In his younger years, Jasper had wenched and drank himself to oblivion. But now that he was happily domesticated, he had changed his ways.
Within reason, of course. There were some parts of the rookeries that never left a man.
“Because you’re an old married codger with gray hair,” he provided helpfully, attempting to lighten the somewhat grim mood of their conversation.
“You are trying me, brother.”
“If I wasn’t trying you, I’d be gone to Rothisbones.”
“I may send you there yet.”
The threat did not concern Rafe in the slightest. “Well? What do you say to me marrying Miss Wren?”
“I’m not her father. I can’t give you permission.” Jasper frowned. “You’ll need to inquire with the lady herself, unless you’ve already done so?”
“No.” Rafe grimaced. “I ought to have done. But…”
He had been too busy shagging her senseless.
No need to say that, however, so instead, he allowed his words to trail away.
“I suspect I understand your meaning,” Jasper said, his expression one of solemn long-suffering. “What did I ever do to deserve such a wild family?”
Rafe grinned now. “You were born a Sutton. It’s in our blood.”
“Yes it is. The apple and the tree and whatnot.”
“At least we aren’t tosspots like our pa was,” Rafe pointed out.
Their father had been a scoundrel, through and through. But he and his siblings had banded together with Jasper as their leader. He had saved them all, and every one of them was here to tell the tale.
Except their brother Loge.
Rafe felt a twinge of sadness, mingling with hope the Sutton who had disappeared was not dead but rather alive somewhere in London. But that was a worry for another time.
“At least we aren’t that,” Jasper allowed before canting his head, studying Rafe with a thorough stare. “Are you in love with her, Rafe?”
Admitting to his feelings felt damned odd. Before, he’d reserved his love for his family only. But there was room in his heart for one more.
“I am,” he said simply.
For the first time since reaching his conclusion, he wondered what would happen if she were to deny him. They had shared passion, but that did not mean she wanted to marry an East End rogue like himself, bind herself to him forever. Hell, what would he do if she told him no?
“Then we will have to go and find Miss Wren so the two of you can have an audience,” Jasper said.
“You approve?”
His brother grinned. “You hardly need my approval, Rafe. But if that’s what you came looking for this morning, it’s yours. Even if you are poaching my governess.”
Rafe smiled back at him, relief swelling like a balloon about to take flight. “She’s mine, Jasper. She ain’t yours.”
Just then, the door to Jasper’s study opened and his wife, Lady Octavia, bustled over the threshold with his nieces, Anne and Elizabeth, at her side. A lovely woman with hair dark enough to match Jasper’s, Lady Octavia was the perfect wife for his brother. She was intelligent and caring, and she loved the twins fiercely. She brought a softer side to Jasper that Rafe had never known existed until her presence in his brother’s life.
Rafe found himself thinking he had a similar, goodhearted woman in Persephone. How amazing it was that he should have found her, and here beneath his own brother’s roof. Surely their meeting had been preordained. A story to tell their children one day.
Ah, Christ. Listen to yourself, Rafe Sutton! You’re dicked in the nob, you are. You’re growing weak.
He could not argue with the voice in his mind. He had grown weak. But he was in love, and he could not be sorry for it. His life with Persephone would be far more complete than his life without her ever could be. He knew that the same way he knew his face in the looking glass. It was familiar, accepted, understood.