The breath escaped Pen in one big rush. She lowered her head, tucking her chin to her chest. “Luddaydenweer.”
He blinked. “That makes no sense, sister. Speak slowly. Concisely.”
There was a fancy cull’s word. One he had learned as a young man, when he had finally discovered how to read. Reading and tupping were his two favorite entertainments.
“Lord Aidan Weir,” she repeated. “But you must not be angry with him, Rafe. Going to the matches has been my idea.”
“Matches?” His scowl deepened. “You’ve been running about dressed as a cove with Lord Aidan Weir, attending boxing matches?”
He was more than familiar with Lord Aidan, who was the third son of a duke and an unrepentant rakehell. He had witnessed him at The Garden of Flora on more than one occasion, always with at least two of the ladies at that establishment hanging from his arms. Not the sort of chap a man wanted sniffing about his sister’s skirts. By God, if the bastard had touched a hair on Pen’s head, Rafe was going to punch him right in his lordly ivories. Hopefully, he’d knock out one or two…
Pen glanced up at him, wincing. “No need to yell, Rafe. It isn’t as if we were going about picking pockets.”
“Has he touched you?” he demanded, already plotting the drubbing he would deliver to Lord Aidan.
It hardly mattered that the man was a frequent and well-paying patron at The Sinner’s Palace. Rafe would not stand idly by while some arrogant lordling defiled his sister.
“No, he has not,” Pen said, shaking her head swiftly. “Why does no one believe me that we are friends?”
He narrowed his eyes, considering her. “Because lords like him aren’t friends with a Sutton like you without him expecting something. You aren’t to see any more of Lord Aidan. The man is a lecherous scoundrel, and you’ll not be tainted by ’im.”
But Pen, bei
ng Pen, crossed her arms over her chest, taking on a mulish expression. “How would you know if he’s lecherous? Lord Aidan has been a gentleman to me, quite unlike some lords I could name.”
“No more dressing as a cove and no more sneaking about with that devil,” Rafe told her flatly.
“You are judging him without knowing him,” she countered, looking like one of Jasper’s dogs when someone was trying to take his favorite bone. “If it were not for Lord Aidan, I would have been attending the matches on my own. Would you prefer that?”
Trouble. Sisters—and all females, really—were trouble.
This one especially.
“You aren’t to go to the matches, Pen. It ain’t a place for women. There’s blood and violence and dangerous coves. You belong ’ere at The Sinner’s Palace, tending to the ledgers and watching over Lily and the lads.”
“Yes, of course I belong here, where it is convenient for you all to have me. I’ll not hide away with the ledgers forever. I want freedom and adventure!”
Christ.
His head was throbbing now.
Curse you, Miss Wren.
“This freedom and adventure you speak of, Pen, it isn’t what you think. Believe me. I know the sort of man Lord Aidan is. He’s the sort who will bed you and forget you because you’re a Sutton from the stews and he’s the son of a duke. He’ll leave you with a babe in your belly and not so much as a handful of notes and ’e won’t look back.”
“You’re wrong about him,” Pen defended.
Lord save him. He was going to have to talk to Jasper about this most unwanted development. And the rest of their brothers as well. Hart and Wolf would need to keep an eye on her and see that she wasn’t free to roam about.
“I ain’t wrong,” he told his sister. “Trust me, Pen. I only want what’s best for you. Now get to your rooms and change into one of your gowns before the men see you dressed this way.”
“You’re insufferable,” she announced, and then she huffed past him like a storm blowing into the sea.
Well, perhaps she wasn’t wrong about that bit. He couldn’t deny it.
Rafe sighed and thought better of running his hand through his hair again, on account of that damned knot on his scalp. He would have to pay Jasper a call in Mayfair.
What a pity.