Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

T he Marquess of Silwood arrived at Abingdon Hall with more haste than Rafe had anticipated after sending word that Persephone would not be returning to Silwood Manor and that she would instead be remaining at Abingdon Hall. But then, when a man stood to lose as much as Silwood did, desperation often proved an excellent motivator. And Rafe had been hoping for just that.

He was prepared, and not just with the pistol secreted in his waistcoat or the blade hidden in his boot.

"Where is my betrothed?" the marquess demanded coldly.

Silwood was a tall man, broad shouldered, and uglier than the devil. More mean-spirited, too. His massive form, along with the tales Persephone had shared of his appetite for inflicting pain on others, made it more than clear to Rafe why she had feared him. And why she had been so convinced he would truly see Rafe murdered. But Rafe didn't scare easily, and he was more than prepared to take on the Marquess of Silwood.

And he'd win, too.

Rafe flashed the other man a smug smile, clasping his hands behind his back as if he were utterly at ease. "She ain't your betrothed, Silwood."

The marquess's nostrils flared as if he scented something malodorous. "The banns have been read. Lady Persephone is indeed my betrothed, and I demand to see her. Send for her now."

"You can make demands all you like, my lord, but it won't change a bleeding thing. Lady Persephone ain't going to marry you. She's going to marry me." And as he said those words, his chest felt as if it expanded to fill the entire room.

Persephone loved him. She wanted to marry him. He was happier than any man had a right to be, and he would do everything and anything in his power to make certain the Marquess of Silwood couldn't do a goddamned thing about it.

"That is absurd," Silwood snapped, spittle flying from his lips. "She is the daughter of a marquess. She would never stoop so low as to wed a baseborn criminal from the rookeries such as yourself. If you insist on prolonging this farce, I'll have no choice but to involve the law."

"The law, eh?" Rafe's grin deepened. "I'm sure the law would find a great deal of interest in you and the funds you've thieved from Lady Persephone's trust."

Silwood's face turned a mottled shade of red. "I have not thieved a farthing of my betrothed's trust. How dare you suggest otherwise, you vile cur? Any expenses that have been extracted have been for her benefit."

Rafe was deuced grateful for the Sutton's friendship with the Winter family. If it had not been for Devereaux Winter and Dominic Winter's timely intervention, Persephone would have allowed herself to be forced into marrying this miserable sack of cow shite.

"On the contrary, my lord," he said smoothly, knowing he possessed the advantage in this battle of theirs and understanding the Marquess of Silwood wrongly believed he did. "You have been using Lady Persephone's inheritance to fund your gaming habits. But unfortunately for you, your luck at the green baize is bloody dreadful. You have written more vowels than you will ever have a prayer of repaying unless you get your greedy hands on her entire fortune. Ain't that right, Silwood?"

He could see the moment his words began to puncture the marquess's shield of invulnerability. The quality always believed themselves omnipotent. They'd been born to wealth and privilege, fine educations, the best of everything. Sooner or later, however, men like Silwood discovered they were not as untouchable as they believed themselves.

And what a privilege it was to be the one to bring the Marquess of Silwood low.

The man had kept Persephone beneath his thumb until she had fled, and even then, she had been so desperate to escape him that she had spent years in hiding as a governess who had also been at the mercy of others. The debts he had been incurring at The Devil's Spawn had been enough to catch Dominic Winter's notice, thank God. As had the questions he had been asking, along with rumors he had befriended Viscount Gregson. From there, Rafe had been able to find the rooms Persephone had taken, and he had learned she had left in the company of none other than the Marquess of Silwood.

The truth had unraveled. Gossip had long been swirling about the mysterious disappearance of Lady Persephone Calcot. Jasper's wife, Lady Octavia, had heard the tale many times but had never realized Miss Wren and Lady Persephone were the same until Rafe had torn apart London trying—and failing—to find her. Uncovering the rest of the information he had needed had proved simple. Learning Abingdon Hall bordered the Marquess of Silwood's lands had been a timely discovery.

"You know nothing," Silwood spat. "Who do you think you are?"

"Rafe bleeding Sutton," he said calmly, holding his ground. "Don't forget it."

Silwood's lip curled. "Do you know what I could do to you?"

Rafe raised a brow, unaffected. "Nothing. That's what you'll be doing to me, Silwood. Do you know why?"

"I did not come here to play games with you, Sutton. I came here to collect Lady Persephone." The marquess took a menacing step forward. "She belongs to me."

"You are wrong."

The voice from the doorway took Rafe by surprise as much as it did Silwood, he was sure. He turned to find Persephone standing at the threshold, an expression of defiance on her lovely face. Damn it, he had told her it would be better for her to remain unseen by the marquess.

Beyond his dastardly reach.

"Dearest," Silwood said coolly. "Whatever is this nonsense? I insist you return to Silwood Manor with me at once."

"No," Persephone said, her voice ringing firmly and loudly as a bell. "I will not be returning to Silwood Manor with you. Because I do not belong to you. I belong to no one but myself."

Although Rafe wished she had listened to him and stayed far away from the marquess, he knew a moment of fierce pride, watching her defend herself. She was strong, his woman. The only reason she had agreed to sacrifice herself to the callous blackleg before him was to save Rafe.

"Have you forgotten what we discussed?" The marquess was moving toward her.

But Rafe was having none of that. His long-legged strides took him to stand between Persephone and her odious cousin. She did not need him to defend her, and Rafe knew it. But by God, he would anyway, until his dying breath.

"Not another step in her direction," he warned Silwood.

The marquess halted, a glower darkening his features. "Are you daring to threaten a peer of the realm, Sutton?"

"Of course not," he said, careful to keep the worry from his voice. There was every chance this plan of his would not proceed as he hoped. But he would fret over that later, in the event he needed to do so. "I am merely advising you, Silwood. Lady Persephone will be reaching five-and-twenty soon."

"Her age is immaterial," Silwood growled.

"It is not," Persephone denied, stepping forward until she stood at Rafe's side, so near, the skirt of her gown brushed his legs. "You know as well as I that turning five-and-twenty means I shall be capable of inheriting the trust left me by my mother."

"Not if you marry first, and without my consent to the marriage," Silwood countered, sounding smug. "You cannot believe I would ever give my permission for you to marry an East End rat such as this. He may be occasionally capable of aping his betters, but he is a lowborn scoundrel. Your father would never have allowed it, and neither shall I."

"That is where you are mistaken, my lord," Rafe interjected smoothly. "You will approve of my marriage to Persephone."

"Never!" the marquess bellowed.

"You seem to be confused about where you stand, my lord marquess," Rafe said, "so I will pay you a favor. You are in debt to The Devil's Spawn for more blunt than you can hope to repay. Lady Persephone is willing to generously settle your debts as long as you accede to her wishes. You have also been stealing from Lady Persephone's trust for years. And then, there is the matter of your maids."

The marquess paled. "What of my maids?"

"Did you think belowstairs doesn't gossip, Silwood?" Rafe shook his head. "Of course you did. Well, you're bloody wrong. They do talk, and quite a bit, especially for the right price. I also happen to know of a scandal journal that's about to print an article about the villainous Marquess of S., who beats and ravishes his maids and has already sired three bastards."

"You are lying."

Rafe smiled. "My mind ain't devious enough to imagine such a vile thing on my own, Silwood. The choice is yours. You can accept my impending marriage with Lady Persephone, or you can suffer the consequences for what you've done."

By one means or another, Rafe had every intention of forcing Lord Silwood to pay for his sins. But first, he needed to be certain he had extricated Persephone from the bastard's clutches without fear of reprisal. He did not need her inheritance by any means. He had plenty of his own coin thanks to The Sinner's Palace. However, the funds were hers by right, and he would be damned if he would allow them to continue supporting a despicable wastrel.

The marquess was clearly at war with himself. His greed made him want to fight to keep Persephone and her wealth in his control. But his sense of self-preservation made him question Rafe's claims about the scandal journal.

"Do not doubt me, Silwood," he advised. "The scandal journal will be more than happy to print every despicable detail, and you'll be ostracized from polite society. And when Lady Persephone pursues the matter of all the coin you've thieved… I don't need to tell you it ain't going to go well for you, Marquess."

"I am marrying Mr. Sutton," Persephone said then, "with or without your permission."

"Defying me is not wise," Silwood cautioned her. "I am a dangerous enemy to have."

Ha! The bastard had convinced Persephone that he would dare to have Rafe killed. But Rafe knew differently. And he had his own protection in the guards at The Sinner's Palace. Even supposing the marquess was able to hire someone to go after Rafe, there were risks he was willing to take in the name of the woman he loved. Keeping her from the clutches of her vile cousin did not require second thought. Nor did making her his wife.

"The only dangerous enemy to have is a Sutton," he told the marquess. "You trifle with me, and you trifle with the whole bleeding family, Silwood. There's a warning from me to you, and that's the last one you'll receive. The next time I have to tell you, it ain't going to be pretty and polite."

"I am not afraid of a lowborn rookeries rat like you." Silwood's lip curled into a sneer.

He gave the marquess his most lethal smile. "You ought to be, arsehole."

Once more, Silwood's nostrils flared. He turned to Persephone, his hands clenched in impotent fists at his sides. "You have a choice to make, my dear. Marry me and hold your head high as the Marchioness of Silwood, or marry this swine and lower yourself to the mud with him."

Persephone raised her chin, regal and beautiful and so very strong. "Mr. Sutton is a better man than you could ever hope to be. I could know no greater honor than becoming his wife."

Pride swelled in Rafe's heart, along with love. "There's your answer, Silwood. If you dare to cause any problems for her, you'll be answering to me and all the rest of the Suttons."

"The Winters as well," said Devereaux Winter as he crossed the threshold, unsmiling. "I trust I need not tell you how poorly it will go for you if you attempt to cause any trouble for Lady Persephone concerning her trust when she reaches five-and-twenty. My solicitor is prepared to aid her in her cause."

"You will regret this," Silwood vowed, bitterness lacing his voice as his eyes traveled the room, lingering longest on Persephone.

"No." She shook her head, smiling. "I can assure you I will not."

"Get out of my home, Silwood," Winter said curtly, an order rather than a request.

The marquess, having been dismissed and denied what he had been determined was already his, was left silently fuming. And without recourse, too. For a man who thrived on power, this must be a truly low moment. How Rafe wished he could plant the bastard a facer. But he was doing his damnedest to do everything right for Persephone's sake.

"Do not come begging me for another chance when you realize the mistake you have made," the marquess bit out, before offering a mocking bow.

"I shan't," Persephone assured him wryly.

As the marquess took his leave, Persephone's fingers tentatively sought Rafe's at his side. A deep, thrilling sense of possibility came over him. After the weeks spent without her, the relief was enough to make his bleeding knees quake. Not that he would ever admit as much aloud.

"I can't begin to thank you enough," he told Devereaux Winter.

Winter gave him a small smile. "Reserve your gratitude for my lovely wife. She adores nothing so much as aiding a love match."

"Thank you both," Persephone said. "I shall never forget your kindness."

Winter cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable with all the gratitude being directed toward him. But then, Rafe reckoned it was not every day that an East End rogue and a sunset-haired lady had a verbal duel with a despicable marquess in his drawing room.

"We are pleased to help," said Lady Emilia Winter, beaming as she crossed the threshold of the drawing room to stand beside her husband. "We are almost family. Suttons have become treasured friends of the Winters, and, Lady Persephone, my parents held yours in highest regard."

"Still, you would not have had to involve yourselves," Persephone countered, "and risk my cousin's wrath."

Devereaux Winter smiled for the first time, and his expression said everything Rafe needed to know about how the man had come to rule such an impressive empire. "I can assure you, Lady Persephone, it is the wrath of the Suttons and Winters he ought to fear, not the other way around. Lord Silwood's pride has been badly bruised, but he will discover quickly that he cannot bully those who are more powerful than he."

"And if he does not?" Persephone asked, clearly still fretting.

But then, he could not find fault in her fears. She had spent nearly seven years of her life hiding from the man, fearing him and the power he wielded over her. For that power to so suddenly be severed would require time for her to accept. And he would be here for her, in whatever manner she needed.

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "If he does not, then he will find himself in more trouble than he could have imagined."

"I suppose I will not feel truly safe until we are married," she said.

Nor would he. Persephone as his wife was a heaven that had seemed beyond his reach the last few weeks. "I cannot wait for the day, love."

"Oh, Mr. Winter," Lady Emilia said, pressing a hand to her heart. "Look at the two of them. Do you remember when we were young and in love?"

"As I recall, it has only been three years since we wed," Mr. Winter told his wife with a wry smile.

"Has it?" Lady Emilia was looking at her husband with blatant adoration. "It feels as if you have had my heart forever."

Rafe would have been damned embarrassed—perhaps even a bit disgusted—if he did not feel the same way about the woman at his side. Already, he could not fathom a day when he had not known her. She had always been his, just as he had always been hers. He fully believed they had been meant to be together. Made for each other. And nothing and no one had been able to keep them apart.

He turned to Persephone, heart full. "I well understand the sentiment."

She smiled back, tears shining in her eyes. "So do I. You have my heart, and it will forever remain yours."

"Do you promise?" He was so bloody tempted to kiss her nose and that beloved constellation of copper flecks adorning it.

But they had an audience. Kissing her at all would have to wait, much to his dismay. His lovely was more than worth it, however.

"I promise," she said.