Sutton's Sins (The Sinful Suttons 2)

No, she could not do that to them. Could not bear to think she would cause any harm to the family she had come to know and admire, and most certainly not to the man she had come to love. The man she had given her heart to some time ago and last night had given her body as well.

“Rafe,” she whispered to herself, battling a new onslaught of tears. “Oh, my love.”

This is what you must do, Persephone. For the greater good of all. Harden your heart and dry your tears.

Yes, that much was true. She was making the right decision. Leaving was what she had to do, not just for Rafe but for the rest of his family as well. She would never dream of inviting danger into their lives.

Though she hated to flee without word, she knew that if she sought out either her employers or Rafe, they would only seek to detain her. And that, she simply could not allow.

She had to leave quickly, before the entire household was awake and anyone would attempt to question where she was going or why. The longer she remained, the more impossible leaving would become. And she cared for this family far too much to hurt them more than she already must.

Everything was packed when she took one last, resolute look around her room.

Heavens, she had almost forgotten the most important object of all, though it was not truly hers, much like its owner. Borrowed, instead. Persephone rushed to her bed, fingers diving beneath the pillow where she had kept Rafe’s cravat tucked, and plucked it from its hiding place.

On another sob, she pressed the crumpled linen to her nose and inhaled deeply.

Each day, it carried less and less of his scent.

She could only hope that her memories of him, unlike this scrap of fabric, would remain strong. And for that matter, that she would remain strong as well. Summoning her courage, she tucked the cravat into her already stuffed portmanteau.

The time had come to go.

* * *

“Say that again, brother. I don’t think I heard you properly.”

Rafe pinned Jasper with a glare, knowing his brother had bleeding well heard him right the first time. He had sought Jasper out this morning just after breakfast, knowing something needed to be done before the day progressed too far.

He had slipped from Persephone’s bed in the hush of the night, the weight of guilt heavy upon his heart. He had been reluctant to leave her, but he had also been unwilling to bring any undue harm to her. Being caught in her room would not have served either of them well. And so he had gone.

But as he had crept back to his chamber, feeling like a bleeding cracksman tiptoeing through the house in search of silver, a realization had occurred to him. He could rectify all the potential harms and wrongs in a swift and easy way.

The parson’s mousetrap.

That one institution in which he had never supposed he would find himself ensnared. Indeed, the one institution he had done his utmost to avoid at all costs.

“I want to marry Miss Wren,” he repeated firmly.

There, he had said it twice, and lightning had yet to streak down from the sky and strike him dead. The clouds had not opened to unleash an unholy torrent of hail. His tongue did not wither and die at the words.

And his heart…

Why, his heart beat on, smooth and strong and assured he was doing what was right. That the decision he had reached was the only possible one he could make. He had fallen in love with her. He had taken her innocence. And now, he would have her at his side. No more slinking from her bed like a bleeding thief.

She would be his.

“Forgive me.” Jasper shook his head, as if he was not certain his ears were in working order. “Did Rafe Sutton just declare he wants to wed?”

His brother was having too much bloody fun with this.

He scowled. They were in Jasper’s study, an elegant affair that was vastly different from the office he had kept at The Sinner’s Palace, which Hart was reigning over at the moment. He’d had his carved desk moved to this town house, however, much to Hart’s everlasting disappointment. Hart was currently making do with an old battered affair that was woefully inadequate by Hart’s exacting standards.

“If your ears don’t work, I’ll be more than happy to box them for you,” he offered Jasper.

Jasper chuckled, still grinning like a fool. “Considerate of you, but no.”

“I could plant you a facer,” he suggested, flexing his fingers. “I need to keep up my practice in case we go another round with the Bradleys, and that ugly rum phyz of yours could use some rearranging.”