“Trapped in a room like a prisoner?” he demanded, feeling the sudden need to flex his fingers. To form fists.
A strange urge, that.
It reminded him of the brief flash he’d had, of punching someone. Of relishing the crunch of bone.
“Here now. No one said you need to be trapped in a room.” Sutton sauntered back to the sideboard and replenished his gin before turning toward them once more. “You can travel in the private halls of The Sinner’s Palace rather than the public, but Randall needs to follow you and make certain you’re doing what you’re told. I’ll not be having you bring trouble down upon us.”
Relief washed over him. This man was harsh, but he seemed fair.
“I have no wish to bring any trouble upon any of you. All I want is to earn my keep and to be allowed to roam beyond the four walls which are driving me to the brink of madness.”
It was true. Slipping from the room today had shown him just how much he required freedom of movement. He was grateful for Caro’s hospitality. She had given him her chamber, her bed, and she had saved his life. Which was more than he deserved. Far more.
But he wanted more, it was true. He wanted to be able to escape those walls that had protected him for the duration of his stay. As a man who was no longer an invalid, he could not bear to remain trapped.
“I’ll find a means for you to earn your bread here,” Sutton said slyly. “All you need to do is keep your arse where it belongs. Until we can discover who you are or who was trying to send you to Rothisbone, you need to play this game my way.”
He could accept that.
He nodded, stealing a glance at Caro, who was watching him with a mournful expression he could not define. “Aye. We’ll play it your way, Mr. Sutton.”
Caro’s brother grinned and tossed back the rest of his gin. “Plummy. It’s a square thing. But be warned that if you touch any of my sisters, I’m going to lop off your ballocks.”
Well, hell.
Chapter 6
On a sigh, Caro carefully traveled back to Logan’s chamber, which she was still using as her own. The hour was late. Her feet ached. And the wig atop her head—why, it felt as if it held the weight of the damned world.
Mayhap it did.
Days had passed since Caro had last seen Gavin. Jasper—curse him—had seen to that. Her brother was as protective as he was observant, and he had not approved of the familiarity between herself and Gavin the day they had confronted Jasper together in his office. Instead of working in her tiny room on creating new healing remedies before they were needed, she had been tasked with the entertainment of their patrons.
Ordinarily, Pen donned the requisite costumes and wigs to sing for the fancy lords who dedicated themselves and their purses to pursuing pleasure at The Sinner’s Palace. But since Pen had suddenly become ill and confined to her bed—suspicious timing indeed if you asked Caro—the evening concerts had become Caro’s burden.
Pen claimed she had a cough.
Caro believed their brother had somehow involved their sister in his secretive schemes.
When Caro had objected to Jasper’s request that she take on her sister’s role, her brother had calmly told her she had no choice in the matter unless she wanted herself, her siblings, and everyone in their employ to starve.
It had been hyperbole, and she knew it. The Suttons had fought long and hard to earn their place as the owners of one of the most sought-after gaming hells in London.The Sinner’s Palace offers unique entertainment unlike any other hell, and it is part of what has made us so bloody lucrative, Jasper had said. If there is no Madame Teulet singing like a goddamn sparrow, then there are no lords distracted from the green baize and losing all their papas’ blunt.
But like any sparrow, Caro did not like having to sing upon command. Nor did she appreciate all the time she was being forced to spend away from Gavin, who was now being allowed to wander, albeit in the private areas only.
Still, she worried over him. If the wrong person recognized him, all the care she had taken in nursing him back to health would have been for naught. And if something were to befall him…
Her heart would be dashed to bits like a small boat on the rocky shoals of a beach in a maelstrom. The plain truth of the matter was that she cared for Gavin Winter. Regardless of how much she had tried to remain aloof. Despite all the reasons why she should not. And no matter that she was deceiving him, the weight of her guilt becoming increasingly oppressive as the days dragged on and her lies grew.
At long last, she ventured into her chamber, the door clicking behind her.
And that was when she noticed she was not alone.
She would have screamed had not the interloper been so familiar. And handsome.
As it was, she nearly said his name aloud.
Instead, she pressed a hand over her heart as she took in the sight of him lying on her bed. Asleep, bless his heart. He must have come here in search of her and decided to await her return. Along the way, the wait had become too long. The low flickering of the brace of candles illuminated his features. She had watched him sleep on many occasions before, but now that his health had largely been restored, there was a marked difference.
