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

  “You never allow anyone to speak to you in such a fashion.”

  He shrugged. “The Flynns and their father did me a favor long ago, one I would not repay by allowing Crispin to be put out in this state.”

  He frowned. Of course, being left in the room with the jackals all but pulling money directly from his friend’s pocket wasn’t a much better solution.

  “You will do the following, Abbot.” He paused as his man grabbed a small notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket. When he was ready, Marcus continued, “You will have two more join the party within. I think Mr. Sweet would be best and pick another who can be trusted to keep his wits about him.”

  “Williams,” Abbot said, jotting down instructions swiftly.

  “Flynn has always been a fan of brandy, so fetch a bottle from my personal collection upstairs and have either Sweet or Williams bring it with them. Have them be certain Flynn is drinking the lion’s share.”

  Now Abbot looked up. “Whatever for?”

  “Because once he passes out, Williams and Sweet can take him to one of the private bawdy rooms. I think Lady M was in the Scarlet room not so long ago, wasn’t she? If she left some of her bindings, perhaps that would be the perfect place to put him to sleep it off.”

  Abbot continued to stare and Marcus pointed at his notebook. “Would you like to write it down?”

  “I’m not certain what to write, Rivers. Are you truly telling me that you would like two of our men to get Crispin Flynn drunk on your very best and very expensive brandy until he loses consciousness, then to take him to the Scarlet room and tie him down with Lady M’s bindings?”

  Marcus arched a brow. “Yes. That is exactly what I said.”

  Abbot opened and shut his mouth several times, but he finally swiftly wrote a few more notes. “And what should we do with him then?”

  “I’m going to write a note to his brother,” Marcus said with a shrug. “Which you will personally deliver. Then he will be the Duke of Hartholm’s problem.”

  Abbot nodded and there was no longer surprise or question on his face, though Marcus was certain the other man felt a great deal of both. But he was trained well enough not to pry. For that, Marcus was glad. He had no intention of explaining to anyone just how big a favor the Flynns had done for him years before.

  “While you make your arrangements, I’ll pen the letter,” Marcus said. “Come to me in half an hour.”

  Abbot nodded as he scurried off to find Sweet and Williams. With a deep breath, Marcus turned back to his office and the letter he had to write. He could only hope Hartholm would come. If he didn’t, that left Marcus in a very uncomfortable position he didn’t want to consider.

  Annabelle had been curled up on the settee in the darkened sitting room for almost an hour, but was no closer to sleep than she had been when she snuck downstairs to find something to read. Her search of Serafina and Rafe’s shelves had been informative, but it hadn’t yielded one selection that would help calm her stormy mind.

  And so she had simply sat down and allowed her tangled thoughts to wash over her, in the hopes that eventually they would exhaust her. Thus far the plan had proven a very bad one. The worst possible scenarios of her coming out continued to play through her mind, wracking her with worry. Added to that were her concerns about Crispin and her errant mind truly had nowhere to go but further and further into the most dark and deadly fears she possessed.

  She was startled from her reverie when there was a sudden knock on the front door. She jumped to her feet and moved to the open parlor door to stare into the dim foyer. All the servants had long ago gone to bed and there was no reason for anyone to be disturbing the household at this hour.

  Unless something had happened. She was about to rush to the door herself when Rafe’s butler Lathem suddenly appeared at the end of the hall. He was wearing a dressing gown and nightcap, and he had a candle in one hand. She was shocked to see a rather ugly looking bludgeon in the other.

  The knocking repeated, and the servant called out, “I’m coming!”

  He was cursing under his breath as he rushed past Annabelle’s spot hidden in the darkened doorway and didn’t seem to realize she was there. He threw open the door to reveal a tall, thin man in a fine coat and hat.

  “Can I help you?” Lathem huffed.

  The other man bowed. “Paul Abbot here to see the Duke of Hartholm, sir. I’m sent by Marcus Rivers.”

  Annabelle stiffened at that name. Rivers was a friend to both her brothers, and he ran an infamous gambling hell. She had met him a few times over the years, but despite only seeing him so little, she could easily conjure an image of him.

  He was tall, but that didn’t truly express his size accurately. Physically intimidating was a better description, and Annabelle was certain he knew it. There was something about the way the man moved.

  He had dark hair and green eyes that seemed to see secrets in every person he laid his gaze upon. She felt…disconcerted when she was around him.

  But why would he send a man here in the middle of the night?

  Her silent question was answered when Abbot continued, “It is about the duke’s brother. I have a message.”

  He held out an envelope, and Lathem stared at it a moment before he took it and stepped back to allow Abbot entry into the foyer.

  “I will fetch him,” he said, his tone thin and strained. “Please wait here.”

  Annabelle watched as the other man inclined his head and stepped into what seemed like a military stance. He spread his legs wide, tucking his hands behind him, but he was still stiff and formal as he watched the butler disappear upstairs.

  Annabelle shifted slowly. She wanted quite desperately to run into the foyer and demand to be told what the message was about Crispin, but she held back. Revealing herself now would only make her look foolish and when Rafe came downstairs, he would likely send her away rather than have her stay and hear the truth.

  So she remained in the shadows, watching and waiting.

  Ten minutes passed before Lathem returned. And Rafe was not with him.

  Annabelle stiffened as the butler held out a message. “You may return this to Mr. Rivers with His Grace’s most sincere thanks.”

  Abbot shifted. “He will not come?”

  Lathem dropped his chin. “He allowed me to relay a portion of his longer message to Mr. Rivers to you. Although the duke loves his brother, he has come to feel that Mr. Flynn must hit the very bottom of the barrel before any help can be rendered that will have a lasting effect. So he cannot come now.”

  Abbot nodded slowly. “I understand. Tomorrow I hope you will pass along my apologies for my late visit. I’ll be certain the letter will be returned to my employer.”

  Lathem opened the door. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening,” the other man said.

  He exited, and Lathem shut the door behind him with a sigh. Mumbling to himself in a sad tone, the butler returned up the long hall.

  Annabelle watched it all in shock. Rafe would not go to Crispin? He would let their brother drown in his pain, whatever had caused it, without rendering aid until Crispin “hit the very bottom?”

  How could he? Didn’t he understand that for Crispin, the very bottom might be death?

  She burst from the parlor with a barely stifled cry and threw the front door open. She hurried down the steps and slapped the door to Abbot’s carriage just as it began to move.

  The driver pulled the horses up short and, after a brief hesitation, the door to the carriage opened to reveal Abbot in the dimness from the street lamps.

  “May I help you?” he asked, his eyes wide and filled with surprise at her accosting his rig.

  “I am Annabelle Flynn,” she panted.

  He drew back. “I see.”

  “I’m Crispin Flynn’s sister,” she explained further. “Please, why did you come here?”

  The man shifted. “You should go back inside, Miss Flynn. My message was meant for the Duke of Hartholm and
it has been received and returned. You needn’t worry—”

  “Balls!” Annabelle burst out as an interruption. Her coarse choice of curse made Abbot jolt and she took advantage of his moment of shock to continue, “I have as much right to know what is happening to Crispin as anyone else. What did Mr. Rivers want from Rafe? Why did he send you here? Were you to fetch the duke?”

  Abbot took a breath, but Annabelle saw the truth on his face without him having to say a word. “Mr. Rivers did ask you to bring my brother. And he will not come.”

  Abbot pursed his lips. “And now you know. So I must insist that you back away from the carriage and go back inside. You can take up your thoughts on the subject with the duke tomorrow, I am certain.”

  Annabelle looked over her shoulder at the townhouse where her brother and sister-in-law slept, cut off from the realities of Crispin’s situation and her own. Without hesitation, she stepped up into the carriage and hurled herself into the seat across from Abbot.

  “No. I will go with you, Mr. Abbot.”

  “Absolutely not!” the man cried out. “Remove yourself this instant.”

  “I shall not.” Annabelle folded her arms.

  “I will go inside and call for the duke,” he threatened, but she could see from the expression on his face that he did not wish to do so.

  “If you do, you’ll only anger him,” Annabelle said. “He might not even believe I did such a thing.”

  That was a lie, of course. Rafe would certainly believe this man if he claimed Annabelle had stubbornly demanded he take her to one of the most notorious hells in London. Rafe knew her too well.

  But Abbot didn’t know that.

  “Please,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I understand Rafe’s position when it comes to Crispin, but he is my brother too. I cannot imagine that leaving him to ruin is the best course. Mr. Rivers obviously wanted someone from Crispin’s family to come to him, and I am your best bet.”

  Abbot squeezed his eyes shut with a heavy sigh. “Very well. But Mr. Rivers will not be happy.”

  “And I will take full blame,” she reassured him, almost bouncing with happiness as Abbot shut the carriage door and pounded on the carriage wall so that the driver would move again.

  Abbot looked her up and down. “Very reassuring. However, I doubt Mr. Rivers will care. It will be both our heads, Miss Flynn, so I hope you remember that you wanted this when you feel his wrath.”

  Annabelle stared. “I don’t recall him being so terrible when I met him.”

  Abbot’s eyebrow arched high. “You’ve met Marcus Rivers?”

  She nodded. “He and my brothers are friends of a sort. We have not socialized much, but I have been introduced to the man.”

  She tried not to think of Rivers as she had in the parlor. Right now it was in her best interest to be cool and detached.

  Even if that was the last thing she felt.

  “I assume you did not encounter Mr. Rivers in the club,” Abbot asked.

  She drew back a fraction. “Certainly not.”

  He smiled, a thin expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you have never met Mr. Rivers. Not truly.”

  He settled back against the comfortable carriage seat and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. But Annabelle could not stop her mind from racing to images of dark hair and eyes, dark expressions and rumors of the lion’s den she would now be entering.

  Chapter Three

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a rather nondescript building in an area of London that Annabelle knew her mother would not approve of her visiting. She peeked around the curtains for the third time and shivered.

  “Without a sign, how do your patrons know where to go?” she asked.

  “It is a private club, Miss Flynn, very exclusive. Those who wish to find us have the means to do so.” Abbot reached into his jacket and withdrew a simple, gray mask from somewhere within the folds of fabric.

  As he handed it to her, Annabelle gave him a questioning look.

  “Most of our patrons wear masks in the club, Miss Flynn,” Abbot said. “It is not a requirement, but you should comply for your own protection. Since I expected to bring the duke back with me, it may be a bit large, but it will do the trick of protecting your identity. As for what you will see once you enter the club, I can only say that it will certainly be shocking to you. Once again, I encourage you to reconsider coming inside with me.”

  Annabelle took a breath. The Donville Masquerade was not often discussed in polite company, but due to her brothers’ scandalous reputations, she sometimes heard about it. She knew it was a den of debauchery of all kinds. Exactly the kind of place she should not be.

  And yet she was here. For Crispin. With that thought ricocheting through her mind, she set her jaw.

  “I want to see my brother.”

  Abbot looked at her for a moment, searching her face, and then he nodded. “Put on the mask and follow me.”

  She did as she had been told and exited the carriage behind him. The door opened as Abbot approached and a finely liveried servant stood there. He was not wearing a mask and bowed to Abbot.

  “Welcome back, sir.” He stepped aside to allow them entry.

  Annabelle could not deny her curiosity as she stepped inside the foyer. It was a rather plain entryway, with nothing to show that it was anything else but a normal London home. The furniture was simple and the wall colorings the same.

  But now that they were off the street, the sounds of faint music tinkled from far in the back of the building. Did they dance here, as if it were no different than Almack’s?

  Abbot’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Where is Mr. Rivers?”

  “I’m not certain, Mr. Abbot,” the servant said. “I have heard in his office, but when I was last in the hall he was back in the private room dealing with the, er, problem.”

  Abbot’s gaze slipped to Annabelle and his brief expression made her eyes widen. Was the problem Crispin? And just how was Rivers dealing with him?

  “Follow me,” Abbot said, heading down a long, twisting hall. The sounds of the music increased as they moved closer and closer to a large set of double doors, and were now joined with echoes of laughter and the occasional…

  Annabelle blushed.

  There were moans coming from the room.

  “Last chance to change your mind,” Abbot said, as if he could read her thoughts.

  “Open the door,” she said, more sharply than she had intended as she tried to convey a certainty she didn’t feel.

  He did as she asked and revealed a huge hall, bigger than any she had ever been to in the country or in London. There were tables scattered about the room where men and women gambled together. Gambled and…other activities.

  She turned her head with a gasp. People were engaging in very bold deeds! As much as she tried, she couldn’t avoid seeing a couple kissing right out in the middle of the room, their tongues tangling and their bodies grinding together.

  In another corner a lady was pinned to the wall by her…could Annabelle rightly call him a suitor? Whoever he was, he had a handful of his companion’s skirt in his fist and was blatantly revealing her calves and even a flash of thigh to the room at large.

  “Stay here a moment, I’ll find out where to take you,” Abbot said, his tone grim.

  Annabelle watched him leave her side with a gasp. He was leaving her here alone! With such things going on around her?

  She didn’t want to look. But she did, despite herself. Watched the man and woman against the wall as he dropped his head and began to kiss the swollen curves of her breasts, which peeked above her low-cut gown. The woman moaned brazenly and arched her back as if to offer more.

  He took it, her skirt ruched higher so that he could place a palm against what Annabelle could plainly see was the woman’s bare backside.

  Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut so she would see no more. She was a lady, not meant for these kinds of things. She had to remember that.

 
Or better yet, to forget the low, dark thrill that began between her legs. It had been a long time since she felt that throbbing need. A long time since she allowed her true nature to rear its ugly head.

  “Not now,” she ground out to herself, willing her nipples to stop hardening, her legs to stop shaking.

  Suddenly there was the grip of fingers closing over her upper arm and her eyes flew open. She found herself staring up into the dark green gaze of Marcus Rivers. Unlike those around her, he wore no mask and his face was alive with emotion in that moment. He looked...angry. Very angry. She couldn’t help but think of Abbot’s words in the carriage that they would both face this man’s wrath.

  “Come with me,” Rivers said.

  He didn’t wait for her to agree, but merely began to guide her through the crowded hall, past more gaming tables and entangled lovers. Annabelle tried to keep her gaze firmly on the floor below her, but she saw things. She heard things.

  And God help her, she felt things, including Rivers’ firm grip on her arm, which seemed to send little lightning bolts of awareness through her all the more.

  He nodded to a servant as he dragged her up a short flight of stairs. Only at a shut door at the top of the landing did he release her. He fished a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door before he opened it and motioned her to enter.

  She stepped inside and immediately began to look for her brother. But he was nowhere to be found within the dimly lit office where Rivers had taken her.

  The same office where they were now entirely alone. Where he was shutting the door behind him and staring at her.

  Her breath caught as she waited for him to do or say something, because she had no idea how to react when he wasn’t.

  “What are you doing here, Miss Flynn?” he asked at last, his voice rough as it raked over her very senses.

  She blinked a few times as she gathered her emotions. Slowly, she folded her arms and glared at him. “I assume your man Abbot told you why when he informed you of my arrival.”