“I do want more,” she admitted. “Both received and given.”
His smile faded a fraction and darkness lit up in his green stare. “Then I cannot wait until next time we are together. But for now, get your dress and we will do our best to fix you.”
But as Annabelle stooped to get the gown she had discarded not so long ago, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever be “fixed”. After all, the desire she felt in her heart, in her body for Marcus didn’t seem diminished in the slightest by this encounter.
Already she was dreaming of the next one. And wishing she could have more than just his intimate kiss.
Chapter Twelve
Marcus shifted with discomfort and straightened his cravat for what seemed like the tenth time since he had been left alone in the parlor of the Duke of Hartholm. His friend…or was it former friend? Either way, Rafe had called for him two days after Marcus’s encounter with Annabelle, demanding he come to Rafe’s home.
And now Marcus waited for the arrival of the duke and wondered why the hell he had been summoned here. Of course, one reason came to mind.
Annabelle. Rafe knew about Annabelle. And if that were true, this conversation could easily end with calls for a duel at dawn over her honor. Marcus would deserve no less. After all, he was taking advantage of a lady, wasn’t he? Turning her desires against her in order to fulfill a fantasy he’d had for years?
Only it hadn’t felt like he was manipulating her when she sucked his cock into her throat and gave him pleasure unlike any he’d known…perhaps in his entire life.
The door opened and Rafe stepped inside. The sight of the duke shoved all inappropriate thoughts of Annabelle aside, but Marcus remained cautious as he approached him.
“Your Grace,” he said, holding out a hand.
Rafe took it without hesitation, shaking it with enthusiasm. “We’re in my home, Rivers—as I told you before, please call me Flynn.”
Marcus wrinkled his brow. “It still seems highly inappropriate for me to do so.”
“It is,” Rafe admitted. “But any time I can have a moment where I pretend I am not duke, I’ll take it. And when I’m with friends, I remain as I ever was, I assure you.”
Marcus watched Rafe move to the side bar and pour two drinks. Was it possible for a man to become titled and remain the same? He couldn’t imagine that was true. All those with titles Marcus knew held themselves a little apart, reveling in the fame and fortune most hadn’t earned but had stumbled into due to a twist of fate in birth family and order.
And yet, as Rafe turned with a grin and held out a glass of scotch, his friend truly looked the same as he had a year ago, long before his inheritance.
“How is the club?” Rafe asked, motioning to the chairs before the fire.
Marcus took one and sipped the scotch before he spoke. “Very well, same as ever. Your membership remains, you know.”
Rafe grinned. “I find I’m not tempted by such things now that I am wed.”
Marcus lifted a brow. He had heard rumors of the beauty of Rafe’s bride, Serafina, though he had never seen the lady in person. Everyone knew the tale of how the two had been forced to wed when Rafe inherited the dukedom and how they had been viciously attacked just weeks after that marriage.
He’d also heard that Rafe was completely in love with his wife.
“So it is true that you are happy in your choices…or what was thrust upon you without choice,” Marcus offered, his tone free of judgment.
To his surprise, Rafe’s face lit up. “Entirely so. There is no happier moment for me than the moment when Serafina was brought to me. The circumstances are not ideal, but the woman is…more than so. I adore her, Marcus. I love her with all that I am. And I realize you are shifting in discomfort now because you cannot believe I would wax poetic about a lady, but I am a changed man. Changed by love.”
Marcus examined him closely. “Yes, I can see that. And if you are happy, then I am happy for you.” He raised his glass. “To the duchess.”
“To the beautiful duchess,” Rafe agreed.
Their glasses clinked together and they each took another sip of the fine liquor. It was only after he had swallowed that Rafe’s joyful expression fell a fraction.
“As pleasant as these topics are, I do not think we can pretend I invited you here for such conversation. You must know what troubles me.”
Marcus pressed his lips together. “I may have a notion, yes.”
His mind filled with images of Annabelle, spread out on his bed at the club. Annabelle arching beneath him. Annabelle peering over his books with her spectacles perched on her nose.
“I want to talk to you about Crispin.”
Marcus blinked. “Er, yes, of course, Crispin.”
Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “You seem surprised. Is there something else we should be discussing?”
Marcus shook his head. “No, of course your brother must be on your mind. I only thought you had made it perfectly plain that you refused to intervene until your brother asked for help. If you sense surprise, that is the only reason why.”
Rafe nodded, accepting Marcus’s lie. Marcus exhaled a long breath. His mind was truly addled if he could not control his expressions.
“I do stand by my assertion that Crispin must desire our help before any offer will make a difference,” Rafe said, setting his scotch aside. There was no mistaking the troubled expression on his face. “But I do worry about him, regardless, and have been thinking about the situation since you last called on me. Crispin goes to the club a few times a week, doesn’t he?”
Marcus nodded. “Twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. And occasionally at other times.”
“So he keeps our old schedule,” Rafe mused. “And is he always out of control?”
Marcus pursed his lips. “Not always. I would say half the time he is his old self. He drinks, but it doesn’t make him reckless, he gambles, but he doesn’t lose too much, and he indulges in the ladies, though not as often as he once did.”
“And the other half of the time?” Rafe asked, his tone suddenly soft.
Marcus shifted. “You know it isn’t in my nature to share personal details of those who come into my club. It goes against the very spirit of the Donville Masquerade. But you and I have a history, Your Grace.”
“Flynn,” Rafe reminded him.
Marcus inclined his head. “Flynn. So I will tell you that when your brother loses control, he loses it spectacularly. He throws away hundreds, even thousands of pounds on cards and makes outrageous side bets. He drinks until he loses consciousness. Worse, there is no pleasure in these actions for him. I see his face and he is…”
“Lost,” Rafe supplied.
Marcus nodded. “That is the best way to put it. But I can assure you further that he is looked after, at least in my establishment.”
“By you?” Rafe pressed.
Marcus flashed again to Annabelle. “By myself and others. I will continue to report his actions to you if you would like.”
“That gives me more relief that I could possibly express, especially since I know this situation has caused you trouble. Between Crispin and Annabelle—”
“Annabelle?” Marcus interrupted.
Rafe shook his head. “Well, yes, her little stunt climbing into your man’s carriage and insisting to be taken to your club. You were graceful about the situation, but you could not have been pleased by her antics.”
Marcus fought the urge to laugh rather inappropriately. “I actually find your sister rather fascinating.”
“That is certainly one way to describe her,” Rafe said with a sigh as he downed his drink in one swig.
Marcus arched a brow, suddenly driven not just to defend Annabelle, but also to take this opportunity to know more about her. “You would describe her another way?”
Rafe pushed to his feet and moved to the mantel, where he stood, leaning against the it and looking into the fire. “She is willful and wild. Not exactly unexpected considering he
r last name. But she is also…very smart.”
“An interesting combination indeed,” Marcus said, hoping he sounded mild.
“She spent her life getting into trouble and then wrangling to avoid it.” Rafe shook her head. “I think my brother and I have not made it easy. The older I get, the more I realize how much she lost over the years because of us.”
“Such as?” Marcus pressed.
“Friends. Standing. Perhaps even a proposal or two.” Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face. “But now she has insisted upon her Season in the Upper Ten Thousand and she seems determined to wed a gentleman before the year is out.”
Marcus flinched despite himself. This was only a reminder of what he already knew, what Annabelle herself had told him. She had never hidden her ambitions.
“Why is she so resolute in her decision?”
Rafe flopped himself back into his chair. “Who knows? Fear that Crispin or I will destroy her only chance? Desperation for acceptance and security in her future?”
“It sounds very boring for a woman such as her,” Marcus said.
Rafe stared at him, and Marcus bit his tongue. Damn him for letting words slip that revealed too much. But Rafe only shrugged.
“Yes, I agree. I think she could do better than some fop who would judge her for being her own lovely, funny, intelligent self. But she will not be deterred. And I’m certain it will work out as she hopes. She seems to have an interest in an earl, Claybrook. I’ve determined nothing unsavory about the man, so I see no need to discourage the suit.”
Marcus said nothing, but his stomach churned at the words his friends had said. They felt like a knife to his gut, even though he was fully aware of Annabelle’s activities and desires for her future.
Rafe shook his head. “Great God, from your expression I see I must be boring you. I apologize and I thank you sincerely for talking to me.”
Marcus stood, ready to be dismissed. “I’m always happy to oblige, Flynn.”
Rafe got to his feet as well and slapped Marcus’s arm good-naturedly. “And now you must stay for supper.”
Marcus blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Unless you have another engagement,” Rafe said, tilting his head.
“It isn’t that,” Marcus admitted. “Only that…you are a duke.”
“And?”
“And married,” Marcus continued, waiting for Flynn to see the myriad of issues that should keep a man like him from the table.
Instead, Rafe laughed. “And?”
“You don’t want me in your dining room,” Marcus said quietly, wishing that the sting of having to say those words was not so very high.
Rafe’s brow wrinkled. “I asked you, didn’t I? Come, the family will begin to arrive soon and I assure you, you will be most welcomed by us all.”
“The family?” Marcus repeated, trying not to let his mind wander to inappropriate places yet again.
“My mother,” Rafe explained. “And Annabelle, of course.”
Marcus clenched a fist at his side. To see her here, in her natural environment, to be reminded just how far out of reach she truly was…
He wasn’t sure he could take that.
“Flynn, I—”
Rafe cut him off by lifting his hand. “Rivers, I insist. You will join us tonight. I’ll hear no further argument about it. Now if you will wait here a moment, Serafina should be almost ready and I’ll fetch her. I know she’s thrilled at the idea of meeting you.”
His friend didn’t wait for an answer, but all but bounded out of the room. Marcus paced to the fire where Rafe had once stood. He felt as troubled as the duke had looked then, though for very different reasons.
Put him in the underground and no other man in the world could be more at peace with himself. But here in the parlor of the titled, even a titled friend, and he felt very much out of place. Add Annabelle to the mix and Marcus wasn’t entirely certain that tonight wouldn’t be an exercise in humiliation and destruction.
And yet the thought of seeing her made him feel utterly alive.
Annabelle linked arms with her mother as they strolled through the parlor behind Rafe’s butler Lathem.
“I’m so glad we’re spending the evening with Serafina and Rafael,” her mother said with a happy sigh. “Though I do wish Crispin would come. We have not had a family gathering in months.”
Annabelle frowned. “He was invited, Mama, I’m certain of it. Perhaps he was simply engaged elsewhere.”
Her mother darted a look at her. “You needn’t try to protect me. I lived with your father, if you recall. I recognize that my son is struggling.”
Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut. She hated to see her mother so troubled by Crispin’s actions. Perhaps she could talk to Rafe about him again tonight, convince her eldest brother to help her in her schemes to watch over and perhaps even help Crispin.
At least she could try.
“Mrs. Flynn and Miss Annabelle,” Lathem said as he opened the parlor door and let them inside.
Annabelle forced a smile on her face as she entered the room, but it fell almost instantly, replaced by what she was certain was a look of utter horror. For standing across the room, talking to Serafina and Rafe, was Marcus Rivers.
Her Marcus Rivers.
“Mama, Annabelle,” Serafina said, crossing the room with her arms outstretched. She embraced first Annabelle’s mother and then Annabelle. “I’m so happy you’re here. I would like to introduce you to our guest, Mr. Marcus Rivers.”
Annabelle continued to stare, struck almost dumb as she watched her mother walk toward Marcus, hand outstretched.
“You know, I think we have met before, Mr. Rivers,” she said.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “We have, Mrs. Flynn, though it must be four years back.”
She nodded. “At my husband’s funeral gathering.”
Annabelle’s eyes went wide. Yes, Marcus had been there. She had all but forgotten that in the layers of her grief from that day, but now it rushed back. He had murmured his apologies at her loss just like the others, but then…
She jerked up her face to look at him. He had squeezed her arm in a simple, yet completely inappropriate, gesture of comfort.
“Your husband was the best of men,” Marcus said, his tone low and reverent.
“He was that. And now I am so happy to see you again under much brighter circumstances. Have you met my daughter, Annabelle?”
Her mother turned slightly toward her and Annabelle realized she would be forced to move toward him now. To talk to him politely and try to pretend that she hadn’t felt his mouth on her, that he hadn’t glided his hands over every inch of her body, that just the thought of him made her ache.
“We have met,” Annabelle forced herself to say as she held out a trembling hand. “Mr. Rivers. How nice to see you again.”
His rough fingers closed over hers and he shook her hand quite properly, but she saw the look in his eyes. The dark, swirling desire for her that did not fade even in a room full of her family. Her body gave an answering twitch that made her jerk her hand away suddenly.
“It—it’s very nice to see you again,” she said.
He smiled. “Your brother insisted upon my joining your party tonight. I hope you do not think I am intruding.”
It was her mother who answered. “Goodness no,” she insisted. “I am always happy to see a friend of this family, no matter how long it has been.”
Marcus looked at her, his surprise at her utter welcome clear on his face. In that unguarded flash of a moment, Annabelle could see just how uncomfortable he was in being here. And the sight of that vulnerability on the face of a man who was always perfect in control was rather…
Enticing.
Rafe move across the room and slipped his hand around his wife’s waist. “That is what I told him, Mama.”
“He did indeed,” Marcus said with a laugh. “And I’m pleased to be here.”
Annabelle shifted as they all continued chattin
g, as if it were normal that her…well, what was he? Her lover? Not exactly, but it was the closest term to the truth. How could they all stand and talk to her lover as if this were normal?
She felt like her own voice was too loud when she said, “Mama, you should see what Serafina has done to the nursery.”
She knew the effect that comment would have. Despite the inappropriateness of her suggestion with a guest in the house, her mother’s face lit up. “I would like to see it.”
Serafina grasped her mother-in-law’s hands with a bright smile before she glanced at Marcus in apology. “Would you mind very much if we snuck away?”
Marcus shook his head. “Of course not.”
The two women scurried toward the door, Serafina calling out, “We will be back shortly.”
Rafe laughed as they left. “Mama is over the moon about her first grandchild.”
“As she should be,” Marcus said with a gentle smile unlike anything Annabelle had ever seen.
Rafe opened his mouth as if to reply, but Annabelle rushed to fill the space in the conversation. “Rafe, would you mind getting me a drink, I am parched.”
“Certainly,” her brother said slowly. “What would you like?”
She smiled. “Some of Serafina’s special madeira.”
Her brother flashed a grin. It was well known that he specially ordered the drink for his wife because it was her favorite. “I’m afraid I have none in this parlor. She hoards it away, I think,” he said with a laugh.
Annabelle tilted her head. “Would you mind very much fetching a bottle? I have been dreaming of it since the last time I came here and shared a glass with her.”
Rafe pinched his lips together. “I’ll get your drink, Annabelle. But if you wanted to talk to Mr. Rivers alone, you could have asked. I would suggest apologizing to him again for sneaking into his carriage.”
He shook his head as he left the chamber. Annabelle glared after him, cheeks flaming.
But she was brought swiftly back to reality when Marcus touched her arm. “Are you planning to apologize?”
The Scoundrel's Lover (The Notorious Flynns Book 2) Page 11