“So why seek me out?”
He hadn’t a clue. Perhaps he’d thought if he saw her, just one more time, he could stop thinking about her, would no longer be haunted by memories of her, of what they might have had together.
“Why don’t you return home?” He nearly groaned in frustration because he was the one who asked a question, when he wanted her to think he didn’t care. Still, he carried on like a dimwit. “Thornley is married. They can’t force you to wed him now.”
“They’ll force me to marry someone else, some other duke. Mother is determined I’ll be a duchess.”
“I thought that was the dream of all ladies of quality—to land a duke.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. He shouldn’t blame her for deciding she wanted someone other than a commoner, a bastard. But he did find fault with her for the way she’d gone about ridding herself of him.
“You of all people should know that a title mattered not one whit to me, and if you think it did, then you didn’t know me at all.”
“I knew you well enough to get you to welcome me into your bed.” His pride spit out the words.
He saw her flinch, but other than that, she reacted not at all, said nothing at all. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Striving to put an end to the practice of farming out children, or at the very least see that it’s licensed. You must have a license to kill a horse but not to oversee the care of someone else’s child? It’s ludicrous. It makes no sense that we strive to protect beasts more than we do humans.”
A couple of times he’d followed her to a darkened alleyway and watched her standing around for a couple of hours, sighing heavily now and then. Then last week, a woman had joined her and placed three children into her keeping. He’d been curious regarding her actions but hadn’t trusted himself to approach her without giving away how fiercely her betrayal had wounded him to the core. He’d been so cocky regarding her feelings toward him, certain he’d won her over for all eternity.
Unfortunately, the longer he was in her company, the more the anger he tried to hold at bay was beginning to seethe, to seep out of the crevices into which he’d attempted to chase it. He wanted her to believe him unmoved, even as his burgeoning resentment threatened to overtake his good sense. He hadn’t gone to her before, because a part of him had feared the answer: she’d turned her back on him because of the circumstances of his birth. He’d fought his entire life to convince himself his illegitimacy didn’t matter. But in the end, perhaps it had mattered to the one person who had meant the most to him. Yet she’d taken up the cause of children born into the same circumstance as he. Was she acting out of guilt for turning her back on him? “Why do you care?”
“Again, Finn, it seems you knew me not at all.”
They reached the gates of the wrought iron fence that enclosed the foundling home. The barrier was designed to keep children inside, not to keep anyone with ill intentions out. He could scale it in a blink.
Ignoring him, not even having the courtesy to thank him for his escort, she shoved open the gate, its hinges squealing in protest.
“The next time you go out at night to meet someone, hire a large bloke to accompany you.”
“I think I demonstrated I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” She stepped through the opening she’d created and quickly closed the gate, causing it to rattle and protest with the force of her actions.
“Vivi.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around, didn’t chastise him this time for using the pet name he’d given her. Lady Lavinia had always seemed too complicated a name for the girl she’d been—or perhaps it had simply been too complicated for him, a constant reminder of her place in the world, atop a pedestal, while he was destined to remain in the muck, always looking up at what he shouldn’t touch. “I’ve no doubt you can handle yourself under most circumstances, but you weren’t prepared when I unarmed you—either time. There truly are dangers about this time of night that you might not be prepared to face.”
She did turn then, but he couldn’t make out her features. She was merely a shadowy outline standing in far darker shadows. “Are you one of them?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the boy who shared his dreams with me?”
“He died.” You killed him, you and your father.
“As did the girl who shared her dreams with you. What a fine pair we are.”
She spun on her heel and began walking away. The sorrow reflected in her voice took him off guard, almost had him going after her, but what good would come of it? Merely recriminations, accusations, and a flaring of the bitterness of her betrayal.
Besides, he had an appointment to keep.
Coming in through the rear door, Lavinia stepped into the kitchen where a single lamp rested on the large wooden table, where she had left it before departing for her late-night excursion. Drawing comfort from it, she neared, placed her walking stick on the table, wrapped her hands around the back of a chair, dropped her head forward, inhaled deeply, and tried to stop the trembling that had overtaken her from the moment she’d seen Finn standing there. He knew where she was. How long had he known?
Swinging around, she returned to the door, checked the lock, ensured it was secure. Not that it would stop him, but she couldn’t imagine him breaking into the home of a religious order. Surely not even he would be so sacrilegious.
Pressing her forehead to the door, she fought back tears. Having him so near, talking with him, had reopened old wounds. She’d thought them healed, only to discover they’d merely been festering. Dear God, what sort of man was he to speak with her without begging forgiveness for nearly destroying her?
“No children tonight?”
Turning at the voice, she smiled sadly at Sister Theresa. She fought off the melancholy that was hovering because the night had not gone as she’d hoped, because she’d not been able to rescue more children. But eventually she would send an article to the Times revealing the details of her adventures. The trial and eventual hanging of Charlotte Winsor several years earlier had helped bring to light some of the abuses of baby farming, but still not enough was being done to protect children. Doing so had become her cause, her reason for rising in the morning, for carrying on. Had given her life purpose, so she was no longer existing but was actually living. If she could just make people listen—
Which seemed an insurmountable task when she hadn’t even been able to make Finn leave off. Damned irritating man. She should have run him through. If he approached her again, she wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
“Not tonight. No one showed.” A small lie, but she didn’t want the sister to worry. Tonight was the first time she’d been faced with violence. Poor timing to have met with a woman last week who was arrested soon after. She hated to admit that Finn might have the right of it and she would have to hire someone to accompany her in the future. It was quite possible she was becoming known, and if others were arrested she might be seen as a danger.
“I’m glad you returned safely. Sleep well, Miss Kent.”
When she’d sought shelter here, she hadn’t told them she was the daughter of an earl. She’d wanted to be as anonymous as possible. “Good night, Sister.”
Sister Theresa retreated down the hallway to her bedchamber. After picking up the lamp and her walking stick, Lavinia wandered out of the room, along a hallway, and finally up the stairs to where several bedchambers lined one side of a lengthy corridor while the other side boasted only one large room that ran from one end to the other. Three doors led into the single room, each one left open so any troubled cries could be heard. Quietly she entered, taking some satisfaction in the twenty-five beds lining each wall and the sight of the children filling most of them, several here as a result of her endeavors.
She glanced over at the sister who had fallen asleep in a chair while keeping watch over the little ones. Many of them often awoke with nightmares. Few would talk about what their lives had been. But she co
uldn’t look at any of them without wondering how much Finn’s life might have mimicked theirs had he been delivered to a different farmer. Based on all the things he’d told her, the woman to whom he’d been given loved him, and he loved her. Not all by-blows were as fortunate.
Slowly, quietly, she walked between the beds, shining the lamp on each occupant, bringing up a blanket here, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear there, moving a rag doll into the crook of an elbow. Each child was precious, and she imagined herself as mother to each of them, caring for them, singing them lullabies, holding them close, showering them with love. Rescuing them filled an emptiness inside her that had only grown over time as more weeks passed with no word whatsoever from Finn.
Then tonight when she’d wanted no words from him at all, they’d flowed off his tongue, threatening to drown her.
With a quiet sigh, she retraced her steps and wandered back into the hallway. Although she doubted she’d be able to sleep, she wasn’t of a mood to haunt the corridors like some ghoulish wraith either. She made her way to the chamber she shared with Sister Bernadette, not at all surprised to find her asleep, although her snores were in danger of waking the dead.
Quietly she stripped out of the frock she’d found at a local mission, someone else’s castoff. It was a bit worn but still serviceable. When she’d run from the church, she’d been wearing her wedding gown and, in fear of having her escape thwarted, hadn’t taken the time to return home for other clothes.
Thorne deserved someone who could give him the whole of her heart, and Lavinia’s remained a shattered mess. Although she hadn’t realized the true extent of the unfairness to Thorne until she caught sight of Finn at his brother’s wedding, two weeks before hers was to take place.
She slipped into her nightdress, another castoff, worn but incredibly soft from so many washings. As carefully as possible, because the bed did tend to creak, she made her way beneath the scratchy blankets and stared at the shadows playing over the ceiling.
Seeing him that day at the church had been like having her heart broken all over again. She’d anticipated he might be there. She simply hadn’t expected the sight of him to hit her so hard. He was a full-grown man now, with none of the boyishness of his youth remaining to him. More handsome than he’d been when she’d fallen in love with him. She thought he might have gained some height. His shoulders had definitely broadened. He’d worn the finely tailored clothing well, a mark of success.
After whispering to Thorne, who’d accompanied her to the ceremony, that she’d quite suddenly taken ill—something she’d eaten she was rather certain—they’d made a quiet discreet exit from the nave. He’d escorted her home and then made his way to the wedding breakfast to wish the couple well. She didn’t know if Mick Trewlove had read the guest list and known her name was on it—she rather doubted it. Her brother hadn’t attended because his wife had been truly ill that morning. Which had no doubt worked out to everyone’s benefit as she suspected the Trewloves wouldn’t have welcomed him with open arms. Wouldn’t have welcomed her either, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Sometimes when sleep eluded her, she’d wonder what had become of Finn.
And so she’d seen him at the church and wished she hadn’t because the guilt and shame she’d managed to tamp down for so many years had not only raised its ugly head but had increased exponentially as her wedding to Thorne neared. In the end, she’d been unable to saddle him with her. The night before she was to wed, she had made the mistake of confessing to her mother that she thought it would be best for all concerned if she cried off. The countess, fearing her only daughter might make a run for freedom, had locked her in her bedchamber.
The following morning, Lavinia had recanted and carried on as though she fully intended to go through with the marriage. But at the church, her unsuspecting brother hadn’t hesitated to give her a moment alone, and she’d been able to make her escape. She’d not been completely prepared for running off, but she’d managed.
Until tonight, until she’d seen Finn. She’d not been at all prepared to face him, to be bombarded with so many memories, and against her will, lying there in the dark, she remembered a magical night when she’d truly become his.
Chapter 7
1863
Finding Fulfillment
Sitting in front of the mirror, Lavinia watched as Miriam worked to put her hair up in a style reminiscent of Marie Antoinette, which seemed appropriate as her mother would have her head if she knew the true reason Lavinia had pleaded and begged for their affair to be a masquerade ball. But it had been necessary to Lavinia’s plan. Every ball she’d attended thus far had been boring and uneventful. It was her first Season and she should be enthralled with the sparkling glamour. Instead she found it all rather dull and attending the affairs extremely wearisome.
She spent a good deal of her time dancing with one partner after another. Her brother’s many friends were all willing to ensure she wasn’t a wallflower—even on the nights when Thornley didn’t attend the affairs, which was most nights. He had no need to spend his time getting to know the various debutantes. He knew who he was destined to marry so was free to spend his evenings engaged in other pursuits. He would be in attendance tonight, of course, as he wouldn’t insult his future in-laws by not showing up. She would have her expected two dances with him, and then he’d no doubt head to the card room or sneak off for a bit of whisky with her brother or leave to find other more interesting entertainments.
But the costume ball wasn’t for him. It was for Finn.
A young man who could sneak into a residence, into her bedchamber, could most certainly steal into a grand salon filled with people, especially when they were all wearing masks. All he had to do was climb over a wall—surely going through the back gate would be too mundane for him—into the gardens and then simply march up the path and enter through the terrace doors that would no doubt be left ajar in order to ensure cooler air circulated throughout the crowded ballroom.
Once Miriam was finished with her hair, Lavinia went through the tedious task of getting into her costume—a voluminous white gown that revealed her neck, shoulders, and a good bit of her cleavage. She draped a diamond necklace that had once belonged to her grandmother around her neck. Earbobs. Dragging on white gloves that went past her elbows, she felt like a true lady tonight, not a young girl on the cusp of womanhood. The feeling had little to do with the costume itself but with the manner in which she was displaying herself for a particular gentleman. She refused to feel guilty that she’d never gone to quite as much bother for Thornley as she doubted very much that he went to any bother for her. But Finn would. He’d go to the trouble of securing a costume and mask in order to infiltrate her mother’s ball. It was a deliciously wicked thing to do. Her mother would have an apoplectic fit if she discovered a commoner in her grand salon.
But Lavinia trusted Finn to be discreet. They’d discussed the particulars numerous times. She’d never anticipated an evening more, not even her very first ball.
With Miriam’s assistance, she managed to get her mask tied in place without disturbing a single strand of her hair. The silver half mask glittered with sequins and was adorned with elegant tufts of feathers.
“Quite striking, m’lady,” Miriam said.
“I rather agree.”
“The duke won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“I’m sure you’re quite right.” Although in truth she hoped Miriam was dead wrong. She didn’t want to garner his attention tonight of all nights, especially when she’d not held it for long on other nights.
“We could be moving into his fine residence by the end of the summer. At least that’s what some of the servants are saying. And that you’ll take me with you.”
Turning to the side, she studied her reflection in the cheval glass. “Well, yes, of course I’ll take you with me. But I doubt it’ll be this year. We’re not even properly engaged yet. The duke is in no hurry to wed.”
“But
once he sees you tonight, he’s going to fall all over himself.”
Laughing lightly, she shook her head. “I assure you, Thornley is not one to fall all over himself.”
With a final glance in the cheval glass, she headed out of the room and made her way downstairs to the grand salon where everything was in readiness—except for the blasted doors that led onto the terrace. “Please open the terrace doors, James,” she said to a passing footman. “It’s such a lovely night and our guests will grow warm otherwise.”
Picking up a dance card from a small table near the stairs that led down into the ballroom, she placed it around her wrist. She’d been instrumental in the dance selections, choosing six waltzes, planning to leave each blank since she wasn’t certain exactly when Finn might make his appearance and she was determined to have an intimate dance with him. No quadrille or cotillion for them.
At the rustling of skirts, she turned and smiled at her mother.
“You look lovely, m’dear.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“I daresay, the Duke of Thornley will find himself anxious to bend the knee in short order, although I don’t know why you insisted on the masks. You can have a costume ball without going to such extreme.”
“I like the mystery of it, the mystique. Perhaps I’ll dance with a gentleman and not know who he is.”
“I very much doubt that. You know everyone who’s been invited. Most you can identify by their form. Others you’ll know for certain when they speak.”
“Still, it’s rather fun to determine who they are before they speak. Or at least I suppose it is.” Reaching out, she squeezed her mother’s hand. “I think it’ll add a bit of excitement, make our ball more memorable.”
“I suppose there is that.”
Her mother then left to ensure all was as it should be, and an hour later the ballroom was teeming with guests. Exhilaration was rife on the air. She could sense it from the others in attendance, although she doubted anyone’s rivaled hers. She was constantly searching through the gentlemen—many of whom had done little more than don their evening clothes and a mask—striving to find the one who had not received a gilded invitation from her mother.
The Scoundrel in Her Bed Page 8