by Tracy Sumner
Finn squeezed Piper’s hand—stop, no—then aimed a pointed look at Victoria, who was recording everything, saddened they’d noticed her, absorbed to the tips of her toes. Handholding, hugging, door slamming. This was better than the pedestrian play she’d seen last month on Drury Lane, better than any silly illusionist. My.
Finn frowned. “Not a riddle, Lady Hamilton. Remember?”
“That’s what I brought this for.” Victoria tapped her puzzle book against her hip, ignoring Agnes’s loud sniffle. “However, do I look the type to ignore entertainment when presented?”
He grunted and glanced at the house, his gaze landing on a lower window she’d bet housed Julian Alexander’s study. He looked torn in two, hopeful and anxious, so boyishly uncertain her heart lurched.
“Go on, Blue,” she said, deciding to make it easier on him. Just this one time. “Go argue with your brother. Agnes and I will muddle along.”
He did one of those needless tugs on his waistcoat she was coming to realize meant he was struggling to gain control of a situation. Because he was perfectly pressed, as usual. “You have this, Piper? I’ll explain more later,” he said vaguely, his attention having again traveled to that lower window.
“This,” Victoria whispered as he stalked away without a backward glance. Now she was a this. Agnes harrumphed, clearly displeased by his insolence.
Lady Beauchamp had the perceptiveness to click her tongue against her teeth in chagrin. “I’m sorry my men are so rude today. Not unusual for Julian, I’m afraid, but I’ve never known Finn to be discourteous. Charm usually coats him like butter does toast. I can only say my husband has the power to scramble anyone’s designs with that quelling stare of his.” She stuck out her hand and laughed when Victoria stared at it, nonplussed. “I’m American. The incorrigible half anyway, which I’m sure you’ve heard. My official title is Viscountess Beauchamp, but everyone who counts calls me Piper.”
Victoria took Piper’s proffered hand, instantly liking the might behind the strange gesture and the petite woman standing before her. She was not American, but Victoria had been described as incorrigible many, many times. “Lady Victoria Hamilton, pleased to make your acquaintance. My father is the Earl of Hanschel, and Mr. Alexander and I....” She stumbled to a halt. How to explain? Her cheeks lit as she imagined what she was going to do when she got her hands on Finn, leaving her in the mortifying position of having to justify her presence to her hostess! She was going to parlor trick him to the devil, jumble his thoughts but good. Although her first attempt at that hadn’t ended well.
Agnes disrupted the awkward moment with the delicacy of a lit torch. “Get your eyes in your head, girl,” she said to a kitchen maid who stood with her mouth hanging open after having watched Finn cross the yard and enter the house. “A flibbertigibbet is what she is,” she whispered for Piper and Victoria alone.
“My dear,” Victoria murmured in agreement, “he needs no more adulation in this lifetime. Don’t make a cake of yourself. Too, you’re likely to swallow a fly.”
Piper wrapped her arm around her rounded tummy and bowed her head in delight as the maid gasped and hurried into the house. “Leave it to dear Finn to bring me such a welcome gift during what is turning out to be a dreadfully horrendous summer of incapacitation. I’m going to like you very much. And you actually shook my hand. That was a test. I’ve not had anyone accept yet!”
Victoria smiled without comment—because what could she rightfully say when everyone knew you had to agree with expectant mothers on all counts—and followed Piper across the sloping lawn, Agnes trailing at their heels. The reason for the splatters on Julian Alexander’s clothing and hands was apparent as soon as the front door closed behind them. The viscount was an artist, and his artwork lined the walls of the foyer and hallway in a scattered arrangement no museum would ever duplicate. It was a colorful explosion that fit the house, and the spitfire viscountess, well.
“These are like the paintings at the Blue Moon,” Victoria said and crossed to study them. Vibrant landscapes and London street scenes laid out in bold strokes and a strikingly modern style, they were skillfully crafted.
Piper stumbled to a halt. “You’ve been to the Blue Moon?”
Victoria’s breath caught. Oh, that did not sound good. Why would a lady, any lady, have seen the inside of a gambling establishment? “You misunderstand, I’m not one of Mr. Alexander’s…” She shook her head, searching for the word, mortification heating her cheeks.
“Doxies,” Piper supplied with a laugh she tried valiantly to smother.
“Lightskirts,” Agnes chimed in with.
“Paramour might be more apt. Or mistress.” Her hostess’s sputter of delight brought to mind the rumors about Lady Beauchamp and her scant regard for propriety. “Of which I’m neither.”
We’re friends, Victoria wished to add, but the statement sounded ridiculous. When had a woman of her station befriended a man of Finn Alexander’s? And they weren’t friends, at least not yet. Friends didn’t orbit each other like fighters who’d unexpectantly been shoved into the same ring. Unnerved, she blurted, “He’s been dreaming about me. Then I twisted his thoughts at Lord Samuelson’s gathering, for a moment only, because it didn’t really work, which is most unusual. He knew I’d done something, like a pinch to his skin, when no one ever does. My parlor trick, I call it. I steal little chunks of time. But it’s more than a parlor trick or…so…he…thinks…” Her words faded as color leeched from Piper’s face. Her hand went out to grasp the wall in support.
“Cor, girl, did you have to bring up your silly prank,” Agnes snapped and grabbed Piper’s arm, settling her on a threadbare settee that should’ve been tucked in a bedchamber above stairs. Or in the servants quarters below. “There, there, my lady, don’t listen to my charge’s foolish ramblings.”
“If you faint because of what I admitted, he’ll be vexed with me,” Victoria pleaded, fanning Piper’s face. Finn had spoken of his sister-in-law in extremely protective terms, brooking no question about his strong feelings for her or his family. Dodging them by hiding out in London or not, which she believed he was doing.
“I’m a healer,” Piper murmured, disclosing her own secret. Her eyes were serene when they met Victoria’s. “And I see auras. Imagine witnessing someone’s mood surrounding them, a visual cloud as colorful as Julian’s paintings.” She shrugged, offering a plucky smile. “I can’t see yours, which has only happened once before. I’m quite astonished to imagine why.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Victoria dropped to her knee before the viscountess, leveling their gazes. “I don’t know what any of this means.”
“He’s never brought anyone home,” Piper whispered, so softly Victoria wondered if she was admitting this only to herself. “And his dreams…”
“Will you explain them to me? What’s special about Harbingdon? Why I’m here?”
Piper moistened her lips, shook her head. “Finn has to do that, I think. But I will tell you, you’re surrounded by others with gifts. Everyone on this estate, in fact. Which makes for an admittedly interesting family. You’ll be accepted here as you’ve never been anywhere else. As you’ll never be anywhere else. You, my dear, are finally safe. We can protect you.”
“Gift?” Victoria rocked back on her heels. “I don’t have a gift. It’s harmless. A meaningless bit of trickery.” Her fingers twisted in her skirt. “Safe from what? No one knows about me. No one…cares about me.”
“A silly prank,” Agnes repeated in an urgent whisper. “Always just a silly prank.”
“Then why is he dreaming about you?”
Victoria’s cheeks flushed as her mind went in a base direction, fashioning images of Finn tangled in silk sheets, looking as endearingly rumpled as when he’d answered the door at the Blue Moon. No. Although she didn’t know the details, his dreams were not sensual ones. The man could have anyone in England, anyone, at least for the night. He certainly wasn’t attracted to her.
�
�Something tragic happened to a friend, and he’s not been able to recover.” Piper squeezed her hand, an impassioned plea. “Maybe there’s a reason for your bond, as there often is in our world. For the patient woman, there’s a wonderful, sensitive man beneath the charming patina.”
Victoria’s heart tripped, the revelation landing squarely on her chest, attracting her when she needed no lure. She’d never been able to trust any man aside from her brother, and he was gone. No one in her life needed her. She was a disposable commodity, a book placed on a shelf and forgotten—until the need for funds had arisen. A push into a bleak future without any care for what she wanted from her life.
She was utterly alone in this world.
The next thought left her breathless.
What if Finn Alexander, even with his family surrounding him, was alone in his world, too?
Chapter 4
“For God’s sake, sit down. You have the look of a trapped animal.”
Finn halted in the middle of his brother’s study, a space he’d been roaming—window to bookshelf and back—since being permitted entrance five minutes prior. The silence was numbing, Julian’s reproach threading childlike anxiety through him as if he waited for punishment for shattering an antique vase or spilling ink on a cherished rug.
No one could make a grown man cower like Julian Alexander.
Finn nudged a painting resting against the sofa with his boot. A charming portrait of Lucien, Julian’s adorable two-year-old son. “I like living above the Blue Moon,” he said, figuring the argument should start where it had left off six months ago. Although, he didn’t actually like living there, but the reasoning behind his actions was a perilous pond he wasn’t diving into this day. Not if he could avoid it.
Julian’s paintbrush tapped a steady rhythm on the imposing desk he sat behind. “The gaming hell was an opportunity for us to further the League’s contacts, gain information and entry into various levels of society, develop negotiating power in certain circles, while you learned to manage a business. End of story. I never planned for you to be associated in the way you have been. I think part of its success is due to the chance to carouse with Viscount Beauchamp’s infamous half-brother.”
Finn dropped to a crouch before Lucien’s portrait, a pang of what felt like homesickness flowing through him. Strange, as he’d just come home. “It’s in the black, as you well know. A favorite haunt of every town dandy. The gossip sheets love us. Why, I’m scraping earls and barons off the sidewalk nightly, much to everyone’s enjoyment. Gambling and theatre. After taking their money at the faro table, of course.” He stole a glance at Julian, noting that discussion of their financial success had failed to erase his sour look. “Fortunately, reading their minds allows me to have them escorted from the premises before they irreparably change their lives. Hence being known as the ‘friendly’ betting establishment, the gaming hell where you lose, but not so much you feel the need to swim the Thames the next morning.” Knowing it wasn’t a good idea but unable to stop himself, Finn winked and added, “I’m simply doing my part to help society as they’ve always helped me.”
“Using your gift for this idiocy is almost as bad as Piper posing as a medium. Remember how well that worked out?” He sighed, the paintbrush continuing its pejorative tapping. “This was far from my plan.”
“My living in blasted, bland Mayfair was your plan, I know, I know,” Finn snapped, his temper heating. His head was starting to pound from thwarting Julian’s thoughts, privacy not afforded everyone. Control he didn’t always have. Victoria had apparently moved far enough away for her blocking his reading to abate. At least a little. “The League is still top of mind, Jule. My first priority aside from breathing. Have you forgotten the translations I’m doing? The letters from our German contact? The concern you had, someone in Berlin that’s far too interested in us, in the occult. It’s almost spying, which was not Oxford’s expectation when I sailed through those language classes. Their hope was a lifetime spent filling a library with the works of Heinrich von Kleist and Ludwig Tieck.”
“My hope was not you being asked to depart due to unprincipled behavior. Rustication it wasn’t, despite what you said at the time. It was expulsion.”
Finn swallowed hard and scrubbed the back of his neck. “How was I to know the girl was engaged to the Vice-Chancellor’s son? She never let a thought about the poor sod float through that stunning head of hers. I was as surprised as you were.” Though I would have done it anyway, he wanted to add but didn’t dare. She’d been very persuasive, very experienced, and he a green lad of nineteen.
Julian tossed the paintbrush aside and rolled to his feet. Wrenching the window at his back high, he leaned out into an enveloping, dusky twilight. “I don’t understand your desire, after all we did to leave that life, to return to it. Creating intrigue where we pray there is none, living in that horror of a parish. We’re not thieves any longer, Finn. You’re accepted by association, and you always will be. As long as I’m alive, that is. It’s enough. Embrace this life we’ve fought for.”
“You were never from that world, Jule. You only stepped into the pit long enough to yank me out of it, then lie to society about our relationship after, which I’m eternally grateful for. Being born in the gutter is my history, no mind to how much we’d both like it not to be. The truth finally comes out in the end, doesn’t it?” He took a fast inhalation, the scent of paint and turpentine stinging his nose. “My identity lies somewhere between what you created and what I am.”
“I don’t want your damned gratitude. You’re the brother of my heart,” Julian said between clenched teeth. “After the boy—”
“Freddie,” Finn whispered and closed his eyes to hide what Julian might see, “his name was Freddie.”
“Freddie’s death wasn’t your fault. The League stepped in as soon as we found out about him. You almost died trying to save him.”
“Trying being the optimal word.”
Julian cursed beneath his breath. “Being gutted on the wharf is your idea of your purpose, that it?”
“I don’t know what my purpose is,” Finn whispered too softly for his brother to hear.
“The League can’t save everyone who has the misfortune to have a supernatural talent, Finn. It’s not possible in this lifetime, and we’ll both suffer greatly if we think it is. I’ve filled this estate with every single person I’ve found who is gifted and has no place. Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France. The new groom is from a small village in Italy, Finn, Italy. Those letters you translated last year, remember?” Julian traced a crack in the windowpane and shrugged his broad shoulder. “I can’t save everyone. Nor can you. I’m truly sorry if I unwittingly placed that expectation on your shoulders.”
The scar on Finn’s chest burned as if the knife that had created the wound was again slicing across it. His mind, for the first time since Piper’s near-tragedy years ago, was open to the dreadful possibilities. Julian’s visions when touching objects; Piper’s ability to heal; Simon’s talent for seeing those recently departed from this life; the Duke of Ashcroft’s proficiency at starting fires with nothing more than a mental wish. These gifts placed the people he loved in a vulnerable position, one that shook him to his core. He traced the curl of Lucien’s ear in the painting, praying Julian’s son hadn’t inherited any supernatural tendencies from his parents.
It was hard for him to explain, but Freddie had been the first person he’d lost—and the boy’s death hadn’t just broken Finn’s heart, it had broken his soul.
It sounded maudlin, but his sense of self had flowed down the Thames with Freddie’s lifeless body.
“I fear you’re thriving on the chaos you’re placing yourself in. And the threat isn’t coming from the outside as it did with Piper and Sidonie, with the groom who tricked his way into our ranks last year and tried to steal the chronology, something, someone, I could influence. You. The danger this time is inside you.” Julian beheld him for a long, tense moment, then he gave up, yanking h
is hand through his hair with a terse grunt. “If you’re not going to let me in, who will you let in, boy-o? That’s what I lie awake at night wondering.”
All the asinine things he’d done to light a fire beneath society’s arse since the accident flashed before Finn’s eyes until he wondered what the hell he’d been born to do with his life. If he slipped up and anyone found out about his gift, the consequences for the League and the community Julian sought to shelter at Harbingdon would be dire.
Guilt slicing through him, he crossed to the sideboard and poured a generous amount of gin in two tumblers. He and Julian liked theirs dry and neat, no sugar, no lemon, as was presently the fashion. Upon his return, Julian seized the drink before Finn could settle it on the desk, his scowl communicating his irritation over Finn’s recent activities.
Finn could list each cockup if asked, though he prayed Julian wouldn’t. It was quite a feat. He’d taken his insouciant disguise, the philandering, careless bounder, and somehow made it real. When it wasn’t real—at least he didn’t think it was.
“Who’s the girl?” Julian finally asked, the words thinly sliced, as if he preferred to address the divisive issues but had mercifully decided to start with the straightforward ones. “A momentous occasion as you’ve never brought a woman home. Should I have another nursery prepared? Lucien will still be using his for a bit. Arrange for a special license, perhaps, as the chit looked to be quality?”
Finn choked as gin shot down his windpipe. “What? No.” He dropped to the chair opposite Julian and thumped his chest, coughing. “I’m dreaming…about her, Jule.”
Julian uncoiled from his slouch, his focus razor-sharp, Finn’s foolishness of late blessedly forgotten. “Come again?”
“They started just after Freddie died. Dreams like those I had when Piper was in danger, every night, over and over and over. In living, breathing color.” He let his head fall back, his gaze going to a streak of yellow paint on the ceiling he wondered how had ended up there. “Surrounded not by danger but lack of knowledge. No, no…” He closed his eyes, pulling the visions to the forefront of his mind. Victoria Hamilton in blinding brilliance, a nightly assault on his senses. “Lack of awareness. Solitude, this vast expanse of chilling solitude. Someone tied to me in a way I can’t deny, won’t deny, because I’m not losing another person. They weren’t nightmares, like those with Piper and Sidonie years ago. These were almost calming, visions arriving just before you wake but gone by your first stretch. But they were relentless. A challenge, an appeal within them. So, I searched London high and low until I found her.”