Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) by Kathleen Ayers Page B

sure you know my grandmother, don’t you?”
    Caro
frowned, offended.  Everyone in London knew the powerful Dowager
Marchioness.
    He wagged a
finger at her, enjoying her discomfort.  “Here’s an easy one then. 
How many estates do I have?”
    She smiled
brilliantly, sure of herself.  “Five.  Cambourne House, this townhome
where you currently live.”  She waived her arms about the room.  “A
bachelor’s house with ill-mannered servants, which we will sell, once we’re
married.  I can’t imagine why you prefer this place to Cambourne House.”
    Sutton
raised a brow, but didn’t stop her.  Apparently Caro didn’t care for
McMannish.
    She held up
a hand, counting off the Cambourne assets.  “Blackburn Heath, the family’s
seat, Gray Covington and Baylor Manor in Scotland.”
    “Well at
least you know I have a home in Scotland.” Sutton clapped his hands at her
recital.  Greedy, greedy, Caro.  She made the Prussian mercenaries
look like schoolchildren. “I’m sure you know my income from each as well, do you
not?”
    She smiled
and proceeded to tell him.  She stood and strode over to him, her hips
swaying and a lascivious look in her eye.  The chemise floated about her
hips.  Her nipples, small and dusky, pointed through the thin silk. 
Smooth, white arms, wrapped around Sutton’s neck as she kissed him on the
cheek.  “See!  I do know everything about you.” She shook her head as
if he were a naughty child.
    Sutton mused
that Caro was no better or no worse than any other woman of her station. 
Groomed from childhood to be the ornamental wife of a wealthy, titled man, Caro
simply did as she was trained to do.  When Sutton was no more than a
child, Jeanette, his stepmother, reminded him on a daily basis that Sutton’s
only value in this world, his only meaning to others, was as heir to
Cambourne.  Oh, he was beautiful, Jeanette would admit, women would adore
him, want him and he would have no lack of lovers.  No Marquess had a lack
of lovers. Cambourne was everything, and without the estate and title, Sutton was nothing .  Jeanette would remind him that Cambourne didn’t actually
belong to Sutton.  Not really.  She knew the truth.  As soon as
she produced a son, well Sutton would be sent off to the army in India or some
other place.  Robert would want his real heir, an heir Jeanette would
produce, to inherit Cambourne. Robert, his father, regarded Sutton as a duty,
an obligation and would expect Sutton to do the right thing.
    Sutton took
another long, draught of the brandy, praying for the dark liquid to do its work
and numb him to the past. Jeanette was a greedy, ambitious, depraved bitch. 
He witnessed the depth of her depravity with his own eyes.  She begged
Sutton, her ice blue eyes spilling with tears, to not tell Robert.  She
carried a son, Robert’s heir, she was sure of it.  Jeanette pleaded with
Sutton to spare the unborn child the censure it would endure if Sutton told
Robert.  What about Miranda, Sutton’s adored younger sister?  She
would be spat upon.  Shunned. Jeanette was the only mother Sutton had ever
known and if he had an ounce of love for her, he would leave England never
confessing Jeanette’s accidental step to Robert. Sutton loved her then. 
He did as she asked and left for Macao. What a fool he had been.  He
deserted Miranda and left his new born sister, Elizabeth all because of that
harpy.
    Sutton
gently set the brandy glass down on the table.  The brandy failed to warm
the chill in his heart.
    Caro waited,
her face turned up to his, waiting for his declaration of…love? Caro reminded
him so much of Jeanette at that moment he found it difficult to look at her.
    He pulled
Caro’s arms from around his neck, pushed her body away from him. “You need to
leave, Caro.  Do you require assistance?”  He pointed to her gown,
crumpled and lying on the floor.  “Or can you manage? I can call one of
the maids if you wish.”  Jeanette’s wounds on