The Scoundrel's Lover (The Notorious Flynns Book 2)

by Jess Michaels

  “I didn’t mean to offend, my dear,” she reassured Annabelle. “I only ask because of course everyone knows of your family’s reputation and you must know you are fighting an uphill battle when it comes to acceptance.”

  Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “Thank you?”

  Georgina laughed. “An uphill battle, but one you can win, I think. You are very pretty and very rich, both of which will certainly catch a man’s eye, especially if you act with nothing but decorum.”

  Something deep inside Annabelle, that same something that had been titillated at the masquerade and intrigued by Marcus Rivers, began to scream. She somehow continued to smile and nod at her friend’s words.

  “May I offer a small bit of advice, though?”

  Annabelle drew in a long breath. “Of course. I am happy to hear any advice you may have for me on this subject. I truly appreciate your greater experience in this matter.”

  Georgina initially blushed at the compliment, but immediately she was back to a very businesslike demeanor. “Annabelle, you must not think of your brother. Either brother, really. You must worry only about yourself.”

  Annabelle shifted. Clearly Georgina didn’t have the kind of family connections she did. The idea that she could forget Crispin or Rafe was ludicrous. She adored them both, no matter how wild or humiliating their actions. No matter how damaging.

  She might have said that, defended them, but suddenly Georgina’s attention shifted to something behind her.

  “Oh my,” Georgina whispered, her eyes lighting up. “I see Lord Claybrook coming this way, and he is looking right at you.”

  “Lord Claybrook?” Annabelle repeated, panic gripping her as she tried to remember to whom her friend referred.

  “He’s an earl,” Georgina whispered swiftly. “His annual income is above ten thousand. Forty years of age, but he looks thirty.”

  Annabelle nodded with a look of gratitude just as Lord Claybrook reached them, with their hostess Lady Warren in tow.

  “Good evening,” Annabelle murmured, casting her eyes downward as she had been told was proper, at least by Georgina.

  “Good evening,” Lady Warren responded. “Miss Hickson, Miss Flynn, I would like to introduce you to the Earl of Claybrook.”

  Both Georgina and Annabelle curtseyed low at the same time, but while Georgina kept her eyes downcast, Annabelle couldn’t help but steal a glance at Claybrook.

  He was handsome in his own way, tall and lean with a pronounced nose and angular features. His hands looked very soft and he was perfectly manicured and primped. Yet he didn’t seem to be a dandy.

  Not that she had much room to be choosy, considering her lack of partners throughout the evening.

  “Ladies,” he said, his voice deep and low.

  “My lord,” they responded in kind.

  Lady Warren’s eyebrows knitted together as she searched across the ballroom. “Excuse me, I must attend to an issue.”

  Once she had gone, Claybrook smiled. It was a nice smile, after all, and Annabelle found herself returning it with ease.

  “I hope you will forgive my forwardness, ladies,” he said. “I had been waiting for an opportunity to be introduced to you by the Duke of Hartholm, but I have never quite caught him to make the inquiry. I hope my use of Lady Warren is acceptable.”

  Georgina elbowed Annabelle lightly when she didn’t answer for a moment, and she was forced to do so.

  “Of course, my lord,” she said. “That is most agreeable. I’m very pleased you approached us, though I’m certain my brother would have been more than happy to make the introduction.”

  She shot a side glance toward Georgina, who smiled with encouragement, right before she leaned in and said, “It was a very great pleasure to meet you, my lord. However, I see my mother motioning to me and I’m afraid I must go to her. I’m sure you will find Miss Flynn a very happy companion.”

  Claybrook nodded. “I’m certain I will. Good evening, Miss Hickson.”

  Georgina gave a very proper incline of her head, but the moment she was behind Claybrook’s back, out of his line of sight, she shot Annabelle a look filled with meaning that only served to ratchet Annabelle’s nervousness all the higher.

  She took a deep breath. “How do you find the party, my lord?” she asked, although she certainly couldn’t say she cared greatly about the answer. But it was small talk—and the ton adored their small talk.

  “It is very lovely,” he answered. “A bit crowded, though.”

  She looked around. Every corner did seem packed with people. “It is that,” she agreed.

  “Perhaps you would like to take a turn with me around the room?” he suggested.

  Annabelle glanced down at her hands, clenched before her. She had rather hoped Claybrook would ask her to dance, but it seemed that was not to be. Still, a walk around the room couldn’t be sneezed at. At least they would be seen together.

  “Certainly.”

  He held out an elbow and she slipped her hand into the crook of it. She was surprised at the wiry strength of his arm and the certain way he led her out to walk the large room.

  “I have not seen you in Society before, I don’t think.”

  Annabelle pursed her lips. He was touching on a very delicate subject. One she had been training herself to deal with.

  “My family is a bit unconventional,” she said, the words tasting as false as they likely sounded.

  But Claybrook gifted her with a very kind smile. “Indeed, they are. And yet, is that the worst thing in the world?”

  Annabelle swallowed hard. The earl seemed sincere in that comment that all but dismissed the Flynn reputation. Was this possibly a man who could overlook her name and actually see her? It was hard to tell at this early stage. But his answer gave her a slender reed of hope.

  One that continued as they strolled around the room. She knew eyes were on her, but she managed to talk with Claybrook about everything from the weather to the current state of the newspapers. And though she had to fight not to talk too much or be too bright or show her true self, when they found themselves near the punch bowl a half an hour later, she had to admit it had been a very good conversation, at least in terms of husband-catching.

  Claybrook gave her a nod. “Thank you again for this time, Miss Flynn. I certainly hope I shall see you again soon.”

  She smiled at his compliment and nodded. “I would very much like that, Lord Claybrook.”

  He bowed and said his good nights before he walked away, leaving her to watch him. And she did watch, unable to keep herself from judging his form as he walked away.

  When her gaze settled on his slim, flat backside, she turned her face and her cheeks flamed. Great God, what was she doing? Looking at him like that? So intimately and improperly?

  Except she had, and her stomach churned a little. Claybrook was very nice thus far, yes. And he was titled and completely respectable. But there was no spark there. When she examined him, even inappropriately, she couldn’t say that there was a desire that grew in her.

  Unlike when she looked at Marcus Rivers.

  Spinning around to face the refreshment table, Annabelle gritted her teeth. What was she doing thinking about that man? Hadn’t she spent two whole days purging all thoughts of the club owner from her mind? How dare he intrude upon this place?

  This place, where she belonged.

  Except it didn’t really feel like that. And she feared it never would.

  “Rafe didn’t want to come in with you?”

  Annabelle jumped at the words called out to her from the parlor and poked her head into the dim room to find her mother curled up on a settee, reading by candlelight.

  “Rafe wanted to get home to Serafina,” she said as she entered the room and pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead. “I didn’t know you would still be up.”

  A smile was her response. “I will likely always wait up for you, it is an old habit.”

  “It must have been a dreadful one when my brothers
still spent their nights here,” Annabelle teased.

  When her mother didn’t return her smile, Annabelle took a seat next to her.

  “What is it?” Annabelle asked.

  Her mother shifted. “Nothing at all. Tell me, how was your night? A coming out. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend, but your brother’s title gives you far more influence in those circles than I could, I think.”

  “I would still like you to come with us one night,” Annabelle assured her. “If only to see the finery. And my night was…well, it was a debut, I suppose.”

  Her mother frowned. “It did not go as planned?”

  Annabelle stared at the fire for a moment. “I was not asked to dance by anyone besides Rafe, I’m afraid. I was watched by a few men. And a handful spoke to me when I was in the company of other ladies. But only one man approached me in any way that could indicate interest.”

  “Only one? What ninnies.”

  Annabelle laughed. “There were a great many of those, yes. But it was the Earl of Claybrook who came to talk to me especially.”

  “He didn’t ask you to dance?” her mother pressed.

  Annabelle shifted. When said like that, it sounded a bit like a set down. “No,” she said slowly. “He didn’t. But we took a long turn about the room and talked. Perhaps next time he will ask me to dance.”

  Her mother pushed to her feet and walked across the room. She poured herself a glass of sherry before she looked back at Annabelle. “I do not like the sound of that.”

  “It was fine. We all knew it wouldn’t be easy. Our family has shunned such society for so many years and there are the antics of my brothers and even our father to contend with.”

  They exchanged a sad and knowing smile. Being a Flynn woman was not always easy. Not for either of them. But their trials and worries over their male relations had brought them together. Annabelle saw her mother as a friend and confidante.

  She forced a smile. “Of course Rafe’s title and the money in my dowry will help.”

  Instead of showing relief, her mother’s face fell further. “That sounds like a man will settle for you, despite misgivings.”

  Annabelle flinched. “Perhaps that is the best we can hope for. You needn’t worry, though. I would only ever pick a man I had some liking for on some level.”

  She thought again of Claybrook, but also of Marcus Rivers. Two different men there could not be. So why did each cross her mind at this moment? She was obviously overly tired.

  “Still, I do not want you to find someone who cannot see your fine qualities—your humor, your wit, your intelligence, your talent, your beauty.”

  Annabelle blushed at the recitation of her supposedly finer qualities. It was likely good her mother could not read her sometimes very dark and dangerous thoughts or she might not think so highly of her.

  “We cannot all have a love match,” she said softly.

  Her mother frowned. There was a moment of reflective silence again and then she cleared her throat. “Do you think Crispin’s recent behavior will come back to haunt you?”

  Annabelle leaned in. There were lines of worry around her mother’s eyes and she could see now that she had been crying.

  “What has happened?” she whispered.

  Her mother dipped her chin. “I am too obvious, I see.”

  “Mama!”

  “Crispin came here tonight, a few hours ago. He did not look well.”

  Annabelle gripped her fists at her sides. Neither she nor Rafe had told their mother about the strange night that Crispin had spent at the Donville Masquerade. It would only worry her and that did no good.

  “Was he in his cups?” Annabelle whispered.

  “I think he’d had a drink,” her mother admitted. “But he wasn’t drunk. Yet there was a hollowness in his eyes, a wildness to his behavior that concerned me greatly. I asked him to stay here with me, but he refused.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” Annabelle asked, thinking again of the Donville Masquerade. Of Marcus Rivers.

  She blinked and tried to maintain focus on her mother’s answer. “He said something about a card game, a masquerade?”

  Annabelle let out her breath in relief. If her brother had gone back to Rivers’ club, there was a very good chance he would look out for Crispin. She didn’t understand why he would do so, but he did. And there was more to that than Rivers’ mere explanation that Crispin was a good patron.

  But would the other man know when her brother had truly reached his limit? Would he keep an eye on him at all times, no matter what? Would he refuse him if that was what Crispin needed or intervene at the right moment?

  Those questions haunted Annabelle.

  “Rafe seems to think our brother requires the rope to hang himself, I fear,” she whispered.

  Her mother squeezed her eyes shut, and the pain was plain on her face. “I hate to think that will be the solution, but he may be correct. Crispin changed after Rafe inherited his dukedom. It is as if he was lost, and I don’t know why it affected him so powerfully. It is almost as if there was more to it, though he won’t confide in me.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Or anyone.”

  “And that is the material point that Rafe’s attitude addresses. If Crispin doesn’t want to be reached, I don’t know what else we can do. He is of sound mind and body and far into his maturity.”

  Annabelle snorted at that comment. Crispin was not acting like a man “far into his maturity” at all. “I’m surprised you are willing to take Rafe’s side.”

  “What else could I do? It isn’t as if I could follow him to the club every night, watching over him like a hen.” Her mother sighed. “Now it is late and I think we both will feel better about these situations once we rest.”

  Annabelle nodded, but as her mother rose and kissed her on the cheek, leaving her alone in the parlor, her mind had begun to spin a plan. One that could certainly get her into more trouble, but might also save her…and her brother.

  Chapter Six

  Although he made his money in the wee hours of the night, Marcus always preferred his club during the day. In the quiet hours before patrons began to trickle in for passion and profit, the rooms seemed huge, the silence never-ending. He could lose himself in mindless accounting or reading over reports and forget, if only for a moment, that he didn’t deserve any of the riches that he had made off the backs of the prosperous and titled.

  He let his eyes flicker up and out the large windows of his office. Down below, the tables were empty and the room echoed whenever the servants spoke as they readied for another night of randy entertainment.

  Normally, he would feel pleasure in that fact, but lately he had begun to be troubled by the desperate element that drove some of his membership, his patrons. Crispin Flynn had been back at the Donville Masquerade the night before and while he had been less out of control, Marcus couldn’t help but think of Annabelle while he watched his troubled friend.

  Annabelle and her bewitching dark eyes, her soft skin, her sad expression when she spoke of the brother she loved and was losing thanks to whatever darkness drove him. Annabelle, who Marcus longed to touch, to kiss, to possess on a deeply physical level.

  There was a light knock on the door, and Marcus jerked as he was brought back to reality. “What is it?” he barked out, his tone sharp as he moved to accommodate an increasing erection thanks to his inappropriate thoughts.

  Abbot opened the door and stepped inside. His face was long and drawn down, and Marcus frowned at the sight of him.

  “Please don’t tell me you are still brooding over our discussion about you allowing Annabelle Flynn into my carriage?”

  Normally Abbot wasn’t one to pout, but they had exchanged some rather strong words after Annabelle’s unexpected entry into Marcus’s lair.

  Abbot shook his head. “Of course not.”

  “Then why is your face drawn into such a sullen frown?” Marcus pressed, getting up now that his body no longer betrayed him.

 
“Because she is back,” Abbot said.

  Marcus froze. He could not have understood that sentence correctly. Abbot couldn’t mean Annabelle had returned to the club—it was not possible. The lady had fulfilled whatever duty she had to chase her brother; it was clear they would never see each other again. In fact, Marcus had been counting on that to clear his mind of these troubling thoughts of her.

  “She who?” he asked, hating how his voice was now cracked and broken.

  “She the bloody queen. Who do you think?”

  Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you telling me that Annabelle Flynn is here, in my club, at…” He paused to look at the clock. “…at two in the afternoon?”

  “Precisely. She beat on the door until poor Vale had no choice but to answer and then refused to leave until she saw you. She and her maid are in the foyer as we speak.” Abbot tilted his head. “I would like to point out that this time it is not my fault.”

  Marcus pursed his lips. “The woman is a menace.”

  “Indeed.”

  He paced to the window again. From here he couldn’t see the trouble waiting just outside the main double doors. But he could picture her perfectly, down to her full, pink lips perfectly made for sin.

  “Send her in,” he managed to growl out. “But make sure her maid stays behind.”

  “Why?” Abbot asked, his eyes widening.

  Marcus gave a half-smile. “If she insists on seeing a wolf, I would like to remind her that she is a sheep. Perhaps that will stop her from coming here.”

  Abbot nodded and left the room, but as soon as he was gone, Marcus all but collapsed back into the chair. He might bluster a good game, but his heart had already begun to pound erratically in his chest at the mere idea that Annabelle was in such close proximity. She shouldn’t be. And he hoped he could frighten her off.

  And yet he wanted her here. With him. In his office. With no one else around to ruin the atmosphere.

  He heard them on the stair and got back to his feet. The door opened and Abbot motioned her inside. “May I get you anything else?” he asked.