The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Read online

  But he’d believed he’d have been content, that together they’d have found happiness. Knowing now she’d not betrayed him, he couldn’t help but mourn the loss of what they might have had. He wondered if any portion of the girl she’d been remained. If, together, they could again find what they’d lost.

  Chapter 13

  With her hands clasped before her, striving to appear as contrite and repentant as possible, Lavinia stood before the desk where Sister Theresa sat, studying her through dark eyes, a raven’s eyes. She’d never particularly cared for the birds. While she thought highly of Sister Theresa, she wasn’t enamored of the way she made her want to squirm. She was a grown woman now, not a seventeen-year-old girl who’d sought to run off with a commoner.

  “I have to admit, Miss Kent, to being somewhat concerned at finding a gentleman in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning.”

  “As I explained, he’d done me a great service, and I’d thought a cup of tea was in order, as a thank-you, you see.” And because they’d needed to discuss matters, a past that had turned out not to be what they’d both thought it was.

  “So by the time I arrived, he’d either been there long enough to finish off the tea and for you to clear things away or it had yet to be served.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I discovered he preferred whisky to tea and so we just chatted.”

  “I see. I know you feel you have a calling, but these late-in-the-night assignations are not only dangerous to your person, but I fear might be posing a threat to your soul.”

  Her soul was already damned, not that she was going to confess that to the sister. “I assure you nothing untoward occurred between Mr. Trewlove and myself last night.”

  “Still, you must not allow him, or any man for that matter, inside this residence again, not at night, not at any hour, without chaperone.”

  “We shan’t be seeing each other again. That was part of the reason for our discussion, to put past matters to rest.”

  “I see. And you came to an understanding, then?”

  “Indeed.”

  Sister Theresa studied her, and Lavinia had the unsettling notion the woman could burrow beneath the surface and uncover all her lies and secrets, secrets she hadn’t shared with Finn, secrets that were her burden to carry.

  “He is a rather handsome devil.”

  Lavinia couldn’t help it. She stared openly at the woman who sat so primly and judgmentally behind the desk.

  “Do close your mouth, Miss Kent. It’s hardly flattering to look like a fish tossed onto the riverbank.”

  Unaware her jaw had dropped as though suddenly unhinged, she snapped her mouth shut. “Apologies, Sister. I just—”

  “I might be a Sister of Mercy, but I’m also a woman. I daresay, Mr. Trewlove has led a good many of our gender into temptation.”

  She wasn’t quite certain he’d led her, but she’d managed to find the path by herself, running headlong down it and into his arms. “I have no interest in him in that manner. I have but one focus now, and that’s the children.”

  “A worthy endeavor. However, I do wonder if you aren’t hiding from something.”

  “From my family. I told you that when I came here.”

  “I fear you are hiding from something more . . . personal. Something deeper within you. Perhaps you need to return home and settle matters there.”

  “My mother is an incredibly forceful woman.” More than once she had locked Lavinia away until she “regained her senses.”

  “Most are. But you can’t hide out forever. Gather your courage, and when you are ready, know that you go with God.”

  She gave a little curtsy, a quick bending of her knees. “Thank you, Sister.”

  Leaving the room, she retreated to the small desk in the cramped office that the sisters allowed her to use when she was working on her calling. The one saving grace of the tiny room was that its window looked out on the back gardens where the older children and toddlers frolicked. Their laughter filled her soul.

  With the newspapers spread out before her, she combed the advertisements for widows seeking to take in children of poor health. “Poor health” was one of the phrases that was used to identify a baby farmer. The healthiest of babes could be brought to them, but in time, they would perish because of poor health. Seldom could it be proven that the death was a result of neglect. Babies died, far too many from natural causes.

  Usually she was quicker with her scouring and circling of the adverts that caught her attention, the ones she would respond to with a letter of inquiry that hopefully would result in a meeting, but her mind kept drifting to the night before, to the revelations uncovered.

  She’d been unable to sleep, all the memories of Finn assaulting her whenever she closed her eyes. She’d seen him as he’d been, tender and sweet. Then the man he was now wiggled his way into the memory, and he was no longer the boy she’d loved but a grown man she didn’t know. She’d been correct in discouraging anything between them. Yet, suddenly, she missed him, wanted to know everything about him. So many regrets, so many missed moments.

  With a shake of her head, she refocused her attention on the task at hand and located an advert that appeared promising. She slammed her eyes closed. Promising was for something wonderful, not horrific. She wished there were no adverts, no need for women to take in by-blows. Because many orphanages turned illegitimate children away, as though they were responsible for their condition, she understood the need, but surely there were better ways to address it. She’d been interviewing women who’d given birth out of wedlock, as well as a few of the farmers she met, hoping to write a series of articles that would awaken Parliament to the desperate need for reform when it came to caring for the most innocent among them.

  As she reached for a piece of foolscap in order to respond to the advertiser, she became aware of louder laughter and joy coming from beyond the window. It filled her heart with such gladness, replenished her soul, and made the awful tasks that awaited her not quite so awful. There was a purpose, a goodness, to them that might not erase all her sins but would certainly make them easier to live with.

  The patter of small feet echoed down the hallway, growing louder, until a tiny sprite named Daisy burst into the office. “Miss Kent! He brung a horse!”

  She furrowed her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The gent. He brung a horse, the cleanest one you’ve ever seen. It’s all white.”

  Her heart slammed hard against her ribs. “A horse?” she repeated as though she didn’t even know what one was.

  Daisy bobbed her head with such force that her blond braids slapped against her shoulders. “We can ride it in the garden!”

  Shoving back her chair, she was surprised when her knees nearly buckled as she stood. It could not be the horse she was thinking of. It could not be the man. But when she arrived at the window, she discovered it was both. Sophie and Finn. Beautiful Sophie and handsome Finn. His attire was casual, his hat the flat-cap she remembered from her youth, his jacket a plain brown but the lines of it shaped to his broad shoulders.

  He was leading the mare around with three children—a girl and two boys—sitting on her back, their smiles so bright it caused her heart to ache. What a simple thing to do to bring such joy.

  She didn’t particularly like the shot of pleasure that swept through her with the knowledge he’d returned. She’d expected to never see him again, had thought she’d made her position on the matter clear, but perhaps he’d detected the lie in her voice. Because the truth was that for the first time in years, sitting in the kitchen last night, she’d known a spark of happiness. He hadn’t abandoned her. The wounded girl she’d been had wept with the knowledge, while the woman she now was recognized they’d both changed too much to return to what they’d been.

  Tiny fingers curled around hers. “Come on, Miss Kent. He’ll let you ride it, too.”

  No, no, she couldn’t go out there, couldn’t give him the freedom to begin melting he
r heart all over again. Couldn’t risk causing him even more pain.

  Another tug. “Miss Kent?”

  She smiled down at the precious child. “You go on. I need a minute.”

  A minute to erect a shield around her heart.

  He didn’t know what had prodded him to come. No, it had been more than a prod. It had been an obsession, gnawing at his gut, threading through his soul—the thought he could finally see her as he’d always dreamed of viewing her: in the daytime, bathed in sunlight. As he’d planned to see her on the day following the night when they were to have run away.

  This morning when he’d awoken after a restless night and watched the fog curling in on itself and growing smaller, fainter, as the sun worked its magic, he’d known it was going to be a glorious day, one for walks in the parks and boat rides along the Thames. A rare day when autumn was determined to burst forth in brightness before giving way to the gloomier days of winter. There was a crispness to the air that made it easier to breathe—

  Until she strolled into the garden.

  It was as though the moon had descended and woven itself through her hair, taking shelter there until the night when it would again return to the sky. Her skin was alabaster, but not pale. It had a healthy glow to it. Her cheeks were flushed. As she neared he saw the delight shining in the green of her eyes, a shade that wasn’t as dark as he’d always assumed. The sun’s brightness shrunk the pupils, leaving an abundance of green to hold him captive. A black line circled the outer edge of the iris. He’d not noticed it before, not even when she’d been tucked beneath him, her eyes wide with wonder as they’d moved in tandem creating sparks, the memory of which even now put him in danger of growing hard.

  The children were bouncing around him, eager to grab his attention, wanting to have their turn on the mare. But he seemed incapable of tearing his gaze from her.

  She stopped several inches away, close enough that he could see the fraying edges of her collar and cuffs. He didn’t want to think of her scrounging through someone else’s discards, seeking something serviceable that would keep her warm when the cold winds of winter arrived.

  Her gaze locked with his, the way it had when he’d first eased her onto her back and covered her body with his, when he had cupped her delicate face between his large roughened hands and told her that he loved her. Would always love her.

  “You still have her,” she said quietly, reverently, as though he’d been the deliverer of some miracle.

  Knowing how much his actions pleased her seemed to rob him of words.

  “Once I went to your brother’s brickyard to see her, but she was no longer there.” And he could well imagine she felt he’d taken the mare from her as well, stolen something else from her.

  “May I?” She pointed toward the horse.

  Something was lodged in his throat, making it difficult to swallow, to speak, so he merely gave a brisk nod, then watched as she walked around him, grabbed the halter, and rubbed her other hand along the horse’s forehead beneath her forelock. “Hello, sweet girl. Oh, I have missed you.”

  And he couldn’t help but hope she’d missed him a bit as well. “Did you want to ride her?”

  She glanced around at the children. “I don’t want to spoil their fun. I wouldn’t mind walking along beside her though.”

  He placed three different children on Sophie’s back and slowly began leading her around the edge of the garden, Vivi falling into step on the other side of the horse so the mare’s head provided a barrier between them and he couldn’t see her clearly. No doubt she’d taken up her position in her effort to keep distance between them.

  “Miss Kent! Miss Kent!” an imp of a girl cried out, running up to her. “I want to pet him.”

  Without hesitating, she lifted the girl into her arms. “It’s a her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Yes, Miss Kent,” he said, stepping ahead of the horse so he could at least look back at her. “Explain that to her.”

  She blushed, and he realized he’d never seen her cheeks so rosy. No hat shaded her face, and he wondered if she even possessed one. No gloves protected her hands, nor had there been any during the nights when he’d seen her. Had she given up all her worldly possessions?

  “Because she once told me she’s a girl horse,” she said simply to the blond-haired lass in her arms who couldn’t have been older than four, thin as a rail, with huge blue eyes. He imagined Vivi with a daughter, similar in appearance. She should have had her own children by now, should have been married. Accepting her explanation, the girl reached out and patted Sophie on the nose. Vivi tipped her own nose up haughtily, and for the first time in years he chuckled with the sheer appreciation of being bested.

  “I noticed last night they refer to you as ‘Miss Kent.’”

  “I thought it best to be discreet concerning the status of my family.”

  He glanced around at the modest surroundings. “Are you on your way to taking vows, to becoming a nun?”

  “No. I’m not worthy of such a life.”

  “That’s crock—but I’m glad to hear it. There’s too much sensuality in you to have it wasted on celibacy.”

  “That’s not appropriate talk around the children.”

  “These children you . . . collect. They provide for them here?”

  “Yes. Although we’re running out of room. There are so many children, Finn.”

  “Creating them is a good deal of fun.” She appeared stricken by his words. “My apologies. I don’t mean to make light of it. I know firsthand it’s a problem. But people aren’t going to go against their nature.”

  “They need to be educated. I should write pamphlets.”

  “Many who need those pamphlets can’t read.”

  “Makes it rather a continuous circle, doesn’t it?”

  He brought the horse to a halt where children were lined up. He lifted the three children off, put three more on, and began walking again, glad when Vivi continued along beside him. He decided a change of topic was in order. “Why did you come to Whitechapel?”

  “Because it was very unlikely I’d run into anyone here whom I knew. It’s not as though duchesses and countesses stroll about the streets.”

  “And the foundling home?”

  “Two reasons. I knew my brother would never look for me among nuns. And I wanted a place where children would be welcomed.”

  “You came here with a specific purpose, knew what you wanted to do.”

  “What I’ve wanted to do for some time now, but it took me a while to work up the courage to do it. It’s complicated. So much has transpired since I last saw you.”

  He wanted to know all of it, just as he’d once wanted to know everything she’d done while she was away from him at the country. “You’ve quite deliberately taken up the cause of children.”

  She met his gaze, sadness in the depths of her eyes. “You’re responsible for that. What you told me that night in the garden touched me deeply. I never forgot how embarrassed you sounded for something in which you were not the least bit responsible.”

  The circumstances of his birth had tainted his life. She’d made him feel scrubbed clean and imagined she did the same for all the children here. “Do you have an appointment with a baby farmer tonight?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Then go on an outing with me.”

  He could see the desire to say yes warring with the need to say no. Slowly she shook her head. “If those men my brother hired—”

  He brought Sophie to a halt. “You can’t live your life hiding away. I’ve been a prisoner, Vivi. It’s no way to live. Take a chance that nothing bad will happen, that no one will figure out you’re a quick five hundred quid.”

  “Not so quick or easy. I’ll fight.”

  “That’s my girl. Now come on. Let’s go have a pleasant evening at a reasonable hour, something denied us before. What say you?”

  “It won’t be the same. We’re not the people we were.”

/>   “I’m not expecting anything of you, Vivi. We’ll just enjoy each other’s company. I’d say we’re two people in need of a bit of fun.”

  Her brow furrowed; the lips that always curled up so easily formed a straight line. “As a result of all that’s happened, I’m damaged, Finn. I’m not certain you’d like the person I’ve become.”

  “Someone who fights for children when so many view them as expendable? I like what I’m seeing so far.”

  “We can’t go back, Finn.”

  “I’m not expecting us to. We’ll have a little outing, a few laughs. Then say goodbye.”

  “Where would we be going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Finn—”

  “You trusted me once, Vivi. Trust me now.”

  In the corner of the garden, Sister Theresa stood beside Mother Margaret and watched the tableau taking place not too far away while children raced around the couple who had stopped the horse and seemed to be in serious discussion. Something about Finn Trewlove was familiar. The cut of his jaw, she finally decided. She had once cradled a jaw very much like it as she whispered words of love.

  “You spoke to her?” Mother Margaret asked.

  “I did.” Mother Margaret often assigned the most unpleasant tasks to the sisters, her belief being that adversity would strengthen their faith. “I cannot help but believe she is hiding from something.”

  “She is running from something, Sister. Perhaps with this young man suddenly appearing in her life, she will finally begin running toward something.”

  Sister Theresa knew all about running. Sometimes a person had to run in the wrong direction before she could run in the correct one.

  Chapter 14

  They were having an outing simply as a means to put the past completely behind them. Although she wouldn’t read more into his request than that, she did wish she had a fancier frock, but she possessed only two, one a dark blue, the other black. So this evening it would be the dark blue because at least the corners of the collar weren’t too badly frayed. She thought she’d cast aside her vanity in want of a simpler life. What a disappointment to discover it had only been in hiding and that the attentions of a young man could bring it forth so easily.