Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

I f any of her siblings knew what she was about, Pen had no doubt they would be furious. Livid. Utterly outraged. But what Sutton brothers and sisters did not know could never hurt them. She had been living firmly by that credo for as long as she could recall.

"You will wait for me, yes?" she asked the driver of the hack she had hired to bring her to her secret destination. "There will be a great deal more coin for you upon my return. All you need to do is wait. I shan't be long."

"Aye." The fellow leered at her. "I knows what you'll be doing within."

She sighed. "No, you don't. I'm paying you handsomely."

His grin deepened. "Aye, that you be."

Lingering and arguing her case was futile, she could already see. The man would believe what he wished, which was that she was entering the edifice before them so she could indulge in whatever Cyrenaic delights awaited her within. Eh, if it pleased him to think so, what was the harm? It was not as if she were a fine lady with a reputation to preserve. Nor was it as if she were the betrothed of a lord. Rather, she was someone Viscount Lindsey deemed worthy of bribery and cruel kisses only.

Yes, that rather still stung, his disdainful reaction to those shared moments of what had been, for her, nothing short of wondrous. Apparently, for Lord Lordly, it had all been the means to an end. She hoped he was pleased with himself. If nothing else, it had rid her of his dogged persistence and unwanted presence. Very likely, he was somewhere in Mayfair, casting a disagreeable pall upon some silly ball or musicale.

"I will return in one quarter hour," she reminded the hackney driver.

He nodded his ascent, and she turned with a sigh to approach the small, secret entrance to The Garden of Flora. It was a door she had visited on a few occasions previously, always with Aidan. Had any of her family known she had been within the brothel…

Well, no need to fret over what they would do to Aidan now.

Because she was searching for him. She had not seen him in days, and nor had he answered any of the notes she had sent round to him. It was the first time in their acquaintance when he had ever allowed so much time to pass without contacting her in some fashion. And although she knew he was aware of how outraged she was with him for his machinations, she nevertheless had been unable to quell her steadily rising fear that something ill had befallen him.

Thus had begun a second, more thorough search of all his haunts.

Nary a hint of him in any of the taverns or hells or even his bachelor residence, those shabby rooms he kept just so that he might escape the domineering rule of his family. And good heavens, now that she had met Lord Lordly, she could scarcely blame her friend for the desire to flee.

But all that aside, there were only so many places Aidan could be, and Pen had visited them all. All of them, anyway, save this one.

She reached the door and knocked.

A moment later, the tiny slat cut into the door itself opened, revealing a pair of eyes and no more. "What is it you wish, madam?"

"I wish to speak with Lord Aidan Weir," she said simply.

The guard did not blink. "The Garden of Flora favors anonymity, madam. Even if his lordship were within, I couldn't tell you."

What had she expected? A blissful welcome? That the guard spoke with the flawless elegance of the quality, however, was hardly surprising. Everything about the establishment had been carefully orchestrated to appeal to the upper echelons of society. Particularly its excesses. Voluptuaries flocked to The Garden of Flora in droves.

"If you will not tell me if he is within, then perhaps you will grant me entrance," she tried again.

She was determined to find Aidan.

"Unaccompanied ladies are not permitted within," the guard informed her.

She was aware of the rule, of course. On the previous occasions she had visited, she had always been with Aidan. She missed the scoundrel.

"I am a friend of Madame Laurent's," she said next, which was not entirely a falsehood. "Please tell her Miss Pen Sutton has come."

Well, perhaps mostly a falsehood. She had met The Garden of Flora's owner, a lovely and pleasant lady with a keen and cunning business acumen.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "A moment, miss."

The small door slid closed, and she was left to wait and wonder just how she would locate Aidan within if she were indeed granted entrance. Perhaps she had not thought her plan entirely through.

Before she had further time to contemplate the matter, the door opened fully to reveal a tall, all-too-familiar, form. He was dressed as elegantly as always. It was likely the miserable oaf never had so much as a hair out of place on his perfectly shaped head, nor a wrinkle in one of his immaculate cravats.

A scowl marred his otherwise handsome features. "Miss Sutton, what the devil are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air with the lash of a cracking whip.

He disapproved. But then, when had he not? From the moment he had first strode into her life, calling her a greedy fortune hunter and demanding she cry off her supposed betrothal to Aidan, Lord Lindsey had been looking down his aristocratic nose at her, finding her lacking. Judging her.

Even now, those icy-blue eyes told her everything she needed to know, burning into her with a searing intensity that stole her breath. For a heartbeat, she forgot what he had asked. She could do nothing more than stare at him stupidly, as if he were the first duke's heir she had ever seen.

In truth, she had seen many others of his ilk. Once, she had sung for their pleasure at The Sinner's Palace. Making them desire her had always held a surprising, almost fascinating source of power for Pen; earls and barons and marquesses wanting a lowly East End girl such as herself. But none of them could compare to the viscount. Never had she seen a man quite like this one, so impressive and foreboding without even trying.

She found her voice at last. "It is hardly any of your concern what I am doing here, my lord."

He continued to regard her with that imperious gaze, as if he had inspected her gown and found it covered in stains or marred by a torn hem. She barely suppressed the urge to look down and make certain her dress and pelisse were tidy enough.

"Come with me," he ordered crisply.

She eyed him warily. "I am not certain I ought to accompany you anywhere."

Thoughts of the passionate kisses they had shared, followed by his abrupt and cruel reaction to it, filled her mind.

His lip curled. "Now, Miss Sutton."

His determination to have her do his bidding heightened her own resolve to do the opposite. "I don't take my orders from you, Lord Lordly."

He moved forward, closing the distance between them, his expression grim. "You are the most infuriating female I have ever encountered."

Surely that was a compliment, coming from him.

Pen held her ground, refusing to retreat. "You are the most stubborn, arrogant, vexing…"

Her words faltered when he reached her and bent his tall form in half. No. There was absolutely no way he was going to do it. Her certainty faltered when his shoulder met her midriff. Surely he did not intend to…

He did .

He was .

The sheer audacity! Her shock and disbelief rendered her limp as a doll, all the lessons her brothers had taught her in defending herself against scoundrels falling into the dim cracks of her mind. Her opponent had been faster, the element of surprise aiding him.

Pen was being lifted through the air, as if she weighed no more than a farthing. The viscount had thrown her over his shoulder. His arms banded about her thighs, and then, he was moving, his long-limbed strides taking her only heaven knew where. The world was upside down. She was treated to a view of the elegant, thick woolen carpets of The Garden of Flora.

"Put me down," she commanded. "I've paid a hack to await me."

"I am sure the fellow will be more than amenable to keeping your coin and moving on," said the viscount grimly.

"My lord?" Another voice joined them, feminine and concerned. "This is most unusual, even by my standards."

"I require a chamber if you please, Sophie," he said, his voice a deep rumble that sent an elicit shiver through Pen even as her dudgeon over his overbearing actions remained high.

That unwanted reaction was swiftly chased by a nettlesome bolt of a different emotion. Apparently the rigidly proper viscount was familiar enough with Madame Laurent to call her by her given name.

"The rose room?" Madame asked, her unique, husky voice easily recognizable.

"Perfect," said the viscount, his ceaseless strides suggesting he was more than familiar with the landscape he currently inhabited.

The scoundrel.

The lessons her brothers had taught her returned. She curled her hands into fists and began beating on Lord Lordly's broad, infuriating back. "Let me down at once!"

"No," he said smoothly, before delivering a swat to her rump that rather stung.

Oh! Curse the devil! She was going to do far more than box his ears when she was on her feet. Her need to find Aidan had paled in comparison to her desire to inflict some vengeance upon his brother.

How dare he? He had no right to carry her about. To demand anything of her. He had asked her why she was here. She ought to have asked him the same question. What was he doing at The Garden of Flora?

No, she didn't want to know that, did she? The notion of him kissing one of the beautiful ladies added some muscle to her fists. She hit him harder, beating on his solid back to no avail. He delivered yet another sound spank to her bottom as she wriggled and fought, his strides never hesitating.

"Madame," she called, her desperation rising, "will you please aid me?"

But no one answered her, and she found herself being carried over a threshold, into a chamber with rose carpets. Red and white roses, everywhere. They swam beneath her as she bobbed on Lord Lordly's shoulder. A door snapped closed, indicating they were alone. She landed another few blows and was gratified at the grunting sound he emitted. She could only hope she had caused him some pain.

It would serve him right, the arsehole.

"That is quite enough, Miss Sutton," he said, bending to deposit her on the floor.

The moment she touched the floral carpets, she launched herself at him, intent upon doing him some manner of harm. He had been dogging her for days. Calling her everything but a lady. Insulting her with his bribery and his insistence she was nothing but a greedy, fortune-hunting manipulator who would marry any man as long as he was of the quality.

But he was quicker than she, blast him. He caught her wrist in a firm grip before she could plant him a proper facer, and his other arm snaked about her waist, hauling her tight to his body.

"Calm yourself, madam," he bit out, his tone harsh.

Well, he had only immobilized one fist, hadn't he?

Pen let the other one fly, taking him by surprise as she landed a blow on the sharp angle of his whisker-shadowed jaw. Pain shot from her knuckles, past her wrist, and all the way to her elbow. But she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Lord Lordly had gone still. Pink blossomed on his jaw where her fist had connected with his flesh. "You will regret that," he said, part promise, part threat.

"Don't think I will," she countered, doing her utmost to keep her expression calm and controlled. "And there is more waiting for you if you run your rig any more than what you've already done."

She would not hesitate to punch him again, it was true. Although the red blooming on his otherwise flawless jaw did send a pinch of guilt lacing into her heart. She had never done another violence before. Leave it to Lord Lordly to be the first.

"I have no notion what you are speaking of, but if you dare to strike me again, you will suffer the consequences." His blue gaze was searing, his hold on her as rigid as his bearing.

He was all planes and sharp angles, Lord Lindsey, cutting as any blade, from his appearance to his voice to his words. Still, she would not be cowed by him. He was more powerful than she was, wealthier, taller, stronger, but she was a Sutton, by God. She was not afraid to stand up to anyone, his high and mighty lordship included.

"How?" she demanded, her defiance getting the better of her.

His nostrils flared. "Strike me again, and you shall see."

Even in his icy pique, he was strikingly handsome, and he had an effect upon her she could not like. Her insides were warm and melting and quivery, despite her outrage.

"You began this battle between us, as I recall," she pointed out.

And foolish, foolish, weak-willed Pen…her gaze dipped to his lips and her mouth tingled with the remembrance of his kisses.

His own lips parted, ever so slightly. For a moment, she wondered if he was plagued by similar thoughts.

But then he spoke again and rather ruined it.

"The only one responsible for the madness in which we find ourselves entangled is you, madam. If you had never attempted to ensnare my brother in matrimony, our paths would have failed to cross."

"Have you seen Aidan since you paid your last call upon me?" she asked, hoping that whilst her friend had clearly been ignoring her, he may have at least spoken with his overzealous brother and corrected some of his many assumptions about her.

"No," he said, spoiling those hopes.

"Neither have I," she admitted. "I was hoping to find him here tonight. He has ignored every note I have sent him since his announcement of our betrothal."

The despicable coward.

Perhaps she needed to rethink her choice of friends.

The viscount's gaze searched hers. "You came to find Aidan? What makes you believe he would be here?"

"Because he tends to think with his prick, much like every other man in London," she said crudely, hoping Lord Lordly would flinch, or at the very least go pale, at her inexcusable lack of manners.

But she was doomed to disappointment, for the viscount did nothing of the sort.

Instead, he continued to exhibit his signature, unflappable elegance, all flawless masculine perfection. "What a poor opinion you have of gentlemen, Miss Sutton."

"Perhaps it's because the lot of you do nothing but give me an aching head," she countered, feeling rather spiteful toward both Aidan and his insufferable brother. "And because none of you are truly gentleman. Not a one."

Briefly, she thought of one gentleman in particular and how easily charmed she had been. But then, she struck him from her mind.

"The sentiment is a mutual one," he told her. "From the moment my idiotic brother first spoke your name, I have been beset with nothing but problems. I dislike problems immensely, especially when they cannot be solved."

"I thought you already solved the problem of the mésalliance," she could not resist pointing out. "That was your intent in telling Aidan about kissing me, was it not? I imagine you sent him a note at once."

A hint of color shaded his angular cheekbones. "I have yet to inform him of your duplicity."

"Just my duplicity, Lord Lordly?" She raised a brow, vexed anew that he continued to pretend as if she had been alone in those passionate kisses.

As if he had been unaffected.

A certain portion of his anatomy most certainly had not been impervious at all.

His lip curled. "You are the one who betrayed your betrothed."

"And you are the one who betrayed his own brother by kissing his betrothed." Never mind that she and Aidan were not truly betrothed. The viscount didn't know that. Therefore, he was every bit as wrong and duplicitous as he supposed she was. Only more so, because she had no ties binding her to Aidan aside from his reckless declarations. "Need I remind you that your tongue was in my mouth and you were harder than?—"

"Do not," he bit out, interrupting her, "say another word."

"Or what?" she dared to challenge him.

Or what indeed?

Miss Sutton was staring at him with such brazen defiance, awaiting his response, that for a moment, Garrick could not summon a reply. But the minx had been about to refer to the unfortunate effect kissing her had wreaked upon his cock. And that part of him had already come back to life the moment he had seen her standing on the other side of the private entrance to The Garden of Flora. He hardly required further incentive to want her, damn the fortune-hunting chit, despite all the reason and common sense he possessed.

He was painfully aware of her scent, her nearness, the specks of gold shimmering in her hazel eyes. Of those glorious lashes and all that stunning auburn hair which had formerly been shielded by her bonnet.

In the course of his carrying her to the rose room, the chapeau must have fallen somewhere to the floor. He wished it had not, for those lustrous locks gleamed in the light of the lamps, mocking him, calling for him to pull it free of hairpins and allow it to hang soft and heavy as a curtain down her back. His fingers itched to touch her. His mouth tingled with the memory of hers beneath it.

She had not been wrong to chastise him, even if it was not done for a woman in her position to take a stand against a man like him. He was every bit as guilty as she was, having kissed his brother's betrothed. And thus he remained, standing here in a bawdy house, lusting after her, longing to touch her again.

Knowing he must not.

Fingers aching with the need.

He tamped down a fresh swell of perverse desire. "Enough," he managed curtly, speaking to himself as much as to her. "Cease your argument, madam. It is most unbecoming in a lady."

"But I'm not a lady, Lord Lordly," she said, her voice low and husky. Almost intimate. "And I don't give a damn if you consider my words unbecoming. I came here to find Aidan, and you're distracting me from my course. One can't help but to wonder why. Have you decided against telling him about our kiss for fear you'll incite your brother's wrath? Are you worried he will be outraged to know your mouth was on his future wife's? That you kissed me as if you wanted me in your bed beneath you?"

Curse the jade.

Her words had what was no doubt their intended effect, producing not just a tide of anger rising to the surface, but a hailstorm of need as well. His reaction was as despicable as it was instant. He could not seem to keep himself from thinking about her in his bed. Beneath him, just as she had taunted. Her soft, lush curves melting against his body, thighs parting for him to settle between, thrusting his cock deep into the inviting heat of her cunny as she arched her back and moaned his name.

My God, man. What have you become?

He loathed himself.

But his cock was suddenly thick and hard, pressing against the fall of his trousers. An attraction to the forbidden was nothing new to Garrick, but how unfair it was to be a servant to the whim of his own desires with this woman in particular, of all the fairer sex. She could not be more wrong—beneath him in class, manners, betrothed to his brother, a cunning fortune-hunter all too eager for a title. Far too similar to Veronica.

Unfortunately, he could not seem to relay that missive to his prick.

He forced a confident, cool smile. It was one he used often and which served him well whenever he wished to remind those present that he was the heir to the Duke of Dryden, and that he was one of the most powerful arbiters of polite society.

Against his better judgment, Garrick leaned toward her. "Take care, my greedy little fortune hunter. It sounds to me as if you are speaking of your own feverish longings rather than mine. Never fear, madam. Do not think yourself the first. I am well accustomed to women who set their caps at me."

It was true. Half the chits in London swooned if he so much as gazed in their direction across a ballroom. All the bucks wanted to be him. The ladies wanted to marry him. The widows and the unsatisfied wives wanted him in their bedchambers.

Her gaze narrowed. "The only thing I would like to set at you is my fist. I've already done so once. Don't think I'll not give you another poke. A nice, sound basting is what you need, my lord. Bring a scant hint of sense into that knowledge box of yours."

Something snapped inside him.

Patience, sanity, outrage? He could not say. The string had rent, whatever it was, and the twain ends would never again meet. A shift happened. And then his hands were moving. Reaching for her. Finding the deliciously feminine curves of her waist beneath her pelisse and gown, pulling her nearer.

She came willingly, her hands on his chest, soft and hesitant as butterflies. There was no rejection, no effort made to push him away or escape. His head dipped, mouth seeking hers as if it were the most natural act, as if it were inevitable.

And inevitable it was.

His senses were aflame. The touch of her lips to his ignited a conflagration. God, her mouth felt good. Silken and hot and delicious. Why? Why should this woman, above any other, affect him thus? Her lips opened, and he forgot to care. He cupped her face, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, and licked into her mouth. The delicate whimper of surrender that left her was enough to make him almost dizzied with lust. Their tongues moved together, and he could not suppress his groan of raw need.

He was so damned hard, the fit of his trousers making his cockstand almost painful. But he liked it. He liked the way she made him feel. Desperate and greedy and sinful and powerful all at once. He would give in for this moment. Perhaps another.

His fingers were moving of their own accord, finding those hated hairpins that were keeping her locks in such a careful, plain chignon and plucking them away. Ping, ping, ping. They rained upon the rose carpets.

Roses, yes.

Reality intruded. He was at The Garden of Flora where each private chamber possessed a floral theme. Sophie was circumspect; she would guard a man's secret with her life, for her trustworthiness was her livelihood. The rest of the staff as well knew to keep the habits of their patrons quiet. Still, he could not afford to ruin himself here in such fashion. He needed to remember the reason he had come to begin with.

Two reasons, in truth.

The first had been to determine if his brother was present. The second had been to distract himself from the very persistent, wholly unwanted longings which had been plaguing him for days.

The longings that kept him from stopping now.

Just a moment more.

Another kiss.

Their mouths moved in feverish unison, teeth nipping, tongues tangling. It was raw and furious, anger mixed with undiluted lust. And he had never experienced anything quite so exquisite.

He wanted to consume her, to mark her, to bring her to her knees, to conquer and claim her. And then he wanted her to conquer and claim him in return. This passionate creature would never be happy as his brother's wife. She would make Aidan's life a misery.

Perhaps Garrick ought to take a mistress after all.

No! What was wrong with him? He was stronger than his desires.

He tore his mouth from Miss Sutton's and straightened to his full height, irritated at the raggedness of his breathing, the erratic beats of his heart, the longing still filling him with desire.

They stood there together, hands still on each other's bodies, gazes locked.

"Aidan isn't here, Miss Sutton," he forced himself to say.

He ought to have told her before, it was true. But he had been initially so nettled at her appearance, and then determined to discover if she knew more about where Aidan could have gone, and then just as hastily, he had been desperate to kiss her. To own her mouth with his.

The things he could show her. Lord God.

But then, who knew how innocent she was. Likely, there were quite a few skills she might show him.

Unworthy thoughts, borne of the sinner within.

"You know he is not here for certain?" Miss Sutton asked, her full, well-kissed lips compressing into a pout.

"I do."

The shove to his chest took him by surprise. Fortunately, he was naturally graceful, and he caught his balance rather than toppling backward on his arse.

"You could have said as much rather than carting me over your shoulder," she said, her voice sharp.

He winced, for once again, she was not wrong. "I wished to speak with you in a private setting, and you were being stubbornly vexing."

"Hmm," was all she said, raising a brow and regarding him in such a manner that suggested she did not believe him.

Not for a moment.

And well, curse her again.

"Where is Aidan, if he is not here?" she asked then.

Aidan.

Of course she was concerned with the man she intended to dupe into marriage. His ardor cooled at the reminder. "I haven't an inkling where he is hiding himself."

"Did you come here to find him as well?"

"Why else should I be present at such an establishment?" he returned, careful to keep his tone mild lest she suspect him of having ventured here to sate his carnal appetites.

Not that it mattered what she thought. She was a mere East End nobody.

One you cannot stop kissing or lusting after.

Blast!

Miss Sutton's hazel gaze was studying him in a way he could not like. Seeing him, he thought. Seeing far too much of him.

"I'm sure I couldn't say why you might be visiting a nunnery, Lord Lordly," she said, her voice taunting.

He could not get out of this woman's presence soon enough. What madness had overtaken him where she was concerned?

"Since we have both quenched our curiosity concerning my brother's whereabouts, we shouldn't tarry in Madame Laurent's chamber." He kept his voice cold and his countenance—he hoped—every bit as frigid.

"At last, we have found a subject upon which we can agree, my lord. I bid you good evening."

She dipped into a small, angry curtsy while he offered her an aggravated bow.

And as quickly as she had appeared to upset his evening, Miss Sutton turned her back on him and left.