The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 13

  Inwardly she cursed. Knowing Finn was trailing her—she’d caught sight of him as she’d gone through the gate—she’d become irritated, distracted, hadn’t paid as much attention as she should have, and now she was in a bit of a bother, but she was far from panicked. As long as she kept her wits about her, she stood a good chance of making her way out of this mess unharmed.

  “Ain’t ye a pretty one,” the smallest of the group sneered.

  “I have money,” she stated firmly.

  “Ye want to pay us to take ye?” her captor asked, his foul breath a vaporous fog that nearly caused her to gag.

  “I shall pay you to leave me alone.”

  “Ah, ye silly lass. We’ll take yer money, after we’ve—”

  Because he held her too close to effectively bring her knee up, she stomped her heel down fast and hard on his instep. With a howl of pain, he loosened his grip just enough that she was able to twist free and retrieve the knife secreted away in her boot. The smallest one reached for her, and with an upward slash she sliced into his hand. Hollering, he dropped back, and the middle-sized man began bouncing on the balls of his feet as though preparing to make a dash for her.

  The growl of a savage beast echoed around them, and suddenly he was off his feet flying toward the ground with such speed that she was barely able to register that someone was on top of him.

  Her original captor came at her. She held the knife at the ready, prepared to plunge it deep.

  Quite suddenly he was dragged back. The resounding crack of splintering bone filled the air just before he was tossed aside like so much rubbish. Smallest ran off, leaving her gasping for breath as she realized it was over.

  Then someone was standing before her, reaching out, touching her cheek. “Vivi.”

  That single word contained such concern she was thrown back eight years when she’d believed her days and nights would be filled with the sound of that voice. “Finn.”

  Without thought or care, she sagged against him as he bent over her, holding her close, so she was able to bury her nose in the soft skin at his neck, inhale the comforting scent of leather and horses, of him. He smelled the same as he had all those years before. It made her glad and angry at the same time, that something about him should remain the same.

  He rubbed his jaw along her temple and she was acutely aware of the thick stubble prickling her face, catching her hair. He had a man’s whiskers now, no longer soft and reminiscent of peach fuzz. During the years they’d been apart, he’d changed, and she was grateful that nothing of the boy he’d been remained, because it allowed her to think of the boy without seeing the man. She could separate the two, could reflect on the sweet memories, have a before he’d abandoned her and an after.

  The after was now, even though he’d come to her aid twice now. She pushed her way out of his embrace. “Thank you, thank you for your assistance.”

  She made to walk by him and her knees nearly buckled, drat the weak things for suddenly turning to jam. His hand snaked out, grabbed her arm, held her aloft. How could he be so calm, so put together?

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” Rattled, shaking like a damned leaf in the wind, but otherwise perfectly fine. Gently, she worked her way out of his grasp. “I have to go. Someone is waiting on me.”

  After stopping to retrieve her walking stick, she headed back to the street, grateful when she reached it, grateful as well that he had followed her. She was not going to be deterred from her task, but it was incredibly tempting to return to the foundling home.

  “Vivi, this is madness, what you’re doing.”

  “You caught me on two bad nights. I’ve never been bothered before.”

  “Yet you carry weapons because you know it’s a possibility.”

  “Yes, it’s a possibility, it’s always a possibility, but I’m prepared. I know how to fight, Finn.”

  His sigh was so strong that if she hadn’t pulled the hood of her pelisse back up, she might have felt it stirring the tendrils of her hair, sending delicious shivers down her back as it once had. She was not going to think about that. “You don’t have to follow me.”

  “I’ve got nothing else to do at the moment.”

  Having memorized the path she needed to take, she continued along the circuitous route. She’d taken it earlier in the day, searching for any areas that might bring danger, but she hadn’t considered this time of night might fill the streets with the dregs of society. She’d never been in this section of Whitechapel before, wasn’t that familiar with it, which was the reason she’d scoped it out earlier. The farther she went, the deeper she was in warrens of poverty. The rookeries. Her mother would be appalled to find her here. “Did you grow up in an area such as this?”

  “Not this bad.”

  With a nod, she carried on until she reached the designated alleyway. Tardy in arriving, she was disappointed to not find a woman waiting for her. Beginning to pace the opening that led into darkness, she could only hope the baby farmer was late as well.

  “You should have brought a lamp,” he said.

  “It would not only illuminate the dark corners but illuminate me. Believe it or not, I strive not to bring attention to myself. While I think it unlikely anyone from my previous life will run across me here, the men my brother hired did post some handbills with my likeness etched on them. I’d rather not risk being recognized. As you mentioned the other night, five hundred quid is a lot of blunt.”

  “Perhaps you should tell your brother to bugger off.”

  She almost smiled. “I have. Not in those words exactly, but I write him every week assuring him I am well and asking him to leave off. But as always from the moment I was born, my wishes are hardly given any credence.”

  Leaning against the wall, with the glow from the streetlamp limning one side of him, with one foot crossed over the other and his arms folded over his chest, he appeared incredibly masculine. “What is the purpose in all this that you’re doing?”

  “I told you. I can’t stand the thought of these children being murdered.”

  “Not all baby farmers kill the children placed in their care. My mum didn’t.”

  “But many do, and those who don’t—how many of them truly love them? You saw the women the other night. Hardly sterling examples of motherhood.”

  “They seemed to be fighting for what was theirs.”

  She scoffed. “They were fighting for the coins to be made, not the children to be cared for. They measure the worth of a babe based on how many shillings it’ll place in their palms, not the joy it’ll bring to their lives.”

  “You have a cynical view.”

  She laughed harshly. “You taught me about the practice. And I’ve read a few articles about it. It’s ghastly, what sometimes happens to these children.”

  “You can’t save them all.”

  “I can save some, and that’s preferable to none.”

  He heard the determination in her voice, couldn’t help but admire it. Against his better judgment, he settled in and watched as she paced, three steps one way, three the other. He should leave her. He had business to see to, but it had felt so bloody good to hold her within his arms, to inhale her sweet fragrance. She might not be able to afford whatever perfume she’d worn before, but over the years, it had no doubt soaked into her skin and become such a part of her that it still lingered—or perhaps it was simply his memory of it that had caused his nostrils to flare.

  In the far-off distance, he heard the pealing of a bell, twice. Two o’clock. Why was she not recognizing the reality? Why was she being so stubborn? “How long are you going to wait for your appointment to show?”

  “As long as I have to. You can go on.”

  “You said you were late. She’s probably already come and gone.”

  Clenching her hands into fists, she swung around, faced him, and stepped out of the shadows until the distant light fell across her lovely features. “Are you speaking from experience? Because
that’s the way you handle matters? You show up and then leave when the person you are to meet is a tad tardy?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  As though propelled by a force over which she had no control, she marched forward with a speed that took him by surprise. “I waited! I waited for you until dawn.” He could clearly see the anguish in her expression. He’d never seen such despair. “Yes, I know I was twenty minutes late. But was I not even worth a few minutes of worry, of patience, of thinking perhaps something was delaying me? How many minutes did you give me before you decided to be done with me?”

  Each word she threw at him was a blow to his head, his heart, his gut. “You waited?”

  “I thought perhaps the wagon broke or the horse went lame or something, but you never showed, you never sent word. You just left me there. Or did you never show up at all? Was it all some grand jest? You’d taken the one thing of mine that was of any value, and were done with me? Is that the way it was? The lowly bastard deflowering the earl’s daughter. Is that what you told your mates? Did it make you a man?”

  Slowly he uncoiled his body. “I was there, Vivi, at the stroke of midnight, just as I’d promised.”

  “Then why in God’s name didn’t you wait for me?”

  “Because your father was expecting me and had me arrested.”

  Chapter 12

  She’d thought her heart was naught but shattered shards, but his words broke it all over again. The pain in her chest made it difficult to breathe.

  “No,” she whispered in horror. “That’s not possible.”

  “I’d barely stepped into the garden when I was accosted by constables, trussed up like a Christmas goose. Then your father emerged from the shadows. I clearly remember his words. They played in my mind a million times. ‘My daughter is done with you.’ I assumed you told him about me, about our plans.”

  Each word was a blow that threatened to drop her to her knees. She reached for him, brought her hand back, not certain he’d welcome her touch. “No, no, Finn. I told no one.”

  “I don’t know how he knew, Vivi, but he knew. He saw to it that I went to prison.”

  “Oh my God.” Tears burned her eyes. She no longer cared if he wanted her touch or not. She placed her palm against his cheek. “My poor Finn.”

  Then that was no longer enough. She slid her arms around his neck, held him close. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. He never said a word to me.”

  He enfolded her in his embrace, clutching her to him as though he’d been adrift at sea and someone had finally tossed him a rope. “I thought you knew,” he rasped. “Thought you were responsible.”

  “No, my love.” The unexpected endearment, uttered on a sob, came from the depths of her soul as she suddenly needed to comfort the one who had once owned her heart. “How awful it must have been for you.”

  She clung to him, striving to deal with a shift in all her emotions, in the hatred she’d harbored, the disappointment she’d suffered, the crushing of her heart that she’d somehow survived. She thought she’d been alone in her anguish, yet he’d been living through torments of his own. “How long?” she dared asked, her voice raw with her grief over all he’d endured. “How long were you in prison?”

  “Five years.”

  The words sliced into her soul as easily as a well-honed knife into butter. “No, no, no.”

  She could find no words strong enough to convey the depths of her despair that he had suffered so at the hands of her father, that his desire to run off with her had cost him so dearly.

  Easing back, he cupped her face between his hands, holding her gaze as his thumbs gently swept at the tears raining down her cheeks. “Don’t cry. It was long ago.”

  She shook her head. “Not so long ago, Finn. Why did you not send word to me?”

  “I thought it was what you wanted. To be rid of me. That when it came down to it, you had decided you didn’t want to be associated with a bastard.”

  “Ah, Finn.” She brushed her fingers through his hair. “I wanted nothing else other than to be with you. Miriam had managed to pack so much so tightly into this carpeted satchel—”

  She was struck nearly dumb as a possibility reverberated through her mind. “Oh, dear God, she knew. Could she have told my father?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Vivi. I was careless bringing Sophie around after . . . just after.” After they’d first made love. “Maybe a stable boy saw us.”

  “The stable boy didn’t know we were running off at midnight. Miriam did. I trusted her, told her everything. And it cost you dearly.”

  “Cost us,” he said somberly.

  Dear God, but it had, and she couldn’t reveal to him the true extent of what it had cost them, not now, not when she knew the truth of all he’d paid for loving her.

  He glanced around. “Your woman’s not going to show, and you’re trembling from the cold. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

  He shattered her heart once more. After all he’d suffered, all he’d revealed, he was worried about her taking a chill. While she was indeed shaking, it had nothing to do with the cold surrounding her, but rather the devastation of learning what had truly happened that fateful night.

  His arm came snugly around her, pressing her against his side as he led her out of the alley and down the street. Fewer people were about; the revelry had diminished. The quietness suited her mood. Her world had once been bright with promise, and now it seemed it was condemned to forever being shades of gray. How much darker it had to be for Finn.

  “Oi!” he called out, releasing her hand and stepping into the street, barring a hansom’s way. The driver pulled to a stop. Finn gave the man the address for the foundling home as he bundled her into the carriage and followed her inside. His hand, so warm, so strong, came around hers and placed it on his thigh, as though he needed to have some contact with her.

  “I was so stupid, Finn. It had to be Miriam.”

  “Why would she betray your trust?”

  She wanted to crawl onto his lap and hold him near, protect him from all that he had to have suffered. “If I ran off, she’d have lost her exalted position as lady’s maid to the earl’s daughter, who she expected to be a duchess. She’d have been simply another servant. She was looking out for herself. And because I was too stupid—”

  “You weren’t stupid.”

  “What else would you call it? I was so caught up in myself that I didn’t even consider that she might see my happiness as an end to hers. And it cost you. My God. My God.” The tears returned with a vengeance as she envisioned him locked in a cell, kept away from his family. “How much you must have hated me.” Much more than she had despised him.

  A strangled burst of laughter escaped from her. “Yet still, after all that, you’ve come to my aid twice.” With the hand he was not holding, she cradled his jaw. “All that kindness in you, I’m glad they didn’t kill it.” Or at least they hadn’t managed to kill all of it. She couldn’t deny there was a harsher element to him now. “I’m sorry I hit you the other night.”

  He placed his hand over hers, turned it slightly, and pressed a kiss to the heart of her palm, all the while his eyes locked with hers. “You thought I’d abandoned you. I’d have understood if you had skewered me.”

  She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder, welcomed his arms coming around her in the tight confines of the conveyance. Silence eased in around them, comforting in its peacefulness. How often had they been together and not needed words? Now it was as though they each traveled through their individual memories, striving to see that last night differently as though viewing it through a kaleidoscope, turning the end so the pieces assembled themselves into something else entirely. What she’d always known, what she’d always believed, was not at all the truth of that fateful night.

  Finally, they reached their destination and disembarked. With her hand nestled in his, she led him through the gate—the sisters never locked it; they were a trusting lot—and around
to the back, to the kitchen where she’d left a solitary lit lamp on the table that was mainly used for preparing food. The sisters had no servants but tended to everything themselves.

  When the door was closed, rather than releasing his hold on her hand, he pulled her toward him as though on the verge of leading her into a dance. His hands came to rest lightly on the small of her back, while hers folded around his upper arms. She had to tip her head back slightly to hold his gaze, to look into those brown eyes that reminded her of warm cocoa.

  “I could put on a kettle,” she said quietly. “Tea always makes everything better.”

  “So my mum says. I’ve found whisky usually works best though.”

  “Afraid you won’t find any here.” Reaching up with shaking fingers, she gingerly touched the bruise on his jaw, a reminder she had struck him. “I’m so sorry, Finn.”

  “No more apologies, Vivi. Neither of us was at fault. We were both wronged.”

  She wasn’t quite certain she could accept that. If only she hadn’t told Miriam. “I want to know, understand, everything.”

  Within the depths of his eyes, she saw a myriad of emotions and knew there were some things he wouldn’t share. “Let’s sit, shall we?” she offered.

  With a nod, he released her. Without bothering to remove her pelisse, she sat at a chair on the side of the table, indicating he should take the one at its head. Once he was settled, she placed both her hands, palms up, on top, grateful when he placed his over hers. She closed her fingers over the raised veins and corded muscles that indicated his strength. She released a long, drawn-out sigh. “I can barely breathe when I think of you in prison.”

  “Then don’t think on it. I didn’t tell you so you could imagine the horrors of it. I needed you to understand where I was. Why I wasn’t there.”

  She shook her head. “I understand the nobility has a great deal of power but to tell the authorities to send a man to prison for no reason—”