CHAPTER8
“You’ve finally decided to join us, your lordship?”
Wolf grimaced at his eldest brother Jasper’s taunting query as he met his brothers for a morning meeting in the office at The Sinner’s Palace. The same office where, mere days before, he had first seen Portia. Had kissed her. And there, upon the big desk with its carved lion legs, he had raised her hems and—
“Come now, no need to provoke hisnabs,” his brother Rafe added, further intruding upon Wolf’s thoughts.
Which was for the best, he knew. He needed to concern himself with the business at hand rather than the woman who had unexpectedly overtaken his life like a raging summer storm.
“We humbly thank you for honoring us with your presence, Your Grace,” Hart inserted with a chortle.
Wolf pinned all three of his brothers with a chastising glare. “That’ll be enough from you. I’ll thank you to remember I’m not the one who’s gone off and found himself caught in the parson’s mousetrap with a rum mort.”
“I haven’t been caught just yet,” Hart reminded him, his expression rueful. “I’m still bleeding courting.”
Hart’s efforts to keep his betrothed, Lady Emma Morgan, free from scandal were honorable, even if they did appear to nettle.
“Good as married,” Wolf said with a shrug, because that was also true.
Everyone knew Hart had been unable to resist Lady Emma from the moment he had seen her.
Christ, that rather sounds familiar.Wolf frowned and rubbed a hand over his jaw, not liking this new direction of his thoughts one whit more than the last.
“And yet the three of us have managed to arrive in a timely fashion despite our marriages—impending and otherwise—to great ladies,” Jasper drawled.
It was true that his brothers had all married, or were about to marry, in Hart’s case, into the quality. First Jasper, who had managed to ensnare his wife Lady Octavia in rather unconventional means. Then Rafe, who had thought he had fallen in love with a governess only to discover she was a lady hiding her true identity for fear of her arsehole guardian. And finally Hart, who through equally unconventional methods had orchestrated a plot to uncover more information about their missing brother Logan and had ended up with Lady Emma Morgan as his betrothed along the way.
But his pointed rejoinders aside, Wolf couldn’t ignore the three pairs of eyes trained on him. His brothers were awaiting an answer, curse them. It was not like him to sleep late. Despite his penchant for staying up through the night, when there was a meeting concerning the operations of their gaming hell, Wolf had never been tardy. Not once.
“I’m a growing lad,” he suggested, for he was the tallest and broadest of them all.
His brutish size had always suited him. And it would stand him in good stead when he found out who was responsible for that bruise on Portia’s cheek.
“Aye, growing.” Rafe grinned and patted his own lean belly. “Too many honey cakes?”
Wolf scowled. “Why the devil are you all against me today? And where are our sisters?”
Their sisters, Caro, Pen, and Lily were ordinarily in attendance at their weekly meetings.
“Caro sent word that she needs to rest today,” Jasper answered. “’Tis soon time for the babe to arrive, and after she had to dash here to tend to Hart’s sorry arse, she deserves a respite. Pen is busy with a few matters at The Sinner’s Palace II, and Lily is…damn, where is Lily?”
He addressed the question to the room at large.
“Damned if I know,” Rafe said.
“I’ve no bleeding idea,” Hart offered.
His brothers’ eyes swung to Wolf.
“Don’t tell me you’ve lost her,” he growled. “I’m gone for one bloody night, and the whole place is done up when I return.”
Hart raised a brow. “You were gone for a night?”
“Have you finally tupped the proprietress of The Beggar’s Purse, then?” Rafe asked mildly. “We were all beginning to wonder when you’d grow a pair of tallywags and bed a wench.”
“Oh, he’s definitely bedded a wench,” Jasper said slyly before Wolf could deny the claim. “Felicitations, lad. You’re finally a man.”
His ears went hot. “Blast you all. I didn’t tup the proprietress of The Beggar’s Purse. She’s a friend and nothing more.”
“A friend who looks at you as if she wants to—”
“Enough,” he bit out, silencing Hart, who never knew when to still his damned tongue. “I didn’t bed her.”
The proprietress of the rather ramshackle establishment known as The Beggar’s Purse was a familiar of Wolf’s. But although she had hinted at her interest in making their friendship something more, he had always hesitated to accept her offer of companionship. Lydia’s defection had left him convinced he did not need a woman in his life or in his bed. And he had governed his life in accordance with that knowledge.
Until Portia.
“But you did bed someone.” Jasper’s tone, like his gaze, was shrewd.
The eldest of the Sutton clan always seemed to know more than he should.
Wolf’s face flamed. Christ, he could feel it. He was blushing.
“Stubble it,” he growled. “I’ll not be speaking another word of my private affairs with you. With any of you. Haven’t we a business to run and a rogue brother to fret over? Surely those two worries are of far greater import.”
“Wolf’s right,” Rafe allowed, unable to suppress a rascal’s grin. “It ain’t any of our concern if he’s playing blanket hornpipe or who he chooses to play it with. Although, brother, may I offer my felicitations on the loss of your—”
Wolf punched Rafe in the shoulder, effectively ending his teasing. “I told you to hold your bloody tongue. If you’d like me to start making crude jokes about you and Lady Persephone, I’d be more than happy to.”
He sounded formal and stiff and indignant, even to his own ears. But curse his brothers, Wolf had no wish to be the subject of this discussion for a moment longer. Because Portia was… She was his, damn it. And he had vowed to protect her. And making love to her had most definitely not been a trifling matter.