Fuck his brother and his sanctimonious ways!
Asa drew back his fist—only to find his arm restrained from behind.
He snarled, pulling against the hands holding him, but he was unable to break free. He glanced around and found his brothers-in-law, Lord Caire and “Mr. Rivers”—the former infamous river pirate known as Charming Mickey.
Rivers grinned and winked. “Got ye good, dear brother.”
“Let me go, you sodding ponce,” Asa growled.
“I think not,” Caire said from his other side.
His sisters had the worst taste in husbands—well, all except Verity, who had married John Brown. John and the youngest Makepeace brother, Winter, were holding Concord. John looked calm as a man twenty years his junior tried to escape his grasp.
“Concord Resilience Makepeace!” Rose was in front of her husband now, hands on hips. “Whyever should you strike your brother on our daughter’s baptismal day?”
For a moment Con nearly looked sheepish. “Said he was too busy—that’s why he never comes round. He didn’t even know that Silence had Concordia in March!”
Rose widened her eyes at that, and Silence, standing a pace behind her, looked away, biting her lip.
“Ass,” Mickey O’Connor hissed in his ear. “All this time she said you didn’t come to see th’ babe for fear of exposing me.”
Asa felt a horrible twisting in his gut, but he refused to be distracted. He jerked his chin at Concord. “You’re as rigid and unforgiving as our father ever was. Why the hell should I come to any family gathering when this is the reception I receive?”
“Don’t you speak his name,” Con yelled. “You haven’t the right after the heartache you gave him.”
“The right?” Asa felt his upper lip curl. “Oh, pardon me. I wasn’t aware he’d made you with golden spunk.”
Someone gasped loudly, but he wasn’t paying attention. This had been a stupid idea from the start. As if any of his family, let alone Concord, would ever really welcome him again.
“Shut your mouth!” Concord bellowed, and now some of the children were crying. “How dare you? How dare you after he—” He stopped abruptly, his mouth closing with an audible snap of teeth.
Oh, but even Con knew better than to speak of that.
“What were you going to say, dear brother?” Asa purred. “How dare I after our wonderful sainted father disowned me?”
In the sudden silence even the toddler stopped crying.
“What?” It was Verity who spoke. “What are you talking about, Asa?”
He finally glanced away from Con and looked at her, his elder sister. Verity had been the heart of the family since their mother’s death. He was surprised, though, at how gray her hair had grown. Was it that long since he’d last seen her?
Suddenly he was weary. He yanked his arms from his brothers-in-law’s hands. “Father disowned me, Verity. When I was nineteen. Told me to go and never come again as long as he lived. That’s why I left home.”
“But…” Her warm brown eyes were wide and shocked as she looked between him and Concord. “Why didn’t he say anything to us? Why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “Who knows why Father did anything? I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think there was any point. Father’s word was law, wasn’t it?”
She winced at that, but then glanced thoughtfully at their brother. “Con knew, though, that Father had forbid you the family.”
“I don’t know if Father told him before he died, but Con certainly knew when he read Father’s will five years ago.” Asa grinned without mirth. “There had to have been some explanation when I was cut from it.”
Con grimaced, glancing away from his gaze.
And that confirmed every suspicion Asa had ever had. His mouth twisted as he looked at Verity. “Didn’t you wonder when Con inherited the entire brewery after Father died?”
Verity shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know. I thought—I assumed—that you simply didn’t want anything to do with the business.”
“He was a good man,” Con said loudly, almost as if he were convincing himself. “Father was a godly man with a strong sense of righteousness.”
“He was righteous all right,” Asa sneered.
“But why did he disown you, Asa?” Temperance asked quietly.
He glanced at her and let his upper lip curl. “Because of my business.”
He heard Eve inhale and knew she’d put together all the pieces. God, he hated this. Hated to be judged. Hated that she was seeing him laid bare like this.
“And what kind of business is it, I’d like to know?” Concord demanded. “Whatever it was, it shocked and appalled our father. You come dressed here like some lady’s man, all in lace and velvet, obviously making fine money, and I can’t see how unless you’ve been running a bawdy house these last ten years.”
Asa threw back his head and guffawed. “A whorehouse! Of course that’s what your sanctimonious mind would immediately think. Tell me, Con, do you lie awake imagining me cavorting with ladies of the evening while you wear a hair shirt to bed?”
“Asa!” Verity exclaimed.
“Damned feckless fool!” Concord yelled.
“Bloody self-righteous prick!” Asa roared back.
“I don’t understand.” Eve’s clear voice cut through the shouting.
“What don’t you understand?” Verity asked.
But Eve was looking at him. “You mean all these years and you never told your family how you make your living?”
“No.” Asa glared at her.
“But why?” she asked, sounding perplexed. She turned to Verity, who was standing beside her. “He’s the manager of—”
“Eve!”
“Harte’s Folly.” She looked at him oddly, perhaps since he’d used her Christian name. “The owner, actually.”
“But it burned down.” Temperance looked worried. “A little over a year ago. We were there when it happened.” She stared at him, her light-brown eyes hurt. “Why wouldn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
Temperance gasped as if he’d hit her and Lord Caire took her hand. “We’re your family. Of course we care.”
Eve cleared her throat. “Asa’s rebuilding the garden.” She pinkened when they all turned to her, but stood her ground. “He really has been busy, actually. At least for the last year. My brother is the Duke of Montgomery. He’s invested in Harte’s Folly, and I manage his investment. We’ll reopen in another fortnight.”
There was a short silence.
Then Concord looked at Asa, his brow wrinkled. “A pleasure garden? Father disapproved of a pleasure garden?”
“And the theater in it,” Asa replied, “which was bloody hypocritical of him, considering Sir Stanley Gilpin was his best friend.”
Con had stiffened when Asa had called Father a hypocrite.
Asa pointed at his face while turning to Eve. “There, see? That is why I never told them.”
“I’m so sorry your father didn’t approve of Harte’s Folly,” Eve said simply. She looked at Verity earnestly. “It’s the loveliest garden in London, I think, and the theater is simply magnificent. We’ve just hired a new castrato for the opening opera, and of course La Veneziana will be singing.” Her brows knit as she looked around doubtfully at his family. “You have heard of La Veneziana?”
“Oh, yes,” Isabel said, and Temperance and Silence both nodded eagerly.
Eve smiled, her blue eyes lighting. “Then you know how wonderful the opera will be. Would you like tickets to the gardens when they open?”
“Oh, for—” But Asa’s words were drowned out by the children’s clamoring.
“Mama, can we?” cried either John or George—they were twins and Asa had a damnable time telling them apart.
“Of course,” Rose said warmly. “How exciting!”
Asa blinked. He’d never thought Con or Rose to be as religiously strict as Father had been, but for Rose to be openly interes
ted in Harte’s Folly was a surprise.
“Then we’ll be sure to send tickets,” Eve said.
“For everyone?” either George or John asked. The boy had obviously inherited his tenacity from his father.
“Yes.” Eve smiled down at him. “You’re family, after all.”
Asa groaned.
Caire slapped Asa on the shoulder—hard. “How generous of you, brother dear.”
Asa would’ve glared if he hadn’t heard the murmur from his other shoulder.
The bloody pirate was whispering in his ear, “Ye’ll have to watch that one—she’ll have given away yer entire business out o’ the sweetness o’ her heart if’n ye don’t.”
Sweet? Eve? Asa nearly scoffed—until he looked at her. Eve was smiling down gently at a toddler who had one sticky hand tangled in her skirts. Was this the same woman who’d invaded his rooms and cut him off without hearing his side? The same woman who sat so straight as she entered line after line in her damned accounting book?
The same woman who had looked so scared when he kissed her?
It was, he realized. She was harpy and dove, sharp and soft, tightly laced, but with a curious gleam in her blue eyes when he’d described touching a woman.
He watched as she gingerly lifted the toddler into her arms, and thought, Damn me, I’m in too deep this time.
Chapter Ten
Dove dropped to her knees in fright, blind in the darkness, and something—something big and furry and strong—rushed into her and pushed her over.
“Have pity!” cried the girl, but her only answer was another deafening roar.
And after that she knew no more.…
—From The Lion and the Dove
Late that night Eve climbed wearily into her carriage. The evening hadn’t been a total failure, despite the argument between Asa and his brother. She’d quite enjoyed meeting his family, and even if Asa and Concord hadn’t spoken again after the argument at least they’d not fought.
It was a small positive note, but she thought on the whole she ought to take it.
Across from her, Asa slumped against the squabs. “Thank God that’s over.”
She frowned at him in disapproval. “It was very nice, I thought.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Even the screaming babies? Even the screaming men?” He reached up to knock on the carriage roof to signal the driver that they were ready.
“It would’ve been better without the screaming men,” she acknowledged, and hesitated a moment. The carriage lurched as it started forward. “They really didn’t know about Harte’s Folly?”
He shrugged, glancing out the window, though it was dark and she doubted he could see anything. “They didn’t ask, I didn’t volunteer the information. After Father…” He waved a hand, then dropped it into his lap, shaking his head.
“That…” She chose her words carefully. “It must’ve been hard when your father disowned you.”
“Hard.” He laughed, the sound sharp and pained. “He threw me out of the family. I was forbidden the house, couldn’t come around when he was there.” He shook his head, glancing out the window. “Father had long been friends with Sir Stanley—he was practically family. When I told Father that I wanted to work in the theater—Sir Stanley’s theater—it never occurred to me that he would disapprove so severely. He said flatly that I could, but not as his son, and I, being young and hotheaded, took him up on his bloody offer. I was packed and out of the family home before sundown without a farthing to my name. Thank God Sir Stanley took me in, for I hadn’t even thought of where I’d lay my head that night.”
Her heart ached for him. To be so completely rejected by one’s parent must be terrible. The old duke had never been a father to her, but she’d always known that Val, in his own mercurial way, would take care of her.
“I’m glad Sir Stanley was so kind,” she said gently.
“He was. Kinder than my father, certainly.” His upper lip curled.
There wasn’t much she could say to that without condemning his father more, so Eve simply watched him.
Asa sat staring out the blackened window, his hand fisted on one thigh. “I never spoke to my father again, did you know? For nine years I lived with Sir Stanley at Harte’s Folly and never attempted to contact him, despite Sir Stanley’s urging. Perhaps if I’d tried…” He shook his head and glanced at her. “Father’s death was sudden. No illness, no warning. He just went to bed one night and never woke up the next morning—or so Con told me later. That was when I found out Father had cut me from his will as well. It was as if I’d never been born.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He thrust out his chin, his green eyes narrowed. “There’s no need to pity me. I made damn sure that Harte’s Folly was a brilliant success before—and I’ll make damned sure that it’s an even better success in the future. I’m not some feckless dilettante, no matter what my father thought or what Con thinks now. I don’t need them, family or not.”
Eve stirred uneasily, suddenly aware that Asa’s drive to reopen the garden was about much more than money.
“I know you’re not a dilettante,” she said. “And that the garden is important to you, but you only have one family. Concord didn’t seem to know why your father disinherited you—and I’m not at all sure he is as against the theater as your father was. After all this time, can’t you talk to him?”
“Concord is as stubborn as our father ever was.”
She smiled, tilting her head. “As stubborn as you?”
He half smiled. “Perhaps.”
She folded her hands in her lap, smiling back. “Well, in any case I enjoyed meeting your family and seeing the babies today.”
“You like babies, then?” His voice was a near-purr.
She looked down at her hands, as her mouth wobbled just once. “Who doesn’t like them? They’re so soft and vulnerable and their fingers are so tiny.”
She bit her lip, knowing she’d revealed too much.
He was silent, and finally she looked up to see that his green eyes had softened as he watched her.
She swallowed and pasted on a bright smile. “And there are so many babies in your family.”
He snorted, spreading his legs wide. “We’re obviously one of the most fertile families in London. Concord ought to be ashamed of himself.”
“I thought he looked rather proud, actually,” Eve murmured.
That got her a glare.
She smiled wistfully. “Perhaps you’re jealous that you haven’t started a family yet?”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head emphatically. “I don’t plan on any family.”
“Whyever not?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” He spread his hands, swaying easily with the movement of the carriage. “I have the garden to manage. Harte’s Folly takes all of my time, and it comes first.”
A trace of unease shivered through her, and Eve knit her brow. “Really? But there are many men who have businesses and yet are able to marry and beget children. Your brother runs a brewery, if I’m not mistaken, and yet we helped celebrate the birth of his sixth child tonight.”
He shrugged. “That might work well enough for Concord—his neat little brewery and his batch of children—but I’m not in that sort of business. I work night and day on Harte’s Folly. I haven’t room in my life for anything else.”
“Or anyone else?” She tilted her head, studying him. “That sounds rather… lonely.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up, his green eyes suddenly amused. “Not as lonely as all that, I assure you. I have needs like any other man and I make sure to fulfill them.”
She pursed her lips to hide the fact that her heart had sped up at the thought of his needs. “I understand from Violetta that you are no longer… er… entertaining her.”
“Ye-es,” he drawled, his head laid back against the squabs. He was watching her from beneath lowered lids. The flickering lamplight reflected in his eyes. He’d sampled three or fou
r pints of his brother’s beer at the dinner, she’d noticed, and she wondered now if they were perhaps affecting him. “I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to satisfy my desires.”
She licked her lips nervously.
His gaze fixed on her mouth and his voice was deeper when he said, “Or I might have to satisfy myself.”
His hand had drifted to his thigh and… was it her imagination or was there a bulge at his placket?
She swallowed. “What… what do you mean?”
He smirked at that, white teeth flashing, those wicked dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Oh, Eve, such an innocent.” She should be insulted, she knew she should, but his gravelly purr promised information. “Didn’t I tell you that a woman could be pleasured by a man’s fingers or mouth without his ever entering her?”
“Y-yes.”
“Well, a man might be pleasured in the same way,” he rumbled, rubbing his thigh. “By a woman’s hands… or mouth.”
Her breath caught on the thought. Was he saying that a woman would put her hands—her mouth—there?
Her bodice felt suddenly too tight as her breaths became faster. She didn’t know where to look: at those long fingers massaging his own leg or his glinting, knowing green eyes.
“And of course,” he continued, “a woman can pleasure herself—with her hand—and a man…” His hand drifted up, straight to the top of his widely spread legs. He gripped himself frankly—lewdly—and looked at her.
She lost all sense of propriety. All sense of place and time and who he was and who she was.
She stared back into those sensuous green eyes and whispered, “Show me.”
His eyes widened, whether in surprise or delight or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter anyway because her own gaze was fixed on the juncture of his thighs. His hand flexed against something under the fabric and then his other hand joined the first.
Unhurriedly, deliberately, he flicked open the buttons to his placket.
Eve fisted her hands against the seat cushions on either side of her as the carriage rocked around a corner.