Sutton's Scoundrel (The Sinful Suttons 5)

Tierney’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, it occurred to Wolf that they were the same shade of green as Portia’s. He was also tall. Taller than Wolf by a hair.

“Why would a lady of noble breeding lower herself to consort with a rogue from the rookeries?” Tierney sneered.

Ah.

A surge of triumph went through Wolf, for the man had already taken the bait, and with such bloody ease, too.

He leaned forward in his chair, all while still attempting to work his bonds. “Nobody said anything about her being a nob now, did they, Tierney? I know I didn’t.” He turned to Hart. “Did you say anything about her being a fancy mort, brother?”

Hart shook his head slowly. “Can’t say that I did.”

“You implied it,” Tierney countered, his nostrils flaring in irritation.

“I called her a lady,” Wolf agreed. “It’s more polite than referring to her as a wench. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are you trying to vex me, Sutton?” Tierney asked coldly. “Seems rather foolish when you’ve my pistol pointed at your heart, does it not?”

“If you intended to shoot us, you’d have done it by now,” Hart said boldly.

And Wolf had to admit, he did not think his brother’s bluster was wrong.

“I’ve shot men for lesser sins,” Tierney said.

“I’m certain you have, but I doubt you’d chance the wrath of the Suttons raining down upon you.” Behind his back, Wolf attempted to twist his right wrist, where the bonds had loosened. “Jasper would chop off your tallywags and feed them to his dogs while you watched.”

Once more, Tierney’s gaze narrowed. “Take care with your threats, Sutton. I wouldn’t be issuing them, were I you.”

“Well, you ain’t me, and I’m bloody glad for that,” Wolf countered.

“I’d prefer to not be staring down another cove’s gun, hands tied behind my back,” Tierney said, his tone smug.

Not for long, if I have anything to say about it, you scoundrel.

But Wolf kept that thought to himself, tamping it down along with the festering resentment.

“Let us move past this bleeding stalemate, Tierney,” Hart interrupted. “Tell us what it is you want from us.”

“That is simple.” Tierney raised a brow. “I want you and the rest of your siblings to leave me alone. Stay the hell away from me, my businesses, and anyone who works for them. It ain’t difficult, you’ll find. You stay in your part of the rookeries where you belong. I’ll stay in mine.”

“This here shop looks like a step up from the rookeries to me,” Hart observed.

And he was not wrong. The printer’s shop was situated in an area that was dense with other merchants and stores. Almost respectable. At least, for a moneylender from the East End. However, if Tierney truly was the bastard son of a lord as Wolf increasingly suspected of the man, then it was a far cry from the life to which he would have been accustomed as Portia’s half brother.

“I’m a businessman,” Tierney growled. “It ain’t any concern of yours where, what, or how.”

“It is when you involve our brother,” Wolf bit out.

Tierney sighed. “This grows tiresome. Your brother is old enough and smart enough to know where his loyalty ought to lie, and it ain’t with your gaming hell. Accept it and forget about him.”

“We can’t do that,” Hart denied.

“And your brother can’t be controlled by you. I’m guessing that when your family grows weary of attempting to persuade him to return to your flock, they’ll come to me offering a trade. Two in exchange for one. I’ll still be getting the better end of the deal.”

“Or Loge will return to our fold,” Wolf argued. “Where he belongs.”

Tierney smiled, though it was more feral than pleasant. “We’ll be seeing that, won’t we?”

“I suppose we will, Avery,” he said pointedly.

The other man stiffened instantly. “That ain’t my name.”

“She’s in trouble, you know,” Wolf added, ignoring Tierney’s denial. “If you are her brother, and if you ever cared a bloody damn for her, you’d be trying to protect her instead of hiding away like a louse.”

“Trouble,” Tierney repeated, his tone dark. “What sort?”

Apparently, Wolf had his attention now.

“Someone has been beating her,” he ground out. “She’ll not tell me who, or I would gladly thrash the bastard.”

At his side, Hart was watching the conversation unfold with an interested gaze.

Wolf ignored him, for he was determined to get Portia her answers, however he must. And it seemed that only Archer Tierney possessed them.

“You are sure about this?” Tierney demanded of Wolf.

He inclined his head. “I saw the bruising myself.”

“Christ,” Tierney muttered, then shook his head, as if clearing it of something unwanted. “It ain’t any concern of mine if the wench is being beaten. Mayhap she deserved it.”

The coldness in Tierney’s eyes and voice, coupled with his suggestion Portia had deserved the abuse she had suffered, was enough to have Wolf surging from his chair. Unfortunately, his wrists were still bound too tightly for him to free himself, and Tierney’s henchmen were quick to step in. It took three of them to fight Wolf back into his seat, and when he was lashed to the legs, he was panting, glowering at Tierney, ready to commit bloody murder.

“She didn’t deserve it, you arsehole,” he spat. “If Jasper doesn’t kill you after this, I will.”

“Wolf,” Hart cautioned quietly at his side. “Calm yourself.”

But he could not. His heart was galloping in his chest. He felt like a beast. Ready to rage and roar and tear anyone who dared hurt Portia limb from limb. If only he knew who had done it, he would.

Tierney, however, appeared unaffected by his outburst. Instead, he flicked a glance toward the men who were hastily knotting Wolf’s and Hart’s legs to the chairs. “That shall do, lads. I’ve a call to pay. Watch them until I return.”

“Where are you going?” Wolf demanded. “You can’t leave us here like this.”