The Scoundrel in Her Bed

by Lorraine Heath

  She did hope Finn had spoken true about having no expectations regarding tonight. He had to know the roads they’d each traveled had taken them in different directions, would never converge.

  Stepping back from the oval mirror that hung above the washbasin, she tried to get a better look at herself. No cheval glass in this residence. The sisters never had a need to see themselves in their entirety, to know if they were put together properly. Their clothing was as it was and there wasn’t a lot they could do with it.

  “What do you plan to do with your hair?”

  Only then did she notice Sister Theresa reflected at the edge of the mirror as she stood in the doorway. With a laugh, self-consciously, she touched the braid she’d wound around her head and pinned into place. “I’ve already done it.”

  She turned to face the sister. “Does it not look right?”

  “If I were going to spend the evening with a gentleman caller, I might want something a bit more . . . elaborate. Would you like me to have a go at it?”

  She couldn’t help it. She stared.

  “You really must learn to hide your shock a bit better as that stunned fish look is terribly unflattering. I didn’t always wear a habit, you know.” She walked into the room. “Sit.”

  Lavinia did as she was ordered, easing onto the wooden straight-backed chair. There was no dressing table, merely the small square table where the washbasin was kept. Seated, she couldn’t see herself in the mirror.

  With a great deal of efficiency, Sister Theresa removed the pins and unplaited her hair. She almost groaned from the pleasure of having someone else drag a brush through the long tresses.

  “This young man is from your past,” the sister said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love him?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? “I did once, but we are hardly the same people any longer.”

  “Do you not believe yourself worthy of love?”

  She rather wished she’d declined the offer for help as she wasn’t really in the mood for an inquisition, and yet she’d held so much in for so long. “We were to marry, and when that didn’t happen, I found myself in situations where I proved myself weak and cowardly. I did some things, Sister, of which I’m not proud.”

  “You fear he will find fault with you?”

  “I would if the situation were reversed.”

  “Will you tell him about them?”

  “I want to, but no good would come of it. I suspect tonight will simply be an opportunity to say a proper goodbye.”

  She felt a tug, a pull, an upward yank of her hair.

  “I wouldn’t be so certain, Miss Kent. When I was younger, before I ever even considered taking the veil, I sold my soul to have a man look at me the way Mr. Trewlove looks at you.”

  The fervor of the sister’s words astounded her, and she started to twist—

  “Be still now,” Sister Theresa ordered. “Almost done.” And then her voice softened. “We all make mistakes, Miss Kent. The secret is not to let them hold sway over us. There you are. I hope you like it.”

  Slowly, Lavinia rose to her feet until she could see her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was piled on her head in an elegant coiffure, with curling tendrils dangling down to tease her face and neck. “It’s quite lovely.”

  “It would look nicer with pearl combs, but those have not been provided to us.”

  Lavinia swung around. “Were you once a lady’s maid?”

  “No, Miss Kent.” Sister Theresa smiled wistfully. “I was once a lady.”

  “Of the nobility?”

  The sister gave a short burst of laughter. “Is there any other kind? I daresay, I should think not. The door knocker just sounded. I believe your young gentleman is here. Don’t close yourself off to the possibilities, Miss Kent.”

  Before she could question the sister regarding what she thought those possibilities would be, she was left alone with nothing but her nerves. Loving her had cost Finn five years of his life. Loving him had cost her—

  She refused to think about that. She was simply going to enjoy the evening. Perhaps with a bit of prodding he would tell her everything he’d done with his life during the past three years, after he was released.

  When she stepped into the entryway and saw him standing there, she realized she wanted to know that more than anything. What was his life truly like now? How did he spend his days and nights—other than skulking about following her?

  He was nicely decked out in a jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and cravat. Not as fancy as what a gentleman might wear in the evening, but rather something he’d wear for a stroll through the park. In his hand, he held a beaver hat. “Don’t you look lovely?” he said.

  Why did her heart have to misbehave by flipping in her chest? “Shall we be off?”

  He arched a brow. “No chaperone?”

  “I hardly require one these days.” She wasn’t a young debutante in need of having her innocence protected. “Although the sisters did offer to accompany me, but I trust you not to get up to no good.”

  “Ah, Vivi, when will you learn?” He gave her a smile that threatened to send her hurtling back eight years. “Once a scoundrel always a scoundrel.”

  “Your carriage?” she asked as he handed her up into the conveyance he’d had waiting in the street for them.

  “Mick’s.” He settled against the squabs opposite her.

  “Your brother has done very well for himself.”

  “He’s earned it. He’s worked long and hard for every ha’penny that now lines his pockets.” He was tearing down and rebuilding a poorer section of London, had built a massive hotel that was becoming quite the talk of the town, and had married into the nobility—even if he himself remained without a title.

  “What do you do, Finn? Are you still a slaughterer?”

  “Going to prison for horse theft put an end to that.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry.”

  Leaning across, he took her hand, wished he’d brought her a pair of gloves, was glad he hadn’t, and squeezed her fingers. “You weren’t to blame. I don’t want us thinking about that tonight.”

  She opened her eyes, and the sadness within them would have brought him to his knees had he been standing. “What do you want?”

  Hell if he knew. To go back eight years. To start anew. But that would mean forgetting all the wonderful moments they’d had together. To begin where they’d left off? That would require facing the pain. “A bit of conversation. A few laughs, some beer. Something to eat. A lovely lady on my arm.”

  She gave him half a smile. “No flirting.”

  He grinned crookedly. “We’ll see.”

  She sighed, and in the sound he thought he heard her surrender.

  “If you’re not a slaughterer, what do you do?”

  “A little of this, a little of that.”

  “Such a man of mystery.”

  He supposed if he wanted her to tell him everything, he couldn’t hold his own story back. “I earn coins working for Aiden.”

  “In his gambling hell?”

  “I do the odd job there, but mostly I put the fear of God into those who owe him money and don’t seem to be on the verge of paying him. I visited Dearwood the other night. Collected some collateral from him and threatened to break his arm if he didn’t wear a splint.”

  “Is that what you do? Break arms?”

  She didn’t sound horrified, but rather sad that his life had come to such an uninviting place. “I’ve had to punch a fellow now and again, but only because he came at me. Or didn’t take me seriously. A bloody nose usually teaches a fellow I’m not there as a lark. They owe my brother. They will pay my brother. And from time to time, if a bloke gives me a particularly hard time, I threaten to break his arm if he doesn’t wear a splint for six weeks and inform people I’m the one responsible for it. Enhances my reputation as a bad bloke to deal with.”

  “So Dearwood gave you a difficult time.”<
br />
  He shrugged. “Not really. But I recalled not much liking him when I met him years ago”—his dancing with her playing a major role in his attitude toward the man—“and felt a need to make sport of him.”

  She smiled, only a small smile, but it was a start. “I’ve never fancied Dearwood. Something about him isn’t quite . . . nice.”

  “He’s a bit of an arse.”

  Her lips spread more fully, more beautifully, and he felt somewhat victorious, grateful he still had the ability to coax joy from her, grateful she still had it within her to experience gladness. “How do you earn your keep, Vivi?”

  “In exchange for my room and board, I give lessons to the children in the morning. Reading, writing, ciphering. The remainder of the day I scrub floors and make beds and am very much a maid-of-all-work. I’m not complaining, mind you, but I am searching for an occupation that will provide me with a bit more than that. Coins, for example, as I want to create more shelters for children. There are so many unwanted children, Finn.”

  The smile was gone now, the sadness had returned. “I know.”

  She’d made them her cause, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the same would have happened had they married all those years ago. Doubtful, as she’d have had a brood of children of her own to care for by now.

  She glanced back out the window. “It looks as though we’ve left London. Where are we going?”

  “Not far. I heard of a nearby village having a little fete. It’s unlikely anyone will recognize us.” Certainly no lords or ladies would be in attendance to spot or question her. Most were away at their country estates by now, save for the young bucks who found more adventure in town, many at his brother’s gambling establishment.

  She studied her hands, knotted in her lap. “Is there anyone special in your life?”

  “I have a good many special people in my life.”

  Lifting her head, she moved her lips into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m glad.” And turned her attention back to the passing scenery.

  Fear of chasing her away because things between them were too fragile kept him from admitting, I’m looking at one of them right now.

  The merriment struck her as soon as they exited from the coach, and it only grew after he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her into the center of things. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to be surrounded by joy and happiness. Even the brisk coolness of the evening couldn’t dampen her spirits.

  “I haven’t been to a festival . . . my word. I suppose it was the last time I was at the country estate before our fateful summer.” After she thought he’d abandoned her, she’d begun referring to it as her fateful summer or her fateful night, but now she knew the terms belonged to both her and Finn.

  “When you told me how you spent your time in the country, you never mentioned festivals.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was enjoying myself without you about.”

  “Vivi, I didn’t want you to be miserable when we weren’t together. I’m glad you had fun at them.”

  “I didn’t say that. I always felt as though something was missing, that they’d have been so much more pleasurable if you were there. Did you come to fetes while I was away?”

  “Sometimes.”

  With a grin, she nudged her head against his shoulder. “Yet you didn’t tell me about them.”

  “I’d come with my brothers. Aiden always managed to find a saucy wench to go off with him.”

  “And you?”

  His eyes warmed as he glanced over at her. “I was only ever interested in you, Vivi. I told you that. Although if I’d followed Aiden’s lead, perhaps our first time would have been more pleasant for you.”

  “I found no fault with it, although I wouldn’t imagine you’ve been celibate since me.”

  Slowly he shook his head, before turning his attention back to the crowd. “No.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that, Finn. I wouldn’t have liked for you to have been alone all these years. I suspect you really craved the company once you got out of prison.”

  “There were a lot of things I craved. Not all of it nice.”

  She suspected he was referring to retribution, but rather than hurt her, he’d stayed away.

  A man suddenly leaped in front of them and began juggling balls in the air. Finn tossed him a coin. The man snatched it on its descent to the ground, without dropping a single ball. “Thanks, guv.”

  With a nod of his head, and the spheres going around and around, he strutted away, gaining the attention of children, making them laugh.

  “Wouldn’t the orphans of the foundling home love this?” she asked as he led her deeper into the fray of activity where two men tumbled, one stepping into the locked palms of another who would then toss him in the air, where he’d do a somersault before landing on his feet, only to repeat the process. They wandered by another man swallowing flames.

  “Why would anyone desire to do such a thing?” she asked.

  “Puts coins in his pockets.”

  “Still, the danger of it . . .”

  “I suspect there’s a trick to it.”

  “I can’t even imagine the first person sitting around and suddenly thinking, It would be jolly good fun to put fire in my mouth.”

  “As baffled as you are by him, I daresay he would be equally baffled by a lady of the nobility deciding it would be a grand idea to wander the streets at night rescuing children.” There was no censure in his voice, but his raised eyebrow did give her pause. But even it wasn’t mocking. Rather she thought perhaps he admired her efforts. Although she wasn’t doing it to be admired, she did have to admit to finding gratification in his approval.

  A dancing monkey caught her attention, its owner playing the accordion. Suddenly the little fellow darted over to her, gave her skirt a tug, then doffed his hat. Finn handed her a shilling, and she dropped it into the waiting hat, where it was promptly retrieved and studied. Then the monkey raced to the accordion player and climbed up him as though he were a tree, finding a perch on his shoulder.

  “I could do with some food and beer,” Finn said. “Join me?”

  He purchased meat pies from a lady at one stall, two tankards of beer from a gent at another, and leased a blanket for three-pence from a young girl who sat near a small knoll, a stack of coverings beside her. Once they were settled, she looked out over the gathering, torches striving to hold the darkness at bay. She felt almost carefree, without worries, without concerns.

  “Would have been nice to have been able to do this when we were younger,” he said quietly.

  Shaking her head, she took a nibble from the meat pie. “I’d have had at least one chaperone in tow.”

  “I could have pitched balls at bottles and won you something.”

  She looked over at him. So masculine and bold, sitting there with one leg raised, his wrist draped over his knee, the tankard gripped in his strong hand. Lifting it, he took a long, slow swallow and she was rather tempted to remove his cravat, so she could watch the muscles of his throat working to quench his thirst. “You gave me Sophie. That was the gift of a lifetime. I needed nothing more.”

  “But I wanted to give you more anyway.”

  He’d given her so much more than he’d ever know. “I don’t know that it’s wise to traverse back into the past. We were so frightfully young, naïve. I’d have never imagined something as glorious as what we shared could have brought such pain. I can’t stop thinking about how awful it all turned out for you.”

  “Could have been worse.” He said it as though loving her hadn’t cost him everything.

  They sat in silence for long moments, eating their meat pies, sipping their beer. He’d had to pay extra for the loan of the tankards. The money would be given back to him once the pewter was returned. She’d never given any thought to how affairs such as this were managed. She’d simply enjoyed them.

  “Why don’t you return home?” he asked. “You’d have a better life
there.”

  How to make him understand? He’d shared his horrors with her. Could she share hers with him?

  “I know you’re concerned your mother will make you marry someone you don’t want as a husband, but you’re no longer a child.”

  “It’s more than that, Finn. My mother is an incredibly forceful woman. I didn’t realize how forceful—” She squeezed her eyes shut, fought back the stinging tears. Her chest tightened, her stomach knotted. Opening her eyes, she took a large, unladylike gulp of the beer, wondering if she could find solace in the brew, if it could help her relax, open up. “If I tell you something, you have to give me your word that you will not confront my mother.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why would I want to?”

  “Just promise me. Not you, not your brothers, not your sisters. None of your family goes near my mother.” She was not willing to risk his going to prison again, and she feared he might be angry enough to do something stupid.

  “I give you my word.”

  “I will hold you to it.”

  He gave a brusque nod.

  Taking another deep swallow of beer, she formed her thoughts. “About a year after you and I had planned to run off, I found myself in a position where I could no longer remain in residence. Mother and I had been having rows, you see. One night I lost control and slapped her, quite forcefully. I began packing to leave and she called for some footmen to take me in hand. My parents decided I had become too unruly, too wild. I needed to be brought to task, to be taught a lesson that they would not tolerate misbehavior. I was delivered to a madhouse.”

  The rage that swept through him robbed him of breath, of words. He was barely aware of the tankard he’d been holding tumbling to the ground as he enfolded her in his arms, held her close as though he could protect her when it was far too late for that. “My God, Vivi.”

  He rubbed his cheek along hers, aware of the slightest trembling in her body as she clutched the sides of his coat.