Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

B reaking his fast had done nothing to aid the disturbing state of Garrick's mind. Nor had any of the subsequent meals he had taken. Apparently, what ailed him—the worm that had managed to infiltrate his brain and leave it addled—was not caused by hunger. There was no surer proof of that than the tableau in which he currently found himself. Namely, seated at a table at The Beggar's Purse in the armpit of the East End, surrounded by Suttons , of all people.

One of whom was not at all the gentleman she pretended to be. Rather, she was a beautiful, glorious auburn-haired siren he could not seem to cease thinking about. Or touching. Or kissing. Or lusting after. Christ , he wanted her more with every passing second of each cursed hour.

Yes, this was proof. As was his trust in the very people he had been so recently persuaded were his enemy. Whilst he had once deemed them fortune-hunting villains determined to manipulate and force their way into the upper echelon of polite society, Garrick had been forced to swallow his pride and revise his hastily formed opinions. Like Pen, her siblings were brash and bold, but they seemed…genuine. Dare he say it? Trustworthy.

He shifted on the uncomfortable bench that was biting so tenaciously into his arse and sipped at his ale, which was not nearly as bitter and terrible as he had expected it to be, given the dreadful state of the establishment. They were surrounded by the lowest of the low, wenches with their breasts nearly falling from their bodices as they sat upon the laps of roués whose hands were up their skirts. Some dangerous-looking fellows who appeared as if they would as soon look at a man as stab him in the gut.

Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

"You are certain you are familiar with the owner of this…" He paused, searching for a word to describe the sticky-floored hovel in which he found himself. "This establishment , Suttons, and that he will aid us?"

"She will," Wolf Sutton said, flashing the grin of a true rogue if Garrick had ever seen one. "She's a widow, and the lady and I are reasonably well acquainted."

The added qualification went a long way toward explaining the connection between the Sutton brothers and the proprietress. Reasonably well acquainted was likely the politest fashion in which Wolf Sutton had ever declared he had bedded a woman, too. Garrick could not be certain if he made the effort in deference to his sister's presence at the table or his own.

It did not matter. What did matter was that they were going to find Aidan and bring him home.

Tonight.

And then…

And then, Garrick would have no reason to ever spend another moment in Penelope Sutton's intoxicating presence. Which was just as well, because he needed to concern himself with courting the woman he intended to wed instead of chasing a trousers-wearing hoyden across London.

Why, then, did the realization fill his chest with a hollow sadness?

He took a lengthy draught of his ale to chase the feelings away. Followed by another.

"This should all unfold relatively smoothly," said Hart Sutton, who was not nearly as brutish as his brother, the aptly named Wolf, was.

As far as Garrick could discern, Hart Sutton was the leader of the two, whilst Wolf Sutton was the brawn. Their roles were of little import to him as long as they helped him to secure his brother's safety, however.

"Does the proprietress believe the criminals in question are lodging in a room here?" Garrick asked Wolf Sutton.

A small part of his mind—the cynical portion that had its origins in Veronica's betrayal—cast up a reminder that it was possible they were all thick as thieves with the villains who had taken Aidan prisoner. Pen included.

However, another part of him refused to believe it. Rosebud trusted her, and Rosie had always been an excellent judge of character. She had hissed at Veronica on the few occasions when their paths had crossed.

"A woman has taken rooms," Wolf answered, before sipping his own ale and scowling. "Watered-down piss. I thought Elizabeth gave a damn about the quality she serves her patrons."

And here Garrick had deemed it not terrible. But then, he had never preferred ale. It was far too pedestrian.

"A woman," he repeated, turning this news about in his mind to make sense of it. "Why would she suspect a lone woman?"

"Apparently, she appeared with a nob, with just enough coin for the night. Then, a different cove paid the next evening's stay," Wolf explained, "and the same cove paid for the next."

Garrick found himself struck by an unexpected surge of gratitude. Regardless of their roughness about the edges, Pen and her brothers were proving damned helpful. He was not uniquely suited to the vagaries of dealing with criminals, swindlers, and East End riffraff. Navigating a drawing room, handling a phaeton, performing a country reel, offering a dowager lemonade, these were feats he could manage with ease. Rescuing his idiot brother from the maws of danger? Not so much.

"You are assuming the nob was my brother?" Garrick asked, trying to follow the logic.

In his world, a woman would never take rooms above a tavern on her own, and most definitely not with two different men. But then, The Beggar's Purse was about as far from his world as he could manage to find himself.

"Aye, that's the way of it," Wolf Sutton agreed, sounding reluctantly impressed. "You aren't as thick-witted between the ears as you look."

Coming from most men in Garrick's acquaintance, such words would have been cause for pistols at dawn. However, he recognized the grudging admiration in the other man's gruff tone. It would seem the Suttons were all eccentric in their own ways. How vexing to discover he did not despise them as he ought.

He raised his ale in mock salute. "A compliment from you, no doubt, sir."

"Forgive Wolf," Pen said, drawing Garrick's attention. "His tongue works faster than his mind."

"The ladies haven't complained yet," Wolf said with a grin.

Garrick, who had been in the process of taking another sip of ale to calm the rampant desire that seemed to afflict him whenever Pen was near—and even when she was not, for that matter—subsequently choked on his beverage, inhaling some of it.

Hart Sutton pounded on his back with more force than necessary. Garrick hastily swallowed and attempted to regain his composure. Not an easy task when the other man was continuing his dubious ministrations. A strong arm on Hart Sutton, that was certain. Garrick rather suspected the man was attempting to get even with him for the slights he believed Garrick had paid Pen the night before.

And, well, he was not wrong. Whilst nothing untoward had occurred at his town house, if Hart and Wolf Sutton were privy to what had happened on that French sofa on the other side of town, they would not be seated with him at this table in civilized fashion. He had no doubt they would be tempted to tie weights to his ankles and toss him into the Thames. He could not fault them.

What he had done with Pen the night before was unconscionable. Not only because she was an unmarried woman, and she was wholly inappropriate for him as a match, but also because he intended to marry another. Lady Hester would never accept his suit if she knew the truth, that he had been pleasuring an East End hoyden when he was meant to have been courting her at some mind-melting musicale.

"I believe you have thumped his lordship's back enough," Pen said in Garrick's defense.

Bless her, but her words only heightened his blistering inner shame. It was not merely Rosebud's approval that had altered the light in which he viewed Miss Sutton. Rather, it was the woman herself.

"He's still sputtering, Pen," Hart said, continuing his blows, sounding rather pleased with himself.

And so he was, but the other man's supposed attempts at aid were doing nothing to help the matter.

He moved his chair nearer to Pen's, beyond her brother's reach. "Thank you, Sutton. That is quite enough, I assure you."

Pen's knee bumped into Garrick's beneath the table, and he had to suppress a groan and a corresponding surge of need. Her sweetly floral scent reached his nostrils, a welcome alternative to sour ale, smoke, and sweat that seemed to be the foremost odors in The Beggar's Purse.

It took every bit of restraint he possessed to keep from reaching beneath the table and placing his hand on her inner thigh, caressing higher to the apex of her legs where he knew he would find her hot and silken and, if the world were fair, decadently wet.

Aidan , he reminded himself. You have come here to bring your brother back to the loving bosom of his family and not to seduce the woman at your side.

"That was unspeakably rude of you, Wolf," Pen chastised her brother. "Poor Lord Lindsey nearly choked on his ale. You owe him an apology."

Wolf Sutton smirked, nary a hint of remorse in his countenance. "Forgive me, milord. For a moment there, I forgot we had left our family's hell in the care of others to come here and chase after your no-account brother who managed to get himself kidnapped by a filching mort."

The sarcasm was not lost on Garrick, even if he was uncertain what a filching mort was. A lady thief?

He cleared his throat, his breathing restored to its customary rhythm at last. "I do appreciate the favor you and your siblings are paying myself and my family, Sutton. As I said this morning, it shall not go unrewarded."

"We do not require a reward for doing what is right," Pen inserted stubbornly. "Is that not the way of it, brothers?"

"A small reward would not be entirely—bleeding hell, that hurt, Pen," said Hart Sutton, casting a scowl in his sister's direction. "I'll take those boots from you if you don't stop using them to kick my damned shins."

"We do not require a reward," she repeated pointedly, unconcerned by her brother's threat concerning her footwear.

Garrick had to admit that the sight of her in boots and trousers was rather growing on him. Seeing her lush curves on display for anyone else, however, was another matter. He had caught more than one roving eye on her finely formed limbs as they had entered The Beggar's Purse earlier. He had no doubt that no one was fooled; even a man who had lost his sight would know Pen Sutton was a woman.

And a glorious one at that.

But that thought, like so many others, was distinctly unwelcome at the moment.

He consulted his pocket watch and discovered the appointed time was nigh. "It would seem we have reached the pinnacle of this particular drama. I shall leave the one thousand pounds at the rear as the missive suggested."

Garrick was aware of Pen's gaze on him, it was searing, rather like a touch. He turned to her.

"Tell me you did not bring one thousand pounds," she told him with a wince.

"Of course I did."

If he had to pay the blunt to whomever was behind this, he would. As long as it meant Aidan was freed.

"Christ, Viscount. That was bleeding stupid," Wolf Sutton added with a chortle.

"We oughtn't be surprised," Hart Sutton said to his brother.

"Lads," Pen snapped. "You are not helping matters one whit." She turned back to Garrick. "The charleys The Sinner's Palace keeps on retainer are on duty this evening, and we've asked them to surround The Beggar's Purse. You'll not need to pay a scrope to free Aidan."

He nodded, because it was the most efficient response. No need to argue or belabor the point any further. He had brought the coin, and he was willing to pay. He had learned from Veronica that a man should trust no one. Not even a woman who professed to love him with all her heart.

Especially not then.

"I will do as we planned," he said, before rising from the table.

"Do you want me to accompany you?" Pen asked.

"You ain't going with his lordship," Wolf Sutton growled.

"You'll be staying here," Hart Sutton said.

Apparently, her brothers did not know her at all. For if there was anything that guaranteed Pen was going to do something, it was to offer her opposition. Her pride would not allow it.

She was on her feet before he could blink, pinning her brothers with a determined stare. "I will be accompanying his lordship, and that is final."

The Sutton brothers exchanged a glance before the eldest shrugged and turned back to her.

"Suit yourself," he said, "but if anything goes awry, you'll be the one facing Jasper's wrath, not us."

"I will," she said with a nod.

Garrick wondered who the devil Jasper was, jealousy bolting through him like a runaway colt. But he tamped it down, telling himself it was likely another brother. And even if it was a lover, what should it mean to him?

Only everything.

He banished the unwanted thought.

"I will protect Miss Sutton with my life," he vowed to her brothers. "I am an expert marksman."

To that end, he had a pistol secreted in his coat, and he would not hesitate to use it if necessary. He may be a gentleman, but he was not a complete and utter noddy. The Suttons appeared unimpressed, however, despite his words.

"Come," Pen said with a nod of her head toward the rear of the establishment. "'Tis the alley where you must meet them, no?"

Apparently, she had been beneath this roof before and knew her way around the establishment. Likely, with Aidan. Yet another stab of jealousy hit him. He did not like the thought of her doing anything alone with his brother, even if they truly were friends as she claimed.

But he followed her, just the same.

They made their way through the throng of raucous men and women, through smoke and laughter and an endless number of unseemly displays. Christ, his mother would be horrified if she knew he had ever entered such a place, let alone spent so much time in the company of a woman who knew her way around one.

At last, they reached the darkened street behind The Beggar's Purse, where he had been instructed to leave the ransom at half past ten. It occurred to him that the missive had not been specific. He searched through the murky shadows in an effort to find a proper place where he might be expected to leave the funds. But when he reached into his coat to extract the notes, Pen's hand seized his wrist.

He would be lying if he said that touch did not move him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded curtly.

"Hush," she whispered. "There is someone else here, watching us."

How she could see anything through the inky darkness, he could not say. Garrick's eyes had yet to adjust, and he doubted they would. He could do nothing but accept her word.

Trust her.

Did he dare, truly and fully? Completely? He should not.

"Where is your pistol?" she asked next.

But then her hand was within his jacket, fingers searching, seeking, finding its hiding place unerringly. He was so affected by her touch that he reacted far too slowly.

"Blast it, Pen," he growled. "Give me that."

"No," she said simply.

His mind went wild with possibilities. Did she even know how to properly handle a pistol? Was she intending to rob him? Shoot him? Had this entire melodrama been a farce authored by her? Why the devil had her brothers decided to stay within, and where were the damned watchmen the Suttons had promised?

"Stop where you are," Pen said in a low voice filled with calm authority.

Through the shadows, he could discern the shape of her, the pistol in her hands, pointed at something in the distance. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as an eerie shiver rolled down his spine. There was a scraping sound, then booted footfalls rushing forward, toward Pen.

"Give me the blunt and no one will get hurt," growled a low, masculine voice. "If you don't do as I say, I'll shoot."

Without thought, Garrick threw himself forward, determined to keep Pen from harm. His body slammed into another with so much force, his teeth clacked together. But Garrick had been spending a great deal of time at Winter's Boxing Academy recently, and he was more than prepared. Spurred on by the thought of any harm coming to Pen, he slammed his fist into the face of his shadowy opponent and was rewarded by the crunch of bone.

Hopefully he had broken the villain's nose. But Garrick was not prepared to stop there. He had to make certain Pen was safe. The need to protect Pen driving him, he delivered punches to his opponent's jaw and midsection.

Garrick's fists flew with increased assurance, landing blows wherever he could. The man grunted, attempting to swing back, but Garrick had the advantage and overpowered him until his foe was on his back in the seedy alley, pinned by Garrick's knee on his chest.

His heart was thundering in his ears, victory roaring through his veins.

"Stop! Please! Christ in heaven, stop, you madman!" begged his opponent. "I surrender."

"Garrick!" Pen's worried voice cut through the haze of bloodlust surrounding him. "Are you hurt?"

Whilst the other man had landed some blows, he was teeming with so much fury that he scarcely felt a thing.

"I am well," he managed. "What of you?"

"I am unhurt as well."

Thank God. If anything had happened to her…no, he could not bear to think of such a terrible possibility.

The man beneath him moaned with pain, jolting him back to the present.

"Where is Lord Aidan Weir?" Garrick demanded of him.

Just then, a pair of watchmen dashed down the alley, carrying lanterns that chased the darkness.

"I'll take you to him," the man said.

In a small, threadbare chamber above The Beggar's Purse, Aidan was tied to the headboard of a narrow bed, a faded coverlet at his waist scarcely preserving his modesty. From what Pen could tell as she peered over Garrick's shoulder, he appeared to be entirely unclothed. Nary a stitch on him.

She had been prepared for any number of sights. But strangely, this had not been one of them. She found herself newly relieved the watch had taken away the man Garrick had defended her against in the alley, along with his wife, who had been found awaiting her husband in a hired hack near the front fa?ade of The Beggar's Purse. The plan had been for the two of them to abscond with the one thousand pounds, leaving poor Aidan in his current state.

Hart and Wolf were awaiting them below, Wolf taking the opportunity to charm the proprietress and give her his opinion on the state of her ale. Pen had offered to accompany Garrick, needing to know for certain that her friend was safe as the man and his wife had claimed.

"Garrick," Aidan greeted his brother, relief in his voice, "thank Christ. I need to piss. Untie me, will you?"

Pen laughed, but after the unexpected upheaval of the last half hour, first with the assailant rushing them in the alley and then with the frantic race upstairs to find Aidan, the sound emerged as somewhat hysterical.

"That is the manner of greeting I receive?" Garrick snapped coolly. "After Miss Sutton and I were nearly attacked as we tried to pay the ransom to save your miserable hide?"

"Pen?"

At the sound of her friend's voice, she dutifully stepped to the side, revealing her presence. Aidan's eyes were wide as they met hers, and his mouth opened, then closed, as if he was searching for the proper words and failing miserably. "What the devil are you doing here?"

A flush darkened his cheekbones, presumably at being caught en flagrante delicto after what she could only suppose was a tryst gone wrong with the woman who had lured him to The Beggar's Purse.

"Lord Lindsey enlisted my brothers and me to help find you and secure your freedom," she said grimly.

"Here now," Aidan said, casting a glance toward the viscount, "who gave you leave to squire my betrothed about the East End?"

Garrick was holding himself stiffly at her side, his posture exuding anger. "Miss Sutton is not your betrothed, and you know it. You ought to be wailing with endless gratitude for my coming to your rescue instead of chastising me."

"Oh, Aidan," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. "What manner of scrape did you land yourself in this time?"

He cast a wry glance to his bound wrists. "That should rather be apparent, should it not? Untie me, let me find a chamber pot, and I'll tell you everything."

"You dare to laugh?" Garrick stepped forward, striding for the bed. "How could you, after what you have put us all through? I ought to box your damned ears. Miss Sutton might have been hurt or worse in that alley."

Aidan had the grace to look shamefaced. "I was drunk as David's sow, celebrating my impending nuptials, when Mrs. Knightly offered her companionship for the evening."

Of course Aidan would have been celebrating that ridiculous false betrothal he had dreamed up. And only he would have been celebrating with another woman. Pen would have said it served him right, but she did hate to think of what he must have endured the past few days.

"Fine husband you would make," Garrick muttered. "Carousing with lightskirts to celebrate your betrothal."

"I was celebrating Father's outrage more than anything else," Aidan confided, wincing as he tugged at his wrists. "Make haste, will you? I've been waiting for Mrs. Knightly to return for hours, and I'm not going to last much longer."

He was referring to his need to relieve himself. Mortification made her cheeks go hot.

"You are a treasure, brother," Garrick said, his voice frigid. "A true credit to the Weir family name."

He extracted a blade from his coat and began slicing at Aidan's bonds.

"I am sorry, Pen," Aidan said, looking back to her. "I never meant for this to happen. Will you forgive me? I swear to you that I will be a better husband."

"We are not going to be married," she said, amazed he apparently seemed to be taking the notion seriously, even after all that had come to pass. "I told you before you disappeared that I had no intention of wedding you, and despite your determination to utterly ignore my wishes, my opinion on the matter has not changed."

"I will earn your trust," he said. "I've made some realizations these last few days, and I treated you poorly. Allow me to make amends. Grant me another chance."

Surely he could not be serious.

Pen blinked, certain her eyes were deceiving her. But Aidan was still seated, bare-chested in the bed, eyes—so bright blue and like his brother's—entreating.

"You should go, Miss Sutton," Garrick said coldly before she could think of a sufficient response to offer.

Her gaze flew to him, finding his countenance all harsh angles and planes, curiously devoid of emotion. Once more the icy, arrogant lord. And she had been dismissed.

She nodded, for it was just as well that she take her leave. If Aidan was indeed bare-arsed naked beneath that coverlet, she had no wish to see the other half of him. He had always been like another brother to her, one to fill the hole in her heart left by Logan's abrupt disappearance.

"Of course," she said, doing her utmost to tamp down the ridiculous hurt rising within her at Garrick's abrupt shift in demeanor. "I will leave the two of you to privacy. Hart and Wolf are likely still sorting out matters with the charleys and may need my assistance."

She turned on her heel and hastened to the door.

"Pen, wait," Aidan called after her.

But the one voice she truly wanted to hear asking her to come back remained silent. And why should she be surprised? Now that he finally had what he wanted—his brother restored to the family and no scandalous betrothal looming on the horizon—he had no further need of Pen. Likely, she would never see him again.

It was just as well, she told herself as the door clicked closed behind her. They belonged to different worlds, she and Lord Lordly. And like every other man in her life who was not one of her brothers, he had used her when it was convenient. Used her to gain what he wanted.

Now, he was tossing her aside. Just as Daniel had.

But although she knew it was for the best, she could not deny the ache in her heart as she descended the narrow stair to the public rooms below. Aidan was safe, the man and woman behind his kidnapping were in the custody of the charleys, and she could carry on with her life without the interference of one arrogant heir to a duke.

She was happy. Truly.

Her brothers were waiting for her when she reached the crowded, bustling tap-room.

"Pen," Hart said, frowning as she rejoined him and Wolf. "Where the bleeding hell have you been? We were about to come looking for you."

"I was making certain Lord Lindsey was reunited with Lord Aidan," she said, blinking away the sting of foolish, impending tears. "The Knightlys did not appear to do him any harm."

"Thank Christ," Wolf said, his tone dark. "We've wasted enough bleeding time ‘ere swilling watered-down ale and chasing after nobs."

"Yes," she agreed through a throat gone thick with unwanted emotion, "we most certainly have. We should get back to The Sinner's Palace where we are needed most."

And to the devil with everyone else.

Especially the brothers Weir.