by Tracy Sumner
Relieved to have her secret revealed, she steadied herself on the bench, her gaze catching his and holding. His eyes were stunning. Warm honey shot through with streaks of amber. Now she knew why some in the ton referred to him as feline. “Yes, I’m in love with Finn Alexander, more the fool, I know.”
“That makes one of us. About love, I mean. It isn’t on my agenda. But if it’s on yours, as it appears it is, you can keep him. Once the matter of an heir is settled, of course, because a bloody duke has to have one and if the first babe comes out looking as exquisite as your erstwhile love, that would be a problem.” He frowned suddenly, again doing the hand flex. “You don’t want to know how many times Mayfair has almost gone up in smoke. This entire city breathes a sigh of relief when you sit next to me. Thanks to Viscountess Beauchamp, I have more control, but still. You’re my good luck charm.”
Arrogant male, she reflected with a grimace. She’d love to tell him what he could do with his good luck charm, but one didn’t often say to a duke what one thought. What a constricting marriage that restriction would create. “Finn would never share. I don’t know how I know this, but I know this.”
Ashcroft blew out a breath, gave the midnight-black strands hanging in his face a swipe. “His brother has given him the mistaken notion that marriages are created for love when they’re business arrangements. Julian and Piper are an exceptional example. We’ll be a transcendentally exceptional example in our way, aside from my saving your family from financial catastrophe, which is commonplace.” Closing in on her, he tipped her chin high. Impersonal and emotionless when she wanted no one’s touch but Finn’s. At least she didn’t flinch. “Let’s not let dust gather on this conversation. Do you need words of love? Is that what’s missing? I apologize, I fear I’m going into this too brusquely when I usually exhibit marginal charisma. Your gift rattles me to my bones when I’m normally steadfast. Humble apologies all around.”
“Finn never gave me words of love, Your Grace.” But he’d shown her in other ways.
As she’d shown him.
Ashcroft frowned and let his hand fall to his lap. Victoria was glad she didn’t know him well enough to read the look on his face. “Oh, that hardly signifies. For a man, at least. We’re not good at admitting our feelings.”
“Young Finn,” she whispered and laughed, a rigid, harsh sound. “Are you so much older? May I ask?”
A world-weary mien crossed Ashcroft’s face. “Seven years, I believe. But my experience as a soldier and this blasted gift have aged me beyond what’s presented.” He massaged the back of his neck and exhaled softly, seemingly torn between sharing what he must with the woman who would be his wife versus keeping his own counsel. “Let’s just say I feel a hundred years older.”
“When should we…the marriage?” she murmured as a raindrop struck her cheek. Helpful that, so the commanding man next to her wouldn’t notice her tears mixed in. “Your gracious offer is much appreciated. My family’s situation is perilous. I’m being childish. Ridiculous to feel anything aside from relief and gratitude. I humbly thank you.”
Ashcroft tilted his head, a penetrating study she’d no idea how to interpret. “I’m on the way to my solicitor to obtain a special license. We can discuss details over a late breakfast tomorrow if that suits.”
She heard only the wind whispering through the lilac bushes and the stalks of grass stirring beneath their feet. And her heartbeat, telling her with a decidedly swift rhythm to forget Finn Alexander. Forget his kisses. Forget the words he’d whispered in her ear when his body surrounded hers. Forget the dimple that lit his cheek when he smiled. Forget how tenderly he’d touched her, held her, listened to her when she told him about her brother, her loneliness, her isolation. Forget the despair on his face when he’d told her about Freddie. The adorable wonder when he’d expressed his profound desire to establish a relationship with Belle.
“It suits,” she said and rose to her feet.
Ashcroft followed her move, drew her hand to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her gloved fingers. He turned to walk away, then halted, and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t look so forlorn, my dear. The future has a way of correcting course.”
With that perplexing statement circling the walled garden, her future husband left her to the impending storm and her immense sorrow.
He couldn’t let this dog lie, Sebastian Fitzgerald Tremont, fifth Duke of Ashcroft determined as he climbed into the unmarked carriage and thumped the trap to alert the coachman. A crested conveyance presented too much temptation in the lower reaches, which is precisely where he was headed. Also, he appreciated the anonymity of racing through London’s streets without acknowledgment.
Until he stepped from the coach.
Then, the acknowledgment was ghastly.
He liked Finn, had been in the supernatural trenches with the Alexander family for going on seven years, and if the boy loved, genuinely loved Victoria Hamilton, Bastian couldn’t stand in the way. Even if his offer was the best she’d ever receive. The smartest decision she could make if one didn’t factor affection into the mix.
Her heartbreaking expression came to mind.
If those morose looks were a common occurrence, Bastian questioned being able to perform his husbandly duty. Her misery would color every facet of her life and his, he knew this well enough from a mother who’d been categorically miserable. How could he bed a woman who looked as sad as the dowager duchess always had? Wasn’t an heir, aside from the lady’s amazing ability to filch heat from his fingertips, the reason he’d agreed to this?
There was the added benefit of Victoria Hamilton being quite lovely.
Quite lovely and in love with a friend.
What a muddle, he decided, and leaned as his coachman took the curve too quickly, which Bastian had instructed him to do. He had a reputation for navigating London’s streets at a breakneck pace, and he saw no reason to adjust course. Firestarter, scoundrel, soldier. He’d thought to add husband to that list and occasionally relieve himself of the first, but that intention was looking bleak indeed. To make matters even more wretched, Angelica, his current paramour, had heard of the impending marriage and reacted badly. So, he had the choice of letting that relationship cool or swinging by his jeweler to purchase a suitable apology.
Bloody hell, he thought, tugging at the leather ceiling strap as the coachman made a move that had the carriage springs squealing. Perhaps a period of celibacy was a good idea. He could retreat to one of his country estates, that utterly remote, crumbling one in Scotland, catch up on his reading and his many business obligations, and set fires at will. Or he could spend the rest of the summer at Harbingdon and work with Piper on controlling his gift. Maybe Lady Hamilton would assist in a strictly platonic capacity, once he gave young Finn the swift kick it looked like he deserved.
Viscount Beauchamp’s repeated advice about happiness being possible for people cursed with mystical abilities had not only influenced Finn, it had also made Bastian consider if he was as lost as his friend alleged. Observing Julian and Piper’s hushed communication and glowing looks over the years had polished him to a high sheen when he didn’t want to shine. He was surrounded by former soldiers from his regiment. Women. Supposed friends. Sycophants, servants, solicitors, tenants, beneficiaries.
As if a duke could ever be lonely.
When he arrived, the Blue Moon was a disaster, men spilling from the entrance, the night’s winners striding down the street to the next adventure, the losers slumped against the bricked stoop looking as if a fierce wind would send them tumbling. Coaches and hacks lined the road, waiting to discharge more into the mayhem. Two hulking porters stood by the baize-covered door, a crimson beacon winking in the night, admitting only those on the membership list. The activity reminded Bastian of a swarm of bees, a sting the one thing in the world he was fearful of—and deathly allergic to—so he left his carriage a block away and circled around, arriving at the gaming hell’s back entrance. He made quick work of the pa
dlock, thinking to alert Finn to how easy it had been to pick. He’d spent many an evening here, often while praying a streak of good fortune wouldn’t have him accidentally setting the place ablaze. There’d only been the one instance, minor destruction to a velvet drape and window frame a quick-acting croupier had extinguished.
When he entered the main salon, ribald laughter, drunken shouts, the clack of dice and shuffle of cards swept over him, as did the scent of macassar oil and burnt tobacco. He wove between tables offering hazard and vingt et un, lifting his hand in greeting to those who called out but not halting, working his way to the back parlor, a private room that held other, more delectable, enticements.
That jackass, Bastian deduced the moment he laid eyes on the boy—his heart taking a little dive as he said goodbye to Lady Victoria Hamilton and her ability to erase his curse.
Because Finn was a rake on all counts, true, but a reserved one most of the time.
This was a show.
Bastian sighed and crossed the room. He’s as in love with her as she is with him.
Finn had a cheroot anchored between his teeth, long legs unfurled before him, a woman of indiscriminate everything draped across his lap, and a circle of saccharine admirers surrounding the table where he held court. “That face,” Bastian groused beneath his breath, “is more trouble than it’s worth.” As he approached, the indiscriminate everything’s hand snaked up the back of Finn’s coat, and Bastian could only think he’d arrived in the nick of time.
“Alexander,” he said and slipped into the empty chair that had materialized with his arrival.
Finn blinked drowsily, a challenging smile twisting his lips. “Your Grace.”
Bastian rolled his eyes. Foxed and belligerent. This endeavor promised to be amusing. “I thought you and I might have a little run on the hazard table. I’m feeling lucky.”
Finn gave the woman in his arms a suggestive wink. “I am as well, Ashcroft.”
“May I say, I think your current predilection is a mistake.”
Humor sliding from his face like mud down a slippery slope, Finn gave his temple one hard tap. “I know she wants me to stay. My mind is full, nothing blocking if you grasp my meaning. So stay I shall.”
“What’s it to you, your bleeding grace,” a man across the table that Bastian believed to be a baron of considerable ill-repute but significant wealth mumbled. His clothing was rumpled, his hair disheveled, his face bloated. Unsteady hands, weak posture. The soldier in Bastian, even if he’d left those rigid mores behind long ago, was disgusted. “Don’t be ruining our fun because you had to go and muck up yours with that Hamilton chit. Not worth the trouble, that one, if what I’ve heard is truth. Too bad she outwitted you, the conniving she-devil.”
Bastian had little time to react as Finn vaulted over the table, scattering glasses and conversation, the indiscriminate everything’s ample bottom plopping to the floor amidst a shower of brandy and silk. Without hesitation, Finn launched his fist into the baron’s face, sending the man sprawling and the table flipping, which allowed for another explosion of liquor and crystal.
“Holy hell,” Bastian growled and stumbled back in time to avoid the baron’s badly-thrown return swing, which, even in its inaccuracy, clipped Finn’s jaw.
Grabbing Finn by the collar and dragging him out of the fray, Bastian shouted orders to the men, who jumped into action like they were members of his regiment. Escort the baron to a carriage. Help the lady to a resting room. Return the parlor to rights. His fingertips tingled throughout, leaving his skin moist and his breathing shallow. “Control,” he repeated, hearing Piper’s soft voice ringing in his mind. This was not the time, not the place.
“Oh, that would be rich,” Finn laughed as Bastian wrestled him from the room and down a darkened servant’s hallway, “if the place went up in flames around us.”
“Shut up. Would you rather deal with Humphrey? I can arrange that.” He released Finn at the bottom of the stairs, taking them two at a time and expecting the boy to damn well follow. Once again, he could look forward to his transgressions being featured in tomorrow’s broadsheets. While Finn was accustomed to publicity, Bastian was not. If he didn’t consider the man to be the younger brother he’d never had, he would kick his arse from here to Westminster.
When they reached the landing, Finn brushed around him and, using a key procured from his waistcoat pocket, opened the door to his suite, his movements steadier than his behavior below would forecast. “Are you coming in, or was this simply an escort? A bit hypocritical, your disapproval,” he added with an indignant side-glance. “How did Angelica react to the news of your betrothal, by the way?”
Bastian gestured to the chamber. Insolent pup. He wasn’t going to get angry when that was unquestionably what Finn wanted right now, another purgative brawl when the fight would be most inequitable, and they both knew it. “I think you and I should have a little chat.”
Finn peeled himself off the doorframe and strolled inside, only a rapidly ticking jaw muscle revealing his temper. The man hid his true nature better than anyone Bastian had ever seen.
With a groan, Bastian collapsed on the sofa, giving in to the urge to let his exhaustion show. The boy was poised as all hell, he would give him that, while Bastian felt as if he’d been shoved through a crack in a windowpane. Blast, did those seven years difference in age feel like seven hundred. He was getting too damned old for this business.
“A wise man once recommended going to Scotland for occasions such as these.” Striding to the sideboard, Finn splashed whiskey in two tumblers, took a fast sip from one, then delivered the other to Ashcroft. “When you leave, how do you know I won’t go down and find that willing creature? Do everything I was thinking of doing before you so heroically popped by. You’ve only given me time to sober up, more the enjoyment for her.”
Bastian took a thoughtful drink, let the excellent Scotch skate down his throat and warm his belly. This heartfelt camaraderie with those who knew what he was, is why he’d joined the League in the first place—and why he feared it in no minor measure. “Because if you do, she won’t forgive you.” He eyed Finn over the crystal rim. “And you won’t forgive yourself.”
Finn cursed soundly, threw himself in a leather beast of a chair, and drained his glass, as sufficient a reply as any to being in love, Bastian supposed. As he’d told Lady Hamilton, men weren’t comfortable expressing emotion. Finn, even with the tender heart he hid from the world, was no better. Why he’d been placed in the role of matchmaker, Bastian couldn’t say. Sometimes one had to roll with life’s little detours.
At least he wasn’t setting the building aflame.
“I offered,” Bastian murmured, watching closely enough to see Finn’s fingers tighten around the tumbler. “I’m guessing it was your intervention that had Rossby graciously stepping aside.”
After a charged moment of silence, Finn whispered so softly Bastian had to strain to hear, “A courteous overture after Hester’s blunder, and I thank you for it. I brought Victoria to the attention of the League, but that doesn’t mean I own her, despite how possessive I may feel. After all, what man wants to lose not only the woman of his dreams but the one in them?”
Bastian shook his head, having no reply as he’d never desired a woman in this manner.
“I understand the situation. An irresolvable societal dilemma for a baseborn man. Perhaps even a trite one, falling for a woman above your station.”
“There are ways around any dilemma. Or rather, ways to soften the impact.”
Sliding low in the chair, Finn’s posture was uncaring, but his gaze alert. “I can’t protect her. A gift this powerful won’t be concealed for long. Our enemies are as desperate for relief from their mystical abilities as we are, they’re just willing to injure to obtain it. It’s a slight difference but a critical one. She needs you when I’ll do nothing but destroy her. In more ways than one.” He rotated the tumbler in a gradual circle on his belly, the gaslight bouncing off the f
acets and throwing silver slashes along the floor. “I hope you didn’t foster hope that there’s another choice. Why your actions this eve are almost fraternal.”
“Therein lies the issue, because she didn’t accept. And I’m not even sure how solid I was on the offer.”
Finn jerked to a sit, blinked, raised the glass to his lips only to find it empty. “Didn’t accept,” he echoed as if this possibility had never occurred to him.
“Let me set the record straight for all men given an unenthusiastic rejoinder to a sincere but loveless proposal. She thought she did, but she did not.” Bastian took a delaying sip set to extend Finn’s discomfort, beginning to enjoy this. He deserved every bit of pleasure he could wring from this quixotic venture. “Claims she’s in love with you.”
Ah, that got through as the whiskey had not.
Finn’s gaze heated to a fierce, concentrated blue. No wonder women dropped like flies when the boy looked at them; Bastian had trouble looking away. “She told you that?”
Bastian sighed, nodded, praying he never loved someone enough to sit there looking poleaxed by an admission of love. Horrifying thought. “She said she wanted to be honest. What woman in the ton, in the world, wants to be honest? No wonder the girl never seemed to fit in. All this time, swimming with scrupulous intent in a sea of sharks.”
Finn rocked forward, placing his glass with great care on the table at his side. “I would be the end of her. She’d be shunned in every shop, on every street corner. Invitations to events would immediately terminate, except for the events where we were unknowingly part of the entertainment. And there’s nothing I can do, that love would do, to change that.”
Victoria Hamilton didn’t care about being shunned on bloody street corners. This was Bastian’s verdict after witnessing the feral emotion in her eyes. So he addressed the problem he could solve. “We’ll increase security, as we did with Piper. Wherever you chose to live, a private detail will be attached. It’s a simple arrangement. She goes, they follow.” Ashcroft began compiling a list in his mind. As a former soldier, protection was second nature. Fires were, unfortunately, first. “It will cost you, but I have the men. Returning soldiers who need employment. Very loyal, to the death loyal. And you have the resources, or am I mistaken?”
