He saw her face and grinned. “You tease me.”
“A little. I am no debutante, no. And I own my years. But I have never been out in London Society, in the company of the Upper Ten Thousand. Now that Rafe is a duke, it opens doors for me.”
Rivers observed her closely. “And those are doors you wish to be opened?”
He seemed so incredulous. As if she could never want or perhaps never fit into that world. Was she so obvious? Did he see through her façade and into the darkness she fought so hard to hide?
“Of course I want those doors opened,” she snapped, more harshly than she would normally speak. Her defensiveness took her off guard and she softened her tone. “This is the best chance I have to marry well and live a respectable life.”
“No one could say you haven’t already been living a respectable life,” he offered, turning his head to look out the window toward the passing city lights.
She shook her head. “You do not know me, perhaps, but you know my brothers. My reputation is often linked with theirs, so there are many who would no doubt refute your claim. But right now is my chance. Rafe is celebrated as duke, and if I can manage to land a husband before they remember what we are…”
She trailed off, but Rivers seemed to understand. He nodded slowly. “I see.”
“At any rate, I fear Crispin will damage my chances.”
He leaned in, and she caught a brief whiff of his scent again. Just as it had in his office an hour ago, it made her body clench desperately.
“But that isn’t your only reason to worry,” he said.
She met his stare, albeit briefly. “No,” she whispered. “I am terrified he’ll hurt himself. Not socially, but physically. Do you think he would?”
Rivers drew away. “Why would you ask me?”
“You said you were my brother’s friend and judging from your behavior tonight, I believe that.”
“Why?”
“Because you could have simply thrown him into the gutter when he became a difficulty,” she said with a shiver at the thought.
Rivers shifted. “As I said, he is a good customer.”
Annabelle looked at him when he said it. He appeared very uncomfortable when he was praised for caring for Crispin. Did he think she would take advantage of that fact? Did he believe kindness equaled weakness?
But perhaps in his dangerous world, it did.
She opened her mouth to say more, but Rivers spoke first. “When you snuck from the duke’s home, did anyone see you?”
Annabelle blinked at the change of subject. “I—no, I don’t think so.”
“A footman? A groom? The butler?” Rivers pressed.
She hesitated, and that elicited a frown from Rivers. “Why do you look at me that way?”
He shook his head. “I simply like to know what lion’s den I’m entering, Miss Flynn. Because if your oldest brother thinks my man, say, spirited you away to my naughty little club, I can’t imagine he will be happy to see me.”
Annabelle folded her arms. “I’m certain Rafe went to your club many times before he married.”
Rivers laughed, but neither confirmed nor denied her charge. Instead, he said, “What is good for the gander is very rarely allowed for the goose. And you know it. You’re too intelligent not to know.”
“And what would you know of my intelligence?” Annabelle challenged him, though she had no idea where the impulse came from. “You who have met me all of three times now. Twice I was at a party, not exactly an intellectual high point and tonight I invaded your club demanding to rescue my brother.”
Rivers looked her up and down, a lazy perusal that felt infinitely wicked even though he never made so much as a move to touch her. “I hear things,” he said.
“Hear things?” Annabelle repeated in confusion, but before they could discuss the subject further, the carriage turned into Rafe’s gate and slowed.
“Damn it,” Rivers muttered under his breath as he looked out the window.
“What is it?” Annabelle asked.
“I just hate being right sometimes,” he sighed.
Before Annabelle could say anything or look out the window herself, the door to the carriage was pulled open and Rafe’s face appeared there. His very dark, very angry face.
“Good evening, Annabelle, Rivers,” he said, obviously through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you two join me in my study? It appears we have much to discuss.”
Marcus followed behind Annabelle and Rafe, watching the way her hips twitched beneath her gown. How he had come to be in this situation, he really couldn’t say. One moment he was minding his business, trying to do the right thing, the next he had been descended upon by a woman who seemed determined to drive him mad with her presence.
This was why he avoided emotional entanglements.
Rafe opened his study door and ushered them all inside. He said nothing as he crossed the room and poured himself a brandy. He glared at Marcus, then poured him one too.
As he crossed the room to hand him the drink, Rafe said, “An hour ago, a servant came to my chamber, interrupted my slumber and nearly woke my wife. Apparently he had seen something he was loathe to share and had been hemming and hawing about it ever since. Do you want to know what he saw?”
To Marcus’s surprise, Annabelle rolled her eyes in response.
Rafe continued, “He saw you, dear Annabelle, sneaking into a carriage and disappearing in the middle of the night. And now here you are. Do either of you want to explain what the hell is going on?”
Marcus might have said something in an attempt to mitigate Rafe’s anger toward Annabelle, but she gave him no chance. With no thought for consequences, Annabelle hurtled forward and stood toe to toe with her brother.
“Mr. Rivers sent his man to you tonight, asking for your help when it came to Crispin, and you refused him,” she said, her body all but vibrating with the accusation.
To Marcus’s surprise, Rafe turned his head, his cheeks darkening not with anger, but with shame and pain.
“You don’t understand,” he said softly.
Annabelle glared at him. “No, you don’t understand because you didn’t go there. I did, Raphael. I saw him there, and he is not well.”
Rafe scrubbed a hand through his hair. There was no denying the struggle he seemed to be having when it came to Crispin. And although Marcus generally stayed far, far away from these kinds of domestic issues, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the duke. He had seen the brothers together, many times. He knew how much they cared for each other.
“Annabelle, I have spoken to him numerous times over the past six months. He has refused my help and my counsel over and over again,” Rafe explained. “Until he is ready to take it, chasing him all over London and extracting him from his consequences will not urge him to change.”
Annabelle’s face twisted with pain so powerful that Marcus felt it in his gut. Her brown eyes sparkled with tears, but she all but vibrated with anger.
“You cannot abandon him. Mr. Rivers might be kind enough to offer him sanctuary, but others will take advantage of him. He could be killed, Rafe.”
Rafe shot Marcus a look, but then refocused on his sister. “You think I don’t know that? You think it doesn’t turn my stomach and keep me up at night during what should be the happiest year of my life?”
His raised voice and pained expression stopped Annabelle. She stared at him, their faces mirroring images of worry and fear.
“Please don’t abandon him,” she whispered.
“I’m not abandoning him,” Rafe said, his voice rising again. “Goddamn it, Annabelle!”
She fisted a hand at her side and opened her mouth to speak again, but Rafe lifted a finger to silence her. “We are not having this conversation in the middle of the night. Go to your chamber and we’ll discuss it in the morning when you are less overwrought.”
“I’m not overwrought,” she protested.
“Annabelle,” he said, his tone low now, but perhaps more l
aced with emotion.
Her lips thinned, pressing together until they were nearly white with the pressure. She spun around, putting her back to her brother, and marched over to Marcus.
He straightened up as she reached him, uncertain as to what she would do after this emotional night. But she merely looked up at him, her face beautiful even though she was pale.
“Thank you again, Mr. Rivers, for your kindness tonight. I shall not soon forget it. Good night.”
She didn’t look at Rafe as she exited the room, slamming the door behind herself as a final statement on her brother’s refusal to hear her. Rafe shook his head.
“God save me from intelligent women. I am swimming in them and they are as frustrating as they are fascinating.”
Marcus smothered a smile, because he knew the duke was angry at him and wouldn’t appreciate it, and waited for Rafe to turn his attention to him. His friend did so almost immediately.
“Would you care to explain this?”
Marcus shrugged. “What your sister said is essentially the truth. She overheard your refusal to come fetch Crispin and hurtled herself into my carriage with Abbot. After some threats, I haven’t gotten the whole story from him—”
Rafe sighed. “I’m certain she threatened him, though.”
“As am I,” Marcus laughed. “Your sister is a singular lady.”
Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes, she is that.”
Marcus erased the smile from his face. The way Rafe was looking at him, he could see the duke didn’t approve of Marcus and his sister being alone. And why would he?
“Well, I thank you for sending Abbot to me about Crispin,” Rafe said as he sank into the settee. “I hope you do not judge me as harshly as Annabelle does about my response.”
Slowly, Marcus joined Rafe in taking a seat. It was an odd thing, to be having this little chat in the middle of the night. Oh, he’d been to Rafe’s townhouse before, of course, but not since his friend had become duke. He hadn’t expected to be invited after that.
Not that he had been.
“I understand, as perhaps Annabelle does not, that life is infinitely complicated,” Marcus said. “Crispin has no interest in being saved at the moment.”
“Do you think he will at some point?” Rafe asked, his tone hollow and empty.
Marcus thought of Crispin, spoiling for a fight, drunk to oblivion. “I hope so.”
“As do I.” He shook his head. “But I fear if Annabelle inserts herself into the situation as she did tonight that she will only be dragged down by Crispin’s riptide.”
“She mentioned she is utilizing your new connections to find a suitable husband,” Marcus said, he hoped mildly. “I admit, I have a hard time picturing her being interested in some titled fop.”
“Careful, I’m one of those now,” Rafe said, but his bright grin told Marcus he had not offended.
“No, you are not,” he laughed.
Rafe shook his head. “My sister is…she may not fully realize what she wants. Or perhaps she simply hopes to deny it. Either way, I would not put her off from her plans. She will either find a man who strikes her fancy or she’ll realize a good many of those with titles aren’t fit to shine her riding boot.”
“You don’t want her to marry a man of rank?” Marcus asked, surprised.
Rafe shrugged. “I want her to be happy.”
Marcus pushed to his feet. This topic suddenly felt far too personal. He didn’t want to know about Annabelle’s plans or Rafe’s concerns about them. It brought him too close and he didn’t want to be close. Especially since he would likely never see Annabelle Flynn again, unless it was in one of those desperate passing moments.
He really had to stop going to her mother’s gate. It was pathetic.
“Once again, I apologize for my man allowing Annabelle access to the club. I will speak to him about it.”
Rafe shook his head as he joined Marcus on his feet. “Don’t be too harsh on Abbot, he’s a good man. And Annabelle can be an unstoppable force.”
Marcus just barely kept himself from the laughing agreement that inappropriately leapt to his lips. He didn’t know Annabelle. At least, he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t know.
“And thank you, for your kindness to her and to my brother,” Rafe continued, “Crispin is safe?”
“For the night,” Marcus said with a nod. “Would you like me to keep you apprised as to when your brother is at the masquerade?”
Rafe hesitated, and then he sighed. “Yes. I do not know if I will come and I certainly don’t expect you to watch over him or keep him from harm, but I want to know if it isn’t too much trouble.”
Marcus shrugged. “We both know I owe you and your brother quite a bit. It is no trouble to me to keep Crispin out of harm’s way when I can. Or to let you know of his movements in the walls of my club.”
Marcus set his drink down and held out a hand. Rafe shook it without hesitation and followed Marcus as he left the study and reentered the foyer.
“Good night, Your Grace,” Marcus said with a slight bow.
Rafe shook his head. “God, man—Rafe or Flynn as usual. ‘His Grace’ is for the fops and in public. Good night and thank you, once more.”
Rafe clapped him on the shoulder, and Marcus smiled before he walked down the steps to the still-waiting carriage. But as the driver maneuvered them back toward the club, he couldn’t help thinking of Annabelle and the shocking desires the lady stoked in him.
Ones he could never, ever let her or anyone else see.
Chapter Five
It turned out that the balls of the Upper Ten Thousand were just as boring as the fetes put on by those without title. Annabelle stood in the corner of the huge ballroom, watered down drink in hand, watching as couples spun by in each other’s arms.
In each other’s arms, but decidedly unconnected. She had never seen so many stiff, formal, dreary faces. Some of the couples did not even look at each other and seemed gloriously happy when the music ended.
She couldn’t help but think of Marcus’s Donville Masquerade. There the opposite was true. Couples in that wicked hall couldn’t even wait for privacy to touch each other and did such passionate things together without a care for propriety or who watched.
“Annabelle?”
She jolted as Georgina Hickson joined her, completely oblivious to Annabelle’s wicked thoughts. Georgina was the daughter of a younger son, so she had no title, but she had been raised to catch a titled gentleman. Although Georgina was younger than Annabelle, they had become friends of a sort and the other woman was trying to help Annabelle figure out how to land her own marquis or earl.
“That very odd look on your face will not attract the bees to honey, my dear,” Georgina said with the falsely bright expression that seemed to always grace her cheeks. “Smile now and try to look enamored with it all.”
Not for the first time, Annabelle wished desperately that Serafina could have come out for the ball. Although she too had been raised as a lady in every sense, there was nothing false or put on about her. They certainly would have had more fun.
But Annabelle did appreciate Georgina’s attention and help, so she did as her friend demanded and plastered a fake smile on her face.
“You have had some success tonight,” Annabelle said, through her grinning teeth. “Didn’t Lord Poppington dance with you?”
Georgina nodded. “The earl was very attentive, yes.”
“But, er, isn’t he a bit old for you?” Annabelle asked as she caught a glimpse of the ancient man in the crowd.
Georgina blinked. “Whatever does that matter? He’s an earl, Annabelle!”
Annabelle shivered. That attitude was so mercenary and yet it was exactly how she was meant to feel if she wanted this exercise to be a success. A title at any cost.
“And what of you?” her friend asked.
“I’ve received a plethora of side glances,” Annabelle sighed, putting her misgivings aside. “But not many brave enough to approach a N
otorious Flynn to dance. So my dance card is still only occupied by my brother’s name.”
She looked across the room and found him there, talking with one of his new, titled friends, Lord Aldridge. Rafe was very handsome in his evening clothes and looked every inch the duke. And yet those around him still occasionally scrunched their noses up and whispered behind their fans.
And why wouldn’t they? After all, this was the man who had, not three years ago, won the old family home of Lord Sternbridge in a scandalous game of cards, and then gleefully had every single room inside painted purple before he returned it—not to Sternbridge, but to his wife. The man who had raced horses through Hyde Park with their brother and damn near killed the future king.
It seemed this would be more difficult than she had hoped.
Gossip had destroyed the future of far loftier girls than her. And she hadn’t even begun to consider Crispin. In fact, she’d been trying not to consider him at all since two days before and her journey out to the Donville Masquerade. All she knew was that Crispin had not communicated with her since that night. Rafe had taken Marcus’s opinion that her brother would likely not even remember she had been there with him.
“You are not smiling,” Georgina hissed.
Annabelle jolted. Her tangled thoughts betrayed her again. She shrugged. “I’m only considering my circumstances, I fear. And I am worried about my brother.”
Georgina’s glance circled the room until it settled on Rafe. “He seems fine.”
“No, my other brother, Crispin.”
Georgina’s lips thinned and she swung her look back on Annabelle. “Oh yes. Him. Annabelle, may I ask you a question?”
Annabelle slowly nodded, uncertain if she truly wanted to be asked her friend’s question.
“Do you want respectability?”
Annabelle drew back. “How can you ask me that? Of course I do! That is why I’m here in this stuffy hall, standing in the corner like a ninny, waiting for some titled gentleman to decide I’m worthy.”
When she said the words out loud, they made her flinch. Certainly they didn’t sound like the foundation to a long and happy relationship. But they didn’t seem to faze Georgina at all. She nodded, approval bright on her round face.
The Scoundrel's Lover (The Notorious Flynns Book 2) Page 4