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

by Jess Michaels

  “Well, Calliope is certainly that. And what did she say?”

  “Nothing to help,” Marcus said with a long sigh. “Though she did ask after you, of course.”

  “That’s my girl,” Abbot said, his tone filled with teasing.

  “You two are of a mind, at least.”

  “That’s because your mother is an incredibly smart woman and we both care about you.” Abbot’s face was entirely sincere. “Though when I asked you if anyone else knew, I meant more from Annabelle’s part.”

  Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I suppose she might have told someone, but considering her drive to protect her reputation, I doubt my name crosses her lips except when I force it here in this office.”

  “And so this is why she comes here? For an almost-affair with you?”

  “No. The situation between us arose because we both found ourselves drawn together, physically. I suggested we not fight it and this is as far as she will allow. So I take what I can get.” Marcus pushed from the desk. “But she comes here because she truly believes she can save Crispin. That if she can observe her brother at his worst, she can help bring back his best.”

  “Do you agree?”

  He stared out at the writhing bodies below. The night was coming to an end and most of those left in the club had given up on cards and were now focusing on far more pleasing activities. He hated them all for it, for taking something he couldn’t have.

  “I don’t know. Annabelle is stubborn enough that perhaps she can force his hand.” He sighed. “But after tonight, after seeing Flynn so lost, I doubt she can fix him. He’ll have to want to do that all on his own, whatever demon haunts his every step. I fear it will hurt her deeply.”

  “You care for her,” Abbot breathed.

  Marcus stiffened. “Nonsense.”

  “No, it isn’t. I can hear it in your words, I can see it in the way you watch her, the way you tense when you talk about her. The fact that you sought council from your mother reinforces my theory even more.”

  Marcus glanced at his friend over his shoulder. “I know she isn’t for me, Abbot, you needn’t worry about that. Whatever we share is temporary at best. According to her eldest brother, the duke, her Season is going very well. I will likely be a unpleasant memory soon enough.”

  He frowned at the thought. He hoped Annabelle wouldn’t come to regret him over time. But perhaps if she found a husband she loved and respected, she would wish she hadn’t surrendered so much to Marcus.

  “Rivers,” Abbot said, his tone suddenly different. “Who wrote in your books?”

  Marcus turned to find Abbot had stood and moved to his desk. He was leaning over the ledgers, both eyebrows raised. Marcus cleared his throat. “Annabelle is very clever with figures. And she has some good ideas for managing some of our affairs. Perhaps we can discuss them another day.”

  Abbot looked up at him. There was no anger on his face, just pure, unadulterated surprise. “Be careful, my friend,” he said softly. “Not because I don’t trust your judgment, not because I dislike this woman, not because I don’t understand why you’re drawn to her…”

  “Then why?” Marcus glared at him.

  Abbot shifted in discomfort. “I’ve known you almost a decade, Rivers. You don’t normally allow yourself to feel for anyone, no matter the circumstances. You may not know the power it has when you care so deeply.”

  Marcus gritted his teeth. He could tell Abbot again that he didn’t care about Annabelle. He could deny it to the sky and the moon and the sun until the world ended. But in his heart, he knew it wasn’t true. And he had a suspicion saying it out loud would only prove Abbot’s point all the more.

  Instead, what he had to do was purge those feelings from his mind. Separate the desire he felt for Annabelle for any silly feelings he’d ever associated with her starting that long ago day when he first met her.

  That was the only way to protect himself. The only way to save them both.

  “I’m so glad we could have tea together, just the two of us today.”

  Annabelle was pulled from her reverie by Serafina’s voice. She glanced over to find her brother’s wife watching her, a bright smile on her beautiful face but a strange look in her eyes. Annabelle pushed away thoughts of Crispin and Marcus, as she had been for nearly two days, and instead forced a smile for Serafina.

  “I am as well,” she said, and did not have to lie. “I so enjoy our times together.”

  “Yes.” Serafina refreshed her tea, her gaze flitting to Annabelle as she did so. “But I fear you are distracted much of late.”

  Annabelle swallowed hard. “Am—am I?”

  “I think you know you are, my dear. Would you like to talk to me about why?”

  Annabelle searched Serafina’s face, trying to determine how much she knew. From her tone, it seemed she meant more than she said, but her face revealed nothing. But then, her sister-in-law had her reasons for developing such a skill, though she no longer had need to use it.

  “I suppose anyone would be distracted by a foray into Society,” Annabelle said, dropping her gaze. Unlike Serafina, it was hard for her to hide her emotions and she feared they would be clear upon her face.

  “I feel it is more than that.” Serafina reached forward and took both Annabelle’s hands. She squeezed gently, forcing Annabelle to look at her. “Are you certain there is nothing you need to tell me? Perhaps something that would be difficult for you to explain to Rafe or your mother? Because what is the use of having a sister if not to confess our deepest secrets and obtain advice, perspective and even aid?”

  Annabelle sucked in a breath. She adored her brother’s wife. As Serafina had just said, she was the sister Annabelle had never had, and in the months she and Rafe had been married, the two had grown closer than ever. Which meant she wanted so desperately to tell her everything.

  But telling Serafina anything meant telling Rafe the same. And she could not imagine her brother would not be enraged if he knew her desperate plans. If he knew how far she had gone with Marcus and how much further she longed to go.

  Rafe would tell her to forget Crispin, to abandon him until he was ready to reach out to his family once more. After seeing her brother lose control two nights before, she couldn’t do that. Even if she knew it was sound advice somewhere in her heart.

  And yet her lips parted, they trembled with the words she so desperately wanted to say out loud. Serafina leaned forward, anticipating the truth, blue eyes wide with readiness to comfort and council.

  “I-I am only worried about my future in Society,” Annabelle finally said, turning her face so she wouldn’t see Serafina’s recognition of that bitter lie. “And worried about Crispin. He seems bent on destroying himself.”

  Serafina sighed. “I can imagine your brother’s condition at present much troubles you. I never had a brother of my own, but I have come to care about you all so much since my marriage to Rafe that I also think of Crispin often and fear for his safety.”

  Annabelle shot her a look. “Is there no way you can convince Rafe to reach out to him? To offer him assistance?”

  Serafina tilted her head. “Do you not think he has? Over the past few months, when Crispin has sunk to his lowest, Rafe has offered him help multiple times, only to be rebuffed soundly and often rather cruelly. I assure you, it breaks his heart to let Crispin go, knowing he is in deep pain and that Rafe can do nothing to help him.”

  Annabelle drew a breath at the tears that leapt into Serafina’s eyes at her words. She had been making the assumption that Rafe was simply choosing to be cold toward their brother, but she could see now his deep emotions, reflected in Serafina’s empathetic pain for him.

  “I have been too hard on Rafe, I can see that,” she whispered. “And after what I’ve seen, perhaps he is right.”

  Serafina jerked her face toward her. “What you’ve seen? What do you mean?”

  Annabelle bit her tongue. What an idiotic confession, dropped in a moment of u
nguarded weakness and revealing too much. “I only mean knowing that Crispin has separated himself from us all,” she hastened to lie. “After my discoveries when I snuck into Mr. Rivers’ carriage that night a few weeks ago.”

  Serafina’s eyebrow arched. “Yes, Mr. Rivers. He is a very interesting fellow, isn’t he?”

  “What do you mean?” Annabelle asked, hearing her own voice crack and trying desperately to keep it from happening again.

  “At supper, he was very witty and engaging. You seemed to like him a great deal, actually.”

  Annabelle turned her face. “How could you not? As you said, he is unexpected.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Annabelle’s eyes went wide. “What does hmmm mean?”

  Serafina got to her feet, a slow process thanks to the increasingly rounded belly that held her child. She walked across the room before she turned to look at Annabelle. “I cannot be with you as you make your way in Society. For that I am truly sorry, because I might have been able to ease your transition.”

  Annabelle blinked, uncertain of this sudden shift in subject from Marcus to her debut. But not sorry for it, Marcus was an infinitely more dangerous topic. “I understand,” she said slowly.

  Serafina continued, “But I have been able to observe you during your weeks out in the world of the Upper Ten Thousand, and I see that you are garnering interest from Lord Claybrook.”

  Serafina swallowed. Claybrook. She had not thought of the man in days, actually. The moment he left any room they shared, it was as if he no longer existed. Not a good beginning, she knew, but she had no intention of admitting that to Serafina.

  “Yes, I’m very pleased about that fact,” she said, hoping her voice sounded brighter than she felt. “If we were to make a match, I think it would be a good one. For me, especially, considering that he is so well regarded. And I’m certain my dowry will not hurt his coffers.”

  Serafina’s lips pinched together. “I hate to hear you speak so cavalierly about the rest of your life. To put your future in terms of advantage and wealth when I know better than anyone how much those things can damage if they are all one shares with one’s intended. What about friendship and attraction? What about love, Annabelle?”

  “Not all of us can be so lucky as you and my brother have been,” Annabelle whispered.

  “Yes, we are lucky that we were brought together by circumstance and yet found such a connection that will keep us in each other’s arms and hearts for all time.”

  “And yet Rafe is also an undeniably good match,” Annabelle pointed out gently.

  Serafina shook her head. “I would love your brother if he had not a farthing for bread. If he had no property and no title.” She met Annabelle’s eyes. “If he were no more than a notorious club owner.”

  Now it was Annabelle who leapt to her feet. She walked away from Serafina, her hands shaking at her sides and her eyes unseeing as she stood at the sideboard, staring at her brother’s bottles of whiskey.

  “Well, I have no one I love so deeply,” she said, her voice trembling.

  Serafina was quiet for a very long time, and Annabelle had to force herself not to look at her sister-in-law. Finally, Serafina sighed. “The best laid plans are often not as good as we believe they will be. And maybe what you think you want is not what you actually need.”

  Annabelle spun toward her. Serafina’s face, so kind and open, still told her nothing about what she knew. Or thought she knew.

  “I wish it were so easy as want and need,” Annabelle said. “And that I had choices as to how I would be seen by the world at large. But right now is my only chance to have the life I have wanted, Serafina. I must take it, mustn’t I?”

  Her sister-in-law blinked and her smile faltered. “Only you can decide that, Annabelle. Only you can know what you are willing to lose to get what you think you want.”

  Annabelle bent her head, her mind spinning on Marcus. Marcus’s mouth, his touch, his soft and gentle words that brushed over her skin and settled beneath it.

  “Now are you certain you have nothing to reveal?” Serafina asked. “Nothing that I could help you with at all?”

  Annabelle swallowed hard. “No. I’m afraid I must determine my future on my own. There is nothing else to say in the end.”

  She saw Serafina’s disappointment at her answer, but the flash of emotion was gone from her face as quickly as it had come. She smiled again and retook her seat.

  “Would you like more tea?” she asked, as if the deeper, darker conversation they had shared had never happened.

  Annabelle nodded as she too sat down again. But she couldn’t help feeling that she had missed an opportunity here. And she hoped she wouldn’t regret it later.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcus watched as Annabelle scribbled notes from her place at his desk. Her mask had been replaced by her spectacles once again and she was focused on the task at hand, just as she had been since she arrived half an hour ago.

  But he knew in his heart that something had changed between them. There was a skittishness to how she held herself and her glances toward him had been furtive rather than natural.

  “Annabelle, what is wrong?” he finally asked, coming around to sit on the other side of his desk, forcing her to look directly at him.

  She shook her head far too quickly. “Nothing. Of course nothing.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms. “Annabelle…”

  She caught her breath, stared at his ledgers for a long, silent moment and then whispered, “Do you think my brother will return here tonight?”

  Marcus pursed his lips. “It is his regular night to come, yes. But he is late. It could be that after his recent outburst, he may stay away for a while.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and he saw both embarrassment and pain in the pinkening of her face. “I-I am sorry, again, for the way he behaved.”

  “Why do you apologize?” he asked with a shrug. “You didn’t cause him to lose control.”

  “Why do you think he is so unhappy?” Her voice cracked as she asked the question.

  He stared at her hand, clenched on the desktop. He so desperately wanted to touch it, to comfort her physically. But that was most definitely not his place.

  He leaned forward anyway, and did exactly that. He covered her hand briefly, letting his fingers stroke over hers.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said, voice rough as he pulled away. “You know him better, don’t you?”

  To his surprise, she bent her head and a tear slid down her cheek. "If you had asked me a year ago, two years ago, I would have said I knew him better than anyone except for perhaps Rafe. I would have told you I thought of him not just as my sometimes destructive brother, but as my friend.”

  Marcus drew back. He had never heard a lady call her brother a friend. But then, Annabelle was entirely singular. Which was why he liked her so damned much that it physically hurt.

  “But not now?”

  She shook her head. “Since Rafe’s marriage, I have watched Crispin spiral out of control, but I have no idea on earth why. When he was going to hit you, I knew what he would do; that is why I cried out. But when he looked around, trying to find the voice that said his name, it wasn’t my brother I saw in his face. That man was a stranger.”

  “He said something about she,” Marcus offered, thinking back to that night. “Was there a woman?”

  “There is always a woman with Crispin,” she said with a sigh. “But I’ve never known one to make him weak or to hurt him.”

  Marcus stared at her. He would have said the same thing about himself before he met Annabelle, or perhaps it was more correct to say before she staggered into his club and forced him to do more than stalk her mother’s drive, watching for a glimpse.

  “Perhaps he met the right girl,” he said, his voice low as he searched her face.

  “She would have to be the wrong girl if she has hurt him so much,” she growled, her protectiveness of her brother bright on her face.


  Marcus shook his head. “Sometimes people don’t mean to hurt those they care about. It just happens.”

  She jerked her gaze toward him. “I-I suppose that’s true. I’m sure I have hurt people in my past without meaning to do so. And though I hope I won’t, I fear I will repeat that in the future.”

  Marcus turned his face. He wasn’t certain she was talking about him, about their arrangement, but that was where his mind took him regardless. He could clearly picture the moment when she would walk away from him. And soon after that, she would certainly forget him, even while he was haunted with images of how close he’d been to perfection, to happiness.

  To love.

  He pushed out of his chair and paced away from her so she wouldn’t see his ridiculous thoughts on his face. So that he wouldn’t have to look at her while they infected his mind.

  He cleared his throat. “I think your brother is lucky indeed to have you as a friend.”

  She sighed. “It seems he is lucky to have one in you as well. You could have had him banned from your club and you didn’t. You could have hit him back and you didn’t.”

  Marcus shifted, not looking at her. “I would never do that.”

  “Because you feel you owe him and Rafe?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “You told me the last time you saw me that you would explain to me how it is you came to know them, why you feel you owe them so much.” She moved toward him. “Will you tell me now?”

  He slowly faced her. She was so beautiful, so desirable, so everything he had ever wanted and more than he would ever have. Perhaps telling her the story of why he owed her family would be a reminder to him of why he couldn’t want the things he wanted now.

  He motioned to the fire and the two chairs before it. She moved there slowly, tucking her feet up beneath her and watching him as he sat beside her.

  He took a long breath, wishing it would calm him. “I met your father and your brothers when I was fourteen years old,” he said with a shake of his head as memories flooded him. “There was a club that your father used to frequent.”