Chuckling at the last thought, the silliness of it, the reality of it, she swung around and came up short at the sight of her mother standing there with condemnation and disappointment etched clearly in her face.
“Who was that with whom you were dancing?” she asked sternly.
“Dick Turpin.”
Her mother continued to stare, her glower growing sharper as though her eyes were being rubbed over whetstone.
“The infamous highwayman?” The teasing didn’t go over nearly as well with her mother as it had with Dearwood, was rather silly, really. She sighed in defeat. “I don’t know. We were both pretending to be who we were dressed as and didn’t make proper introductions.”
“I did not see him descend the stairs. He did not introduce himself to me. I shall alert the footman—”
“No, he had an invitation. I’m rather certain of it. He showed it to me.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and she feared she’d detected the bold lie. “Or perhaps he didn’t, but he came with someone, a cousin, he said. He’s new to town. I believe this is his first ball. He might be unaware of proper protocol. When next I see him, I’ll bring him over to you for a proper introduction. He’s really quite fascinating.” The last might have been the only truthful thing she’d said to her mother during this horrid inquisition.
“You’re not to dance with him again.”
“I won’t.”
Her mother glanced around, and Lavinia feared if she spied Finn she’d toss him out on his ear. “I shall begin making inquiries, have your father keep an eye out. If he’s not versed in manners, it’s very likely he is an imposter. I should insist everyone remove their masks.”
“Don’t ruin everyone’s fun. He’s very gentlemanly . . . oh, and he’s the son of a lord. He told me that.” The truth was reflected in her voice. Her mother must have heard it, because she jerked her head back in a manner similar to the way a chicken did when strutting around a coop in search of grain.
“Which lord?”
“An earl, I believe, but I can’t recall which one. A lesser one. One hardly known.”
Her mother pursed her lips, arched a brow. “Bring him over for an introduction but associate with him no more than that until I am satisfied his family is above reproach.”
Was any family above reproach? She was fairly certain both her brother and father were keeping women on the side. She thought it possible that even her mother had a lover, as she spent many evenings out. “Yes, Mama.”
Watching her mother walk away was not nearly as interesting as watching Finn, but it did bring with it a great deal of relief. Although drat it all! As she casually made her way toward the terrace, she realized she’d have no further waltzes with him. As a matter of fact, it would be reckless for him to even return to the ballroom. She’d have to say goodbye in the gardens.
A few couples were standing on the terrace, chatting and drinking champagne, no doubt seeking to escape the stifling warmth of the ballroom. Lavinia headed down the steps that led into the garden. Her slipper had barely hit the ground before she felt a hand close around her arm and gently pull her against a broad chest.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come,” Finn said in a hushed whisper.
“My mother stopped me. She is suspicious of you.” Bending back her head, she looked up at him, locking her eyes with his. “You can’t return to the ballroom.”
Beneath his breath, he released a harsh curse—or at least she assumed it was profanity. She wasn’t familiar with the word he’d uttered, but it didn’t sound like a nice one. At first she’d thought he’d referenced a duck, but then realized the word wasn’t referring to a fowl at all, although she wasn’t quite certain what it was referring to, wasn’t certain a lady of good breeding should know. “We still have time to take a walk around the garden,” she assured him.
He didn’t offer his arm, but simply took her hand. This portion of the garden was lit with gas lamps. People were strolling about. She couldn’t afford for anyone to see her in such an intimate position, so she worked her hand free and wrapped it around the crook of his elbow. “For propriety’s sake,” she murmured.
He didn’t argue, but simply started walking along the cobblestoned path that wound through the various groupings of flowers. “My mother is incredibly single-minded, doesn’t like anything mixed together, so over there are the roses, there the lilies, there the daffodils, off to the side are the delphiniums—”
“So she feels about flowers the same way she feels about people. Heaven forbid a commoner should love a noble.”
Her breath hitched at his declaration, one he’d never admitted to, even though she’d long suspected it was true. “Do you, Finn? Do you love a noble?”
Putting his arm around her back, closing his hand over the side of her waist, he drew her off the path, darting between hedgerows and past trellises until they were in the darkest part of the garden, away from the lamps, the posts, other wandering couples. Cupping her face between his hands, he whispered low and earnestly, “How can you doubt it, Vivi?”
Then he took her mouth in the sweetest kiss he’d ever given her. If she’d not already fallen in love with him, she would have absolutely done so at that very moment. His lips claimed her as his, not forcefully or arrogantly, but simply with truth, with longing, with desire. He wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. It was there in the thrumming tension of his body as his fingers fluttered over her bared shoulders. In the way his mouth followed suit as he dragged it down her throat along her collarbone.
“God, this gown drives me to madness,” he rasped.
He lowered his head to the pliant mounds, her breasts plumped up just for him to savor. And he feasted, kissing, licking, burying his nose in the valley of her cleavage, inhaling deeply. “You witch. You placed perfume there.”
She laughed lightly. She had. She’d chosen this gown because it was so risqué, because it gave him access to parts of her that had always been kept hidden from him by a layer of cloth. Taunting him had been her purpose in donning it.
“I could take you right here,” he vowed in a throaty voice. “Against the wall, a trellis, on the ground.”
“And if we were discovered . . .” She couldn’t even begin to imagine the dire consequences that would follow. If he were a nobleman, in spite of being promised to Thornley, she’d find herself marrying Finn. Her father would insist. But he wasn’t a nobleman, and what her father might do to him didn’t bear thinking about. He’d no doubt toss him out on his ear, and her mother would lock Lavinia in her room—she nearly laughed at that. They weren’t the villains in a fairy tale. They’d express their disappointment and displeasure and forbid her from ever seeing him again. Her father wouldn’t punch him, but he might ask a footman to do so.
Any discovery at all would mean an end to their time together, to this wonderful and exhilarating feeling that came over her whenever she was with him.
“It wouldn’t go well,” he finished for her as he reclaimed her mouth.
No, it would not, but how could her family object to him when he brought her so much happiness, when she counted the minutes until she was again in his company, when he’d never taken advantage of her—
And if he did take advantage, well, they couldn’t send him away if he’d totally ruined her.
When his mouth once again began a slow and sensual sojourn along her throat, she whispered, “Not against a wall or a trellis or on the ground. But in a bed.”
He went still, so still that if he hadn’t remained standing, she’d have thought he’d died on the spot. Leaning away from her, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “What are you saying, Vivi?”
“I want you, Finn. I love you. With all that is in me, I love you. I have for ages. Make me yours, tonight.” Breaking free of his grip, she wound her arms tightly around his neck and nipped at his strong chin. “Ruin me for anyone else.” A nip on his jaw. “Sneak into my bedchamber after the ball.” She took the soft ski
n of his neck between her teeth. He growled low. “Make me truly yours.”
“Are you mad? Your parents will catch us.”
“No, they won’t. My room is at the end of the corridor. I won’t make a sound.” She brushed her lips over his. “I want to be yours and yours alone. I want no other.”
His arms came around her, pressing her close, flattening her breasts against his chest as he crushed his mouth against hers with such hunger and urgency that every girlish aspect of her blossomed into womanhood. This was what she craved: the fire and the passion, the I-cannot-live-without. None of this existed with Thornley. All of it burned with Finn.
He would take her innocence, make a woman of her.
In the distance she heard the music that would accompany a waltz drifting on the breeze. Their time together in the garden had come to an end. Regretfully, she broke off the kiss. “There is the start of the last waltz, the one I promised to you. I must return to the ballroom shortly so I’m there for my next dance partner when this tune ends. I’m sorry we didn’t get another waltz.”
“I can’t deny you anything, Vivi.” Taking one of her hands, placing his other hand on her back, he swept her over the grass.
She would have laughed aloud in glee if she weren’t afraid someone would hear her, would catch her in this compromising situation with him. Once she was no longer a virgin, it wouldn’t matter. But for now, it mattered.
They only danced for half the tune, so she would have time to return to the ballroom before her next dance partner noticed her missing. Finn walked her back to the residence, stopping where the shadows were thickest.
“Are you sure, Vivi?”
“I’m sure. Come to me later.” Lifting her skirts, she dashed to the terrace steps that would lead her back into the ballroom, where she would begin counting the minutes before she saw him again.
Chapter 8
He crouched in a back corner of the garden, watching the residence, waiting for the music’s final note. He was a fool to consider sneaking into her bedchamber and bedding her there—but he didn’t want her to see the squalor in which he lived with one of his brothers. His single room was small, the bed cramped, the walls so thin he often heard the couple on the other side snoring, or worse, going at it. They were so blasted noisy, her always using the lord’s name in vain, him grunting and growling like a rutting boar. Then afterward their loud sighs and laughter, each of them always proclaiming it had never been so good.
She was right. They could do it quietly, undetected. Hadn’t Romeo snuck into Juliet’s parents’ home? Finn would leave with the first trill of the lark.
The music finally flittered away into constant and complete silence. The few stragglers in the garden made their way inside. It was at least an hour later before the ballroom went black. He watched as the lights in other rooms winked out, one by one, until finally the residence was encased in darkness.
And still he waited until he could discern no sounds, no movements, no stirring.
Slowly, he unfolded his body and removed his boots, stockings, greatcoat, and hat. He was no longer playing the role of highwayman. But was to be only himself. Finn Trewlove—who’d never taken a woman because from the moment he’d met Lady Lavinia Kent, he’d felt a need to remain loyal to her, even knowing he would probably never have her.
He’d been a lovesick lad for an exceedingly long time. Tonight, at last, he would discover if the wait had been worth it.
Lying in the bed, she was floating above where dreams waited, refusing to fall completely into slumber. She’d had Miriam prepare her for sleep because it was one thing to tell her maid she was going on an outing to a tavern and another entirely to confess she was going to travel the path toward becoming a woman.
She’d left a lamp burning on the table beside the bed, not brave enough to leave the gaslights glowing. A bit self-conscious with what was about to happen, she wanted a modicum of privacy, enough light to see him by, but not so much as to illuminate all they’d be doing.
She didn’t hear the door to her bedchamber open but was keenly aware of the light dance of fingers over her hair. Miriam had braided it, but after her maid had left, Lavinia had unraveled the tightly plaited strands because she’d thought Finn would like to see it long and loose.
Opening her eyes, she found him standing over her bed, his expression filled with tenderness, his smile uncertain as though he feared she might snatch this moment from him. But she wouldn’t do that. She loved him. She had for the longest.
Tossing aside the covers, she scrambled up to her knees, facing him, skimming her fingers over his beloved face. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered.
“I had to wait until I was certain no one remained awake. And if you’re as nervous as I am, I thought you might appreciate a bit of this.” From behind his back, he brought forth a bottle with a label indicating it was whisky. Only then did she notice two glasses resting on the table beside the bed.
“Where did you get it?”
“Your father’s study.” He opened the bottle and poured some of the contents into the glasses. “Had to do a bit of exploring to find it.”
“You’re awfully sneaky, Finn Trewlove.”
He handed her a glass. “Not with you, Vivi. I’m always honest with you.”
Holding her gaze, he took a sip. She followed suit. “It burns.” She’d had a taste at his sister’s but had forgotten the flavor of it.
“As it works its way through, it’ll make you warm and lethargic all over.”
She took a larger swallow, coughed.
“Don’t rush it,” he said. “We have all night.”
She angled her head thoughtfully. “Why are you nervous?”
“Because I want to make it good for you, and I don’t know if I’m up to the task.” Finishing off the liquid in his glass, he set it along with her empty tumbler back on the table and shifted his gaze to her side. “Your hair is so long.”
She grinned. “Nearly to my bum.”
He glided his hand over the strands, following the path of those that fell over her arm. “It’s so beautiful.” His eyes came back to her. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you. I’ve always thought so.” Leaning forward slightly, she pressed her face against his chest. “I don’t know what to do, Finn.”
“I’m not so well-versed in making love either,” he said quietly, his words taking her by surprise, causing her to draw back.
“Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”
“I’ve never wanted anyone other than you.” With one hand, he cradled her jaw, her cheek. “I’ve a good idea how it’s done. I’ve just never put it into practice, so we’ll figure it out together.”
She rather liked knowing she would be his first, that he’d touched no other woman as intimately as he would touch her. “Where do we start?”
“With removing our clothes, I should think.”
She settled back on her heels. “You first.”
He grinned. “All right. Why don’t you unfasten the buttons on my shirt?”
Easing back up, she went to work, the billowy cloth soft beneath her fingers, trembling ones that made the task a bit more complicated to complete. Finally, they were all free. Reaching back, he began dragging the shirt over his head, revealing a lovely expanse of skin and broad chest. Her fingers flittered over the few hairs that resided in its center. Then she flattened her palms on either side of his sternum and glided them up, down. So firm, so warm.
The muscles on his arms bulged, no doubt forged by his labors. She doubted any nobleman possessed such a well-defined body. Physicians could use Finn as a tool for teaching how the muscles flowed one into the other, weaving together to create such a magnificent whole.
She lowered her gaze to the fall of his trousers, could make out a bulge there.
“Do you know what a man looks like?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ve seen statues.”
“Don’t be frightened.”
>
A shake of her head. “I won’t be.”
Slowly, he unfastened his trousers, taking his time as though to taunt her. Her mother, of course, had told her nothing at all regarding what passed between a man and woman. That conversation wouldn’t take place until the night before she was to wed, as though having no knowledge would prevent her from doing what ladies were not to do. But she’d caught the hounds at it, as well as horses, so she had an idea of how it went.
Shucking off his trousers, he kicked them aside and stood before her magnificent and proud, his manhood stiff and straight. And so frightfully large, larger than she’d expected it to be. “Aren’t you supposed to put that in me?”
“Yes.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “It won’t fit.”
His grin was endearing, filled with warmth and humor. “It’ll fit.”
“How do you know if you’ve never done it?”
“Because I’ve spoken with those who have.”
She ran her tongue around her mouth, bit her lower lip. “Can I touch it?”
“Not yet. I’m close to bursting.” He jerked his head toward her. “Off with your nightdress.”
Suddenly, she was feeling bold. “You’ll have to unbutton it.”
It delighted her to no end to see that his fingers were shaking as they neared the plaquette. His hands dwarfed the buttons as he moved from one to the other, his eyes focused on his task, on the cloth that was parting to reveal her skin. When he was finished, she stood up on the bed, reigning over him. Reaching down, she gathered up her hem and brought it up over her knees, her hips, her waist, her breasts, her head, and flung it aside.
“Christ, Vivi,” he rasped. She watched the muscles at his throat work as he swallowed. “You’re perfection.”
She dropped back to her knees, lowered herself to the mattress and pillows, and held out her arms. “Come to me.”
The bed dipped with his weight as he stretched out beside her. Reaching across her, he took her left arm and carried it to his mouth, where he pressed a kiss against the ragged scar on the inside of her wrist. “Without this, I’d have never met you.”
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 10