Claire stepped out into the chilly night air and wrapped her arms around herself. She was almost giddy with relief. Finn was well. Marcus and the duke were well. They were on their way home and would probably arrive after they had a good rest and got some food.
The carriage stopped, and two of the duke’s footmen walked her to the door. Finn’s butler met them at the door, holding it open for her. “Good evening, my lady,” he said formally. “Might I offer my felicitations on your marriage?”
Claire slapped her naked hands with her gloves. “You may. And I accept.” She turned to go up the stairs, but his voice stopped her.
“Would you like a bath, my lady?” the butler asked with a smile.
“Thank you, but no,” Claire breathed. She wanted to do nothing but sleep.
She took the stairs slowly, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Finn would be home soon, probably before she even woke.
Claire stepped into her room and didn’t bother to call for a maid to help her undress. Finn usually did it for her, and she’d gotten used to his attention. No one else would do.
Claire took off her dress and hung it over a chair, and then kicked off her slippers. It was a bit chilly in the bedchamber; she would have to ask the staff to bolster the fire.
It wasn’t until she was about to pull her chemise over her head that she saw the shadow move against the far wall. She froze. A voice came at her through the shadows of the room. “Good evening, Miss Thorne,” the Earl of Mayden said.
Thirty-Five
Claire wrapped her arms around herself and fought back a shiver. The man would respect her more if she had a backbone. Or did respect even matter? The man was mad. She could see it in his gray eyes. The way he couldn’t focus on any one thing for any length of time. The way he scratched at his chest as if he needed to remove a barnacle. The way he fidgeted from foot to foot.
“So nice of you to make an appointment to talk,” Claire said. “It’s a pity my husband isn’t here to welcome you.” She shrugged into Finn’s dressing gown, which hung on the back of their bedchamber door.
“I’m certain he’ll appreciate that I paid a social visit on this the day of your wedding.”
“I’m certain he will.”
“Where is Lord Phineas?” Mayden asked as he perched himself on the edge of the bed. Claire would have to burn the linens when he finally removed himself.
“He should be home any moment,” she said. Her heart was tripping like mad, but she refused to let the earl see how discomfited she was.
His eyes narrowed. Then he grinned. It was a diabolical display of mirth. “It’ll take him quite a while to get here from Bedfordshire.” He pulled out his watch fob and glanced at it. “We still have hours left to entertain one another.”
He crossed the room to her, and Claire steeled herself, forcing her body to remain still rather than retreat. His arms shot out so quickly that Claire wasn’t expecting it. His long, slender fingers grappled in her hair, dragging her closer, his greedy fingers pulling so harshly that she covered his hands with hers. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, Claire.”
He had a score to settle. This wasn’t just a matter of him being angry at Robinsworth and Finn. Claire had humiliated him publicly when she’d kneed him in the groin and stomped on his hand. This was about more than just money. It was about his pride. “I’d apologize for lying to you, but you’d accuse me of lying again.”
Claire flinched when he let go of her hair with one hand and raised it high to the side. Pain exploded on the side of her face, snapping her head to the left so quickly that her neck wrenched. Tears came to her eyes as she looked down at the floor. He wanted to cow her.
Her grandmother had once told her that, when you’re in a bad situation, whatever you do to save yourself is all right, as long as you come out of it alive. Claire would go against her nature and bow to the mad earl. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said.
His grip eased marginally. “That’s better.”
“What do you want?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “What do I want?” He made a sucking noise with his teeth. “What do I want?”
“I asked you first,” Claire said.
His hand in her hair tightened.
Claire rushed to say, “I asked you first because I value what you have to say.”
His eyes narrowed at her.
“You’re obviously a smart man. Look what you have gotten away with.” His chest puffed out with pride.
“I am a clever man. One must be clever to be an earl.”
“That’s true. Your kind is smarter by nature than the average gentleman.”
“Like Lord Phineas,” he sneered. “He’s a lord, but he’s not titled. Therefore, not as intelligent.”
Finn looked like a genius compared to this man. But that was because of the earl’s madness rather than because of intelligence. Goodness, she wished Finn were there. But she was glad he wasn’t. “Is there anything I can do for you, my lord? Shall I call for tea?”
He reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out the pistol she hadn’t even noticed he had. Finn would have noticed such a thing. But she’d had no idea. “If you call for anyone, Lord Phineas will come home to find nothing more than your lifeless body draped across the floor.”
Claire nodded. “I understand.” He seemed to calm down when she talked. So, she continued. “What was she like?”
“Who?” he asked.
“The late Duchess of Robinsworth,” she clarified. She wanted to say, The woman you threw from the tower. The one you killed. But that might set him off. “What was she like?”
His lips pulled back in a feral smile. “Easy. She was easy to manipulate. Easy to lie to. I could do just about anything to her, she was that lonely, and she would preen and walk around as if I’d given her the world.”
“Why her?” Claire asked. The earl took his hand out of her hair and shoved her into a chair. He sat down across from her. Pulling back the hammer of the gun he held, he shook it at her.
“She was promised to me, until her family found out Robinsworth had more money. He was a duke. I was to be an earl. We were of comparable lineage. But he married her.” He hit his chest with his closed fist. “She was supposed to be mine.”
“You loved her?” Claire asked. He’d tossed her from the tower, but she wouldn’t bring that up. Not yet.
He snorted. It was a sound with no mirth. “She was but a thing.”
“I see,” Claire replied.
The earl suddenly jumped to his feet. “Just what do you see? You see that she was supposed to be mine? You see that Robinsworth ruined me. That he and his brother continue to ruin me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
But he wasn’t happy with her pity, if the look on his face was any indication. “I don’t want to talk anymore,” he snarled.
“All right.”
Claire would be quiet. She would do whatever he wanted. There was a time when she would have fought him without a thought. But now she wouldn’t. She had a life growing inside her. Someone she was responsible for. Did he know about the life she carried? She certainly wasn’t going to tell him.
Mayden crossed to the sideboard and opened the doors. “Does Lord Phineas have any whiskey in here?” he asked.
Oh, thank heavens. She could wait until he was foxed and then overtake him. But Finn’s bottle was empty. The earl cursed.
“I could call for more.”
He ground his back teeth together. “Quiet!” he barked. “You will not call for anyone.”
Claire didn’t say anything more. The earl scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. How long had it been since he’d slept? Too long, apparently.
“They think they can ruin me,” the man mumbled as he paced. “They are wrong.”<
br />
Claire didn’t reply. When would Finn be back? By now, he knew the circumstances. He knew the earl wasn’t in Bedfordshire. He was probably racing hell for leather to get back to her. Just as Robinsworth was racing toward Sophia. How could anyone know which of them Mayden would go to first?
“Why me?” she blurted.
“Why what?” he asked. It was almost as though Claire was jerking him from a fog.
“Why did you choose me? Why not Robinsworth’s new wife?”
“The duke has too many servants about. Lord Phineas lives like he’s in bachelor’s quarters. It’s much easier.” He cackled. “But don’t worry. I’ll be going there next.”
“Which brother do you hate more?” Claire asked.
“I hate them equally. They both contributed to my ruin.” He hit himself in the chest again with his fist. “They called in my debts.”
“What are you going to ask for in exchange for me?”
His eyes glimmered in the dark room. This was what madness looked like. “What makes you think you’ll still be alive when he gets here?” The gleam in his eye made Claire’s heart lurch. Then he raised the gun and swung it at her head. Pain exploded at her temple and darkness was all she saw.
***
Finn burst through the doors of his home so hard that the windows rattled. “My lord,” the butler said, “What is the matter?”
“Where is Miss Thorne?” he barked.
“She’s still abed, my lord,” the man said. “She didn’t get home until very late last night.”
Finn bolted up the stairs and ran into his bedchamber, stopping short when he saw Claire lying on the floor. He ran to her and rolled her onto her back. She stirred, groaning low in her throat. A knot was growing at her temple, angry and purple. “Wake up, Claire,” he urged.
Finn had never been so happy to see anyone in his life as he was her. She was injured, but she was alive. He could feel her heart beating beneath the hand he laid on her chest.
“Claire,” he called, jostling her a bit.
She was wrapped in his dressing gown, her nightrail peeping from where it opened. Claire blinked her green eyes open and a smile curved the corners of her lips. “You’re home,” she said softly. But then her eyes focused on him, and she looked over his shoulder. “Mayden,” she whispered.
“I know. Where is he?” She looked so damn good that he didn’t want to take his eyes off her.
“Behind you,” she whispered.
Finn turned and looked over his shoulder. “Hullo, Mayden,” he said.
“Lord Phineas,” the man said. “I’d like for you to let go of your lovely wife and stand up. Hold your hands where I can see them.”
Finn lowered her slowly to the floor, where she raised herself to her elbows and looked up. “He’s mad, Finn,” she warned.
The bump on her head was turning even purpler, and there was blood at her hairline, he noticed. “Not as mad as I am.” He stood up and faced Mayden. “You will die for hitting my wife.”
“Perhaps. But if I do, I’ll take her with me.”
“Try it and see what happens.” Mayden’s eyes were rimmed in red, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He was disoriented and confused. Mayden skirted around Claire to where he stood behind her. He wasn’t even touching her, but Finn wanted to rip his throat out. He would, as soon as Claire was safe and out of the room.
Mayden now stood behind Claire, who was lumbering to her feet. “Move out of the way, Claire,” Finn warned.
He should have known she would try something stupid. She was a faerie, after all, and thought herself invincible. But the blood at her temple proved she wasn’t.
“Move out of the way, Claire,” he tried again.
Mayden moved the gun, raising it slowly in the air. His hand shook with fatigue, and it would be a miracle if he actually made his shot. But Claire stood between the two men.
“Claire!” Finn snapped. He held out a hand. “Come to me.”
Mayden pulled the hammer back, and Finn watched the earl’s finger on the trigger. He jumped toward Claire just as fire burst from the tip of the gun. But she jumped toward Mayden, rather than coming toward her husband. Pain hit his chest, flinging him backward as the noise from the shot finally rang around the room. “Claire!” Finn cried.
His backside hit the floor hard, and the wind was knocked out of him. He could barely take a deep breath, but he held up his head long enough to see the length of his dressing gown fly through the air, directly toward Mayden. She hit the earl so hard that he fell from his feet. When he went backward, he fell into the wall, where one of her paintings rested. He didn’t fall on the painting, however. He fell into it instead. Mayden disappeared into the painting, Claire’s hand on his foot. He flailed, screaming until his body disappeared, and Claire let her hand sink into the painting, until he was completely gone.
She jerked her hand back and scrambled across the floor to Finn. She picked his head up and laid it in her lap. “Finn,” she cried.
***
Blood was pooling from the wound in his chest, and fear leaped to clench Claire’s heart in its fist. She pulled off the dressing gown, balled it up, and pressed it to the hole in his chest.
“How bad is it?” he asked, his breath shallow.
“Not too bad,” she squeaked, pressing tightly to the wound. It was awful. Blood was seeping from the wound, despite the pressure she applied. “What were you thinking, you idiot? You walked right into the room with a man holding a gun.” Her words came out as great heaving sobs.
“He shot me,” Finn said. He looked down, his jaw quivering.
“Yes,” Claire shot back. “He shot you.”
The dressing gown was soaked in his blood, drenched with his life force.
Finn clutched her hand. “I would do it again. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
His eyes were closing, as though it was simply too difficult to keep them open. His head lolled to the side and his eyes closed completely. Claire cried out. “Finn!” Fear clogged her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.
The butler and Robinsworth burst into the room at the same time. “Finn!” the duke cried as he sank down beside his brother. “Finn,” he said more quietly. He sank back on his heels when he saw the stillness of his brother’s body. “No,” he whispered.
But then Claire saw the painting that sat beside the bed. It was the painting of the house she grew up in, the house in the land of the fae. “Healing waters!” she cried.
“What?” Robin looked confused.
She pointed toward Finn’s supine form. His heart still beat. But it was weak from the loss of blood. “There are healing waters in my land.”
“What good will they do us there?” the duke gasped out. He took in the lump on her forehead. “I think you have lost your wits.”
Claire pointed to the duke and the butler. “Pick him up and follow me.”
Claire walked toward the painting. She would lose her wings for this, she was certain of it, but there was no other way to save him.
“Trust me,” she ground out, when the duke hesitated.
He motioned to the butler and, together, they picked Finn up and followed her to the bed. She sank a hand into the painting and Robinsworth’s eyes grew larger. The butler backed away, taking Finn with him.
“Stop!” the duke ordered. “Follow her,” he said.
Carefully, Claire stepped into the painting, and then she held out a hand for Robinsworth to follow. He adjusted Finn so that he held his legs beneath one arm, took her hand with the other, and hoisted himself over the edge of the painting. Finn grunted as he was jostled, and more blood poured from his chest. A bubble of blood escaped his lips.
The butler balked at the last moment, afraid to step into the painting. “I order you to follow,” Robinsworth said, using his most ducal you-will-obey-me v
oice. The man took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaped into the painting with them.
When they were all through, Claire looked up at the front porch of the home she’d grown up in. Her grandmother bustled down the steps. “I need healing waters,” Claire yelled.
The land of the fae held healing waters for faeries who were injured on missions. It was rarely used, but it was there. Claire wasn’t even sure the waters would work on a human. But she couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not now that she knew she loved him. She’d never even told him.
“Where are we?” the butler asked.
“In a dream,” Robinsworth said. “You’ll wake up tomorrow and barely remember any of this.” He carefully laid Finn’s body in the grass and held his hand tightly, even though Finn was unconscious.
Claire’s grandmother bustled down the steps, a vial of shimmering water in her hands. “Will it work?” Claire asked.
Her grandmother shook her head. “I’m not certain.”
Claire took the bottle and hunkered down next to Finn. “Drink,” she said as she poured it past his lips.
“Now we wait,” her grandmother said.
***
Finn woke to a thousand tiny anvils being pounded by mallets in his head. And someone had stuffed his mouth full of sand. He licked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and blinked his eyes open. Lying beside him was Claire, asleep. She was curled into a ball, fully clothed. Robin slept in a chair across the room. Finn looked toward the window. Night had fallen.
He lifted his head, groaning at the pain of it. “Where the devil am I?” he said.
Claire startled awake. “Finn!” she cried. She rolled quickly toward him and pressed kisses to his face over and over and over. “I knew you wouldn’t die,” she whispered, tears rolling down her face.
“I wasn’t as certain as you,” Finn croaked out. She reached over and got him a glass of water and brought it to his lips. He drank slowly until she pulled the glass away. “Where are we?”
“Land of the fae,” Robin said as he woke.
“How did we get here?”
“We came through one of Claire’s paintings.”
The Magic of I Do Page 23