And likely, he hadn’t. Jasper was living the life of a king in Mayfair, with an aristocratic wife who loved him and his daughters and a newly acquired sheen of respectability that only removing one’s self from the stink of the East End could truly provide. Hart wasn’t bitter. Well, mayhap a trifle. The Sinner’s Palace and the surrounding streets were his territory, and it was the only place he would ever truly feel at home. But that did not mean he hadn’t felt a longing for something…more…from time to time.
“To the devil with you, then.” He scowled at his brother, knowing there would be no changing Jasper’s mind.
Besides, what argument could he make? If he said Lady Emma was here for her own protection, he would be lying. If he said he had not touched her, that would also be dishonest. He wanted to keep his plans for Lady Emma to himself, but he had never lied to his siblings before. Suttons were loyal to each other, because they had no one else.
At least, they once hadn’t had anyone else. Now, it seemed everything was changing. Jasper and Rafe had wives to trail after, and Pen and Caro had husbands, one of whom was a bleeding lord and the heir to a duke, at that.
The Suttons were moving up in the world, that much was certain.
Hart wasn’t so certain he liked it, either.
“I expect he would commend me for having the patience of a saint with all these wayward siblings of mine,” Jasper said cheerfully. “And my daughters, for that matter.”
“How are Anne and Elizabeth?” Hart asked of his twin nieces, who were wild little minxes he loved fiercely.
He’d lay down his life for either of them in the beat of a heart.
“The girls are well,” Jasper said with a fond smile.
“And Lady Octavia?” he added, because despite her noble lineage, he did truly like his brother’s wife.
She was clever and kind and just what Jasper needed.
His brother’s smile deepened. “Also well.”
Hart nodded. “And glad I am to hear it, brother. But I daren’t linger. I’ve the floor this afternoon.”
“I’ll send Randall to the floor while you do something about that bleeding rumpled shirt,” his brother returned. “You look like you slept in your goddamn trousers.”
Grumbling to himself about rude siblings, Hart took his leave of the office.
And nearly collided in the hall beyond with Wolf, who was looking far too bleeding happy.
“You bedded her, didn’t you?” Wolf asked.
Floating hell.
“I slept on the floor,” he snarled, feeling like a bout of fisticuffs was inevitable in his future.
“Of course you did.” Wolf’s grin grew, his tone suggesting he did not believe Hart’s claim.
And he was not entirely wrong to disbelieve him. He had almost done exactly what his brother accused him of, and on the second day, no less. Even Hart had thought himself capable of greater restraint. But that had been before Lady Emma Morgan had been naked and defiant before him, daring him to take her.
What man could have denied her?
Not any with air in his lungs or a beating heart in his chest.
Hart pinned him with a glare. “It ain’t any concern of yours, and I’ll thank you to cheese it, you bleeding arsehole. Jasper is ’ere.”
Curse it, there he went, losing the h on his words. It was a bad habit, one born of living all his life in the rookeries. The flash of the East End and some of its bad habits remained. When Hart was disturbed, he found his accent slipped with increased persistence.
“Ah.” Wolf nodded, rubbing a big paw along his jaw. “Can’t keep it a secret for long, you know. Sooner or later, someone’s bound to be leaky and tell ’im you’ve a lovely blonde bit of buntlings hiding in your room.”
He bristled at the manner in which his brother so dismissively referred to Emma. He thought again of the sadness in her bright-blue eyes, the lone tear that had rolled down her temple. How was it that in the span of one day, he had begun to feel so bleeding…responsible for her? Why did he feel the need to shield her? And why did that tear of hers, that hint of pain, haunt him so bleeding badly?
“She’s a lady,” he gritted out, even as he wondered at the answer to those questions. “And Jasper already knows she is here at The Sinner’s Palace. Randall, the bastard, has blown the gab. What our brother doesn’t know is who she is, and it needs to stay that way for a bit longer.”
Wolf sighed, his expression turning dark. “You know I don’t like keeping secrets.”
Yes, he knew that all too well. Wolf had the brawn of a true bruiser, but he was loyal and honest, sometimes to a fault, and he was softhearted despite his size.
“This one has a purpose,” he assured his brother. “It’s for Loge’s sake.”
“Forgive me if I fail to see what tupping the Earl of Haldringham’s daughter has to do with Loge’s disappearance,” Wolf drawled.
Hart’s jaw clenched. “Damn you, I didn’t tup her.”
He almost had.
Christ,he was a rotter, wasn’t he?
Wolf looked unimpressed. “So you say.”