by Tracy Sumner
Humphrey stepped into the pale candlelit circle. No gas fixtures in this dwelling. “I’ll bring another carriage for the belongings.”
“Who are you to order me about? It isn’t much, but it’s home,” Belle said and straightened her slim shoulders in a pitiful show of force. Finn felt a swirl of dread imagining what she’d had to endure without him, without a family, without protection. But those were stories for another day as he was confident his heart couldn’t take much more on this one.
Humphrey chortled and scrubbed his hand across his stubbled cheeks, amused by her, Finn could see. “I didn’t save his arse all those years ago”—he jabbed his elbow at Finn—“to have his sister spend another second in this squat.”
Belle stared, and Humphrey met her gaze without flinching when a woman’s fury could be a harrowing thing. Finn wondered if he imagined the spark of awareness that flowed between them. Perhaps Belle found Humphrey handsome. The women in the village trailed after him, chattering about him needing a wife, so anything was possible. He was the most protective man Finn knew aside from Julian, and the most caring, though his hulking frame obscured his gentle nature.
It didn’t sound like Belle had encountered this type of concern in years, if ever when Finn had been smothered daily.
For the first time since they’d entered the pitiful abode, Finn looked to Victoria. They shared that spark of awareness, too, for some unfathomable reason. It snuck under his skin like a splinter, pain, and pleasure. She returned his regard without wavering, her gaze molten gold in the candlelight, ethereal, haunting, her knowledge of him so absolute he felt naked in a way wholly unrelated to his attire. This was his life—chaotic, bewildering—and she had an uncomfortably clear view of it.
A view he’d never given another. Never thought to give another.
“I’ll help you pack,” Victoria offered, her encouragement subtle but intoxicating. So compelling a proposal, he turned his head to gaze at the frayed wallpaper rather than watch a woman he was becoming obsessed with bundle a sister he hadn’t known existed into her threadbare coat. “You and Finn have much to discuss”—the crash of a cart and human sounded on the street—“but perhaps not here.”
“I’ll go,” Belle finally whispered, “because there isn’t any reason to stay. There has never been.”
At the softly spoken words, Finn ushered her outside and to the waiting carriage, his heart shattering for them both.
Finn had suspected she’d come, hence her protection.
The footman followed at a discreet distance, trailing her through streetlamp-lit shadow and light, across slick, rain-drenched cobblestones. Staying close as she snaked between the carriages lining the street outside the Blue Moon, the men inside them laughing and making ribald comments. Her guard made no effort to conceal his presence as he splashed along behind her. He also made no effort to impede her journey.
Prevent her from making a life-altering mistake.
If giving the man you were falling in love with your innocence was a mistake. She considered it a gift. To herself.
Before marrying one she didn’t love, like, or desire to save her family.
This choice was hers. The only choice that was hers.
And his, if she trusted her instincts, which she was foolish enough to do.
Tugging her cloak closer about her face, she crossed the thankfully deserted alleyway backing the gaming hell. Shattered glass crunched beneath her boot as a varied combination of foul scents stung her nose. There was no alternative. Not after seeing Finn’s inconsolable face before he bolted from Julian’s townhouse, Humphrey’s grip on her arm the only thing keeping her from running after him.
She and Agnes had tried to make an unorthodox event routine, settling Belle in a bedchamber more luxurious than any she’d previously occupied if her hesitancy to touch the furnishings provided an accurate narrative. Tucked her beneath an overstuffed counterpane with a cup of cocoa and a plentiful fruit and cheese tray while Humphrey closeted Finn away for—what had Finn called it?—an advice and whiskey session.
This sudden appearance of his sister was too much to shoulder alone. She’d known this the moment he left his discussion with Humphrey to find her haunting the hallway outside the study like one of Simon’s ghosts. He’d only shaken his head wordlessly and stalked past her, rushing out the door like the devil nipped at his heels.
Swallowing her apprehension that she was intruding where she shouldn’t, she halted before the Blue Moon’s side entrance. Lifted her hand to smack that silly little bell when the door opened, and Finn unceremoniously yanked her inside. They stood in the entryway, breathing heavily for no reason, tripping into each other’s gazes.
“If you turn me away, Blue, I’ll find another man at the first opportunity to relieve me of—”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” he snarled and in a masculine show of fury, tossed her over his shoulder, kicking the door shut, and taking the stairs to his chamber two at a time. She slapped his back and hip, struggling, but he contained her easily, lean muscle concealed well beneath his tailored attire. Her cloak slid from her shoulders, and he kicked it from his path without pausing.
Ruining any notion of romance, he marched into the room they’d clashed in two short weeks ago and tossed her atop the massive sofa. She gasped and went to her knees, straightening her skirts while shooting him a glare hot enough to scorch wood. The overflowing bookcases, artwork-lined walls, and curio-stuffed shelves, evidence of a keen mind and industrious life, were no longer a surprise. She now knew there was much more to him than he cared to show a thoughtless world.
The room was chilled, murky, no fire in the hearth, no glow from the gas sconces. The ideal setting for a brooding bastard who was not a bastard after all. Her gaze fixed on the door to his bedchamber as a sizzling spiral lit her up from the inside out. Jealousy and longing claimed her, and that kiss behind the fountain, oh, she could almost feel Finn’s teeth nipping her skin. If he somehow guessed the strength of her attraction, she would leap from the window to the bustling street below without a care.
She nodded to the bedchamber. “Any scantily clothed friend in there this time?”
“You’re my only friend,” he whispered from his vigil by the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched as if he stood in a raging storm. His coat and waistcoat were tossed over his desk, his pale shirtsleeves glowing in the slice of light oozing through the grimy panes. His quietness frightened her, his calm before an emotional storm.
“Then talk to me,” she said, knowing she’d come for his body. But she’d also come for his mind. Better to admit, if only to herself, that she’d come for everything. “Unless you want me to leave.” Added because his exacting stillness was sending her courage in the wrong direction.
“That’s the problem.” Ripping his neckpiece off, he let it flutter to the carpet. “I don’t want you to leave, but I can’t talk. Not yet. Not when my heart is this bruised. I’m sorry to say, I need a moment. I need you, but maybe not in the way you’re offering.”
She propped her elbows on the back of the sofa and leaned out enough to catch the scent of his him, brandy, smoke, and bergamot. Close enough to see the stubble shadowing his chiseled jaw. Her breasts pressed into the tufted leather, nipples pebbling, more sensitive than they had any right to be. “Careless liaisons are your preference. Mine, too. I can see why. Talking is a tricky business.”
He turned, wedging his shoulder against the window ledge, letting her see his bleak, hunted expression. Letting her know more about him. His collar was open, exposing golden skin and a dusting of hair and the angry scar she wanted to press her lips against. She took him in, a gradual perusal from his bare feet to the disheveled strands sweeping his brow. Helplessly, she paused mid-review. His form-fitting trousers did little to hide his reaction to her invading his space. “If you want to arrive at your marital bed untouched, you’d better leave now,” he said roughly, and she realized he was as provoked as she was. “It�
�s your choice, it always has been, but friend or foe, if you stay, I mean to have you. I’m being as honest as I’ve ever been with anyone. I’m tangled up inside, Tori, more than you likely want to witness. I’m not going to make a judicious decision right now. I’m just going to take what I want. What I think might ease my heartache. Or, hell, perhaps it will only make it worse.”
She felt an easy smile tilt her lips. Want. Yes, that about covered it.
He took a fast step forward, jerking his hands from his pockets. “Don’t you dare smile. This, everything between us, is an utter disaster. It’s going to destroy us.”
She started unlacing her bodice, one eyelet, two, three before she looked back at him. He hadn’t moved, not one inch, but his gaze was riveted, air shooting from his lips, the hands at his side closing into trembling fists.
She crooked a finger, her smile growing. “Come ruin me, Blue.”
Shoving off the ledge, he crossed the short distance, grabbed her hand, and drew her from the sofa. Wordlessly out of the room and down the hallway, his stride urgent, his grasp firm. Faintly, she could hear the clamor from the gaming hell, a muffled shout, the clack of dice, loud laughter. Up another flight of stairs until the sounds trickled away. Everything trickled away but the muted rasp of their breaths and their soft footfalls. Halting before a paneled walnut door, Finn tugged a key from his trouser pocket.
“This,” she breathed—a space she recognized as his upon entry. Stacks of books, modest furnishings, subdued colors. An unassuming iron bedstead covered in twisted sheets, battered chest of drawers, escritoire desk. Simple, well-ordered, unadorned.
The room below was where he pretended.
This was where he was.
She opened her mouth to ask him why he was showing her this when he cradled her jaw with his long fingers and captured her lips with his.
And her world compressed to nothing but their kiss.
Chapter 14
Finn kissed her to shut her up.
To keep her from probing him like a fresh wound, making him bleed more of his life out for her. He’d never brought anyone to this chamber, never even considered it. This space was personal, dreary, but snug, precisely what he needed when other’s thoughts were creating a painful drumbeat in his head and behind his eyes. He was often dreary; only no one knew it. Except, maybe she did.
Victoria was already so firmly embedded he didn’t know how to get her out. Or even what parts of him she hadn’t seen yet.
Extreme confusion on top of raging lust made for an inelegant partnership, he decided.
He also kissed her to assuage his feral compulsion. To touch, to savor, to possess. His longing had teeth when it usually contained as many sharp edges as a cake of soap.
Victoria bounced up on her toes to deepen the kiss when he set her back. Her eyes met his, dazed amber in the silvery light reaching them from the lone window. Her lips were moist, plump, inviting. Before she could argue, which she looked set to, he brushed his thumb across the bottom one and let his hand fall to the eyelets of her bodice. “Easy,” he murmured, “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
He’d once been very good with his hands, nothing like Simon, but a rather proficient cutpurse, and he made quick work of her clothing, trying to ignore the enthusiastic effect exposing her body to his hungry gaze was having on him. Laces, ties, hooks. Fewer layers than he’d expected, and he raised a brow when, except for her chemise and gloves, her clothing lay in a neat puddle of silk, linen, and lawn at their feet. A smaller puddle than it should have been. Not a silk stocking to be had.
Her cheeks tinted, the first blush he’d ever seen on her. “I took the liberty of leaving some pieces behind.”
Of course.
So, she wanted to seduce him.
He was charmed, troubled, reluctantly agreeable. He lowered his lips to her shoulder, creating a decadently moist abrasion through the thin cotton. Her breasts were straining against the material of her chemise, and he brushed the back on his knuckles across them. She smelled of hyacinth and nutmeg this time, sweet and spicy. His cock was hard, his body hot, his intellect aroused, his resolve weak. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen standing there in light that lit her up and hid her all at once. And he couldn’t read her mind, not one thought, not even a glimmer. This level of intimacy was unfamiliar, completely foreign. Joyful and erotic.
He’d never touched a woman without thoughts tainting the experience.
My God, he marveled and skimmed his mouth along the nape of her neck to her jaw, this is how it feels to truly love someone.
He made to remove her chemise, but she halted him with a low hum, knocking his hand aside and beginning work on the buttons of his shirt. When she fully exposed his scar, she pressed her lips to the mottled ridge, bottoming his heart out where he stood. “I’m going to ask about this,” she whispered, watching his shirt flutter to the floor, “but not now.”
He gripped her wrist when her focus slid lower. Took her hand and tugged her glove off, finger by finger by finger. Then repeated the process with the other hand, letting the gloves tumble to the floor. “Are you looking for a way to bring a man to his knees, Tori darling? I’m fearful that with a little exploration, you’ll figure out exactly how to do it.”
In answer, she placed her mouth over his nipple and sucked, lightly, gently. He shook his head, implying absolutely nothing, unable to banter if she was going to do that.
She laughed and freed her hand from his grip, hesitated, then covered his hard length. “Ah,” she murmured as if something surprised her. He was beyond asking what.
With a muffled groan of surrender, he backed up until his hip met the wall. By that time, she had most of his trouser buttons undone, his drawers down enough to free his cock. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes, ceding any plan to manage the encounter.
She wanted to explore, he gathered, from the fingertip cautiously tracing his rigid length in a leisurely, wonderfully awkward circuit. Okay, he decided and blew out a breath. He could allow this for one minute. Maybe two, if he kept his eyes closed and avoided studying her luscious body concealed only beneath a thin chemise. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself by not making it to the finish line. Not with her.
The only woman who would ever matter.
Going up on her toes, she resumed the kiss, tentatively stroking her tongue against his in the same rhythm as her hand caressed him. Moaning against her lips, he revised his calculation because her technique, surprisingly suitable for a beginner, was bringing that shiver to the base of his spine that meant his body was on a countdown to release.
Moving in, slowing down, he tangled his hands in her hair and walked her back. The mattress hit her mid-thigh, and she sprawled across the bed, her curls an ebony spill across the pale sheets. She rose to her elbow and flipped the jumbled strands from her face. “You liked it?” she asked with a half-smile.
He tilted his head, considering. God, yes. But he wasn’t about to admit it.
“What’s that look about?” she murmured, her gaze running the length of him as it had earlier. Like she was sketching him, one languid stroke at a time, setting him aflame with her earnest regard.
He flicked open the last button and stepped out of his trousers, kicking them aside. His drawers soon followed. Her eyes were dazzled, vulnerable, captivated. “Skin to skin will change everything,” he whispered in French, knowing it was probably a more complicated statement than she could translate.
A realization only devastating experience would bring.
She pinched the material of her chemise between her fingers and let it flutter back to her breasts. “There’s still this.”
Leaning over her, he grasped the neck and ripped it down the middle, exposing her magnificent body to the meager light. Light as starved for her as he was. Crawling over her, he braced himself on his forearms, letting his weight settle atop her in slow, tantalizing degrees. Trying to conceal how entranced he was by everything about
her. Her quiet beauty, the intelligence shimmering in her eyes, the courage, the keen interest.
The innocence he was set to take.
One more moment, he thought, before I give you my heart.
Skin to skin indeed changed everything.
“Now, there’s just us,” he whispered and let himself fall.
He moved over her in the darkness, shifting and settling between her legs as his lips captured hers.
His sleek body was as beautiful as his face, and she memorized, her exploration unskilled, ravenous, daring. A silky sprinkling of hair trailing to his waist, lean hips, muscular legs. The hard length of him digging wonderfully into her thigh.
She wanted to disappear into him and become one. The end goal, she understood and arched her hips against his in invitation.
More. Now.
Pressing her lips to his neck, she sucked on a patch of skin and verbalized the demand in a hoarse whisper. He responded with a low groan, a nip to her cheek, her jaw. Lowering his head, he circled her nipple with his tongue, then moved his lips fully around the sensitive nub and drew it between his teeth. Pleasure, pain. Pleasure. She came off the mattress with a husky cry she’d never heard herself utter, her hand tangling in his hair and bringing him closer.
“The lady likes,” he murmured, his breath washing over her, bringing another fissure of delight. Continuing his assault, he caught her other nipple between his thumb and finger. Her thoughts dissolved, leaving nothing but desperate need, yearning, sensation. Seeking to ease the fierce pulse that had settled between her thighs, she ground against the leg he’d so cleverly maneuvered into place between them.
