself. A book for the girls here, a smart bonnet for Pen and a cheerful hat for Lily at the milliner. New slippers for Anne and Elizabeth. Fresh curtains to drape the windows at the townhome.

She was by no means spending coin as if they possessed an endless supply. Her every purchase had been economical. The girls had growing feet. Pen's and Lily's hats were drab and outmoded. The curtains in the formal drawing room were an eyesore.

Realizing he was drifting away in his thoughts and not keeping a proper eye on his wife, Jasper followed her as she wound around a tall shelf of books, in search of more fodder for Anne and Elizabeth's nightly entertainment. They were all settling into their new routine remarkably well. While Jasper missed being beneath The Sinner's Palace roof each night, he could not deny that he also enjoyed the separation.

He arrived promptly before dinner each evening. Octavia was a consummate hostess, and dinner was always punctual and agreeable. She had even taken care to learn which dishes he preferred to eat. No one had ever bothered to note his preferences before. He had come to understand that she excelled at caring for others. Likely, it was one of the reasons she had been content to live as a spinster with her sister. There, she had been free to tend to her niece and nephews, always putting them before herself.

She returned to his side, two new volumes having joined the first, beaming. "I think this will be more than enough reading material to keep the girls busy," she announced.

Jasper settled the bill and directed the shopkeeper where to send the books, the address still strange on his tongue. Almost as strange as traveling in the more fashionable portion of London.

But this was his life now, and aside from the looming concern of who had set fire to his family's property, Jasper was slipping into it with an ease that likely should have concerned him. In his world, the moment an enemy sensed a vulnerability, it was time to strike. He couldn't help but to wonder who would strike next and when. However, whenever he was with Octavia, Anne, and Elizabeth, those fears faded away.

Even Motley, Drunkard, and Barnaby felt comfortably at home in their new lodging. Jasper's dogs were quite pleased to have free reign of the staircases and large rooms, much to the dismay of the butler Octavia had hired.

Yes.

He, Jasper Sutton, had a goddamned butler.

The thought remained surreal as he and his wife left the bookseller's vast shop and returned to their waiting carriage. They settled in, he at Octavia's side, and he could not resist leaning into her to burrow his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder that he might inhale some of her delicious scent.

"You smell so damned good," he murmured against her silken flesh.

She tipped her head back, granting him more access to her throat. "I am pleased you think so."

"I know so." He caught the fleshy lobe of her ear in his teeth and tugged. "I want to devour you."

Loving his wife may have rendered him quite soft and domesticated in some ways, but it did nothing to diminish the hardness of certain other parts of him. Of course, he had yet to tell her he loved her. But she had not spoken a word of tender sentiment either. They existed in a comfortable idyll for the moment, spending evenings and nights together. Making love often. Fortunately, she'd proven amenable to his plan of having her in every room of the townhome.

Just another way in which moving from The Sinner's Palace to the townhome had been a boon.

"You may devour me later," she said, her voice husky with desire. "It is the midst of the day, and we are in a carriage."

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of devouring you in a carriage." He grinned as he kissed her jaw, then took her lips.

She was smiling too.

But not for long.

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder as she turned toward him, first to deepen the kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth. On a groan, he met her with a foray of his own. He could kiss this woman forever and never have enough. She was everything he had never supposed he would ever want. The man who had desired neither wife nor children, whose life had been consumed by his gaming hell alone, had discovered he had been wrong.

Life was better with Octavia at his side, with his daughters and the promise of more one day.

He hoped she felt the same about him.

Jasper ended the kiss before he was tempted to do far more. There would be other days for introducing his wife to the pleasures of making love in a rocking conveyance. They had the rest of their lives.

"If I am not careful, you are the one who will devour me," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

"I suppose it would not do to return home all rumpled and disheveled, looking as if I have been thoroughly ravished." She grinned up at him, the gold flecks in her honey-brown gaze sparkling in the sunlight from the carriage window. "What would Sheldon say?"

"The butler can go f?—"

"Jasper," his wife interrupted, her tone chastising. "You must learn to watch your tongue."

"The girls ain't under foot just now," he grumbled. "Although, knowing them, I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't hiding under these damned benches."

"They are under the watchful eye of Miss Wren," Octavia reminded him, speaking of the new governess she had also recently hired to aid in making certain the girls were continuing to improve in their reading and writing.

Thus far, the young woman had been an excellent addition to the household. Anne and Elizabeth adored her. She was neither too soft nor too stern. And, most importantly, she possessed a sharp intelligence and a formidable determination to see her charges succeed. After working with Octavia, the twins had already learned their letters and begun to read. Miss Wren was seeing to their continued advancement.

"Thank heavens for Miss Wren. Those hellions of mine need someone to keep them out of trouble." He winked at Octavia. "Much like their mama."

Octavia had taken on the role of mother with aplomb. For a moment, his thoughts traveled to Tess Bellington, the woman who had given them life and then abandoned them. Hugh had given her funds, and she had promptly disappeared, likely having decided to flee the inn with her coin in search of more blue ruin. He understood well the manner in which some could fall into a life where drink ruled supreme.

His own father had been no different.

"I am not trouble," Octavia said now, keeping her tone light. "I have not even managed to climb from any windows recently."

The reminder of her foolishness was enough to tear a groan from him. "And thank heaven for that mercy as well. No more climbing from windows. You are far too precious to me for you to break your lovely neck."

"Am I?" she asked softly, her gaze searching his.

And he knew what she wanted. Or perhaps, more accurately, what she hoped.

Only, he was not certain if he dared to give it, for it was something he had never given another before her. It was something that was exclusively hers, battered and worn and dubious though the gift may be.

His heart.

Jasper stared down into her lovely face as the carriage rumbled over the roads. His mouth went dry. He licked his lips, forced himself to form an answer.

"Of course you're precious to me, minx. You ought to know that."

He showed her in every way he could.

Every way save one.

The most frightening.

There it was. For all that he was a fearsome, powerful man to most in the East End, the notion of making himself so vulnerable to his wife left him petrified nonetheless.

She cupped his cheek, caressing his jaw, and the last of the ice inside him melted. "Oh, Jasper. You have no notion of how much those words mean to me. You are precious to me as well."

He swallowed a sudden knot in his throat and blinked at a sudden wetness in his eyes which was as perplexing as it was irritating. "There is something I've been thinking about."

She gave him a wicked smile. "I do believe you think about it often."

Ha! He would have laughed at her boldness had he been capable of mirth. But the emotions churning within him were similar to the ones which had presented themselves along with his daughters. A profound love mingled with awe and a dash of fright.

"I do think about that with an alarming frequency whenever you're about," he managed at last. "But in this instance, I was referring to this proposed gossip journal of yours."

She froze, her eyes going wide. "Do you mean to say you have changed your mind about it?"

"Not entirely." He turned his head to kiss her gloved palm before continuing. "I still think there is a very good chance you shall land yourself into all manner of difficulties by operating such a publication."

Her disappointment was almost palpable, her frown hitting him in the heart with the efficiency of any barb. He knew he would do anything for this woman. Everything to make her happy. To show her how loved she was.

"But," he continued, "I want you to do what pleases you, because you please me very much. And I… If it means starting your journal, I will do whatever I must to assist. Only promise me you shan't be sneaking about the East End with nothing but a tiger for protection. Where you go, I or one of my men will follow. No putting yourself in danger. I could not bear it were any harm to befall you."

"Oh, Jasper." Her smile was as broad as it was beautiful. "You have no notion how happy this makes me. How happy you make me."

The gratitude and tender emotion in her voice was almost his undoing. "I am glad of it, minx."

Say something more. Say something. Tell her you love her, fool.

But he was all-a-mort. No more words forthcoming, tongue and mind utterly uncooperative.

She spoke next. "Jasper, I have fallen in love with you."

She was stronger than he was, and the knowledge was his undoing.

He was about to respond, but before he could form his reply, her lips were on his, and the kiss was the sweetest she had given him yet. A heady mixture of tenderness and desire. And his heart was full of love for her, his hands were filled with the pleasing, womanly curves of her, and the carriage rocked on.

Taking them back to their new home.

Tonight , he decided as he escorted her along the pavements.

He would tell her tonight.

If only he had told me he loved me.

Stupid thought, dogging her with every step. Regardless of how many times she attempted to chase it, it lingered and remained. She had told Jasper she loved him, and he had…

Well, he had not offered the same in return.

Her disappointment was foolish, she knew. Her love for him had grown and blossomed on its own. His love was not a requirement, and neither had she spoken the words with the expectation he would repeat them back to her. Yet, she could not deny that, all these hours later, and with time and distance a painful separation between them, the significance of his failure to do so bit into her heart.

But then, it was likely also a product of his abrupt departure.

After spending such a wonderful, relaxed day with Jasper, Octavia found herself feeling wistful and alone in the library of the quiet townhome. She was quite dismayed that trouble at The Sinner's Palace had him rushing to the gaming hell instead of remaining with her and the children for the evening as they had planned. Having him all to herself for an entire morning, day, and night was a luxury she had yet to experience.

Of course, it was, like most good things, over before it had a chance to truly begin. Now, she was alone, perusing the shelves laden with books that did not belong to her, in search of sufficient distraction. In her earlier shopping excursion, Octavia had not purchased any books for herself. Given the bland subjects of the books already present in the library, it was an omission she should not have made.

With no way of knowing how long Jasper would be gone, she was keen to find a means of distraction. She could only suppose, the length of his absence would depend upon the severity of the problem. The summons he had received from the gaming hell had been vague.

Trouble , was all it had said. Come to The Sinner's Palace now.

All unsigned, the scrawl of the letters nearly illegible. Palace had been misspelled as Palis , but Jasper had reminded her that whilst his siblings had been educated by tutors at his urging, many of his other men had learned to read and write on their own or later in life as it had become necessary.

Octavia sighed as she moved past another wall of books, the same nagging sense of apprehension blooming in her stomach now as it had when he had first received the note. Initially, because the thought of further trouble at the gaming hell filled her with fear, given that someone had recently set a Sutton property on fire without the perpetrator having been caught. After he had gone, because of the peculiar nature of the note.

The dreadful penmanship.

The misspelling.

Lack of a name.

She sighed and plucked a volume from the shelf without bothering to take note of the title stamped on the handsome leather. Flipping it open, she discovered it was a treatise on geography, of all things. Another sigh. Dreadfully boring topic, in her opinion. If only Miss Wren had not already retired for the evening. Octavia wished for a companion. Someone to distract her from the unsettling sense of worry chasing through her.

The fears, too.

Jasper will be fine , she told herself. He is powerful. Strong. His siblings are as well, and they are protected by so many capable guards. You are merely worrying far too much.

A creak in the floor and the hackles rising on her neck alerted her to the presence of someone else in the chamber just before the cool metallic kiss of a knife blade marked her throat. The book fell to the floor from her numb fingers.

"Don't move," growled a voice at her back.

Jasper drove to The Sinner's Palace in a frenzy, at breakneck speed. The pace was reckless and foolish, and on any other day and in any other situation, he would have been ashamed of himself. But the other half of his family resided within those walls. Their livelihood, and that of his own burgeoning family, was there.

There had already been a fire which had devastated The Sinner's Palace II. He could not fathom the magnitude of the troubles which had inspired his latest summons, particularly since he had devoted the day to his family for the first time since marrying Octavia. And hell, he could not bear to think what had gone wrong. All he knew was that they needed him there, and he was coming, damn it. As fast as he could.

Nearly running over everyone and anything in his path.

By the time he reined in and surrendered his phaeton to one of the lads, he was nearly out of his mind with worry. The lad was tight-lipped, his expression stony as usual. Jasper did not engage as he leapt to the street. If he had imagined the calamity to be far worse than it was, no need to stoke fear in the lower ranks of his men.

No smoke was pouring from the roof, thank Christ.

The whole affair appeared to be in the order he had left it yesterday.

He rapped on the private door where he always entered. Hugh answered, looking surprised to see him.

"Sir," he said. "Didn't expect you ‘ere at all today."

"I received a note saying there's trouble," he explained, the frantic worry inside him giving way to a new, insidious sensation.

"Trouble?" Hugh frowned, looking perplexed. "Not that I knows."

Grimly, Jasper stalked past his best guard, into the private labyrinth of halls only he, his family, and most trusted men could traverse. "Where is Rafe?" he called over his shoulder.

"In your office, sir," Hugh said.

"And Rand?" he asked without pausing his frantic strides. "Anthony? Hart and Wolf?"

"All in their places. Wolf's in the public rooms." Hugh was trotting after him, puffing breaths. The man was large—the size of a damned castle wall—and he could not move with haste.

Jasper burst through the door of his office and found Rafe in an embrace with a strumpet. One of the regulars at The Sinner's Palace, though fortunately not Mary. Thank Christ, for he never wanted to set eyes upon her again, and if he were to discover anyone—blood or not—had allowed her entrée, his wrath would know no end.

Rafe hastily set the woman whose mouth he had been mauling aside and wiped his own lips with the back of his hand. "Jasper, what the devil are you doing?"

"I might ask you the same," he growled. "I'll remind you, no ladybirds in my office."

"It's our office now, ain't it?" Rafe's stubborn side emerged. "If I'm doing your share of the work, then I can decide what else to do in this damned room."

"No fucking ladybirds in my office," he repeated firmly, not bothering to cast a second glance toward the woman. "You may go, madam."

She scurried hastily from the office.

"We weren't fucking," Rafe countered, glowering at him when she had gone.

"Yet." Jasper glared right back at him. "We both know you've never stopped at kissing a lady, brother."

"You're one to talk." Rafe moved toward him, shoulders going back. "I ain't the one of us with twins, am I?"

The barb was unwelcome but not entirely unfair. He had made mistakes. While he loved his daughters and was damned thankful to have them in his life, he did regret his follies in not taking more caution when he should have. He would not trade Elizabeth and Anne for all the right decisions in the world. But he knew he had wronged them, wronged their mother. He ought to have been a father to them from the first, or taken more care when he was in his cups.

"I love the girls," Rafe said hastily, regret shadowing his voice. "I didn't mean to say otherwise. What I meant was that you've hardly been a vicar yourself."

Jasper nodded. "I made mistakes. I ain't perfect."

Far from it. He was no saint, but rather a sinner. Filled with darkness and pain and broken, jagged shards. But love had changed him. Made him feel whole for the first time in as long as he could remember.

"I'm sorry," Rafe said, voice low. "I respect you, Jasper. I do."

"Then show it," he snapped. "Follow the bloody rules."

"Aye."

Jasper sighed. "Now tell me the reason for the note."

His brother's brow furrowed. "Note?"

"The summons I received," he repeated, his frustrations mounting. "Trouble, it said. Come to The Sinner's Palace."

Rafe shook his head. "I didn't send a note."

"Nor did I," Hugh offered from somewhere behind their unfolding spectacle.

"What of the others?" he demanded, his gut clenching as new fears descended upon him.

"I was in the public rooms but ten minutes past," Rafe said. "The lads have everything in order. No troubles at all. And if there would've been, we would control it, Jasper. You don't need to keep us all under your bloody thumbs."

Later, he would fret over his brother's words. Wonder what it meant, wonder if everyone truly believed he was a tyrant who kept his siblings beneath an iron rule. For now, the truth had hit him in the chest with the force of a speeding carriage.

"I need to get back to Octavia," he said. "She and the girls are in danger."

"Then I'm coming too," Rafe said.

"No." Jasper's first instinct was to return to the townhome unencumbered, as fast as he bloody well could. "The sender of the note could intend to cause trouble at The Sinner's Palace too."

Rafe looked to Hugh. "Tell the others to be on alert." He turned back to Jasper. "I'm coming with you, brother. Try to stop me."

"Who are you?" Octavia managed to ask, pleased with herself for the lack of hesitation in her voice.

The blade was still tight to her neck, another hand on her shoulder in a tight, punishing grip. Desperation was in the air.

"You don't know?" the female voice at her back slurred, then cackled, the laughter turning into a deep cough.

"No." Trying to calm her wildly racing heart, she struggled to make sense of what was happening.

One moment, she had been alone in her library, and the next, there was a knife at her throat and a strange woman making demands of her. The scent of spirits and the unpleasant aroma of sweat and garments desperately in need of laundering reached Octavia.

"I'm their true mother," said the woman at her back. "Their only mother."

Oh dear heaven.

Anne and Elizabeth's mother. The woman who had abandoned them.

"I love your daughters as if they are my own," she said calmly, hoping to ease the other woman out of her rage. "I would never do them harm."

"He's keeping them from me. Told me I could never see them again," the voice at her back said, the knife biting into her skin. "How dare he? I've done everything for them for all these years."

You also left them , she wanted to say. But Octavia held her tongue. The woman at her back seemed volatile as fireworks which had been lit, destined to explode at any moment. She knew she needed to take care. The weapon pressing into her flesh was very sharp.

"My husband has a generous heart," Octavia said, her stare darting around the library in search of a weapon. Nothing but walls of books, wall sconces, and a brace of candles. A divan. Not a single object sufficient enough to defend herself with. "I'm sure he will allow you to see the girls again."

"He told me they've a new mother now. The only way to have my daughters back is to get rid of you."

Get rid of her?

The panic in Octavia grew. Her furiously churning mind had supposed the woman had come for Anne and Elizabeth. She'd thought she had time to escape, catch the attention of a servant, or otherwise distract and overpower her adversary. But the twins' mother intended to murder her instead.

"You don't have to get rid of me," she said, her voice coaxing. "Please, put down the knife and let us speak to each other. We both love your daughters very much, that is plain."

"Shut up," the woman ordered her, increasing her pressure on the knife until it sliced into Octavia's flesh. "I love them. They're mine, and no one will take them from me."

Pain seared her, blood trickling down her throat from the wound. "You do not need to hurt me. If you won't speak to me, then wait for Jasper to return. Speak to him. Please, I beg you."

"I don't want to speak to him. I tried, and the bastard refused to listen," the woman hissed into Octavia's ear. "There's only one way to get my daughters back, and that's if you're dead."

Her chilling words gave Octavia the motivation she needed to act, using her elbow to deal a blow to the woman's midsection and simultaneously stomping on her foot. Another bolt of pain shot through her as the knife cut into her skin, but Octavia was able to wrestle herself free. Heart galloping in her chest, she ran, bolting around the divan and placing it between herself and her attacker.

The woman was unkempt, her gown stained and ragged, her hair a wild bird's nest. The blade she held in her hand was long and dripping with blood. She snarled as she advanced on Octavia.

"You'll pay for that." She pointed the knife toward Octavia and lunged.

Octavia screamed and leapt away from the divan, hoping some of the servants would hear her. Praying for a miracle. The knife slashed into the upholstered back of the divan. And then, Octavia was running. Feet flying. Desperation granting her a speed she had never known she possessed. She fled the library and raced down the hall, calling for help.

The other woman followed, screaming at her. "Come back here! Give me my daughters!"

Servants came scurrying, and everything seemed to blur together in the terror of the moment. Octavia was dimly aware of a man ordering everyone to stand back. Then the report of a pistol. Masculine arms around her. Not familiar, but somehow reassuring. A face, hovering over hers. He looked like Jasper and yet…not.

"Send for a doctor," he yelled.

How strange. There was something warm on her neck. And pain. The man's face swirled, and Octavia's vision went dark.