at that comment. Crispin was not acting like a man “far into his maturity” at all. “I’m surprised you are willing to take Rafe’s side.”
“What else could I do? It isn’t as if I could follow him to the club every night, watching over him like a hen.” Her mother sighed. “Now it is late and I think we both will feel better about these situations once we rest.”
Annabelle nodded, but as her mother rose and kissed her on the cheek, leaving her alone in the parlor, her mind had begun to spin a plan. One that could certainly get her into more trouble, but might also save her…and her brother.
Chapter Six
Although he made his money in the wee hours of the night, Marcus always preferred his club during the day. In the quiet hours before patrons began to trickle in for passion and profit, the rooms seemed huge, the silence never-ending. He could lose himself in mindless accounting or reading over reports and forget, if only for a moment, that he didn’t deserve any of the riches that he had made off the backs of the prosperous and titled.
He let his eyes flicker up and out the large windows of his office. Down below, the tables were empty and the room echoed whenever the servants spoke as they readied for another night of randy entertainment.
Normally, he would feel pleasure in that fact, but lately he had begun to be troubled by the desperate element that drove some of his membership, his patrons. Crispin Flynn had been back at the Donville Masquerade the night before and while he had been less out of control, Marcus couldn’t help but think of Annabelle while he watched his troubled friend.
Annabelle and her bewitching dark eyes, her soft skin, her sad expression when she spoke of the brother she loved and was losing thanks to whatever darkness drove him. Annabelle, who Marcus longed to touch, to kiss, to possess on a deeply physical level.
There was a light knock on the door, and Marcus jerked as he was brought back to reality. “What is it?” he barked out, his tone sharp as he moved to accommodate an increasing erection thanks to his inappropriate thoughts.
Abbot opened the door and stepped inside. His face was long and drawn down, and Marcus frowned at the sight of him.
“Please don’t tell me you are still brooding over our discussion about you allowing Annabelle Flynn into my carriage?”
Normally Abbot wasn’t one to pout, but they had exchanged some rather strong words after Annabelle’s unexpected entry into Marcus’s lair.
Abbot shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Then why is your face drawn into such a sullen frown?” Marcus pressed, getting up now that his body no longer betrayed him.
“Because she is back ,” Abbot said.
Marcus froze. He could not have understood that sentence correctly. Abbot couldn’t mean Annabelle had returned to the club—it was not possible. The lady had fulfilled whatever duty she had to chase her brother; it was clear they would never see each other again. In fact, Marcus had been counting on that to clear his mind of these troubling thoughts of her.
“ She who?” he asked, hating how his voice was now cracked and broken.
“ She the bloody queen. Who do you think?”
Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you telling me that Annabelle Flynn is here, in my club, at…” He paused to look at the clock. “…at two in the afternoon?”
“Precisely. She beat on the door until poor Vale had no choice but to answer and then refused to leave until she saw you. She and her maid are in the foyer as we speak.” Abbot tilted his head. “I would like to point out that this time it is not my fault.”
Marcus pursed his lips. “The woman is a menace.”
“Indeed.”
He paced to the window again. From here he couldn’t see the trouble waiting just outside the main double doors. But he could picture her perfectly, down to her full, pink lips perfectly made for sin.
“Send her in,” he managed to growl out. “But make sure
“What else could I do? It isn’t as if I could follow him to the club every night, watching over him like a hen.” Her mother sighed. “Now it is late and I think we both will feel better about these situations once we rest.”
Annabelle nodded, but as her mother rose and kissed her on the cheek, leaving her alone in the parlor, her mind had begun to spin a plan. One that could certainly get her into more trouble, but might also save her…and her brother.
Chapter Six
Although he made his money in the wee hours of the night, Marcus always preferred his club during the day. In the quiet hours before patrons began to trickle in for passion and profit, the rooms seemed huge, the silence never-ending. He could lose himself in mindless accounting or reading over reports and forget, if only for a moment, that he didn’t deserve any of the riches that he had made off the backs of the prosperous and titled.
He let his eyes flicker up and out the large windows of his office. Down below, the tables were empty and the room echoed whenever the servants spoke as they readied for another night of randy entertainment.
Normally, he would feel pleasure in that fact, but lately he had begun to be troubled by the desperate element that drove some of his membership, his patrons. Crispin Flynn had been back at the Donville Masquerade the night before and while he had been less out of control, Marcus couldn’t help but think of Annabelle while he watched his troubled friend.
Annabelle and her bewitching dark eyes, her soft skin, her sad expression when she spoke of the brother she loved and was losing thanks to whatever darkness drove him. Annabelle, who Marcus longed to touch, to kiss, to possess on a deeply physical level.
There was a light knock on the door, and Marcus jerked as he was brought back to reality. “What is it?” he barked out, his tone sharp as he moved to accommodate an increasing erection thanks to his inappropriate thoughts.
Abbot opened the door and stepped inside. His face was long and drawn down, and Marcus frowned at the sight of him.
“Please don’t tell me you are still brooding over our discussion about you allowing Annabelle Flynn into my carriage?”
Normally Abbot wasn’t one to pout, but they had exchanged some rather strong words after Annabelle’s unexpected entry into Marcus’s lair.
Abbot shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Then why is your face drawn into such a sullen frown?” Marcus pressed, getting up now that his body no longer betrayed him.
“Because she is back ,” Abbot said.
Marcus froze. He could not have understood that sentence correctly. Abbot couldn’t mean Annabelle had returned to the club—it was not possible. The lady had fulfilled whatever duty she had to chase her brother; it was clear they would never see each other again. In fact, Marcus had been counting on that to clear his mind of these troubling thoughts of her.
“ She who?” he asked, hating how his voice was now cracked and broken.
“ She the bloody queen. Who do you think?”
Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you telling me that Annabelle Flynn is here, in my club, at…” He paused to look at the clock. “…at two in the afternoon?”
“Precisely. She beat on the door until poor Vale had no choice but to answer and then refused to leave until she saw you. She and her maid are in the foyer as we speak.” Abbot tilted his head. “I would like to point out that this time it is not my fault.”
Marcus pursed his lips. “The woman is a menace.”
“Indeed.”
He paced to the window again. From here he couldn’t see the trouble waiting just outside the main double doors. But he could picture her perfectly, down to her full, pink lips perfectly made for sin.
“Send her in,” he managed to growl out. “But make sure
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