“I hope you don’t find my saying this offensive, but you don’t speak like a laborer.” While his diction was far from the haughtiness of an aristocrat, it did reflect a certain amount of education, more than she’d have expected from someone who slaughtered animals for a living.
“That’s my sister Gillie’s doing. She’s obsessed with ensuring none of us sound like we come from the gutter. She firmly believes we have to speak properly if we ever hope to make something of ourselves.”
“And what will you make of yourself, Finn Trewlove?”
With a wink, he gave her another flash of a smile. “That remains to be seen, Lady Lavinia.”
He brought the wagon to a halt, set the brake, and climbed down. No one seemed to be about as he walked around to her side and held up his arms. She scooted over until he could bracket his large hands on her narrow waist while she placed her small hands on his broad shoulders. Slowly, ever so slowly, as though he were in no hurry, he lifted her down until her feet touched the earth.
For the briefest of moments, he seemed to be studying her, and she wondered if he was ever going to release his hold on her, wasn’t certain she wanted him to. No one had ever looked at her as he did—with such intense interest, as though she fascinated him. It was rather thrilling to be the object of such attention. Finally, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “My brother has wagons and horses for hauling the brick. Over here.”
She followed him to a large paddock—not a proper stable, although she could see what appeared to be some sort of wooden shelter in the distance. The horses she saw standing around were much bulkier than the ones in her father’s stables, but then she supposed they needed the muscles for hauling something as weighty as bricks. Then she spotted the elegant white mare with her silver mane, and her heart leaped with such joy she was surprised it didn’t burst through her chest. “Sophie! Here, girl! Here, sweet girl!”
The horse trotted over, and Lavinia petted her, pressing her forehead against Sophie’s. “I thought never to see you again. I suppose after tonight that will be true, but at least you’ve not been taken from me completely. I’ll know you’re here, frolicking about, having a grand time with your new friends. I’m sorry I treated you poorly, tried to use you to gain another’s attention. Oh, sweet girl, I shall forever miss you.”
Throwing back her head, Sophie neighed, and Lavinia couldn’t help but believe the horse understood every word she’d spoken and was expressing how much she’d miss her mistress. Then the mare scampered away.
With happiness and relief spiraling through her, Lavinia turned to Finn. “Thank you for sparing her.”
Then without thought or reasoning, in her gladness, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Chapter 3
1871
Finn remembered their first kiss as though it had been delivered only minutes before instead of years. It had been as brief as the blink of an eye, and yet he’d felt as though his lips had been branded by hers. He’d been no stranger to kisses, preferring those that went on for ages, slow and sensual, a feast rather than a nibble. Still, the quick brush of her mouth over his had rocked him back on his heels, just as her quick jab to his jaw had done moments earlier.
Apparently, she was no happier to see him than he was to see her. Not that he was going to let on how much it hurt or angered him to be in her presence after all this time.
With that blade positioned perfectly between two ribs, he stood as still as death. There was only meat to be pierced and it would give way easily without bone to provide a barrier to its destination. The steel was vibrating ever so slightly, and he could see the barest of trembling in her hand, wanted to dare her to finish what she’d begun eight years earlier, the complete and utter rending of his heart.
Their breathing was shallow, fraught with tension, as they each took a measure of the other.
He hadn’t planned to make his presence known, but neither had he been in a mood to see blood spilled or to wait to intervene until the situation escalated into an altercation that would have required a bit more effort to subdue. Although he’d been tempted to hold off, to see how well she might have defended herself in the face of three opponents. But he’d spoken true. He hadn’t liked the odds.
Although she had some power now to her punch that she hadn’t when she was younger and had smacked him the day he’d arrived to take away her horse. He wondered who’d taught her to fight—and knew a surge of unwarranted jealousy at the prospect of some faceless man folding his hand over hers and demonstrating how to make a proper fist that was less likely to result in any broken bones.
He wondered if the same person had taught her to wield the rapier. He’d been impressed with her skill and the confident way in which she’d handled the weapon, although being impressed annoyed him as much as the memory of their first kiss. He wasn’t going to race through his memories until he remembered their last kiss, the one he’d thought truly made her his—until he’d realized too late that it was a lie, like everything that had passed between them.
“Have you been following me?” she asked, not even attempting to disguise the bitterness in her tone.
He had been, not that he was going to directly admit that to her. He’d learned only six weeks earlier that she was in the area, and it hadn’t taken long to find her once he knew to look. Since then, for reasons he’d been unable to explain to himself, he’d been keeping a close watch on her, unaccountably curious regarding her reasons for being in this area of London. If he were honest with himself, he also had an unwarranted desire to ensure no harm came to her. Damn his instincts to protect that had landed him in trouble more than once. “There’s a bounty on your head.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the notices posted by someone my brother hired to return me home. Is it your intention to collect on it?”
“Five hundred quid is a lot of blunt.”
“I shall fight you tooth and nail the entire way.”
He ignored the need to take possession of that mouth that spoke with such determination and authority, making it impossible to doubt the words. There was a fierceness to this woman that hadn’t existed in the younger version. Oh, she’d had a temper and had smacked him a time or two, but he suspected she’d now use that blade on him without regret. Strange how she was acting the injured party when she was the one who had tossed him aside. Finn’s Folly, his brothers had called her. She’d lived up to the moniker with a betrayal the depths of which he’d have never believed of her.
“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about you. What are you doing here, Lady Lavinia?” He’d intended to keep his voice neutral and yet he’d been unable to prevent his last two words from being filled with the disgust he harbored toward her.
Her answer was a digging of the tip of the rapier more pointedly into him. He felt a prick, thought she might have actually drawn blood. Not that he let his surprise show on his face. He moved not a single muscle, at least not visibly, although every part of him tensed, ready to spring into action if need be.
“Stay clear of me,” she ordered.
“Or you’ll what?”
Another hard press. This time she definitely broke skin.
“Go ahead,” he dared. “Run me through.”
“Don’t think I’m not tempted.”
In one swift fluid movement, he brought his arm up, knocked the rapier aside, closed his hand around her wrist, and snagged the other when she brought it forward in defense. He shoved both her arms behind her back, manacled her wrists together with one strong hand, grabbed her shoulder with the other, and jerked her forward until her breasts were pressed to his chest, her head bowing back as far as she could take it.
Bringing her this close had been a hell of a mistake. Her pelisse had flared out on one side and the hardened peak of her nipple poked his chest where his coat had parted with his movements, creating a small expanse where he could feel the warmth of her, triggering memories of when the entire naked length of her had wa
rmed him. His body reacted as though she’d spread herself out over a bed, inviting him to seduce and conquer. He wanted to torment her as she’d tormented him all these many long years ago. “Once you were old enough neither of us seemed to have any restraint when it came to temptation.”
She shouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of her earlier position, but it all had been bluff. She could no more kill him than she could cease to breathe. And not because she’d never killed anyone, but because he was Finn. While he was responsible for so much pain, there was a time when he’d been responsible for her most ultimate joy.
Now she could barely stand to be this near to him, should have despised inhaling the familiar fragrance of him. After what he’d done to her, how could she still take pleasure in the wonderful dark, rich, leathery scent of him?
Questions hovered on the tip of her tongue, questions she’d not give him the satisfaction of asking. What had she done to turn him against her? Why hadn’t he come for her as he’d promised? But it no longer mattered why he’d abandoned her. Too much time had passed. She was no longer the girl she’d been. His answers wouldn’t change the past, wouldn’t change her or her plans for the future. “Release me.”
She could see the anger burning low in his eyes, her words a spark to kindling that would soon be ablaze. He somehow managed to snuff out the flames, his grin slow in coming but devastating when it reached completion. Bold, and wicked, teasing, filled with promises of pleasure—if she would but succumb. “I think not. You drew blood. There’s a price to be paid for that.”
“There’s always a price to be paid with you, isn’t there?” Eight years ago, they’d made plans to run off together, to leave everything behind—and he hadn’t shown. He’d left her languishing, heartsore and devastated, with tears streaming down her face. “I paid it once. I’ll not pay it again.”
His smile disappeared, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed. His hold loosened only a fraction, his hips swayed back slightly, but enough. Unhampered by petticoats as they were no longer a luxury she could afford, she jerked her knee upward with all the force she could muster, felt his soft bollocks giving way to her hard bone, and felled him with one whack. Grunting with pain, gasping for air, he dropped to all fours, his strangling sound giving her a sense of satisfaction that horrified her on one level because she took such pleasure in it.
Snatching up her rapier from where it had fallen, sheathing it back into its scabbard, she was surprised to note her hands had all their feeling. He hadn’t been holding her as tightly as she’d thought, hadn’t harmed her. Perhaps she’d have taken pity on him now if he hadn’t devastated her years ago. “Steer clear of me,” she ordered before spinning on her heel and marching toward the entrance to the street.
“Vivi!” he rasped.
She nearly turned back around, nearly went to him to comfort and ensure she hadn’t caused any permanent damage. Instead she carried on.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped over her shoulder, her voice echoing between the buildings. He’d given her that particular pet name and he alone had ever used it, his quiet, intimate tone always making it sound like a cherished endearment, back when she’d thought she meant everything to him.
Chapter 4
1863
On the Cusp
“Once you are presented to the queen,” her mother said, “you will find yourself immersed in a whirlwind of a Season. Such wonder, such excitement, such thrills. Ah, to be young again.”
Ah, to be in London again, Lavinia thought as their coach, bearing only she and her mother since her father and brother had returned to the city a month earlier, traveled over the rough road, four horses at the helm. She knew she should be anticipating participating in her first Season but the eagerness that had her fairly bouncing on the plush leather bench had more to do with her impatience to see Sophie—and, if she were honest, her impatience to see Finn as well.
In the two years since he’d carted off her mare, they’d met at the stroke of midnight every Tuesday and he’d taken her to visit with Sophie. She’d become quite adept at not getting caught. She’d learned not to put on her shoes until she was sitting outside on the stoop. She wore the simplest of clothing, no petticoats, so no rustling noises disturbed the quiet when she dashed down the stairs and through the hallways.
Always he was waiting for her, with that horrid old wagon, but she’d even come to appreciate it because it rocked so much that often the movement would cause her to nudge up against him, over and over, as though the groaning wood and creaking bolts wanted them together.
“I daresay, after you’ve had your coming out, Thornley will press his suit, will officially ask for your hand. You will be married by year’s end, my girl.”
Any other lady would be on pins and needles waiting for a betrothal she knew was to come, but Lavinia was in no hurry, actually hoped he might not propose this Season. Oh, she liked him well enough and couldn’t deny he seemed to grow more handsome with each passing year, and she understood fully he was her unquestioned destiny. It wouldn’t do at all for the daughter of an earl to marry a man whose trade was the disposal of horseflesh. Still, that didn’t mean that sometimes she didn’t dream . . .
Whenever Finn took her to his brother’s brickworks factory, he would lead Sophie out of the paddock, place his large hands on either side of Lavinia’s waist, and lift her with his strong arms until she was sitting on her mare’s back, entwining her fingers into the silver mane. Then he would walk her up the road and back, up and back, and they would talk about his life and hers and how very different they were. She had time for strolls through gardens, could identify all the flowers, while he barely knew the difference between a rose and a carnation. Although in spite of their dissimilarities, they had a good deal in common. They enjoyed reading adventure stories, preferably in exotic locales. They found solace in looking up at the stars. Sometimes after she’d ridden Sophie, she and Finn would stretch out on a blanket and gaze up at the night sky. He knew all the constellations and had pointed them out to her. Her favorite moments were when they had a picnic, but everything was done at night when secrets were best held close.
“We shall, of course, host a ball,” her mother said, interrupting her thoughts. “But not for a month or so, I should think. So many will be wanting to show off their daughters, but we’ve no need to compete with the mad crush.”
Two years ago, she hadn’t been able to wait to be old enough to attend the balls. Now she merely wished none occurred on Tuesday.
If her mother spoke true, if Thorne was to make good on the contract their fathers had signed, the next few months with Finn would be her last and she wanted to make the most of them.
When they finally arrived at the residence in Mayfair, she didn’t bother sending him a missive. He would know she was back in London. Somehow he always knew. She suspected he kept a watch on the house, on her. She probably should have been appalled, but she wasn’t. Nothing about him, not even his occupation, appalled her. Not after she’d witnessed the kindness he bestowed on Sophie.
For the next several days, she made morning calls with her mother, received friends for tea, visited various shops, and counted the hours until midnight of Tuesday rolled around. Then outfitted in her simplest attire, she made her way stealthily down to the servants’ entrance, not even in need of a lamp to guide her because during all of her many outings, she’d fairly memorized the path. She knew which planks to avoid because they groaned, which hallways required she walk a narrow path down their center because of protruding tables, chairs, or statuettes. She knew when to hold her arms at her sides in order not to knock vases from their pedestals. She no longer had to worry about passing certain doorways, fearful her brother might catch her as he played billiards or downed more whisky after a late night out with friends. This Season was one of change for him as well. He’d moved into his own lodgings, modest though they were.
She would see less of him, which meant she might see less of Thornley
. Although if her mother were correct, he would continue to come by the residence. However, his attention would be directed solely on her, something she should be anticipating with all of her might, instead of finding she rather dreaded it. After years of yearning for his attention, she wouldn’t at all mind now if he delayed giving it to her. All of seventeen, she hardly felt ready to take on the responsibility of becoming a duchess and rather hoped he’d feel the same when he looked upon her. That she might be of an age to attend balls but was hardly ready to take on the management of his household.
Having reached the servants’ door, she unlocked it, stepped out onto the stoop, and all thoughts of Thornley flew from her mind like dandelion petals caught in a tempest and blown free of their mooring. Finn stood there, and she wished desperately to have a lamp in hand, so she could get a better gander at him. He seemed taller than she remembered, definitely broader, and she didn’t want to consider the number of axe swings that might have caused that result.
With tacit agreement, after so very many meetings, neither spoke, and she’d never found the chore so difficult. She wanted to shout out how frightfully glad she was to see him. Instead she dropped down to the top step and began putting on her shoe. He went to one knee beside her and worked to get the other into place. His warm hand closing around her ankle caused her breath to catch. She should object at the informality, the intimacy, but this was Finn, someone who had become her dearest friend, someone with whom she shared secrets and the night and the truth about Sophie. She trusted no one more, knew he wouldn’t take advantage, even though her young traitorous heart suddenly wished he might.
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 4