Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

LONDON, 1816

G arrick Weir, Viscount Lindsey, heir to the Duke of Dryden, had ventured to the East End with his outrage, an unwise proliferation of coin, and the determination to pay off the scheming, fortune-hunting harlot who was attempting to ensnare his madcap younger brother into matrimony. Thus far, he had managed to avoid pickpockets and other would-be criminals. He had similarly surpassed guards and slipped, unscathed, to the private room where his quarry would be found. The palms he had greased on his way here had suggested she would be within shortly.

Tallying ledgers.

Apparently, the lowborn miscreant was intelligent enough to know her arithmetic, at least—if his study of the neatly penned sums before him was to be trusted—in the case of gin being purchased versus consumed by patrons. But then, one could only suppose she also possessed enough intellect to bamboozle his idiotic sibling.

To be fair, Aidan was a stripling who thought with his cock and little else. It was entirely likely all that was required to persuade him was a set of breasts and a willing cunny.

Garrick shuddered as he thought of his brother's appalling lack of judgment and turned a page in the ledger. Aidan had made it more than clear he did not give a farthing about preserving the Weir family name. Never mind that the Duke of Dryden was one of the oldest, most revered titles in England. Being a part of such a distinguished lineage was not sufficient for Aidan, who amused himself besmirching their good name by drinking, whoring, gambling, gadding about at bare-knuckle boxing matches, and announcing his intention to marry a lowborn title seeker.

His pronouncement at dinner the evening before had been the ultimate slap to the face for their father. The duke suffered from a weak heart, and Garrick had feared their father would expire at the table. Garrick did not fault their father for his outrage. Miss Penelope Sutton was the most unsuitable match Aidan could have found, save from a Covent Garden doxy. Mother had called for her hartshorn and retired to her apartments.

Garrick sifted a few more pages of the ledger, his ennui leading him to grudgingly admit Miss Sutton's penmanship was tidy and concise. He appreciated neatness, even from this particularly unwanted source. Her spelling was regular. Perhaps she had received some manner of education. Not that such a matter should concern him. After this evening, he would neither see the woman nor hear from her ever again.

A sound in the hall beyond interrupted his perusal. He straightened, moving away from the desk and assuming his most intimidating pose as the door opened. She was earlier than he had expected, but it was just as well. The sooner they could settle this disagreeable matter, the better. He had a ball to attend.

The woman standing before Garrick took him by surprise. He had imagined she would be dressed in an unseemly display, breasts nearly popping from her bodice, her gown dampened to render it sheer. But instead, she wore a modest affair of an indeterminate light hue, buttoned to the throat. Her auburn hair was bound in a simple knot, a few tendrils free to frame her face.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Well, her rudeness certainly met— and surpassed —his expectations.

He bowed as if they were in a drawing room rather than a ramshackle East End gaming hell where countless despicable acts of gambling, drinking to excess, and Lord knew what else had occurred. "I am Lord Lindsey, Miss Sutton."

She remained where she was, pinning him with a narrow, hazel-eyed stare. "Am I meant to know you?"

He tamped down a surge of irritation. Everyone knew him.

But then, she was a little no one, wasn't she?

"You are acquainted with my brother, Lord Aidan Weir," he elaborated grimly, for he refused to acknowledge the supposed betrothal between herself and his sibling.

The marriage was never happening, and he had lowered himself to visit this intolerable haven of iniquity to make certain of that.

A frown marred her otherwise fine features. "You are Aidan's brother?"

Garrick grudgingly noted Miss Penelope Sutton was quite beautiful. Scarcely any wonder his scapegrace of a brother had been following her about these last few months, sniffing at her skirts.

"I am Lord Aidan's brother, as I said," he repeated, emphasizing his brother's title.

The familiarity of his sibling's name on her lips was irksome, and not just for the obvious reason.

" Lord Aidan." She was unsmiling, her gaze studying him from head to toe in rude fashion as she remained where she was. "Yes, of course. Forgive me for forgetting he has a brother. He does not often speak of his family."

Was that meant to be a barb? And why had the witch yet to curtsy and show the deference which was due him?

"I do not suppose he would," Garrick commented mildly. "Do you intend to hover on the threshold all evening, or will you enter, Miss Sutton?"

He was growing weary of this game. An evening of entertainment beckoned, and he did not like the manner in which his body was reacting to this brazen chit. He was far too aware of her, his entire being acutely on edge.

Anger, he told himself. That was all it was.

She is an East End fortune hunter greedy to snatch a titled gentleman as her marital prize.

But she was a lovely one, and he could not deny it, much as that fact aggrieved him.

"Why have you come?" she asked instead of answering the question he had posed, still motionless.

He sighed. "Miss Sutton, enter the room, if you please. I hardly wish for all the world to hear my private affairs. Whilst my brother does not have a care for discretion, I do, and that is why I have sought you out this evening."

"Has something happened to him?" She stepped over the threshold at last, the door not entirely closing at her back.

It would have to suffice.

"Your concern is almost touching, Miss Sutton." He strode forward, eliminating the distance separating them. "But then, I suppose any title-greedy viper would be similarly worried at the prospect of losing the lord she believes she has ensnared."

"Are you daring to insult me in my own family's establishment, my lord?"

"I speak truth." Curse it, was that her scent reaching him just now? She smelled like a walk in a summer's meadow, fresh with a hint of a floral note.

East End fortune hunters were not meant to smell so luscious.

What the devil ails you? This is the woman Aidan has been chasing. And, knowing Aidan, bedding.

He disgusted himself. And yet, the woman before him possessed a certain attraction he could not deny. Not just her fine features or the vibrant warmth of her hair, but the manner in which she carried herself. He had no doubt, were she to stand in a ballroom, she would command the attention of every gentleman in the chamber.

"What truth do you speak, sir?" Her full lips compressed with disapproval.

Ah, a rarity, that. A woman who looked upon him as if he were disagreeable to behold. How intriguing. He could not recall the last time a lady had gazed at him with anything other than admiration, whether genuine or manufactured.

"That you are a title-greedy viper. It is to be expected of a lady in your unfortunate circumstances." He clenched his hands at his sides to keep from giving in to the urge to brush a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. "But I have come prepared to give you what you truly wish. How much do you require to leave my brother alone and end this nonsensical betrothal?"

Her eyes, a curious shade of green and gray with flecks of cinnamon, and fringed with generous lashes, widened. "Are you bribing me, my lord?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "I am."

"Ah." That lush mouth, which would have put any courtesan to shame, plumped into a pout. "I am afraid you are doomed to be disappointed. Suttons cannot be bought."

What was this utter nonsense? This complete lunacy she spouted? Of course baseborn families like hers could be bought. Everyone could be bought. And with ease. For the proper amount of coin, a gentleman could have anything he wanted. Did she think him a wet-behind-the-ears lad? Likely, she was attempting to do her utmost to secure a fat purse for herself and her misbegotten siblings. Yes, that was what she was doing, the greedy chit.

He tamped down a surge of ire, for it would not do to show a hint of emotion in this distasteful business.

"Everyone has a price," he countered smoothly, not at all dissuaded from his course. "Name yours."

"I cannot speak for everyone, my lord, but I can assure you that I haven't one."

Stubborn baggage. He could almost admire her determination. The defiant tilt to her chin briefly mesmerized him, accompanied by a shocking urge to place his lips there and discern whether or not the skin was as silken as he suspected.

Rot! He needed to get out of this damned stew.

"One hundred pounds," he offered, expecting he would need to bargain.

He wondered how many other third sons she had manipulated into marriage proposals before poor Aidan. Had she bedded them all? He could not resist studying her eyes, that rare indeterminate shade, curious over what secrets and stories hid behind them. And then he wondered why his brother had not simply made the lovely woman before him his mistress instead of deciding he must wed her. Heaven knew Aidan had kept any number of women before her; Garrick was not interested in his brother's prurient pursuits and had quite lost count.

The fault was Miss Sutton's, he suspected. Of course it was. Look at her. She was the personification of a goddess. Little wonder Aidan had fallen prey to her machinations. Lush curves which could not be hidden beneath her plain gown, a boldness which could not be denied, and hair that glinted in the candlelight.

Those magnificent lips moved. "No."

"Two hundred," he countered.

She moved past him then, striding forward in the calm, determined paces he would expect of a seasoned lady. But instead of skirting him, adhering to decorum and maintaining a distance between their persons, Miss Sutton passed by near enough that her upper arm brushed against his.

The sheer bravado of her. He might have been impressed were she any other woman on any other day.

His right arm was tingling with unwanted awareness, and he brushed it with his fingertips as he turned to face her. Garrick could only hope she would misconstrue the action as distaste for her lowly person connecting with his dearly expensive coat. As if she had perhaps left a stain instead of the haunting knowledge a female he had no right to find desirable had touched him there.

A fleeting touch, he reminded himself.

Scarcely anything.

She sat down at the desk and proceeded to ignore him.

To act as if he were not there.

It was a damned outrage.

He strode forward, determined to make the ill-bred minx pay for her rudeness. "For your insubordination, I am withdrawing five-and-twenty pounds from my previous offer. One hundred and seventy-five. I am afraid that is my final proposal. I have no doubt you were expecting more, but you shall not see it from me after such insolence."

"No," she said calmly and turned a page in the ledger. "Do you always spy upon the ledgers of the establishments you frequent, Lord Lordly?"

His nostrils flared as a strong bolt of irritation joined the unwanted attraction arcing through him. By God , the creature was intentionally mistaking his title. If her purpose was to nettle him, she had succeeded.

"Lord Lindsey, madam," he corrected grimly. "I will require an apology for the insults you have paid me, or I shall deduct another five-and-twenty pounds from my offer."

She remained seated, looking as imperious as a queen.

Except queen she was decidedly not. The woman was an East End lowborn fortune hunter, and he would not forget it, even if his brother was stupid enough not to know the difference.

She raised a brow. "Why should I apologize for any affront I have dealt when you have given me far more?"

"I have merely spoken truth, Miss Sutton. Do not dare to suggest to me that your attempt to manipulate my witless brother into matrimony is motivated by anything other than pure, cunning avarice."

She took up her quill and calmly made an entry in her ledger. "Lord Aidan is most certainly not witless."

Strangely, her championing of his idiotic sibling left Garrick feeling piqued. How foolish it was, envying Aidan this woman's loyalty when he knew it had its roots in greed. The only reason Miss Sutton had sunk her claws into him was to advance herself financially and socially.

She would find herself unable to do either.

Garrick tamped down the urge to snatch her pen from her fingers as she continued to make notations in her ledgers. "You will, at least, look at me whilst I am speaking to you, Miss Sutton."

She had the temerity to chuckle. "You may be the heir to a duke, but you don't own The Sinner's Palace, sir. I'll be doing as I please, and you can take yourself and your blustering elsewhere before I call on one of my brothers to drag your arse out of here."

Arse.

His arse ?

He had never heard a lady utter such vile language in his presence before.

"How dare you threaten me?" he asked, determined the chit should get no more than one hundred pounds from him now.

At last, she glanced up, a slow grin curving her lips. "It ain't a threat, Lord Lordly."

Anger, white and pure and unstable, shot through him. Garrick's body was moving, propelled by a will of its own and the desire to accomplish the goal which had brought him here to this damnable impasse. He needed to persuade this creature that refusing to marry Aidan would benefit her far more than shackling herself to him for life ever could.

And yet, all the rational excuses and careful reasoning he had methodically planned en route to this temple of vice abandoned him as he stalked around the desk. If her shocked expression was any indication, he had taken Miss Sutton as much by surprise as himself. She hastened to stand, and that was when he made the unsettling discovery that the top of her head would fit neatly beneath his chin.

Not that he would ever have cause to place it there in such a tender embrace. Or an embrace at all. Amorous entanglements were of little interest to him. He had already chosen the woman he would wed, and he would not deign to sully her honor by cavorting in private with another. Many men did, and without compunction. Garrick had principles.

Those principles, however, were fast fading beneath the withering effect of the fury sparkling in Miss Sutton's hazel eyes. Her scent wound around him again, those untidy tendrils of hair which had escaped her coiffure confounding yet tempting. He lost his capacity for speech, the thunderous effect that her nearness had upon him so disconcerting, he could scarcely think.

What had he meant to say?

What was it about this woman, whom he had every reason to dislike and distrust?

She observed him without a hint of the admiration and fear he found so familiar amongst his own set, chin at a defiant angle. "And how dare you come into my family's gaming hell and accuse me of attempting to marry Aidan for his title or his fortune? I've enough coin of my own, and I certainly wouldn't want a bleeding title."

Something about her anger was rather glorious, and he could not discern precisely what. This was maddening. Vexing indeed.

He wanted to kiss her.

To press his lips to hers and test their softness, absorb their silken heat. There was something so lovely about kissing a woman?—

"Well?" she asked, cutting through the silence and the absurdity of his thoughts both. "Have you nothing to say for yourself, my lord?"

He had to take his leave with as much haste as possible.

"Five hundred pounds," he said, desperation surpassing pride and the need to punish her both.

If he lingered in Miss Penelope Sutton's presence for much longer, he did not dare trust himself.

"If you think your money will excuse your appalling behavior, you are wrong." Her tone was filled with righteous ice.

Her daring and refusal to accept defeat was a potent lure. That was all, he was sure. A female refusing to defer to his reputation and title was an intriguing novelty. She would not otherwise interest him.

Aside from her undeniable loveliness, this woman had nothing at all to recommend her. And he would soon be betrothed to Lady Hester. This miscreant thought she could marry his brother.

"It is your behavior which is appalling, madam," he countered. "You cannot truly believe my brother will marry someone such as yourself."

"Is there a problem?"

The deep male voice, laden with a hint of suppressed menace, gave Garrick a start. The source of it—a tall, dark-haired gentleman clad in black—pinned him with a glare. Presumably one of Miss Sutton's siblings, then.

Garrick gave the man a terse nod. "No problem that cannot be solved. I am Lord Lindsey, brother to Lord Aidan Weir."

"I'm Hart Sutton," the interloper said coolly, yet offering him a bow, "brother to Pen here. We've ladies aplenty for your amusement, my lord. Pen doesn't sing any longer."

She sang? Why did the thought of her mellifluous voice raised in song unfurl a coil of heat deep within him?

"I have not come to hear her sing," he countered, careful to keep his voice calm and measured. There was no telling what manner of mischief the brigand before him would start. He was mired deep within a den of East End rogues and thieves. The very last place he had ever wished to find himself.

Blast you, Aidan.

"Why have you come then, my lord?" Hart Sutton asked, cocking his head in a manner that resembled his sister's commanding air. "If you are wanting a table, I would be more than pleased to see you settled."

"I do not gamble." He reserved that foolishness for his younger brother. "I have offered your sister five hundred pounds in exchange for her refusal to marry my brother. It is a handsome sum. I suggest you press her to consider my proposal, else I will have little recourse other than to make trouble for your establishment. I shall return in a day's time for my answer."

Garrick spied his chance for retreat.

He had already accomplished his main objective in providing Miss Penelope Sutton sufficient monetary reason to reconsider her greedy plans to ensnare his brother in matrimony. Lingering any longer would only prove as foolhardy as Aidan's reckless actions, and he was the eldest brother. The wise brother. The honorable one with an unimpeachable reputation.

Or, at least, he had been.

"Five hundred pounds?" Sutton's inky brows drew together in a perplexed frown. "Marriage? Pen, just what the devil is this bleeding fee, faw, fum?"

"An excellent question," Garrick said. "Your sister would be pleased to enlighten you, I am sure. I, however, am appallingly late for an engagement and must take my leave. I bid you both good evening."

Without bothering to glance in Miss Sutton's direction, he moved around the desk and strode across the small office from whence he had come.

"You needn't bother returning," she called after him.

But Garrick ignored her words of warning.

He would be back, and she would accept the five hundred pounds, curse her. There was no other recourse.