Sutton's Sins (The Sinful Suttons 2)

His threat did nothing to subdue his brother, however. “My lovely wife likes my face just fine, and hers is the only opinion that matters.”

Jasper was hopelessly in love with Lady Octavia, and for the first time, Rafe was able to take a good, long look inside himself and realize he wanted what Jasper had with his wife. He wanted Persephone at his side, in his bed, loving him, raising their children.

Aye, he did. Girls with red curls and her eyes. Mayhap even a Mayfair house of their own one day, especially if The Sinner’s Palace II proved as lucrative as he believed it would.

He swallowed against a rush of emotion, realizing his brother was staring at him, expecting him to speak. “You heard me correctly, Jasper. I want to marry Miss Wren.”

“You want to marry my governess.”

“Anne and Elizabeth’s governess,” he corrected, acknowledging he did not care for anyone else to think possessive thoughts about his Persephone.

Yes, that was right.

His.

“Don’t correct me, stripling.” Jasper glared back at him. “I’m your elder.”

Rafe squinted. “I do detect some gray at your temples.”

“Arsehole,” his brother said without heat. “I haven’t any gray at all.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said in exaggerated fashion, as if he were agreeing just to assuage Jasper’s offended sensibilities.

“Back to business, greenhead. What’s this about marrying Miss Wren? Do you know how deuced difficult it is to find a governess worth a damn? If you marry her, I’ll have to secure another for my hellions.”

“Lady Octavia will,” Rafe corrected, unable to keep the stupid grin from his lips at the thought of marrying Persephone.

The more he spoke about it, heard the prospect bandied about aloud, the more real it became.

“Here now.” Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “Why the rush for a wedding? Have you made yourself too bloody familiar with Miss Wren beneath my roof, you rogue?”

Well, hell.

For the first time in his life, Rafe felt a flush come to his face. Even his ears went hot. What could he say for himself?

He could still taste her on his lips.

“A wedding is called for,” he said simply, rather than confessing in any detail what he had done.

Protecting Persephone’s honor and reputation was of the utmost importance. Not that he gave a scrope about society or propriety, but it stunned him to realize just how much he did care about everything to do with her.

Love.

Fancy how it changed a man.

How it made him whole when he had never so much as noticed he was missing a bleeding thing be

fore it.

“Damn it, Rafe, you’ve tupped her, haven’t you?” Jasper scowled at him, shaking his head once more, all the playful banter between them dissipating in favor of seriousness. “I might have known by the way you avoided answering me when I asked you what was happening between the two of you. Octavia said you would never dare to defile an innocent governess. Said you were trustworthy. I should have told her I know my brother better, but I…”

“But you dislike arguing with your wife,” he finished for him ruefully, passing his hand along his unshaven jaw. “Lady Octavia is an angel, and I’m a sinner through and through. I’ve nothing to say for myself, other than that I’m determined to make amends.”

“By marrying Miss Wren.”

“By wedding her, aye. That’s the ordinary way of a chap to make an honest woman of his lady love, ain’t it?”

“The East End way, perhaps.” Jasper raked his fingers through his coal-black hair, sighing heavily. “Why did I decide to leave off drinking jackey?”