Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

O ctavia awoke to girlish giggling, an aching ankle, and the sense she was being watched.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she stretched her arms over her head.

And froze. The chamber was not her own. The giggles belonged not to her niece Joanna as her slumber-fogged mind had assumed. Rather, it was Jasper Sutton's daughters, dressed in nightgowns, their midnight hair in braids down their backs, playing some sort of game the two of them had invented together.

The chamber was his as well. And the eyes on her—stony hazel, assessing.

His .

He was by the window, the curtains pulled back to send early morning light into the room, but he was watching her. And he was in a state of shocking undress. Wearing a shirt and trousers only, no neck cloth, no waistcoat. Barefoot. His dark hair damp, as if he had recently bathed. It was so very intimate. And he was so very handsome.

"She's awake," announced Anne.

"You should not've opened the curtains, Papa," chastised Elizabeth, frowning at her father.

Memories hit her. Climbing down the tree in a final attempt at convincing Jasper Sutton to aid her. Hurting her ankle. Him tending to her and then locking her in his chamber. Later, after an interminable length of time spent awaiting his return, it had not been her captor who had approached the door but rather his daughters. They had claimed they suffered from a terrible dream and found the key left in the lock.

In an attempt to comfort them, she had settled beneath the covers with them and told them a silly story. The lateness of the hour had made her own eyelids heavy even after the girls had fallen asleep.

She had spent the night at The Sinner's Palace.

Mirabel was going to throttle her.

Octavia leapt from the bed. And pain promptly radiated from her ankle. "Oh!"

He was there before she could even be aware he had moved, gathering her in his arms. "You must take care with your ankle, minx."

His voice was low and warm. Almost—dare she think it?—tender. A far cry from the whistling scoundrel who had locked her in his chamber without a word of explanation the night before. She did not want to feel the way she did, but her heart took command of her body, and she clutched at his strong arms, burrowing her face against his chest. The spicy male scent of him—nary a hint of smoke—curled around her, along with his reassuring heat.

He helped her to a chair, and she sank upon it gratefully. Her cursed ankle felt worse this morning, and she had been so hoping it would be improved. If she was limping, how would she explain the reason to Mirabel?

That concern was rather moot now.

She swallowed, all too aware of the three people staring at her. All too aware of how bedraggled she must appear, wearing yesterday's crushed, ripped gown, her hair coming free of all its pins. One stocking-clad foot peeping from beneath the hem of her dress, one foot bare.

"It is morning," she said stupidly.

Her tongue felt as sluggish as her mind. Perhaps on account of the dread seizing her. When her maid discovered her gone, she would go directly to Mirabel. Perhaps the house was already in an uproar, fearing for her, wondering at her whereabouts. And when Mirabel discovered the truth…

"Breakfast?" he asked.

Her stomach growled in response.

"Thank you for telling us the story last night," Anne told her shyly.

"We slept so damned good," Elizabeth added.

Oh dear.

"That is lovely, my dears," she said weakly. "But Elizabeth, damned is an oath, and as such, is not to be repeated by ladies."

Elizabeth's chin quivered. " You said it."

"Only to explain the word in question is not fit for a lady," she added softly. "Do not be sad, dearest. I only wished for you to understand the difference. I have a niece not much older than you, and I am often helping her to learn what she should and should not say. When I was a girl, my older sister and my governess taught me."

"You can tell them apart?"

Her gaze strayed to Jasper Sutton, who remained towering over her, his expression unreadable.

Heavens, he was alluring. And rude.

"Did no one ever tell you that it is impolite to stand in the presence of a seated lady?" she felt compelled to ask him, irritated by her unwanted reaction and the thought of what awaited her at home both. "Of course I can tell them apart. They are two different people, Sutton."

He quirked a brow. "This is the only chair, milady."

A glance around the chamber confirmed the truth of his statement. She supposed she could not find fault with that. But there remained the matter of his keeping her here against her will for the night and what would happen when she finally returned to Tarlington House.

"So it is," she agreed. "However, that does not absolve you of your other sins, sir. I must return to my home at once."

"Papa said you are going to live here now," Anne announced.

"Is it true?" Elizabeth asked.

She blinked. Surely she had misheard. "I am afraid I do not understand."

"You are going to marry Papa," Anne said, excitedly clapping her hands.

Marriage? To Jasper Sutton?

"Will you be our mama now?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not know where you obtained such a notion, my dears," she said softly, not wishing to douse the girls' happiness and yet needing to set the matter straight. "But your father and I are not getting married."

Indeed, he had a lovely blonde woman he was intent upon marrying. The reminder was both unwanted and unhappy. A searing sensation in her breast—surely not jealousy—took her by surprise.

"Girls, go and find Auntie Pen for a moment, won't you?" Jasper said.

"But Papa—" Anne began.

"Now," he interrupted, his tone firm.

After exchanging a glance of displeasure, the girls fled the room hand in hand, leaving Octavia alone with Jasper.

Jasper. How odd to think of him so intimately. And yet, he had told her to. She had spent the night in his bed. Where had he slept? She wondered. Her mind was whirling with the consequences of the previous night's misadventures.

Irritated, she rose to her feet, wincing at her ankle and yet determined to remove herself from this chamber and this gaming hell at once.

"I cannot fathom how your daughters arrived at such a ludicrous notion, but you truly ought to tell them the truth," she said, moving past him toward the door Anne and Elizabeth had recently exited.

"Wait, minx."

Minx.

She did not want to like the way the word sounded in his deep voice. Like a caress, sliding over her skin. She had to fortify her defenses against him. When Jasper Sutton chose to be charming, it was difficult indeed to deny him.

His hand on her arm had a staying effect.

She turned to find him just behind her, the three buttons at the top of his shirt undone to reveal his chest. Newly opened, she wondered, or had she merely failed to notice earlier?

"What do you want, Sutton? I need to go before my family discovers me gone."

"They already know you are here," he said, shocking her.

Dread was a stone lodged behind her breastbone. "How?"

"I sent word to Winter."

For the second time since she had risen that morning in Jasper Sutton's bedchamber, Octavia was certain she had misheard. "You…"

"Sent word to your sister's husband, letting them know I have you." His gaze searched hers.

"You have me," she repeated.

Surely he did not intend to hold her captive here at his gaming hell? She searched that unreadable hazel stare for answers.

Did he?

"You're trouble. I'll not have you falling from any more trees. This time your ankle, next time your damned neck."

Was that worry she detected in his voice?

"You need not concern yourself with my ankle or my neck," she informed him. "And the only cause of all this trouble is you. First locking me in your chamber and now sending word to my brother-in-law that I am here. Tell me you did not."

"Jasper Sutton is a lot of things, but liar ain't one of them, minx," he growled.

Oh heavens.

Oh dear heavens.

No.

"This is terrible," she said faintly.

"The way I see it, it's luck."

"There is no luck involved when you are the one who has made all the decisions leading us to this," she countered, frustration rising to join the worry. "How dare you send word to my sister's husband that I am here?"

She adored Damian Winter, she truly did. But he was fiercely protective. When he learned she had been here all night, she did not know how he would react. Nor did she know what would become of her. Would she be sent to the country with Mama? If word of her spending the evening at a gaming hell reached polite society, she would be ruined.

"One of us has to be rational," he said calmly, as if everything made perfect sense.

As if he were not at all perturbed by the fact that an irate brother-in-law was about to come crashing down upon The Sinner's Palace, demanding only heaven knew what as reparations. Why, it was almost as if he had plotted this entire affair intentionally and that…

Anne's and Elizabeth's words returned to her. You are going to marry Papa.

She gasped. "You scoundrel. You have ruined me intentionally."

His lips quirked into a grin. "If I had ruined you, darling, you would be naked in that bed behind you, begging me for more."

Why did he have to be so handsome? And insufferable? Why did she have to be drawn to this maddening rogue in a way she had never known with another man? And why did his words send heat and longing unfurling within her instead of outrage? She wished she knew.

"You…preposterous…smug… villain !" She was sputtering, and she knew it.

Villain was the worst word she could think of at the moment.

Hardly suiting.

He was devious.

Manipulative.

Overly confident.

Enticing .

"Careful, Mrs. Sutton. Your cruel barbs may hurt my poor panter." His grin had deepened.

She supposed his panter was his heart. But she was not sure which was more irksome, his reliance upon cant or his laughter.

He found this amusing .

She planted her hands on her hips and glared him down. "I am not marrying you, Sutton. I am happily unwed, and I'll not be changing that for you."

He shrugged, unaffected. "I warned you to stay away from The Sinner's Palace, did I not?"

Yes, of course he had. But even his own daughters had said he liked to bluster.

"I wished to have a proper conversation with you."

"To persuade me of the wisdom of your pudding-headed plan."

Pudding-headed?

Her glare turned into a glower. "There is nothing wrong with my plan. It is excellent. A business proposition which would have been beneficial to you."

"A business proposition which would've only landed you in more trouble, minx." Jasper shook his head slowly. "No, my lady. You will see that I ‘ave done you a favor."

"No you have not," she denied heatedly. "What you have done is managed to make a muddle of everything. I shall not marry you."

He startled her by reaching out and running a lone finger along her jaw, then down her throat before tracing the line of her collarbone and pausing at the hollow where her pulse thundered. "So you've said twice now."

"Because I will not do it." She was the one who was blustering now. For if she was to be sent to Mama in shame, Octavia's life as she knew it would be at an end.

Mama did not allow gossip, scandalous caricatures, or fun of any sort.

The rough pad of his fingertip traveled back up her throat, stroking gently in a slow caress. "You will be my wife."

"You cannot force me." But even as she issued her denial, her voice was weak. Her resistance was crumbling.

The place where his skin met hers seemed to be the center of her body. It was all she could think about, all she could feel. And it was not helping matters.

"No force needed where you are concerned, sweetheart." His head dipped. "You want me."

She did.

Just not as her husband.

"Not enough to marry you."

"I need a wife." There was victory in his voice, shimmering in those eyes of his. "You need someone to keep you out from under the hatches."

His speech was smoother. More careful. Was he so assured of his success, or was he exerting every modicum of charm he possessed to convince her?

"I do not need a husband," she said, breathless despite her best intentions to remain unaffected by his proximity and touch.

"Not one of those nibs," he said, slowly rubbing his lower lip against hers in a half kiss. "A fancy cove ain't for you. You need me ."

Back and forth went his lip against hers, teasing, taunting, tempting.

She wanted the full kiss. The tender force of both his lips on hers again.

Suddenly, a thought planted itself in her mind, rather in the fashion of a seed. If she were to marry Jasper Sutton, perhaps she could find a way to make her scandal journal come to fruition after all. A new surge of hope rose within, joining the desire.

But a knock on the door to the chamber cut through the potency of the moment.

"Winter's ‘ere," called an unfamiliar male voice from the other side of the portal. "And none too pleased."

Jasper's head lifted, ending the kiss before it could begin. "Excellent."

Rafe had not sufficiently warned Jasper about the intensity of Demon Winter's fury. Fortunately, Jasper was accustomed to sudden attacks, drunken fisticuffs, impromptu knife fights, and all manner of violence. So when he crossed the threshold of his office, the swinging fist intent upon connecting with his head was easily dodged.

"Where is my wife's sister, you devil?" growled the irate man, clearly gathering himself up for a second attempt at breaking Jasper's nose.

He had no wish to go to loggerheads with Demon Winter, particularly since Caro was now married to the man's brother. But having a civil conversation was paramount to the success of Jasper's plan. On a sigh he reached into his boot and presented the knife which was always secreted within a special sheath there. The gleaming blade was pointed directly at Winter's chest, lest he refuse to listen to reason.

He sighed. "Settle, Winter. This ain't no way to conduct yourself. Thought you were a fancy cove now."

"And I thought you wanted to maintain peace with my family," his opponent snarled. "Holding my sister-in-law captive is not the way to do that, Sutton."

Jasper threw the knife into the air, giving it a twist, and caught the hilt with ease. "She's not my captive."

"Then where is she? And what was the meaning of this morning's note?" Winter demanded curtly, eying the knife as Jasper toyed with it.

Winter wasn't scared of the blade. He knew that. Just as Jasper knew he wasn't going to use it. But sometimes, a show of force was necessary. He'd had ample time to consider his battle plan for today last night whilst tossing and turning in one of the girls' narrow beds in Loge's old room.

Long into the early hours of the dawn, he had stared into the shadows of the ceiling, calling himself every kind of fool for thinking he could marry a fine lady. The daughter of a lord. And yet, Octavia was different. She had developed an instant affinity with the twins from the first moment they had met. And instead of fleeing last night when the girls had attempted to seek him out and unlocked the chamber door, she had settled in with Anne and Elizabeth.

She had told them a story.

She knew them apart when almost no one else did.

But also, he was selfish. He wanted her in his bed. Not Mrs. Martin. Nor any other. He wanted her.

He was going to have her.

"She is in my chamber," he told Demon Winter now, flipping his knife into the air and making another quick catch of the hilt without doing himself any harm.

Winter started forward, his countenance menacing, fists clenched. "Your chamber? If you have violated her?—"

"Now, Winter," he interrupted before he could offer further insult. "What manner of gentleman do you think I am?"

"I do not think anything," Winter bit out. "I know you are not a gentleman. Your actions for as long as I have known you, aside from aiding my brother, have shown it."

Jasper could not argue the point. He took pride in not being a gentleman. He was not like the Winters, who possessed a wealthy merchant branch of their family and had married into nobility. He did not covet titles. He hated manners and rules, the dandies with their papa's money, the ladies with airs who looked down their noses at the world. Polite society could damned well go hang.

Nor had he ever been a man keen to show weakness. A man did not claw his way up from the lowest of the rookeries by fretting over manners, education, or speech. He had never seen the inside of a drawing room or a ballroom. And that suited him fine.

He inclined his head, watching Demon Winter as he tossed the knife to his opposite hand. An excellent skill to possess—Jasper was adept with either hand.

"You are right," he acknowledged. "I ain't a gentleman. But I would never mistreat Lady Octavia in any fashion. That I swear upon my honor."

"Your recent actions suggest you do not possess any honor either."

Winter was treading dangerously near to the thin line within Jasper where amusement and irritation met. He tossed his knife through the air, and it hurtled end over end, landing in the wall just past Demon Winter's broad shoulder. Missing him by plenty. Harming the man was not Jasper's intention.

"Careful, Winter. You'll not be wanting to make me angry," he warned.

"The same is true for myself and my family," Winter countered, seemingly unimpressed by Jasper's words. "We protect our own."

"Ah, but Lady Octavia does not belong to the Winters," Jasper pointed out, smiling. "She belongs to me."

"She is an innocent and a lady," Winter said.

Jasper stared at his opponent, then gave a careless shrug. Her station mattered naught to him. He was Jasper Sutton, and he took what he wanted, when he wanted it. Because he could. Because he had spilled enough blood, crossed enough palms with blunt, defeated enough enemies.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" Winter asked, his frustration evident.

"I want Lady Octavia as my wife." His blunt announcement stunned the other man for a moment.

Only a moment.

"No," Winter said harshly. "You cannot have her, Sutton."

Again, he shrugged, feeling triumphant and unable to keep the smug grin from his lips. "I already do."

Winter's nostrils flared. "I will call the charleys if I must."

"And bring more harm to the lady's reputation? I think not. And anyway, I own all the charleys in this part of town."

He could see the moment Winter realized the truth of his statements. And the fight began to seep from him, ever so slightly. Inevitably, there was always a moment in an altercation of any sort where one party recognized the futility of the fight. Jasper had engaged in many, many fights in his life. Sometimes, to the death.

"What do you want?" Winter gritted.

Jasper's grin deepened. "Lady Octavia as my wife. She spent the night in my bed after climbing out a window and coming to find me. It ain't the first time she's come to me either, Winter. But don't worry. I'll take better care of her than you did."