by Adele Clee
Finlay!
She hurried from the window and snatched her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders as she descended the marble staircase. The urge to run to him left her breathless. Still, she navigated the corridors and darted out through the terrace doors.
What if he was ill—seriously ill?
What if she lost him and had to live a lifetime without hearing his voice, feeling his touch?
“Finlay!” She moved past the neat topiary hedge and saw his powerful, well-muscled figure in the distance. A desperate need to be wrapped in his embrace drove her forward. “Finlay!” she called louder.
He stopped and turned to face her.
Oh, Lord!
Never had he looked so handsome. The gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He wore nothing but a shirt and breeches beneath his greatcoat, the shirt loose and open at the neck, giving a glimpse of dark hair. Never had he looked so vulnerable. His mouth twisted in pain as he gripped the black walking cane. Those irresistible eyes of ebony looked dejected, forlorn.
Finlay Cole made a woman want to strip naked and part her legs, made a woman want to bandage his wounds and nurse his injuries.
“What are you doing out here?” His gaze drifted over the white nightgown visible beneath her blue cloak. “Could you not sleep?” A faint smile touched his lips. “Was the wind howling through the rafters?”
“No, it wasn’t the wind.”
“Then you’re worried about the mighty task ahead of us today.”
“It’s hard to believe this nightmare could soon be over, that tomorrow heralds the dawn of a new day.” She prayed tomorrow was a day of second chances. A day where they might look forward to the future. The thought drew her attention to the cane. “The pain in your leg, it’s more than a twinge.”
“It will pass. Kneeling in a moving carriage didn’t help.”
Her lips tugged into a smile at the delicious memory.
“You find something amusing about a man with an injury?” he teased.
“Forgive me. They should give a medal to those who suffer in the name of pleasure.”
“Yes, with an effigy of a temptress engraved into the metal. I would wear it with pride.”
“Temptress?” She gave a light chuckle. “I never set out to seduce you, Finlay. You kissed me first if you remember.”
“I remember,” he said, the husky whisper stirring something deep inside her.
“Might I walk with you?” Discussing their plans would alleviate her fears, and she longed for an opportunity to feel the heat of his lips. “As I’m partly to blame for your problem, perhaps you might like to use me as a crutch.”
Raven eyes, dark and mysterious, scanned her nightgown. He moistened his lips as if she were a slab of walnut cake, and he was keen to take a bite.
“I’m not an invalid, Sophia. I’m more than capable of sweeping you into my arms and carrying you upstairs.”
Her pulse thumped in her throat. “I don’t doubt your virility for a second.”
“Then walk with me. Tell me what troubles you.”
She was frightened, frightened of what Mr Archer would do when they lured him into their trap in Blackborne Wood, frightened what would happen when Finlay returned to his house in Golden Square, and they spent days and nights apart.
But instead, she fell in beside him, and said, “I should have protected Jessica from these evil schemers. How can I make amends, Finlay? How can I make up for all those lost years?”
“You can’t,” he said bluntly, the words hacking at her conscience. “You have to accept this is fate’s path. You have a huge heart, Sophia. You’re kind and compassionate. Archer and Goodwin have manipulated the situation to their advantage.”
“I’ve been so dreadfully naive.” She had been a fool to trust the doctor. Even Blent and Mrs Friswell had their suspicions. “I’ve been wandering blindly, have been lost since the day you left for Belgium.”
“We both have.”
Finlay drew her along the path leading behind an eight-foot topiary hedge. She heard trickling water before they came upon the fountain fashioned with bathing sea nymphs.
“I fear Mr Sloane may live his life wholly unsatisfied,” she said, seeking a distraction from her maudlin thoughts. “At some point, he must accept mermaids are creatures of myth.”
Finlay stopped at the fountain and drew her around to face him.
“Every man has a fantasy.”
“And what is yours, Finlay?”
“Mine?” His appreciative gaze journeyed slowly from her mouth to her toes. “Do you really want to know?” He trailed his fingers in the water and waited for her eager nod. “Good. This is my fantasy, Sophia.” And then in a move that proved shocking, he scooped water from the fountain and flicked ice-cold droplets in her face.
Sophia squealed. “Oh, you devil!”
“Unless you want to get wet, really wet, I suggest you run.” He threw his walking cane to the ground and chased her around the fountain until they laughed so hard neither had the energy to move. “My fantasy is we might laugh like we used to, before fate destroyed our happiness.”
“And yet we didn’t appreciate those times, not like we do now.”
“No, we did not.”
Their gazes locked. Heat flared instantly, his amused smile replaced by a look burning with intensity.
She placed her hand on his chest, needing to feel the beat of his heart. “In my nightmares, I still hear your father’s broken voice explaining you’d died in Belgium.” Tears welled at the memory. She’d shed so many these last seven years she could fill a fountain. “How could they have made such a terrible mistake? How? Explain it to me, Finlay, for I don’t understand.”
“A clerical error, they said.”
“A clerical error?” The clerk would have gone home to his wife and family, laughed around the dining table at insignificant things, not knowing his mistake had caused untold devastation. “I could throttle the fool responsible.”
“And what would that achieve?” He glanced at the water trickling from the mermaid’s shell. “Fate has brought us to this place, Sophia, and all we can do now is treasure every second.” His sinful smile reached his eyes, drawing her attention to the rich coffee flecks she found so beguiling.
“You’re right. I never imagined we would become close again. Who would have thought my worst nightmare would also be my wildest dream? And I don’t want this dream to end, Finlay. I can’t lose you again.”
“You won’t.” He caressed her cheek before straightening and bowing gracefully. “Would you care to dance, my lady?”
The question came as a shock. “Dance? Here? But what about your leg?”
“Forget about my leg.”
“But there’s no music.”
“Can you not hear it, Sophia? My heart is singing for the first time in years.”
And her heart beamed so brightly it could light the night sky. “Is this to make amends for all those times you refused me?”
“It’s my way of saying sorry. Sorry for being a stubborn fool. Sorry for not being the friend you needed. Sorry for not taking you in my arms at Lord Newberry’s ball, for not helping you to forget your troubles.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Dance with me now.”
“Nothing would please me more.”
Her heart skipped a beat when his hand slipped inside her cloak and settled on her waist. She may as well have been naked, for the flimsy material left little to the imagination.
Finlay smoothed his hand from her waist to her hip and back again. “I remember these delicious curves so well.”
“I intend to make sure you never forget them.”
His dark gaze raked over her. “Perhaps I should familiarise myself with them some more.”
“Perhaps you should.”
His hand ventured in a different direction, skimming the curve of her left breast. Through the fabric of her nightgown, her aching nipples hardened before the pad of his thumb grazed the p
eak. The sudden jolt of pleasure shooting to her sex made her gasp.
An arrogant smile played on his lips. “There are so many ways I want to pleasure you, but I promised you a dance.” Giving her breast one last caress, both hands moved to the small of her back.
“Is this not a waltz? Are we not to clasp hands, Finlay?”
“It’s a waltz of sorts,” he said, pulling her so close her breasts were squashed against his chest. “Move with me.”
Desire for him beat such an intoxicating rhythm it wasn’t hard to hear music. With barely a hair’s breadth between them, they waltzed slowly around the fountain. And while her body craved pleasure, craved the intimacy that came when he entered her body, her heart wished for nothing more than to lay next to his.
Chapter 19
As intended, they arrived at Blackborne during daylight hours. They’d covered the twenty miles on horseback, Blent being charged with ferrying Jessica so Finlay could observe their interaction.
The couple were in love.
It was there in the way Jessica settled back against Blent’s chest as she sat sidesaddle. Love lived in their smiles, in their mingled breath, in the comfortable conversation flowing back and forth despite the woman’s nausea. And as Jessica’s mind fought through the headaches and confusion, she made no secret of her disdain for Mr Archer.
“Can you tend to the horses?” Finlay asked Blent when they dismounted in Blackborne’s courtyard. “I must speak to Mrs Friswell and put plans in place before Sloane arrives with the doctor.”
Sloane and D’Angelo were tasked with taking Goodwin to St John the Baptist churchyard in Windlesham to leave a note behind the tombstone. Then, they were to bring Maud and Goodwin to Blackborne under cover of darkness.
Blent glanced at Jessica briefly as Sophia led her sister to the house. “You may leave the horses in my care, sir.” The nervous edge to his voice echoed his earlier sentiment. Jessica should have remained at Keel Hall in Noah Ashwood’s safekeeping.
“Blent, you don’t need to call me sir. We are both sons of gentlemen.”
“My father lost his fortune at the gaming tables. That makes him a scoundrel in my book.” He grabbed his mount’s reins and stroked the horse’s neck. “I know you’re of military stock, Mr Cole. I’m sure you’re used to games of strategy, but the doctor is a devious devil.”
Love made a man fearful.
Love made a man panic for the future.
But Blent was right to be suspicious of Goodwin, especially now Finlay had explained the depth of the doctor’s duplicity.
“I have no intention of letting Jessica leave the house. You’re welcome to sit with her while I hunt Archer in the woods.”
Blent’s sigh spoke of relief. “Then I’d advise you to keep a watchful eye on Goodwin.”
Finlay patted the man’s upper arm. “Trust me. I have a raven’s eyes.”
“And Goodwin has Lucifer’s heart.”
Finlay left Blent in the stables and returned to the house. He waited for Sophia to settle Jessica in her chamber, for her to come to the drawing room, before summoning Mrs Friswell.
As they sat waiting in the seats they’d occupied on the night he first arrived at Blackborne, Finlay took a moment to consider how his life had changed in such a short time.
Joining the Order had been the first positive move towards regaining his life. The friendships he’d forged with his colleagues, and the satisfaction gained from helping victims of crimes, had given him a purpose. But he had always held a deep-rooted anger towards Sophia, had struggled to understand why she married so quickly and not grieved his loss. Now he knew about Jessica’s plight, it all fell into place.
“Are we being honest with Mrs Friswell, too?” Sophia asked from her fireside chair.
It was her home, her sister, her servants, yet she spoke as if he were her husband. Nothing would please him more. “There have been too many secrets. The time for honesty is nigh.”
Perhaps he should be honest, too.
Should he confess undying love?
Should he explain he wanted her for his wife?
“Is that why you told Blent about Mr Archer’s plan?” she asked.
“I told Blent because he deserves to know the truth.” Had Finlay known about Jessica in the beginning, had he known the real reason Sophia married Lord Adair, things might have been different. “When this is over, and Jessica has recovered, you will need to consider what should be done about their relationship.”
Sophia nodded, but a knock on the door prevented her from replying. “Enter.”
Mrs Friswell limped into the room. Her chalk-white face made her appear otherworldly. At least she had lost the scowl and seemed more amenable.
The housekeeper struggled to curtsy. “Forgive me, my lady.”
“Your leg is troubling you today?”
“Yes, my lady. The cold got to my bones.”
Finlay had an ounce of sympathy. “Because of your late-night visit to Bisley?”
Mrs Friswell eyed Finlay with some suspicion.
“You may speak freely to Mr Cole. He is here to help Jessica, to bring an end to our nightmares.” Sophia cleared her throat. “There shall be no more secrets. Is that understood? Blent explained why you’ve been giving Jessica your tisanes, and I must bear some responsibility for leaving you here unattended for long periods. All that aside, you will answer Mr Cole’s questions if you want to keep your position.”
Mrs Friswell exhaled deeply and nodded.
“Anne said you went to Bisley to fetch supplies,” Finlay began. “Supplies needed for a battle with the devil. Please tell me she spoke metaphorically, and you’re not expecting the master of the underworld to appear.”
The housekeeper hesitated before saying, “A man who makes a lady ill for his own gain is a devil in my book. But I knew when you eventually brought Miss Draper back to the house, the beast would reappear and act quickly.”
“Why did you not come to me with your concerns?” Sophia said, airing her disappointment.
“I’m not an educated woman, my lady. The doctor knows about those new treatments they use abroad to help heal the mind.” Mrs Friswell grimaced as she moved her aching leg. “And up until a couple of months ago, he’d only been giving Miss Draper laudanum.”
Finlay stood and offered the housekeeper his seat.
The woman appeared shocked, equally relieved. She waited for Sophia’s permission before coming to sit on the sofa. Finlay stood near the stone fireplace, his leg throbbing a little, too, in deference to her plight.
“I suffered a broken kneecap whilst in Belgium.” One of Finlay’s captors had stamped on his leg so hard he heard the crack seconds before feeling the excruciating pain. He was lucky to have full use of his limb. “It aches in damp weather or during moments of overexertion.”
Mrs Friswell’s grim mouth softened. “Mine aches when it’s damp, too. And I spent hours in the woods last night.”
Ah, now they would get some semblance of the truth.
“Doing what exactly?”
“Preparing for the devil’s return. My brother-in-law brought me back from Bisley in the cart and helped lay the traps.”
“Traps?” Sophia jerked back in the seat. “Poachers’ traps?”
“Mantraps,” Mrs Friswell replied as if the prospect of injuring a man was inconsequential. “Bernard said you can’t lay a mantrap or spring-gun without giving notice. So he nailed a warning to a stake and hammered it into the ground near the stile, another on the Windlesham path.”
Finlay took a moment to let the information penetrate his brain. He turned to Sophia. “The woods are part of the Blackborne estate, I presume.” One could not set a trap on public land. The law was quite specific about such things.
“Yes, but there is little point hiring a gamekeeper to patrol the area. Though I’m not sure I like the idea of injuring a poacher.”
The traps weren’t for poachers but to catch an unwelcome gentleman snooping about the wo
ods. And while Finlay had reservations, too, Archer deserved a lead ball to the leg.
“The spring-gun, is it loaded with just a powder charge?” The noise would scare a man but not maim him.
“No.” Mrs Friswell’s gaze dropped to her lap. “Powder and a ball, sir.”
Sir?
He had risen a notch in the housekeeper’s esteem. Finlay had a newfound respect for the woman, too. She was willing to go to great lengths to protect Jessica from these lying scoundrels.
“Then you must take me into the woods and show me where you’ve placed the traps. I’m to confront Mr Archer in the deadwood tonight and cannot risk suffering an injury.”
Heaven forbid he should lose a limb.
Worse still, he might get caught in a trap and leave Archer free to enter the house.
“I’m not sure I can walk that far, sir.” Mrs Friswell sucked in a breath as she rubbed her knee. “Mayhap I can draw a map.”
Finlay nodded. “Very well. You can explain it to Blent, and he can accompany me into Blackborne Wood. But it must be before nightfall.” There was much to do before Sloane arrived with Maud and the doctor. And with Blent playing guide, the housekeeper might be more precise with her directions.
A brief conversation ensued. Sophia explained that Goodwin was not a doctor and was being blackmailed by Mr Archer to commit these heinous crimes.
“I knew the man had a wicked streak.” Mrs Friswell’s muttered curses sounded like a witch’s incantation. “I knew there was something strange about his methods. He deserves to have the crows peck at his eyeballs, to have his innards boiled and fed to the pigs.”
Finlay cleared his throat. “Indeed.” He was suddenly glad to be on good terms with the housekeeper. “And you should know, the alcohol in the doctor’s vial contained small traces of fly agaric.”
“Toadstools!” Mrs Friswell clenched her fists as hard as she did her jaw. “That explains Miss Draper’s confusion, why she saw ghosts and cried in agony at night.”
