by Tracy Sumner
Finn nodded absently. “Money’s not the issue, has never been the issue.”
“Does she know that?”
Finn glanced up, dazed as if he’d arrived at the conversation after fighting his way through a river of pea soup. “Victoria?”
“If there was any hint of resignation in her reply, it was in her ability to save her family. She’s sacrificing her love for you by doing her duty to them. The threat to her person is not a real concern for her yet. That will come with more understanding of the League.”
“But, I’m flush.” Finn struggled to his feet, swayed, paying dearly for that guzzled glass of Scotch. “The gaming hell alone brings in enough to shelter ten families. Before my dismissal, I wasted half my selections at Oxford on economics and finance because Julian thought to have me start investing. And I’ve done really well, a surprise to both of us. Marriage to me is not a financial risk, it’s reputational. Sound logic, every point I presented, and she understood. She agreed. She knows I love her. I made it clear. I showed her.” When he noticed Ashcroft’s sour look, he added, “I’m trying to do the noble thing here. At great sacrifice, I might add, so get that acerbic scowl off your face.”
Bastian polished off his drink with a snort. “Christ, Finn. Did you think to tell her you love her? I’m no expert, that’s undeniable, but even I realize it’s the starting point.”
“If she knew, I couldn’t have dragged her away, no matter the miserable future I threatened her with. You don’t know her. Stubborn doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“I have a partial solution. Not flawless but achievable. Though there’s little I can do about your illegitimacy, with my support of your marriage, Lady Hamilton will survive being given the cut at every millinery and haberdashery in town. Considering she’s choosing the comeliest man in England, most will understand her selecting him, even over a duke. I’ll start by throwing a celebratory ball, which as the person who’s betrothed was stolen from beneath his regal nose, showcases my incredible benevolence and our remarkable friendship. Imagine the sympathy I’ll receive as I publicly concede to true love and brotherhood.” He slipped his watch from his pocket and checked the time. He was set to meet with his solicitor, and one of them was going to need a special license. “Talk about noble.”
Finn turned from the window and his study of the turbulent crimson and gold sunset flowing like crushed velvet over the horizon. “Is the most distinguished rogue in London suggesting happiness is possible for people like us?”
Bastian scrubbed his hand across his face to hide the flush. He rarely suffered from discomfiture. “You and your damned brother are rubbing off on me. You see, at my core, I’m a humble man. I was a lowly third son who, against my family’s wishes, bought an army commission to try and escape a supernatural curse, only to find much of that family wiped out by cholera when I returned. A dukedom I was ill-equipped to manage landing like a boulder on my chest. You see, I’m still adjusting to this life.” He coughed, shrugged, not any better at sharing his emotions with men than he was with women. “Maybe I’m stepping in where I’m not wanted, but if you love the lady, I want you to have her. If she’ll have you.”
Finn released a fetching smile, both bashful and insufferable. “You think she will?”
No one denied the Blue Bastard. Bastian would wager a gold sovereign that Victoria Hamilton wasn’t going to be the start.
“Tell Lady Hamilton to make the retelling of her rejection of my offer tragic. I want the ton in tears, absolute despair.” With a yawn, Bastian stretched out on the sofa and laid his arm over his eyes. “Women love consoling a heartbroken man. They can all step in to comfort me.”
“Thanks, my friend,” Finn said as he sprinted from the room. “I’ll never forget this.”
A matchmaker, Bastian thought with a sigh. How peculiar. How interesting.
A singular feeling of satisfaction flooded the often-subdued Duke of Ashcroft as he fell into a dreamless, contented sleep.
Chapter 17
Finn smoothed his palm over his rumpled waistcoat and drew a nervous inhalation through his teeth. It was just after midnight, and Julian’s townhouse was hushed, the only sounds a ticking clock somewhere down the hallway and the creak and shift of an aging domicile. The liquor he’d shared with Ashcroft had worn off hours ago, leaving his belly empty and his hands trembling. Slightly trembling. Who could judge harshly? After all, it wasn’t every day a man professed love to two women.
One he felt sure would accept his offer, the other he wasn’t so sure about.
He decided to start with the easier sell.
Stubbing the toe of his boot against the polished plank floor, he raised his hand, grazed the door with his knuckle, then shot another breath from his lips and knocked. Soft footpads sounded from within the bedchamber. The squeal of an unoiled doorknob broke the silence, then she stood before him. And his heart—recognizing her without any provocation, without any true memory, their eyes and a past he couldn’t recall the only thing connecting them—gave a firm, vigorous thump.
“Finley Michel?” Belle whispered through the crack between door and frame. Her smile growing, she brought it wide and motioned him inside, her flaxen braid swinging. The locket around her neck glimmered in the dusky gaslight. “What are you doing here? At this time?” She reached to touch his cheek, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “You look flushed. Are you unwell? There’s a bruise on your jaw.”
He pressed her hand to his face when she would have pulled away, closing his eyes to capture the sensation of someone of his blood, for the first time, touching him. The sting behind his lids was one of happiness, but he fought the reaction, nonetheless. He didn’t want to scare her with overly emotional sentiments on what was turning out to be the most emotional day of his life. “I’m fine. More than fine.” He opened his eyes, his gaze catching hers. “I’m resolute. Determined. Certain.”
Her brow knit in confusion, but she tugged him into the bedchamber by his sleeve and closed the door with a soft snick. Leaning against it, she watched him prowl the small but luxurious space, accepting of the time he needed to resolve his dilemma. His mind was clear of stolen thoughts, proving Victoria was in residence a floor below, but the words he wanted to utter were tangled in his throat.
Halting by the settee Piper had placed in the room to fashion a modest sitting area, he yanked his gloves off and slapped them against his thigh. “Belle, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re happy, protected, loved. You’ll never want for anything ever again. And…where I go, you go. No matter the changes coming up in my life, you’re my family.” He exhaled through the tension contracting his chest. “If you want to live with me, that is.”
He hoped one proposal this eve was going to be accepted without a fight.
Belle pushed off the door with a graceful move reminiscent of one he would execute. As she crossed the room, he studied her. He could see a resemblance in the shape of her face, her mouth maybe, and yes, the eyes. Most assuredly the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said when she got close enough for him to see her tears, “for things I couldn’t possibly have changed. I’m sorry, but I will make up for it, I promise you this.”
She bumped against his shoulder, and his arms opened, his gloves falling unnoticed to the carpet. “We have a future, Finn. A real one this time,” she whispered as he hugged her tight. “I’ll go where you go. You need not ask. I cannot be more grateful because I have my brother back.”
He settled his chin atop her head and sighed out the past. Remorse, guilt, fury. There was no place for these emotions in his new life. He wasn’t going to be held back by fear or uncertainty or even goodness of heart. He was the bastard son of a viscount and the grandson of a French marquis—and he was going to marry the woman he loved.
The bloody aristocracy better learn to stay out of his way.
“Le début de l’amour,” Belle said.
Yes, it was the start of love.
&nb
sp; The air in Victoria’s bedchamber was stifling, her moist skin sticking to the sheets. Restless, she turned one way, then another, rolling across the mattress. Her mind was humming, the way it had that time at Harbingdon when she’d been knocked off her feet while blocking Finn. As if he was close and either trying to read her mind or keep her from his.
But that couldn’t be. He’d left her life.
He’d left her.
With an oath, she kicked the sheets aside and vaulted from the bed. The Duke of Ashcroft was arriving in a few short hours to settle the arrangements. If this suited.
What suited was a future of her choosing.
What truly suited was a future with the Blue Bastard. With Fig.
Victoria strode to the window and wrenched it high, allowing a humid gust to rip inside, bringing with it the scent of blooming lilacs and coal smoke. The gross disparity that was Mayfair. Leaning her head against the shutter, she sighed. Blinked. Straightened. Cursed for real this time.
Finn stood on the veranda below, a cheroot anchored neatly between his lips, the tip shooting a crimson glow across his clenched jaw. Moonlight glimmered off the streak of gray in his hair as he yanked his hand through it. He seemed lost in thought as he paced, an occasional tug on what she would guess was a pristine waistcoat his only tell. If she weren’t so lost over him, she might find his obvious apprehension endearing. As it was, and for a myriad of reasons, some as half-baked as the Bakewell tart she’d completely ruined this evening, she wanted to punch him in his gorgeous face.
The vase was in her hand before she quite knew what to do with it. Going strictly on impulse, she tossed its contents out the window like she would an overflowing chamber pot, an adept pitch. Fragrant water and roses petals and hydrangea blossoms landed on his back and shoulders.
His gaze shot to the window, then to the floral waste on his clothing. He didn’t hesitate but took off at a sprint into the house. She heard his heavy footfalls along the landing, slapping the stairs as he climbed them. With a stuttered laugh, she raced to the door, unsure if she planned to lock him out or welcome him in when he slammed inside, saving her from having to decide.
Without a word of greeting, he hauled her into his arms, walked her back five steps to the bed and pushed her down on it. The vase dropped from her hand and rolled across the floor. Her muffled protest, token at best, was vanquished as he fell over her, tangled his hands in her hair, and set his mouth to hers, kissing her with all the desperation she felt. He tasted of brandy and man, dark, spicy, Finn Alexander. The best taste in the world. With a low moan, she twined her arms around his neck and gave herself to him. Her legs fell open, and he slipped into place, nothing but a thin nightdress covering her, his hard length rocking against her, pressing her deep into the mattress. Lighting a fire more potent than any Ashcroft could start.
It was then she got a whiff of him. Lavender. Feminine but cheap, not a fragrance she’d ever worn. And not one of the flowers she’d doused him with. Pushing against his chest, she noted the bruise on his jaw, his bloodshot eyes. He braced his forearms next to her shoulders, lifting his head just enough for a shaft of flimsy moonlight to reveal his tormented expression.
“I missed you so much I ached,” he whispered without prologue. “I love you. And I think we should get married.”
“I’m not marrying a man who comes to me smelling like a trollop,” she returned, her mind going wild with possibilities as jealousy scorched a path through her. She gave him another shove and tried to roll from beneath him.
He replied by grasping her shoulders and giving her the lightest shake as if trying to wake her up. “I’m finished with that life. I’m done playing the role of the fickle wastrel. The bruise was gained by acting the heroic knight. For you.” He kissed her brow, her ear, her lips, silky strands of his hair sliding across her cheek as his lower body moved into an even deeper press against her. “Nothing happened. Nothing. There is no one else for me. There’ll never be anyone else, Tori. I haven’t touched anyone since the dreams started, not even that night in the Blue Moon. She was uninvited, and I sent her away after you left. Once you were in my mind, there was no room for anyone else. I told Ashcroft that I don’t own you. But you own me.”
Victoria sank to the mattress and closed her eyes. Finn’s staggered breath streaked her cheek, her collarbone as he laid his brow on her shoulder in defeat. His arms came around and under her, drawing her into his body, letting her feel the rough pounding of his heart through her nightdress.
She had a choice.
She could trust a man who’d never shown her he was anything but trustworthy. A generous, patient, intelligent man, one who secreted his true self from the world; a man who was temperamental, arrogant, even obnoxious on occasion; a man who liked to laugh, sometimes at her expense. An impish charmer. A false-bastard who, because of his profound love for his brother, wasn’t going to try to change the ton’s impression of him. Not even for her.
With this choice, she would gain a new family in Julian, Piper, Humphrey, Simon, and Belle. Be able to join the League fully and put her gift to use. Learn to manage her talent, maybe even learn to control it.
With this choice, she’d be accepting the love of a man she didn’t want to be apart from for one moment for the rest of her life.
So, there was no choice.
Cradling his face, she directed those astounding eyes to hers. “What were you doing down there on the veranda?”
He blinked, nonplussed. “I’d just let Belle know what I was planning to ask you. Since I can’t discuss it with your father, your family, as tradition demands, because they’ll toss me out on my arse, I wanted to discuss it with someone in mine.” A slow flush crept across his cheeks, and he ducked his head to keep her from seeing it. “And I was nervous. Trying to figure out some brilliant thing to say when a floral arrangement landed on my head. Then I just blurted it out anyway, the most graceless proposal imaginable.”
“Oh, Blue,” she whispered, her heart breaking. “You don’t have to convince me.”
“That I love you? Want you? Need you?” His hands slipped low, bringing her hips against his with a shift and rock that sent stars spinning through her universe. “That you’d be crazy to turn me away when you’re my world? Yes, I do. I will. I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life convincing you. Because you’re going to give up so much if you decide to keep me.”
She’d already decided to keep him, but after would be an excellent time to tell him, she thought with a smile. She was burning up, the pulse between her thighs so constant it was making her entire body tremble. Visions of everything they’d done before shimmered through her mind like light through a frosted pane. Pulling his mouth to hers, she soothed his bottom lip with her tongue because she knew he liked it. Knew this would make him put his hands on her that much faster.
His response was swift, her nightgown flowing up and off her body to float to the floor. His waistcoat and shirt soon followed, his boots, trousers, drawers, until their bodies were a naked, molten press, air ripping from their lungs, hands seeking, caressing, delving. The kiss he pulled her into was ferocious and uncontrolled, deep-throated, glorious. They fit, knee to knee, hip to hip, chest to chest, finding a blinding, blissful cadence as they sharpened each other’s need to a fine point. She gasped, taking a harsh breath to find the sheets in a damp tangle, the pillows and counterpane in a wad on the floor.
“I’ve never felt what I feel with you,” he murmured as he took her nipple between his teeth and sucked hard, drawing a pleasured cry from her. “I never imagined.”
Body shaking, she followed the hair trailing his chest, drawing circles over his flat belly, his hip, his thigh. He lifted slightly to encourage more. She took him in hand, smoothed her thumb over the silky tip and stroked his length, slowly, then with greater speed, just as he’d shown her. His mouth fell away from her breast as he rolled to his back with a hushed groan, the most arousing sound she’d ever heard come from him.
&nb
sp; “There, love, ah, yes.” His head tilted, neck arching, lids fluttering. His fingers burrowed into the sheet, curling into a fist as he tried to control himself. She stared, enthralled, about to arrive herself just from watching him. She didn’t know how to do what raced through her mind, so she simply obeyed the compulsion. They’d whispered about it in the still twilight that first night as he patiently answered her questions about lovemaking but…
Slowing her touch, she dragged her lips down his neck, traced his collarbone, licked his hardened nipple, shadowing that crisp path of hair she so loved down his body. He gasped, his belly tightening when she pressed a hard kiss to his navel. He was trembling, his skin flushed, his hands rising to settle in her hair. His low murmur of agreement gave her courage.
It stunned, she thought as she sank her teeth into his hip, that she could draw such a fevered response from him.
When he could have anyone, he wanted her.
“I won’t be able…to last…” He caught her wrist as she took him in her mouth, trying to stop her. But the effort was half-hearted. “Christ, I can’t,” he moaned, hips rising off the bed.
He tasted wonderful. Like soap and the slightest tang of salt. Rigid but his skin so smooth, a remarkable contrast. He was lost, his words unintelligible, his breaths stuttered. And she was lost in him. Her peak close, she kissed her way down his length. His hand came around hers, guiding her strokes. Fast, fierce, tight. His other found its way between her legs, and with a delicious twist, he slipped a finger inside her. His thumb settled over that lovely hidden spot, the dual assault all it took to push her over the edge.