Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

A nne and Elizabeth did not know how to read.

Or write.

Octavia made the realization on her second day as Jasper's wife. The first—their wedding day—had been a whirlwind of lovemaking and sleeping and bathing and eating. At some point in the night, she had awoken, confused and imagining herself in her chamber back at Tarlington House until her eyes had grown accustomed to the shadows and everything that had happened earlier in the day returned to her. She had made the discovery that she was alone. Although Jasper had been present when she had fallen asleep, he had left her in her chamber.

Disturbed and unable to sleep, she had donned a dressing gown and gone to his chamber, but he had not been within either.

One of her new sisters-in-law, Pen, had been in the dimly lit hall. She had appeared surprised to see Octavia, perhaps even startled. She had been dressed in a gentleman's trousers, jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. Octavia had taken note, though she had not commented upon the oddity.

"If you are looking for Jasper, he's in the hell," Pen had informed Octavia. "He watches over it most nights and sleeps until afternoon."

The news had left her disappointed. But she had told herself it was to be expected. He ran his family's gaming hell. He was not a man of leisure. Still, that he had left her bed to spend all night at the tables… Well, it had left her with a lingering sense of unhappiness.

The sense of unhappiness grew and magnified by the time luncheon arrived and she realized she was meant to take tea and her meal in the rafters-tucked chamber that had been designated as the nursery. Apparently, Anne and Elizabeth had spent their time at The Sinner's Palace first under the dubious auspices of one Mrs. Bunton. In their words, Mrs. Bunton had been a bitch .

They had helpfully learned that word from one of Papa's guards.

Perhaps the same one who had taught them to refer to Motley as Arsehole.

Octavia marched to Jasper's office, her outrage growing with each step. They could not read or write. Oh, her poor, poor girls. What manner of life had they lived these last six years? She shuddered to contemplate it. The very notion made tears prick her eyes. And Jasper, not having warned her. Not having hired anyone to teach them but a woman who tippled gin and then fell asleep, who had told them dreadful things so that they would, by their own words, go away.

Scarcely any wonder he had wanted a wife. Only, it was becoming painfully apparent to her that Jasper Sutton did not wish for a spouse at all. Rather, he wanted a nursemaid for his children. A woman he bedded and then abandoned in the midst of the night. One he did not see fit to find for breakfast or lunch. A servant, really, whom he expected to take care of his needs and then disappear into the attics.

She was going to box his ears, and then she was going to box the ears of whoever had taught her darling girls the word bitch . Such a vile oath did not belong in their lexicon.

Hugh stood sentinel at the door to Jasper's office.

She would see to him after she finished with his employer, and she would not stop until she discovered which of the men were responsible for the vulgar language which had infected Anne's and Elizabeth's little minds.

He stepped before the door, blocking her entrance. "Sorry I am, Lady Octavia. But ‘isnabs asked for no interruptions."

She stopped, blinking, quite taken aback. Of all the scenarios her outraged mind had unfurled while she had traversed three flights of stairs and wound her way through the private corridors of The Sinner's Palace, being barred from entrance to her husband's office had decidedly not been one.

"Surely his wife cannot be considered an interruption, Hugh." This she said sternly, pinning him with her most lofty glare.

Hugh shifted his feet, and the burly man had the grace to look shamefaced, but he did not move away from the door. "Everyone is an interruption, my lady. It's Mr. Sutton's orders."

"Did he explicitly mention myself?" she persisted, undeterred.

And irritated.

"Don't know what splicitly means." Hugh frowned. " The rules ain't changed because I've a wife now. That's what Mr. Sutton said."

How dare he? The nerve of the man, manipulating her into this marriage, treating her as if she were a servant, telling his guard to disallow her entrance when she sought him out after he had abandoned her for the entire second day of their marriage.

"Hugh," she said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the tattered remnants of her manners, "if you do not move out of my way, I shall box your ears."

He gaped at her. "You, my lady?"

Yes, he was taller than she and likely two and a half times her size. He could probably snap her in two as if she were a twig. But no one was going to stand between her and Jasper. The girls deserved better, and for that matter, so did she.

"Me," she confirmed agreeably.

He shifted weight on his feet again, looking torn. "Lady Octavia, I would be more'n ‘appy to take you to the parlor to await ‘isnabs."

Parlor. Here was another sign of her change in circumstance. No gentleman would dream of having a parlor rather than a drawing room.

"No, Hugh. I will not be attending the parlor while Mr. Sutton concludes his business. I shall speak to him. At once."

"My lady…"

She raised her hands as if in warning. And heaven help her, but if he had been the guard whose offensive tongue had taught her girls bitch and arsehole , then she would take great joy in boxing his ears as she had threatened.

"Do not think I shall not, Hugh," she said.

"Mr. Sutton won't be ‘appy."

"Nor will Mrs. Sutton." Her eyes narrowed. "Speaking of displeasure, Hugh, are you responsible for teaching Anne and Elizabeth that their former nursemaid was a bitch?"

A flush suffused his cheekbones, and he shuffled his feet some more.

She knew guilt when she saw it. "It was you."

"Ain't it a proper word? That's what Mrs. Bunton was, my lady. I was only telling the truth."

"What about their misguided belief that Motley is named Arsehole? Would you know anything about that , Hugh?" she demanded.

He moved to his right, granting her access to the door at last.

"I shall deal with you later," she warned him, sweeping past to open the portal and venture inside her husband's lair.

But the moment she did, everything stopped.

Time seemed to halt.

Her heart, too.

Because her heart…it was breaking.

Shattering and pounding in her ears and aching all at once. Humiliation rose, supplanting all the righteous fury which had previously dwelled within her. Because there stood her husband, in an embrace with another woman.

Jasper and the woman with her arms wound around his neck sprang apart. The reason for his absence and his desire for her to be denied access to his office suddenly made sense. Bile rose in her throat. The woman turned to her, a smug smile on the lips which had so recently been pressed to Octavia's husband's.

"Octavia," he said, voice strained.

What else he would have said—excuses, lies, she knew not. She did not want to hear. She held up a hand to bid him to keep quiet. She had come here for Anne and Elizabeth, and for their sakes alone, she would be strong. She would not run away. Nor would she shed a tear.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Had she truly believed a man like Jasper Sutton would be faithful to her? Had she truly imagined what had happened between them yesterday had held significance? If so, she no longer possessed the imprudent misconception. He had just shown her everything she needed to know.

"A word with you, Mr. Sutton," she bit out.

"Go," he told the other woman, his voice harsh.

She did not protest, but the look she cast in Octavia's direction said more than words could. Her saunter from the room seemed to take a lifetime.

Finally, when she was gone, Jasper moved toward Octavia. "I can explain?—"

"No," she interrupted. "You cannot. I saw everything I needed to see with my own eyes. But I cannot say I am surprised. What else should I expect from a man like you? Certainly not a faithful husband."

His lip curled. "A man like me?"

"A scoundrel born in the rookeries who runs an immoral den of vice to earn his bread," she elaborated, anger making her voice tremble and yet crack like a whip all at once.

And how she wished it were a whip. She wanted to lash him. To strike back. To make him hurt.

His expression, however, remained impassive. "Is that ‘ow you see me then, Lady Octavia? A baseborn scoundrel beneath you in every way?"

"Yes," she hissed, although it was not the truth. "That is how I see you because that is what you are, is it not? Did you know that neither Anne nor Elizabeth can read or write?"

Her words appeared to give him pause. "They can't read or write?"

"Not a letter."

His jaw tensed. "They will learn."

Of course they would, and with her dedicated help. No thanks to him. All the irritation that had been coursing through her on behalf of Anne and Elizabeth mingled with the outrage of seeing him kissing another woman.

"Your daughters have been staying here with you for weeks, and yet you never noticed," she continued. "Instead, they were in the care of a cruel woman who was more interested in drinking gin than seeing to their welfare. The girls have been running wild over a gaming hell, and they have added the words bitch and arsehole to their vocabulary."

"Satan's teeth." He winced, then raked his fingers through his coal-black hair. "I ain't perfect."

The urge to burst into tears was ridiculously strong. But she would not. She refused to show a hint of weakness.

"That much is apparent, Mr. Sutton," she said, careful to keep her voice cool.

His hazel gaze was dark, his countenance stern. "I've never claimed to be a saint."

This was his explanation for kissing another woman on the second day of their own marriage? That he had never claimed to be a saint? Octavia was simultaneously hot and cold. Theirs had not been a love match. Difficult indeed to give her heart to a man who had essentially forced her into a marriage of convenience. A marriage of ill-conceived in convenience was more like it. But neither had she expected him to be faithless. How na?ve she had been. Had not his every interaction with her from the moment their paths had first crossed proven to her just how ruthless a man he was, just how jaded a rakehell?

Do not cry , she warned herself, tightening her hands at her sides into fists so that her fingernails scored her palms. "You are London's greatest scoundrel."

His lips—traitorous lips, lips which had kissed another—tightened. "As I said, there is an explanation for Mary."

Mary.

Somehow, giving the woman a name felt like a new form of betrayal.

"Who is she to you?" she asked, wondering if he was like most men of polite society, a wife on his arm and a mistress in his bed.

She should have suspected. Foolish of her not to have at least wondered—he was Jasper Sutton, after all. Perhaps if she had, she would have been more prepared for the inevitability of his infidelity.

"She works for me."

"As your mistress?"

"No. I don't ‘ave a bloody mistress."

Part of her wanted to believe him with a ferocity that took her by surprise. However, the other part of her told her she had already seen more than enough proof that he was not to be believed.

"You have already proven yourself untrustworthy on the second day of our marriage," she pointed out coldly. "Why should I believe anything you say from this moment forward?"

She wanted him to give her a reason. Oh, how she did. But there could be none which could ameliorate the pain of seeing another woman in his arms.

He raised a brow, standing stern and impassive. "If that's ‘ow you want to play it, Mrs. Sutton , then that's ‘ow we'll play it."

His every h had fled from his speech, but Octavia did not care what it meant.

She shook her head. "Is this a game to you? You could have hired another nursemaid for Anne and Elizabeth, one who would care for them properly. You need not have forced me into a marriage you have no intention of honoring."

"I forced you, did I?"

"Yes," she bit out, feeling furious and not knowing how to harness her emotions. "It was either marry you or become a companion in the country to spare my sister and her family the scandal. You did not suppose I wanted to marry you, did you? I wanted to remain unwed. That was my true wish."

A discreet knock on the door followed her outburst. Jasper was staring at her, as impenetrable as ever.

"What is it?" he called.

"We've got trouble again," Hugh reported from the other side of the door.

Jasper cursed low beneath his breath.

"We'll ‘ave this patter later," he told Octavia, before offering her a curt bow and stalking from the room.

By patter, she supposed he meant discussion. His slips into cant were telling, but she had no way of knowing if he was irritated with her for her reaction or nettled by the situation in general. There was so much about the man she had married, in fact, that she remained ignorant of. In many ways, he remained a stranger.

A stranger who had shared her bed.

A stranger who was walking away from her now.

Octavia could do nothing but watch him go, once more the powerful businessman. She had been dismissed.

First Mary had kissed him and now the goddamned Bradleys had started a war.

"Fire brigade couldn't do nothing for it," Hugh said grimly at his side.

Rain slashed at Jasper, cutting through his coat and pounding his face beneath the brim of his hat. He stared at the smoking rubble of the building he and his siblings had recently purchased, disbelief and fury raging for supremacy within him.

What was it about this bloody day?

His wife was livid with him.

His daughters could not read or write.

The rains continued to batter him. A whole damned deluge from the sky. Too late to aid in the quelling of the fire which had ripped through the edifice with a vengeance. The heat rising from the ruined coals of what was to have been a second Sutton gaming hell taunted him.

"You're certain this was the work of the Bradleys?" he asked Hugh, raising his voice above the din of the torrent currently soaking them all to the bone.

It was true that Jasper had many enemies. Including, likely, the mother of his children. The Bradleys, however, were the most aggressive of the lot. When the Bradley family had begun a rival establishment in Sutton territory in recent months, Jasper had told himself they were testing him.

But their hell was far smaller. Less respectable. Seedier. There were rumors that coves were being fleeced there. Weighted dice, marked cards, ladybirds who robbed their duped lovers of coin, watered-down liquor…it had become apparent the Bradleys were no competition to The Sinner's Palace. All the same, Jasper and his siblings had decided to strengthen their holdings by growing.

But growth would not be happening now, thanks to the bastards who had lit up the building like it was Covent Garden fireworks.

"Randall ‘eard one of the lads gathered to watch the flames say it was Bradleys what done it," Hugh confirmed.

"We can't allow this to go unanswered," Rafe growled at Jasper's side.

His brother was not wrong. If the Bradleys were indeed responsible for setting fire to their building, then there would be hell to pay. A war in the rookeries. But that was just fine. Jasper had fought before. He would fight again. And he and his family would be the last ones standing.

"One lad?" he asked Hugh.

"And another what said ‘e saw Tim Bradley pokin' about," Hugh confirmed.

Rafe made a low noise of rage. "Those bloody bastards are going to pay for this."

Yes, they would. And dearly too.

But as he stared at the smoldering remnants of what was to have been The Sinner's Palace II, all he could think about was not the devastation of the fire or the need to retaliate against the Bradleys. No indeed. All he could think about was Octavia.

She had burst into his office when he had been in the process of disentangling himself from Mary, who had once shared his bed and was vying to return. There would be no return, as he had told her before she had thrown herself into him and attempted to persuade him by ramming her tongue down his throat.

He wasn't sure which was worse, that he had not been quick enough to remove Mary's clinging arms and lips from his person, that Octavia had witnessed the entire wretched incident, or that she had subsequently believed the worst of him. Her angry words echoed in his mind.

You are London's greatest scoundrel.

Well, and if that was what she thinks of me, to the devil with her , said his mind. Too bad the rest of him wouldn't listen. He still wanted her more than ever. Longed for her desperately. Now that she was his, the stupid lust that fogged his mind whenever he was in her presence—or outside it for that matter—had not lessened. If anything, it had grown stronger. More consuming.

There had been hurt in her eyes. He had caused it. And he had never intended to bring her even a moment of distress.

She believed he had forced her into marrying him. Did she think him a complete villain? A monster? A man capable of bedding his wife one night and then tupping a moll in his office the very next afternoon?

He hated that she believed he was such a callous bastard.

He hated that he wanted to be a better man for her.

Not a man who had failed to realize his daughters could not read or write. But a man his wife looked at with love in her eyes.

Christ, what a stupid arsehole he was.

"Jasper?"

Rafe's voice tore Jasper from his thoughts.

He turned his attention away from the smoldering ruins and back to his brother. "What is it?"

"I asked you what we're going to do to the goddamn Bradleys to make them pay," Rafe snarled.

He was getting soft.

Two days as a married man, and he was already as yielding as pudding.

"I'm going to bloody well baste old Tim Bradley," he growled, forcing away the lingering lust that coiled in his belly and burned in his blood. His cock had been throbbing ever since he'd left Octavia's bed the night before, but he had forced himself to the floor and to maintain his usual routine because he would not be led about by his prick. But also, he had no wish to make too many demands of her.

Octavia had been a virgin, and he was not a small man. Likely, she would be sore today. There had been no sign of that, of course, when she had stormed into his office as he'd been shocked by Mary's ardor. Some of which would have been aided by blue ruin. He had tasted gin in her kiss, and she wore the jaded look of a strumpet who had made her bed with far too many coves.

The cold rains continued to lash at him, but nothing seemed capable of soothing the heavy, aching need for Octavia.

"I'll be ‘elping you," Rafe said, his accent slipping as Jasper's did, under the pressure of emotion.

And of course he would accompany Jasper on this necessary mission. Rafe was a rakehell, but he was also unafraid to use his muscle and fearlessness whenever necessary. He was equally skilled with knives, pistols, and fists. A good man to have on one's side in a fight.

"We will take Hart as well," Jasper decided, forcing himself to return to the carefully practiced speech that attempted to copy the upper classes with whom their elbows regularly brushed.

It was an effort he made each day. Recently—ever since Octavia had come into his life—maintaining the fa?ade had grown more difficult. He had not slipped this many times in as long as he could recall. That he had done so because of her was cause for worry. In the rookeries, a man could not afford to be weak. Nor could he lose himself in any vice, whether drink, gambling, or cunny.

He took one last look at the smoking husk of the building that was to have meant the broadening of their empire. The rain kept pouring down, lashing him mercilessly. Jasper took a deep breath, bringing in the soot, the charred hopes, the burnt wood and plaster and upholstery.

An old voice, sneering and low, returned to him from the dim recesses of the past he had done his damnedest to forget.

Do not forget where you came from, boy. You came from ‘ell, and one day soon, ‘tis there you'll return.

Perhaps his father had not been wrong about that.

Jasper turned back to Rafe. "Time to pay a call to the Bradleys."