Sutton's Scoundrel (The Sinful Suttons 5)

He could not say what it was about the Countess of Blakewell that made him want to abandon every guiding principle that had ruled his life since Lydia. But regardless of the reasons, he wanted Portia. He somehow knew she was meant to be in his arms, in his bed. And he was meant to be in hers. He understood it in an elemental sense, and he had a suspicion she did as well.

“Since we are not lovers, then there is no need to fear gossip over my presence here,” he argued smoothly. “I am a friend, come to offer my aid.”

“Friends do not kiss their friends the way you kissed me.”

He smiled. “No, I suppose they do not. But why do you not tell me who it is you fear? The servants in your house? A male relative?”

Her eyes widened slightly at the last, and he knew he had not missed his guess.

“No one,” she stubbornly denied.

Wolf remained unconvinced. “Then why do you hide the bruising on your cheek?”

Her gaze flicked to a point over his shoulder. “Because I am vain.”

Like her son, she was a dreadful liar.

“I want to help you, Portia.”

Her emerald eyes returned to his. “I do not want your pity.”

Ah, he had wounded her pride. He was going about this all wrong, it would seem. But curse it, he would not simply walk away from her. Not like this.

“It ain’t my pity you’ve got, woman,” he countered, surrendering to the impulse to touch her.

He moved slowly, carefully, as if she were a wild creature he feared might take sudden flight. If he had known she had been ill-treated by another earlier in the day, at Bellingham and Co., he never would have been so forward with her. Would not have silenced her with that kiss. And he regretted his bold actions now. With delicate care, he cupped her cheek, the one that was neither injured nor hidden beneath a fine layer of cosmetic. His thumb swept over her cheekbone, relishing the smooth caress of her skin on his, unencumbered by gloves.

Her hand came up to his, not to pry his touch away as he had feared, but to hold him there. “What is it, then?” she asked softly, her low voice almost a whisper.

“Ain’t it plain to see?” he asked gruffly, for it had been a long time—years—since he had last allowed himself to be vulnerable to a woman.

He felt rusty and raw. He was not a petticoats chaser as his brother Jasper had been before falling in love and marrying. He was not a charmer as his brother Rafe was. And he was not a rakehell as his brother Hart had been, either. As for his brother Loge… Hell, Wolf did not even know his brother now. He wondered if he ever had. Regardless, he was not accustomed to wooing and winning the fairer sex.

She sighed, those long lashes of hers drifting closed and shielding her thoughts for a moment as she swayed toward him. “Nothing is plain to me any longer.”

The admission seemed as if it were torn from her.

A revelation she had tried to keep to herself and yet had nonetheless conceded. The sudden, primitive need to protect her seized Wolf with such ferocity, it surprised him.

“Tell me who did this to you, Countess,” he urged gently. Tenderly. “I’ll make certain he can never hurt you again.”

She shook her head, pressing her lush lips together, her eyes opening. The sorrow in their mossy depths hit him like a fist to the gut. “You cannot make certain of that. No one can.”

Blast.

“Let me.”

“There is nothing you can do about my plight.” She sent him a tremulous smile. “I am quite trapped. My husband’s will has ensured it.”

Christ.The earl must have been a bastard, to leave his widow in the hands of a monster who would strike her.

“Tell me his name, and I’ll give him a basting he’ll never forget,” he vowed harshly.

“Doing so would only create more problems for the both of us.” Her dulcet voice was as sad as her countenance.

If he had not known better, he would swear he had imagined the passionate woman who had so boldly kissed him the day before. The one who had seized her desires freely and without shame, as was her right. But that had been before someone had struck her.

He clenched his jaw. “Aye, I understand. I’m not aiming to cause more problems for you, but to protect you from ’arm.”

There went his polish and all the efforts of the tutoring Jasper had commissioned to erase the East End from his speech. In moments of fury and intense emotion, it remained. As telltale as the calluses on his hands.

“No one can protect me,” she said. “I find myself in this position because of the decisions I made, and the burden is mine alone to bear.”

He didn’t like her calm acceptance of what was surely an untenable situation. Fury rose on her behalf.

He stroked her cheek. “Being beaten ain’t a burden, Portia. It’s a sin.”

Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “You scarcely even know me. Why should you care?”

Why, indeed? The answer was obvious. He shouldn’t care. She was right; he had only known her the span of two days. Floating hell, he had only discovered her full name after following her here to her fancy town house. But he could not explain it, not to himself and certainly not to Portia. He felt inexplicably tied to her. Those heated kisses they had shared proved the attraction was there, burning with an undeniable flame. But there was also something more. Something deeper.

“You came to The Sinner’s Palace for a reason, no?” he asked instead of answering her query.

She blinked, stubborn tears clinging to her lashes, one sliding down her cheek for him to catch with his thumb. “You need not concern yourself with that, either.”

“I’m aiming to help you,” he countered sternly. “That’s why I’m here.”

Well, that and the fact he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. But it was not lust governing him now, propelling him on this path. It was a far less transitory emotion.

“I do not even know your surname.”

“Sutton,” he said. “There you are, then. It’s settled. I’ve given you my name in exchange for another. Tell me who hit you, and I’ll thrash the devil to within an inch of his life.”

She shook her head. “No thrashing.”

“He deserves it,” he growled, vexed that she continued to conceal the identity of whomever it was who had dared to strike her. “But if you’ll not surrender his name, then perhaps you’ll tell me why you came to The Sinner’s Palace yesterday.”

She had not come to kiss him. That much he knew. He was damned glad she had, however.

“I was searching for someone.”