Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

" H ow long has his lordship been waiting in the parlor, Hugh?" Pen asked for what must have been the fifth time since she had sent Aidan's brother there to await her.

Yes, it had been with the intention that he should remain there for a prolonged period of time. Until he surrendered in this little war of theirs and returned home, conceding defeat. However, she had not expected the arrogant devil's patience to last this long.

"One and one quarter hour, Miss Sutton," the guard reported. "The cove's a mite caged by now."

"Sulking, is he?" Pen knew a queer mixture of gratification and guilt at the revelation that Lord Lordly was vexed with her for making him wait.

And wait.

And wait .

She could not contain the smile of satisfaction that turned up her lips at the thought of him pacing the small confines of the parlor, outraged that she had yet to appear.

"Asked for chatter broth instead of brandy 'e did. Deuced odd cull." Hugh shook his head.

She tried to imagine the viscount sipping at his tea utterly alone, all aloof and proper, as if he were holding court with a bevy of admirers. The thought made her guilt heighten, chasing the fleeting sense of victory and her smile both.

Pen sighed. "Has he expressed his frustration?"

"Strangest thing, but 'e ain't upset at all." Hugh shrugged. "Unless the nob's grumbling in the gizzard."

Hmm.

The notion that Lord Lordly was hiding his dismay and irritation was…shocking. Indeed, it stole the already waning remnants of her enjoyment. She had many duties awaiting her today. In addition to keeping the ledgers for The Sinner's Palace, Pen was also aiding in the preparations for a new gaming hell she and her siblings were planning to open in the West End to replace the hell which had been destroyed by fire.

She had many tasks awaiting her attention, and the longer Lord Lordly stayed in the parlor, sipping his tea, the less time she would have to accomplish them.

"Thank you, Hugh," she said, deciding it was time to try a new tactic where the aggravating viscount was concerned. "I suppose I must speak with him or I'll never see a thing done today."

"Any other way I can be of service?" Hugh asked, ever the loyal retainer.

"Not for now, no," she said, knowing she needed to face the viscount and his assumptions and his arrogance and his insults and his bribery.

Alone.

She scarcely suppressed the shiver that wanted to dance down her spine as she took her leave of the office and made a hasty path to the parlor. It was not that she was afraid of his lordship. Not at all. But she could not like the manner in which he had suggested he would cause problems for her family.

Her siblings had not been wrong.

They had faced enough adversity, danger, trouble, and damage in their lives. She would not willingly be the source for more.

If only Aidan would have answered me. He can easily disabuse his insufferable brother of the idea that I agreed to marry him.

But Aidan was avoiding her. Ignoring her missives. The lad she had sent round to his common haunts had returned without a hint of where her friend could have gone. Which meant that either he had immersed himself in the pleasures at The Garden of Flora or he was intentionally eluding Pen. The Garden of Flora was London's most sought-after School of Venus, and Aidan had been known to spend several days at a time within its walls without emerging, indulging in only he knew what manner of licentiousness. Yet another reason why Lord Aidan Weir was not a man she would ever agree to wed.

He was a delightful friend to have—when he was not running about attempting to use her to infuriate his family, of course. He was loyal, never failed to make her laugh, and he had not blinked an eye at her request to be her escort at the bare-knuckle boxing matches she dearly longed to attend. But he was easily distracted, a dreadful rakehell, and he was infamously unreliable in moments when it mattered most.

Moments such as this one.

Here.

Now.

Pen opened the door to the parlor and strode over the threshold, telling herself she would not be cowed by Lord Lordly. But the moment she entered the chamber and found herself alone with him, everything changed.

He was not seated and sipping his tea as she had expected him to be. Instead, he was standing. Aidan was tall, but the viscount possessed a different sort of stature altogether from his younger brother. His stiff posture, broad shoulders, and impressive height united to create the impression that he did not just dominate the room.

He was the room.

His form, all large, lean, muscled strength, was impressive. Imperious.

Breath stealing.

Breath stealing?

What in the devil's arsehole was wrong with her? And since when had she begun to use her brother Rafe's epithets? This was a problem. Lord Lordly was a problem. Aidan's refusal to correct his error was a problem.

She was adrift in a sea of them, it would seem.

The viscount offered her a bow that was nothing short of magnificent. She fancied he must have practiced it at least a hundred times to embody such a graceful flow of perfection. She had never seen a man move with his easy elegance, particularly not a gentleman of his size.

"Miss Sutton," he said, his voice low and smooth and strangely silken.

Heat flared to life deep within her.

She ruthlessly quelled it, dipping into the barest of curtseys, for she was not a woman who gave a damn about the quality or their nonsensical adherence to manners. "Lord Lordly."

Although she ought to have resisted goading him, she could not seem to help herself where this man was concerned.

His eyes narrowed the slightest hint. They were icy and blue, a most striking hue. "I have the funds at the ready."

The five hundred pounds. Of course.

Her heart beat faster. She had been shamelessly taking in the sight of his lordship, noting how handsome and strong he was, whilst he was concerning himself with how he might sufficiently pay her to keep her from sullying his precious and hallowed family. The son of a duke could never marry a lowly born East End girl like her.

It was wrong to admire the formidable slash of his jaw and the chiseled outline of his lips. It was also terrible of her to appreciate the sweep of his dark hair, the perfect manner in which it was cropped and sleek and shining. How did he manage such lustrous locks? Hers were dreadfully dull by comparison. Undoubtedly, it was something he achieved by nefarious means, such as drinking the blood of virgins on the first full moon of the year.

That is rather uncharitable of me.

I should be polite.

This man could cause all manner of problems for my family.

There was the voice of reason rising within the shadowy corners of her mind, the one she often ignored. And yet, his insistence upon remaining, coupled with his lovely face, and those ice-blue eyes, why, he managed to affect her in a way no man had since…

Nay!

She struck the thought from her mind and forced herself back to the problem awaiting her. The handsome, lordly, haughty problem.

"I have already told you that I've no intention of accepting your bribe," she said, and then cursed herself for her stubborn sense of pride.

For she was misleading him. Quite likely, he believed she was determined to hold on to her supposed betrothal to Aidan, when in truth she was desperate for the opposite. There was no betrothal as far as she was concerned. Oh, what a hopeless muddle.

"Just who do you think you are, my dear?" Slowly, with elegant and graceful deliberation, Lord Lindsey moved toward her. Prowling in the way only a duke's heir truly could. "Could you possibly be foolish enough to suppose you have the ability to refuse me?"

Had she thought him handsome? Surely it had been a trick of the light.

Clinging to her outrage, she met him halfway across the small, woefully decorated parlor. It was a dusty chamber, frequently unused as she and her siblings inevitably preferred to dwell in other areas of the establishment that felt less…proper and stifling. She hoped Lord Lordly had spent his time within these walls sneezing.

She stopped just short of his booted toes, holding his gaze as defiance thundered through her. "I'll not accept your blood money, my lord. Save it for someone else who will be easily bought. I'm a Sutton, and we are loyal."

The corner of the viscount's mouth lifted in a half smirk. "Loyal to your greed and your determination to rise above your station, you mean."

"Loyal to those who deserve our loyalty," she corrected coldly, wondering what it must be like to possess such a disillusioned view of those around him. "Loyal to those who have earned it."

Had Aidan earned hers? She was beginning to wonder. This troublesome business with his brother was far more than she had bargained for, and his sudden absence was as alarming as his apparent betrothal announcement to his family was. How dare he use her in such fashion? For surely, there was no other means by which she might describe his recent actions.

But that was another problem for another day. For now, today's vexation was towering over her, exuding a cold conceit that chilled her to the marrow and yet heated some strange part of her all at once.

He bit out a laugh that was steeped in mockery, lips twisting in a smile to match. "Allow me to see if I understand you, Miss Sutton. You are suggesting that you are refusing my more-than-generous offer to forego marrying my idiotic brother out of some sense of loyalty, rather than greed. Is that it?"

"Yes," she said with a nod, "it is."

Only, when he said it thus, he made her motives sound suspect. What a bitter, distrusting man he was. What could have happened to make him thus? Aidan, for all his faults, was always ready with an easy laugh and a genuine smile. He did not ridicule or cling to his position in society.

"Ha," said the viscount, nary a hint of levity in him.

Why wait to box Aidan's ears? Perhaps she might begin with his brother.

Pen sighed. "Am I meant to suppose you do not believe me? I fear that false ducal laughter is not easily translated."

"Hmm."

His gaze was searching, his tone and his expression both rife with disapproval.

"That's all you 'ave to say, Lord Lordly?" she asked, omitting her h just to spite him.

Jasper had known there would be value in them all speaking well. From the time money had permitted, he had seen them all educated. For some of her older siblings, slipping into flash was more familiar than it was for Pen, though she was still plagued by the occasional lapse. Lord Lordly needn't know that, however. Let him stew, thinking about how horrific it would be for his younger brother to marry a lowborn lady who could not even mimic her betters.

"I am not a duke."

Of all the things he might have said, somehow, this response surprised Pen most. "Yet."

He inclined his head. "I hope to remain Lord Lindsey for many, many years."

He would only become the duke when his father died, his sober expression and his words reminded her. But he was ducal enough on his own. What a strange life it must be for the quality. Oddly, she had never considered it before, over the course of her friendship with Aidan. He had always merely been someone who agreed to all her larks and humored her every wish. All this, he had done with a charming—and sometimes drunken—grin.

She nodded. "Of course. I did not mean to suggest you are awaiting the death of your father. To do so would be dreadfully insulting. Rather in the vein of someone suggesting a lady wished to marry her friend solely for his fortune and familial connections."

Her words were as pointed as any blade, and if she were to judge from the viscount's countenance, she would wager they had hit their mark.

His jaw tensed. "I find myself growing weary of this aimless prattle, Miss Sutton. Let me be clear. You will accept the five hundred pounds I am willing to generously offer you. It is a king's ransom and far more than marriage to Aidan is worth. In return, you will end your betrothal with my brother and forego all further communication with him. Indeed, you will cut him from your life altogether from this moment forward."

His absolute belief that she would accept his edict rankled.

"Did you ever stop to suppose that your brother and I are in love?" she asked, frustrated with his condescension. "Or had it never occurred to you that Aidan might be hopelessly besotted with me and that your bribery, should I accept it, would break his heart?"

His lordship flashed her a thin, condescending smile. "He would have no trouble nursing his wounded heart at the nearest brothel. Which begs the question, Miss Sutton, of whether or not you have considered the man with whom you have pledged your troth. Aidan is nothing if not inconstant. If he has told you he loves you, it is only because he has yet to find a lovelier, brighter, more generous-breasted version of yourself upon whom he might ply his flattery."

She ought to slap the viscount for his insult. But the truth was, he was not entirely wrong in his estimation of Aidan. She knew he was fickle and faithless in romance, which was why they made excellent friends and one of many reasons why she would never marry him.

And there was something so very dismaying and disheartening in Lord Lindsey's words. He was not an unintelligent man; quite the opposite. His was a rare, cutting understanding of the world around him. Bitter and jaded, yet somehow grounded in more than a modicum of truth, despite his cynicism.

"You do not like your own brother," she said, an astonishing realization to make not just because she cared for Aidan as if he were another brother, but because she also loved each of her siblings. She would do anything for them, just as she knew each of them would lay down their lives to protect hers.

But then, as she had already told Lord Lordly, Suttons were loyal, a trait it would seem the Weir family did not possess.

"I dislike the problems he is intent upon causing for our family by expressing his desire to marry an unsuitable fortune-hunter," he corrected coolly, watching her with such unflappable calm that he might not have been speaking of her at all.

Except, he was. And he was insulting her yet again. Why, it was fortunate indeed for Viscount Lindsey that he was so pleasant to look upon, for the moment he opened his mouth, he was rendered altogether disagreeable. If he were to just stand in the corner, looking handsome and masculine and ducal without uttering a word, it would suit Pen just fine.

"I am not a fortune hunter," she ground out, her denial stinging. "And Aidan is due far more respect than you have shown him. He may be a devil-may-care but he ain't a bad cove. His heart is good."

He was just occasionally misguided and reckless.

Perhaps more than occasionally.

But never mind that. Lord Lordly had no right to disparage him so!

The viscount's icy gaze searched hers. "You expect me to believe that you are hopelessly in love with my brother and that you are not merely manipulating him into forming one of the worst mésalliances of the century because you are hungry for his money and his familial connections. Is that not correct?"

Agreeing would be disingenuous.

"I never said I was hopelessly in love with him," she pointed out.

"Ah. There we have it. The truth at last."

His grim pronouncement nettled her. "You are deliberately misunderstanding me, my lord."

"Am I?" A new, contemptuous smile pulled the corners of his aristocratic mouth upward.

"Yes, curse you." Her fingers curled into her palms in impotent outrage. She did not think she had ever been so vexed with another person in her life.

He surprised her by taking another step closer, bringing their bodies flush. Although he did not touch Pen, he may as well have with the effect his sudden nearness was having upon her.

"Shall I prove just how right I am about you, Miss Sutton?" he asked, his deep voice losing some of its ice.

There was something about the abrupt shift in his rich baritone that held her briefly spellbound. When he was not at his most cutting, Lord Lordly was capable of impressive charm. She could almost allow herself to become lost in the depths of his eyes, to admire his rigid jaw, cleanly shaven but already with the hint of whiskers shadowing the masculine angle. Or to become distracted by the temptation of his mouth.

Fortunately, she was made of sterner stuff, and having been bamboozled by a handsome rogue once before, she would never allow herself to be so swindled again.

She tipped back her chin in defiance, refusing to retreat. "Please do, Lord Lordly."

After all, there was no means by which he could prove she was an avaricious fortune hunter. She did not even want to marry Aidan. Or anyone.

"With pleasure," he said smoothly.

And then his high and mighty lordship did something else that was cause for further astonishment. He slid an arm around her waist and drew her into his tall, imperious frame. Gently and slowly, giving her ample opportunity to object. Fool that she was, Pen found herself melting against him, the weakest part of her nature reveling in the heat and strength he exuded. A swift inhalation of shock provided another element of teasing to her senses. He smelled of citrus and bay and musk. Fresh and crisp and expensive and lordly.

Of course he did.

His head dipped, his handsome face drawing nearer to hers.

He was going to kiss her.

Good heavens , this entitled, arrogant lord intended to put his mouth on hers.

She could object. She should object.

She was not going to. Her hands, which had been largely idle at her sides during the course of their conversation, moved to his shoulders. Her fingers uncurled, resting lightly on the expensive wool of his coat.

He could kiss her all he liked. She would remain unmoved. She was sure she would feel absolutely nothing for this conceited…

His mouth was hot. Hesitant. The barest brush of those smirking patrician lips over hers. Once. Twice. Oh dear. Something stranger still happened. A fluttery sensation started low in her belly. Heat bloomed everywhere.

And Pen's arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer as her mouth responded to his.

Mistake.

This was a mistake. A terrible, egregious, despicable one. Had he not learned his lesson years ago with Veronica? What was he doing?

His mind was galloping faster than a runaway horse, trying to warn him of all the reasons why he ought to put an end to his impulsive decision to demonstrate to the both of them that she was not in love with Aidan. That there was only one reason she wanted to marry his brother, and it was the lure of a wealthy lord on her arm.

Garrick never should have kissed her. The first touch of his mouth to hers had lit a spark within him that was suddenly an uncontrollable fire. He had to have more, regardless of how foolish and idiotic and wrong this all was.

Miss Sutton was in his arms, her soft, supple curves pressed against him in all the right places. And suddenly she was the one kissing him , those lush siren's lips clinging to his as if she could not possibly have enough. It was the single most erotic moment of his life, and he had absolutely no control over his body's instinctive reaction.

His cockstand was instant.

Mistake , cautioned that same voice in his mind again, the one which had inevitably led to him making the right decisions in every instance of turmoil. Only, in this instance, it was being dulled and drowned by the thud of his pulse and the roaring need rising to the surface.

And still, he could not seem to cease this madness.

All he could do was surrender to the moment, to the desire. He forgot who she was, why he must not be kissing her, why he had come here. Her breasts were heavy and full, crushed against his chest. Her floral scent curled around him. He lost himself in the silken luxury of her mouth. Garrick had never dreamt a lady's lips could be so sinfully smooth and hot. He had spent years of penance eschewing vice, but here was one he could easily lose himself in: this woman.

God , she felt good in his arms, good with her curves blending into his hardness. Good in every way that mattered and all the ones that did not, too. He could not resist tasting her. His tongue slipped into the velvet heat of her mouth. She tasted impossibly sweet, like honey cakes with a hint of sin.

Sin because this was wrong.

Yet right.

And he had ever been drawn to temptation, wretched sinner that he was.

She made a sound of need, her fingers tightening on his shoulders, the dainty tips digging into his muscle and holding him close. Her lips and tongue moved in a sinuous dance, leaving him aching with want.

More. He had to have more. Garrick did not partake in spirits, but suddenly, he understood the lure. Kissing Penelope Sutton was intoxicating. Little wonder Aidan was so enamored of her…

Oh, bloody hell.

Aidan.

The reminder of his brother was enough to force Garrick to tear himself from Miss Sutton. His lips tingled with the memory of hers, and damn the worst part of him to perdition for taking note of that lush mouth, dark and swollen from his kiss. Damn the gratification that rose.

He should be disgusted with himself.

He was disgusted.

Had she kissed his brother with such passion?

He would have asked, but his fear of the answer and the resulting self-hatred was an ever-swelling tide.

She was still holding on to him as if he were necessary to keeping her standing upright. And he knew the feeling. It was as if a sudden, violent storm had passed through his landscape. Everything had changed inside him with confusing, blistering force. Yet, everything was the same.

Why had he kissed her?

To prove she is a fortune-hunting harlot.

Ah, yes. That was the reason.

If only his body would recall the course his mind had chosen for them.

Garrick summoned a cold smile, intending to show her just how impervious he was to their kisses. "I have proven the truth now, have I not? If you wanted to marry Aidan because you are hopelessly in love with him, I can scarcely imagine you would have reacted to his own brother with such improper lewdness."

A flush rose to her cheeks and she flinched away from him as if he had struck her. "How do you dare?"

He mourned the loss of her touch. His stupid, weak body ached for her generous breasts to be molded to his chest. He felt certain she was not wearing stays beneath that gown and that he had known for the briefest, most wondrous of moments, the prod of her hard little nipples against his coat.

He swallowed down an inconvenient rush of lust. "The true question, madam, is how you dare? How do you dare to kiss the brother of the man you profess to love? You ought to be ashamed."

In truth, Garrick ought to be ashamed as well, and he knew it. But allowing Miss Sutton to know he experienced even a moment of guilt—or any emotion at all, for that matter—over what had just happened between them was more than his pride could endure. He had already brought himself pathetically low.

He was despicable.

Miss Sutton's brow rose and her nostrils flared, the naked passion on her lovely face vanishing. In its stead was a cool, rigid expression of understanding. "Do not pretend you kissed me to prove yourself, Lord Lordly."

He did not like what she was suggesting. "Of course I did."

She shook her head, a slight, knowing smile lifting her lips. "You kissed me because you wanted to."

His ears were suddenly overly hot, and the most disagreeable prickling sensation began on the skin of his face. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Yes, you did," the bold baggage insisted, "and you liked it, too."

Of course he had.

Garrick straightened his shoulders, summoning his most frigid expression, the one which could utterly destroy anyone in polite society. "Of course I did not."

Her hazel gaze traveled over his anatomy in troubling, familiar fashion, lingering on the part of him that proved him every bit as much a liar as she was. "Then how do you explain your cockstand?"

He thought he may have swallowed his tongue. How incredibly common of her to give voice to the unspeakable. No lady in his acquaintance would have dared to be so familiar. But then, as he had already established repeatedly and with the brilliance of the burning sun, Penelope Sutton was no lady.

"Your effrontery astounds me, madam," he bit out coldly.

She cast a pointed glance down his body. "Yes, you do appear rather… astounded , Lord Lordly."

She dared to taunt him now, after she had just kissed him with the practiced ease of a trollop when she was betrothed to his brother? To say nothing of the appalling manner in which she had referred to his distressing state. Repeatedly.

"Once again, you prove just how unsuitable you are," he said, wishing he felt a modicum of the satisfaction he ought. "You may rest assured that I will be taking the tale of what happened between us here today to Aidan. After he realizes your true nature, I doubt he would even want you. I must thank you for solving my problem for me, and without the need to lose a fortune."

Instead of being pleased that she had aided him to her doom, however, all Garrick felt was a hollow sense of disappointment. It was almost as if part of him had hoped she would indeed prove him wrong. He also could not seem to control the effect she had on him. He wanted her.

He could not deny it.

But he also could not have her.

He was going to be taking a wife of his own soon, and he had parted ways with his last mistress in respect to Lady Hester. He most certainly would not take another now, and most certainly not her . What the devil was the matter with him? Specifically with that part of him? His manhood had never so betrayed him in the past.

Nor had he ever responded so intensely to another, however, either. Not even Veronica. It was an unfathomable, uncomfortable revelation.

"If you have achieved the outcome you sought, then I suggest you be on your way," she said, her curt voice cutting into his wildly racing thoughts.

He had, had he not?

Why did this victory feel as sharp as a blade, inserted between his ribs?

He inclined his head, clinging to his stoic bearing since all else—including ration and reason—had fled him. "I have indeed. I bid you good day, Miss Sutton."

With an abbreviated bow, he stalked away from her, at long last taking his leave of this den of Satan. His steps could not carry him away with enough haste. Back to Mayfair where he belonged.

He would banish Penelope Sutton and the feeling of her lips beneath his from his mind and never again think her name.