Sutton's Sins (The Sinful Suttons 2)
We shall meet again, Miss Wren.
CHAPTER 3
Persephone was in the small garden behind the town house, watching as her charges skipped happily about during this small break from their lessons. Their laughter bounced off the walls in a delightful echo that had her smiling. The unabashed joy Anne and Elizabeth radiated was catching.
Anne giggled and raced past Elizabeth.
Likely, Persephone ought to chastise them. To remind them they were ladies and they ought to move with grace and consideration instead of flitting like butterflies. However, her own experience with her governesses had left rather a sour taste in her mouth. The last, Wilkins, had been joyless and dour, and she had made every day a punishment rather than a gift. But then, so had Cousin Bartholomew.
Innocence was always spoiled.
Happiness was inevitably replaced with sadness.
It was her instinct to allow these sweet girls to bask in the elation of their youth and artlessness for as long as they could. She had not been so fortunate. Anne and Elizabeth were blessed with parents who loved and doted on them. Persephone had been abandoned to the dubious care of others for as long as she could recall. But not even the isolated loneliness of her childhood could compare to what had come after.
“Where are my favorite twins?”
The masculine drawl at her back had Persephone jumping and pressing a hand to her madly thumping heart. When would she cease to think it was Cousin Bartholomew each time she was startled?
Not until she was truly free of him. That was the answer.
And anyway, this intruder was not her odious cousin. Rather, it was Rafe Sutton.
Again.
He prowled into the gardens like a dangerous beast. Handsome. Charming. Smiling his rogue’s grin. Sweet heavens above. The gaze which was neither gray nor green nor brown flicked to meet hers and sent a jolt of awareness straight through her. Awareness she did not want, and which she was most certainly not meant to feel.
Her heart was skipping like Anne and Elizabeth, racing to meet their uncle.
“Miss Wren,” he greeted with a courtly bow, which would have put any gentleman to shame.
She forced herself to dip into a curtsy in return, struggling to tamp down her body’s foolish reaction to him. The reminder that he had spent an entire night in her bed, bereft of any garments, simmered beneath every passing second.
“Mr. Sutton,” she offered, pleased with herself for keeping her voice so calm.
The girls threw themselves at him, each wrapping their arms around one of his legs. “Uncle Rafe!”
Their voices were in unison. As twins, their bond was strong. The girls often spoke at the same time, or one on the other’s behalf. Persephone had never known any twins before, and she found Anne and Elizabeth utterly endearing.
She was also grateful for the distraction they caused their uncle, who turned the appealing force of his attention to them instead, allowing Persephone a moment to collect herself.
Why was he here? It had been a mere day since she had watched him slip from her chamber, clad in his rumpled trousers and coat. She had discovered his cravat protruding from beneath her bed after he had gone. She could not say why, but the sudden, shameful urge to bring the scrap of linen to her nose to catch a trace of him had overtaken her. Shaving soap and Rafe Sutton and…why, if sin possessed a scent, it would surely be the same.
She had frantically tucked it beneath her pillow, where it still remained.
He was wearing a fresh neck cloth now, this one tied expertly and plainly. No ostentatious waterfalls for him. Quite unlike Cousin Bartholomew, who dressed as excessively as he drank. The contrast between Rafe Sutton and Bartholomew could not be more apparent. Rafe was all lean, sinewy grace. He was handsome and he knew it. Bartholomew, meanwhile, was…none of those things.
“Did you come to see Miss Wren?” Anne asked her uncle then, bringing a mortified flush to Persephone’s cheeks.
Children, she had learned, were not very adept at hiding their opinions or learning when to hold their tongues. But then, neither were adults in many circumstances.
He glanced in her direction, a slow grin curving his lips. “It is always a pleasure to see Miss Wren, of course. However, I came to see your papa. I needed to discuss something with him.”
Their audience would have been business related, Persephone supposed. Her employer and his family owned a well-known gaming hell called The Sinner’s Palace. How ridiculous it was, the lump of disappointment settling in her belly. Why had the silly rambling of children filled her with a false, ludicrous sense of hope? Indeed, why would he have come here to seek her out? And furthermore, why should she want him to?
The answers swirled through her mind, damning as any accusation.
You find him handsome, Persephone. And that is dangerous. Men in general are not to be trusted, but most particularly never rogues from the East End who swagger when they walk and have a face that would make even the most hardened of ladies sigh in appreciation.