“Fingers crossed. I’ve only got all of Clarion’s history and future riding on this.”
On our way out of the kitchen, I grabbed a tin of biscuits to scatter outside for Boris and a bowl of water, although Boris preferred to put his pig hooves up on my bird bath and lick like some kind of savage. But would he eat the off-brand biscuits? No, that would have been too much to ask.
“For my pig,” I said with a shrug by way of explanation. “Who is not on the menu.”
“Okay, so don’t source my pork from Clarion. Got it.” He grinned.
“I don’t think I put any pork on the menu, as Boris has grown on me. I’m not even sure I can eat bacon again, which is a real shame.”
Robinson laughed. “That is a shame. I make a heavenly Bolognese and burrata pasta swimming in pancetta and sausage. I’d invite you to South London to try it sometime, but it appears we will both be busy for a while.”
I turned away to hide my blush. It would be impossible to know now whether suitors liked me or my title. I hated Finn for putting that idea in my head. Maybe he’d done it on purpose, to keep me close to him. That would be beyond manipulative, and I hoped it wasn’t true.
It was probably true.
I walked Robinson to the gravel drive where his modest Volkswagen sat parked. It looked safe and comfortable and not at all dangerous, unlike Finn’s McLaren. He looked safe and comfortable compared to Finn. I would have bet Clarion he wouldn’t make me feel so deeply that I would go mad whenever he put his fingers in me, mad enough to let him touch me at a dinner party in front of scores of snooty lords and ladies, insane enough to drop my panties the first time he took me out of town.
That said, a little part of me fizzled out at the thought, at the very word “safe”.
Robinson put one leg in and gave me a head bow. “I’ll be in touch if there are any problems sourcing ingredients, but it’s all fairly common. I think I have an ox guy for that tongue.”
I shuddered. “Perfect. The cocktail hour starts in the early evening, but I’ll be up at dawn to get ready. Come any time. See you soon!”
I waved as he pulled away, but something caught my eye, fluttering in the wind. The statue of a Greek goddess pouring water into our circle drive fountain had a piece of blue paper clutched in her grip. There hadn’t been water in it for years. I again waved bye to my new chef and walked over. With a little difficulty, I tugged it free and unfolded the note.
It bore Finn’s familiar handwriting.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Poppy
Find me where dragons hide.
There was a drawing of a dragon and a princess in a tower below Finn’s carefully scripted handwriting. I crumpled the note in my fist. Without dedicating more than a single brain cell to the possibilities, I knew where it was he wanted to lead me. The bigger question was why.
Why bother?
He was better off with someone like Simone per his father’s request, anyway. Simone herself had warned me of his true nature. It was something I didn’t want to believe but knew deep down was true.
I let my fingernails dig into my palm harder, clenching until the pain cleared my mind. I uncrumpled the note, smoothed it out, and looked at the princess. She was wearing my Ramones shirt and daisy duke shorts. I brought the paper to my nose and inhaled.
Damn him.
With a whistle, I clicked my tongue and waited. Boris trotted over like a dog and followed me into the gardening shed. I still drew the line at letting him sleep in the house, but he’d grown on me. He was like a really ugly wart I couldn’t remove with home remedies, but a wart only I could see because it was on the bottom of my foot, so it didn’t matter as much.
“Here you go, boy. Have some biscuits and cold cuts.” I gave him a scratch and set off for the manor. The wood pigeons cooed sleepily when I passed their perfumed nest by the garden entrance in the hedges. If only life were so simple, to sleep in roses and not worry about the thorns.
With the note still in my hand, I raced through the grand hall to the library. Between the medieval manuscripts and the wall was the dragon drawing the nosy blogger had questioned me about. I pulled books off the shelf, searching hungrily now.
Another note!
I pulled the piece of paper out of a first folio of the Jacobian poet John Donne. It was blank except for a drawing of a mermaid. I turned it over and over, then opened the book, flipping through the pages. It hit me.
John Donne!
The note had probably marked a very specific poem. It was one of my favorites, “Go and Catch a Falling Star”. Finn had starred certain lines—in a first edition! I squeaked a little at the audacity but put my finger on the page and followed the lines.
Teach me to hear mermaids singing
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Though, when though return’st, wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.
There was a little drawing closer to the words, “snow white”. I ran to the desk in the library and pulled out a magnifying glass. At least that had been considered worthless by Stone. My heart constricted and, for a second, I thanked the old gods and the new that he hadn’t realized the value of these old books. He’d only sold off artifacts and the Alexander Romance scroll. I still had Donne.
I laid the book flat on the desk and put my nose to the magnifying glass. The little lines were actually a woman wearing a spiked crown and long cape. Even with the black line drawing, I knew who it was: the White Witch. I shot off toward the gardens.
My feet pounded through the forest, scattering chipmunks and chickadees, but I didn’t slow down. Something was in the tree house and I had to see it. With a final push, I halted in front of the tree we had pretended was the White Witch. I looked in every knot and hole, but there were no more notes.
Would Finn really lead me here to nothing? A dark part of me thought maybe yes. Then I saw the tree with the note carved into it from all those years ago, one simple word.
Sorry.
Finn was always apologizing. He constantly fucked up and had to walk back his misdeeds. Why would I want that in my life? Here, it was for lying about fairies and writing letters to an impressionable nine-year-old. His deeds got worse every year.
A sparkle caught my eye. I walked cautiously to the tree house and pulled open the door.
Oh my God.
I gasped, turning in circles. The entire tree house was decorated in twinkle lights and pillows. There were ribbons and flowers and lanterns arranged painstakingly in every corner.
There was one problem. There was no Finn.
“Finn?”
My voice echoed against the wooden walls. I walked in wonder, my fingers sprawling along the decorations he’d left for me. It was beautiful, but I didn’t understand. Was this his apology?
When I reached the far corner, I didn’t just gasp—I screamed. A mountain of blue and turquoise tasseled pillows hid a secret. I whipped through them to reveal a steamer trunk. My fingers trembled when I bent to open the lid, and I could feel my heart pounding against my rib cage, dancing to get out.
A whiff of cedar assaulted my nostrils, and before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my face.
The trunk was filled with all the things Stone had pawned.
The globe, the golden astrolabes, the hourglasses—even the peacock fan grate was folded gracefully at the bottom. I sifted through my family heirlooms, not even aware some of them had been missing, but I had eyes for only one thing: the Alexander Romance scroll, the one manuscript even my dim brother knew was worth something.
My fingers found something round. I quickly pulled out a transparent tube and sighed, clasping it to my chest. He’d done it. He’d tracked down these things for me and paid whatever price was demanded.
And then I felt it.
The golden pulse.
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He was inside of me, and the heat rose and fell like the Cornish tides during a storm. With my heart in my throat, I spun around. His figure blocked the stained glass of the tree house as he waited for me to finish hugging the priceless manuscript.
I went to the door and yanked it open. Finn was standing in the rain, letting the water run in rivulets down his body. His white button-down was soaked and clinging to his pecs and abs, and his floppy hair stuck to his temples. He slicked his hair back once, but the water kept pouring over him.
“Teach me to hear mermaids singing. Ride with me ten thousand days and nights. And I will swear, nowhere lives a woman more true and fair than you.” Rain continued to pour down over Finn’s body. “Poppy, I’m sorry.”
I peered around him, trying to ignore the flutter in my heart. “It was sunny outside when I walked here.”
Finn looked up, and I followed his gaze. He’d brought a large watering can and was raining it on himself.
“I’m here in the rain, down on my knees—wait.” Finn got to his knees, sinking into the mud from his personal rainstorm. “Down on my knees, asking for forgiveness—wait.” The water had stopped.
He got up, and I followed to see where he was going. He ran to the side of the tree house and refilled his watering can from a few buckets he’d left at the back. That must have been a lot of work, hauling it all here. He jogged back.
“I’m the saddest person in the world. This rain is representative of my misery.”
I crossed my arms in a weak attempt to appear unmoved still. “Yeah, I got that.”
“So here I stand, asking you to forgive me. I didn’t tell you about Simone, and I’m sorry. That was wrong. Period.”
“Finn,” I warned, lying to myself, insisting I didn’t want him, insisting I wasn’t grateful. I kept telling myself these were only material things. He would keep hurting me over and over.
“Why did you stoop so low? Why didn’t you tell me about my father privately instead of exposing us all?”
Finn closed his eyes, looking at me painfully. “When I first realized someone was fucking in the tent, I had no idea it was your father. I peeked through the curtain and didn’t immediately grasp the enormity of what was happening. I thought I was helping you, thinking it would be better to know what he was doing. I should have told you first and let that moment go by.”
He was watching me with dark, hooded eyes, dripping wet and heaving from carrying buckets of water.
“Forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but I ask for it all the same.”
It was ridiculous, bordering on insanity how much I craved Finlay. Everything in me screamed to protect myself, but my heart already knew that was impossible. I wanted him—the pain, the pleasure, the impossibilities. It gave me life and assured me I was alive.
After all, Finlay wasn’t a pagan god come to earth. He was a man, an ordinary man with ordinary faults, standing in the rain, trying to woo me. He always did this. He was always able to dissolve my anger.
In two steps, I clung to his wet body, folding myself into him and giving myself over, because I’m a fool like that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finn
Poppy pulled off my dripping clothes, flinging my heavy shirt to the ground and whipping my belt from its loops.
My erection sprung free, throbbing and thick. She stared in undisguised want. With a backward kick, I shut the tree house door and moved closer, pressing my erection into her belly.
She traced a drop of water down the hard ridges of my abs and put the wet finger to her lips to suck it. When she was done, she lifted her shirt and brought my cock under her shirt into her belly button.
“Take it off,” I said, not daring to take my eyes off this goddess.
She shook her head, continuing to fist my cock into her softness. Oh no, she wouldn’t get away with that. I lowered my fingers into the waistband of her yoga pants—a beautiful invention—and roamed toward her slit. She shuddered instantly the moment I found her sensitive spot.
Magic was happening beneath my fingers. She swelled and her wetness seeped onto them. I dipped one finger inside, admiring her tightness, and she had to steady herself against me.
“I want you,” I murmured into her hair.
But Poppy was still trying to hold back. She stopped fisting me and went to remove my hand. I worked all my magic with a few well-placed flicks.
Instead of denying me, with a quick glance, she lifted her shirt over her head to reveal no bra and brought my head to her pert nipples. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around my waist and pushing my fingers deeper inside. I stumbled forward, focusing on my mouth around her breast and my fingers in her pussy.
“Finn!” she cried out. “Oh my God, I need you.”
This woman was so sweet, and I relished the ability to feel every inch of her. I poured my secrets and myself into her, and I didn’t regret it. I wanted more. I’d always want more.
I laid her back on the mound of pillows. Her hair fanned out, making her look like some Greek sex goddess come to earth. With difficulty, I stopped watching long enough to retrieve a condom packet I had hidden under a floorboard, just in case.
She didn’t say anything about my audacity, so I sheathed myself with one hand while massaging her plump breasts with the other. I towered over her, each of us watching the other with calculating eyes.
Without warning, she boosted her left leg onto my shoulder and pulled me inside of her. Sharp fingernails pierced into my arse as she urged me to pound her, more demanding than I’d seen yet.
What the hell?
I’d obviously hoped for something like this, but it was better than my wildest dreams. I should have fucked Stone over more often. Now this was a countess I could admire.
It was pure debauchery watching my cock slide in and out of her as she writhed, groping at the cushions, anything to steady herself with.
“So deep,” she moaned. “Harder. I want more!” She sat up, clutching at my shoulders and wrapping her legs around my waist. “I need more. Fuck me like you mean it.”
I obliged, feeling my muscles unknitting from bone and coming unglued, knowing full well this was special. I pinned her body to mine, knowing somehow that this was it.
Perfection and the end.
She screamed and clutched at me as I held even more tightly, fucking her to oblivion.
Her glorious cries echoed around the wooden panels, sending me over edge. Nothing could stop this now as we came in perfect rhythm, and I slammed into her again and again, moaning as warm spurts of cum torpedoed out of me.
I ran my fingers down her spine as she collapsed into me, breathing heavily into my neck. My cock pulsed inside of her, and I never wanted to leave.
“Finn,” she murmured in my ear. The sensation sent excitement coursing through me. “Finn.” She sighed again.
I held her to my chest, letting our pounding hearts settle down together before sliding out of her. She clung tighter to me.
“Finn, I’m afraid.”
I pulled her shoulders back, my heart rate shooting up again. Shit. I’d been rough, but Poppy’s dark eyes had urged me. Now in the aftermath, I saw the red marks on her body where I’d left my mark.
“Poppy, I should have never—”
She shushed me with a kiss, pressing her lips to my still-damp hair. “I loved it. You make me feel things. I’m afraid because you’re dangerous. I’m falling in love with you, and I’m afraid.”
I gripped her closer, tucking her crown of hair under my chin and holding her tightly while we lay on the pillows. “That’s nothing, Seedling. I’ve been in love with a phantom since the day you left with your mother.”
She sat up and looked at me. With a swift bend, she locked her lips onto mine and kissed me furiously. It was nothing to lay her down and worship her, over and over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Finn
I finished touching up the crown moulding at Clarion when Chef Robinson called to
quit three days later. I had a feeling I knew exactly who was responsible for this. Clearly my talk with Stone had fallen on deaf ears, but I decided against mentioning him to Poppy when she was in the middle of a meltdown.
“Robinson said he has the flu,” Poppy announced, hanging up her mobile. “Of all the idiotic excuses to come up with to get out of this thing.” She slammed a fist in her palm. “I don’t get it! He was excited. He wanted to do it. Do you think this is about money?”
“Did you ever think maybe he really does have the flu?”
She shot me a dirty look. “Oh right, and the Queen’s coming because she was inspired by my Instagram page.”
“Oh is she?”
Poppy let out a growl. “He was the main part! It’s a dinner party. We can’t do a dinner party without a dinner. I’ll have to cancel or postpone. Do you think it would be a big deal? On a scale from zero to Prince Harry leaving the monarchy, how big of a deal would it be to postpone with only three days to go?”
“Poppy, calm down. We’ll figure it out. I can help cook.”
“You said yourself you don’t know how to cook!” Poppy yelled hysterically. “You’re just a charlatan unmasked or something silly like that.” She wouldn’t stop pacing, so I grabbed her into a bear hug, halting her frantic steps. “Let me down, you animal! I’ve got to freak out. This is the way I freak out!”
I hugged her tighter, relishing the feeling of her curves. “No. Not until you listen. Remember the dinner you loved at my father’s?”
Poppy stopped struggling. “You can get Wodehall’s chef? Oh my God, Finn, I might love you forever.”
“Good, because it was me. I developed the dishes and had our kitchen staff execute that night. It’s something of a hobby of mine. Don’t ask why, as I have no idea.”
A Manor of Faking It (The Clarion Abbey Series Book 1) Page 18
