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

by Jess Michaels

“There are widows who flaunt their behavior more openly,” he offered, but the tone was not convincing. How could it be when he knew she was right?

  “Widows,” she repeated. “And usually those with money and some power thanks to the ranks or reputations of their husbands. Women who have no need to ever marry again and don’t care about Society. I am not married. If I do not marry, I wouldn’t be thrown into the street, of course, but I would have no chance at a respectable life.”

  He flopped on his side. “You keep saying a respectable life, but how in the world can you say you are not respectable? You are a lady in every sense of the world and those around you know it.”

  She reached up to gently cup his face, and Marcus almost purred into the warmth of her hands, despite the frustrating nature of this relationship. “I am naked in the bed of a man who owns a popular but incredibly notorious club. How could anyone call me a lady if they knew that I had done this? That I craved it?”

  “That you craved me, you mean?” he pressed, a sting working through him at the words.

  She was rejecting him, as much as her family’s reputation or the life she feared she would lose if she gave in to her true nature. Her true nature wasn’t good enough.

  And neither was he.

  “You are why this is so difficult,” she said with a shake of her head. “You are…incredible.”

  “But beneath you.” He began to push out of the bed. “And not just because you will not let me take you.”

  She grasped his arm. “Not in my estimation. Marcus—”

  Whatever she might have said was interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door to his office. Marcus shot a glare through the adjoining room.

  “Marcus, let’s finish this,” she said, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her.

  “I can’t ignore it,” he snapped, grabbing his trousers and shoving them on as he walked through the office to the door. He yanked it open. “What?” he shouted at whoever had interrupted him.

  He was surprised to find Abbot standing on the other side of the barrier. And judging from the way his friend’s gaze flitted over Marcus’s half-dressed frame, the surprise was mutual.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your…” Abbot shook his head. “…your work, Rivers, but we have a situation. With Crispin Flynn.”

  Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and waited for Annabelle’s reaction. Just as he had suspected, she let out a pained cry and rushed from his bedroom with only a sheet wrapped around her lithe body.

  “My brother?” she burst out as she skidded to a halt beside him.

  Abbot shifted, moving his stare to a fixed point far behind Annabelle. "Er, yes, Miss Flynn. He is making huge bets, Rivers.”

  “How huge?” Marcus asked.

  “Ten thousand pounds.”

  Annabelle lifted a hand to her lips. “My God, he’ll be bankrupt if he continues this way.”

  “See if you can distract him. I’ll come down straight away, I need to dress.”

  Abbot nodded and left the room with an expression no one couldn’t read as relief. He clearly didn’t want to be standing in the room with Marcus and his apparent lover. Marcus was not looking forward to what would surely be a pointed conversation with Abbot later.

  “Marcus,” Annabelle breathed as he closed the door behind his friend. She clutched his arm and her sheet slipped slightly, revealing a tantalizing curve of her breast.

  He pushed aside his wicked thoughts. “I’ll go down, Annabelle.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she insisted.

  He shook his head. “No, you aren’t. I can handle—”

  “I’m coming with you!” she repeated, this time shouting.

  He stared at her. In this moment, she was as wild as either of her brothers had ever been. And determined. If he argued with her, it would only mean more time lost.

  “Fine. Get dressed and make sure you wear your mask,” he snapped as he moved toward the bedroom with her at his heels. “And you will listen to everything I say, Annabelle.”

  She nodded, but as they entered his chamber to dress, he had a sneaking suspicion that she was lying. And there was very little he could do about it.

  For the first time since she came to the club, as she followed Marcus through the crowd, Annabelle wasn’t looking at the couples engaging in erotic play. Her mind was too occupied with thoughts of her brother.

  Marcus walked with purpose and it was difficult to keep up with him as he maneuvered with ease through the people. His mouth was set in a grim line, though he still acknowledged patrons at the tables and nodded to those who said his name.

  He was at home here.

  He made a sharp turn, and she found herself in the same hallway where they had spied before. She blushed as Marcus led her into the dark corridor.

  “Marcus,” she began. “I don’t want to—”

  “Your brother is in the gambling room here,” he said, sliding open the barrier to look inside. “We’ve been ensuring he was in a room where we could watch him.”

  Her lips parted. “You have been keeping an eye on him?”

  Marcus nodded. “I told you and Rafe that I would. I keep my word, despite what you may believe.”

  She reached out to take his hand. “I believe you to be honorable.”

  He said nothing, but continued to look into the peephole. He blocked her view, so she stood, not exactly patient, but waiting as he observed whatever was going on inside.

  Suddenly there was a crash from inside the chamber where Marcus observed her brother. He jolted and shook her hand away. “Wait here,” he barked as he began to race back down the corridor. “Don’t you dare move!”

  Her breath coming short, Annabelle hurtled herself into position so she could see inside the chamber. Her brother had flipped the gambling table. Money and cards were scattered around the room. And now Crispin staggered, taking wild swings at the very large, very serious-looking man he had been playing against.

  And the man did not look happy or forgiving.

  “Cheat!” Crispin roared, just barely staggering out of the way of the man’s meaty fist.

  Before he could swing again, the door flew open and Marcus and several of his staff ran in. Three of them restrained Crispin’s gambling partner even as Marcus moved toward her brother.

  “Cris,” he said, his soothing tone unlike anything she had ever heard. It actually reminded her of Rafe talking to Crispin. Marcus even used his long-abandoned shortening of his name. “Cris, listen to me.”

  “You let a bunch of fucking cheats into your club, Rivers,” Crispin slurred.

  Annabelle tensed at the ugly language, but leaned closer to watch Marcus’s reaction. He could have become angry, but instead he laughed. “Whoever pays, you know.”

  Crispin’s gambling partner reared. “I’m no damn cheat, Rivers.”

  Marcus glared at him. “Do calm down, Porter. Take him out, get him a drink, men.”

  The servants complied, half-escorting, half-dragging Crispin’s partner away. That left Crispin, Marcus and Abbot in the room together.

  “What is the cause of all this, Crispin?” Marcus asked softly.

  “She’s gone, my brother is gone,” Crispin slurred.

  Annabelle blinked. She?

  “I don’t know who she is,” Marcus said softly. “But your brother is perfectly fine. I had supper with him not three days ago.”

  Her brother snorted. “You had supper with the fucking duke.”

  Annabelle turned her head as pain slashed through her. Crispin had never accepted Rafe’s inheritance of their cousin’s title. It seemed to break him to know Rafe had to change to fit his new future. Even though Crispin had actually helped their brother when his life with Serafina wasn’t certain.

  “The duke and your brother are the same,” Marcus reassured him.

  “No, they are not. Rafe cannot be who he once was.”

  “He seems much the same to me,” Marcus said.

  “You are not his brother.
”

  “No,” Marcus agreed. “I do not have that privilege, you are correct. But I have known you two a very long time. I owe you both a great deal. And I want to help you.”

  Crispin looked at him, and Annabelle could see his misery. “How can you help me?” he grunted.

  “Let me get you sober and we can talk about it,” Marcus offered. “You and me, no one else. You know I am on your side.”

  Annabelle held her breath as she waited for her brother’s response. She watched Crispin’s face, and for a heartbeat she thought he might accept Marcus’s offer. And then he pulled away from the man who was apparently a much closer friend than she had imagined and barked, “Just get me a drink, Rivers. That’s how you can help me.”

  Marcus sighed, his shoulders rolling forward. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “I pay you to do that,” Crispin said, his voice low and angry.

  Annabelle covered her mouth at his dismissive tone. But Marcus didn’t even flinch.

  “You pay for the privilege of gaming and whoring in these halls,” he corrected softly. “A privilege I can remove at any time, my friend, although I hope you don’t push me so far.”

  Annabelle knew what her brother would do even before he moved. She saw his posture stiffen, his fist form at his side, his face twist in animal, out of control emotion that had nothing to do with Marcus. He was going to swing.

  “Crispin!” she screamed out as he did so.

  Her brother jolted at her voice and his punch went wild. Marcus was easily able to step out of the way of it and Crispin staggered to the ground.

  “What the hell?” he barked, looking around, looking directly toward the peephole where she stood. Worse, Marcus looked toward her too, his face a mask of horror.

  She stepped back into the darkened hall, flattening against the wall opposite the peephole. What had she done?

  Her brother stared in the direction of the hall for a moment more and then glared at Marcus. “Spies, friend?”

  “You know these rooms,” Marcus said, his voice mild, though she could see the strain in his muscles.

  “Go to hell,” Crispin snapped, then marched out of the room.

  Annabelle ran down the darkened hallway and into the main room. She saw her brother weaving through the crowd, barely avoiding smashing into others. She took a step to follow him, but was stopped as Marcus stepped from the gambling room and caught her arm.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, drawing her back. “He’s drawn enough attention to himself as it is, don’t drag yourself down with him.”

  She spun on him. “I can’t let him go! Not in this state!”

  Marcus said nothing, but motioned with his head to Abbot and began hauling her across the room, away from Crispin’s departing back.

  “No!” she said, pulling against his grip, but to no avail. “Marcus!”

  He ignored her and dragged her up the stairs to his office. Abbot followed and wordlessly closed the door behind them as Marcus released her.

  “Marcus!” she repeated, pled, begged.

  He nodded. “I know. I know you are upset, and you have every right to be. But Annabelle, what were you thinking saying his name, attempting to follow him when I specifically told you not to move?”

  “He is my brother!” she shouted, slamming her hand on Marcus’s desk, as if she could make him understand if she brought the room down.

  “And he is my friend,” he snapped back.

  She stood for a moment, panting and staring at him. Then she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I saw that.”

  “You have wanted Rafe to offer Crispin help. You’ve believed in your heart that if the offer was made, Crispin would take it,” Marcus continued, his voice softer now, filled with tenderness—not for Crispin, but for her. “But I offered him the same and he refused, Annabelle. Violently.”

  Abbot cleared his throat. “Should I place Mr. Flynn on the banned list for the club?”

  Annabelle spun on him. Crispin banned? She knew he deserved nothing less. After all, he had attempted an assault on the owner, flipped over a table and caused a disruption that those downstairs were likely screeching about, rather than whispering. He’d worn no mask during it all.

  Her heart sank.

  “No,” Marcus said.

  Abbot shook his head. “No?”

  “No,” he repeated, his eyebrows lifting as if to challenge Abbot to question him. “If Crispin doesn’t come here, he will have nowhere to go where he’ll be looked after. However, it’s obvious we need to control this situation more. When he gambles, be certain it is with one of our men. They won’t let the situation get out of hand and can return any ‘winnings’ at the end of the night.” He began to pace, and Annabelle could see his mind turning. “When he drinks, be certain it is watered down. And if you can steer him toward a woman, by God, do it. He’ll be less trouble.”

  Abbot wrote down the notes carefully. “You intend to coddle him.”

  Annabelle glared. Marcus’s man wasn’t wrong, but she hated him for pointing that out, regardless. He had influence, and he might change Marcus’s mind about taking care of Crispin.

  “I intend to do everything I can for a friend who saved my life,” Marcus growled.

  Abbot hesitated only a moment before he nodded. “Then it shall be done. I will go down and begin making arrangements and try to soothe the ruffled feathers. Unless there is anything else?”

  “No,” Marcus said, leaning his hands on the desk, his head bent.

  Abbot left the room and for a long time after he had left them alone, all Annabelle could do was stare at Marcus. This man, her lover, her brother’s champion, this unexpected man…he held such sway over her. And yet she could do nothing with her feelings.

  “Marcus,” she whispered.

  He lifted his head, but didn’t look at her. “Please don’t ask me how your brothers saved my life. Not tonight.”

  She flinched. He would not share that story with her. It was too personal; perhaps she had not earned it. And yet she wanted to know.

  “When, then?” she asked.

  He finally turned toward her. “Next time. When our emotions are less heightened. I will tell you, Annabelle. I’ll tell you everything.”

  She nodded before she moved toward him, sliding her hand against his cheek. “Thank you Marcus.”

  She lifted to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He groaned at the touch, opening his mouth to grant her access. She took it, tasting his tongue, teasing him as he had teased her so very many times.

  Then she stepped back. “And I’m so sorry,” she added before she adjusted the mask on her face and left the room. Left him.

  And left herself more confused and in turmoil than she had ever been in before.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marcus was sitting as his desk an hour later, looking at the swirling patterns of Annabelle’s handwriting, when there was a light knock. He tensed. After tonight, there was no one he wanted to see. No one he felt prepared to talk to.

  And yet he had a club to run and he couldn’t ignore his duties.

  “Yes,” he croaked out, his voice barely carrying.

  The door opened slowly and Abbot stepped inside, leaning on the doorjamb as he examined Marcus at length. Marcus forced his gaze to the paperwork before him.

  “Is there something going on downstairs that I need to know about?” he asked softly. Abbot didn’t respond long enough that Marcus looked up at him. “Well?”

  “No, nothing downstairs.”

  “If you have no club business to discuss, then I’d like to be left alone for a while,” Marcus ground out.

  “I have club business,” his friend said, pushing off the door, shutting it behind him and settling into a chair across from Marcus.

  “God, Abbot,” Marcus groaned.

  “Are you lovers, then?”

  Marcus glared at him. “It’s none of your damn business.”

  “Perhaps not. Are you?”

  Mar
cus leaned back in his chair, watching Abbot closely. He had known Paul Abbot for almost as long as he had run this club. They were of an age, and he trusted the man across from him with his money, his business…and he would even go so far as to say his life.

  Despite all that, telling him something so personal was difficult. Marcus had been trained long ago by bitter circumstance not to give others too much of himself and had few confidantes.

  “I’m not asking as your man of affairs,” Abbot said softly. “I don’t care about impact on the business, though later I may point out to you, yet again, that your actions could very well have one. But tonight, in this moment, I am asking you as a friend. Because I think you could use one. If you agree, then let me ask again. Are you lovers with Annabelle Flynn?”

  Marcus rubbed a hand over his face, and then he shrugged. “It is more complicated than that.”

  “How so?”

  He met Abbot’s stare. “She requires she remain virginal for her nameless, faceless future husband who I will no doubt be unworthy to even shine his rotting shoe.”

  Abbot leaned away. “She said that? She seems many things, but not cruel.”

  “No, she never says it,” Marcus whispered. “But I know it, don’t I? We both know what I am.”

  “A successful self-made man who was a friend to her late father, as well as both her brothers? A man who chooses to protect one of her brothers even to his detriment?”

  Marcus pursed his lips. “She wants respectability. The kind that comes with a title. The kind I could never provide thanks to this club and my personal history.”

  “Hmmm.” The noise Abbot made was noncommittal. “So no sex. But obviously a great deal else, judging from the scene I encountered earlier in the evening.”

  “Yes,” Marcus admitted, his tone rough as he thought of the slick sweetness of Annabelle’s body, the aching drive he’d had to violate their agreement and claim her as his. The massive self-control it had taken not to do so.

  “Does anyone else know?” Abbot asked.

  “My mother.”

  Abbot’s eyes went almost impossibly wide. “You told Calliope?”

  Marcus shrugged. “I needed to talk to someone who would tell me exactly what I needed to hear. Who wouldn’t whitewash the truth.”