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

by Lorraine Heath

  After the men shifted around to accommodate the new seating arrangements and were lowering themselves, another—this one dark haired and heavily bearded—walked up holding a tumbler of amber liquid, grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, set it between Aiden and Finn, and dropped into it.

  “My brother Mick. Mick, say hello to Vivi.”

  His gaze wandered over her slowly, not in a licentious way, but he was definitely assessing her as though she were a puzzle box that when opened would reveal a treasure. “You don’t live in Whitechapel.”

  “No,” she stated succinctly. “What gave it away?”

  His eyes widened slightly, perhaps because she refused to be intimidated by him, his attention jumping to Finn before coming back to her. “Your clothing. They’re very fine threads.”

  “I have a skilled seamstress.”

  “Who works with expensive cloth.”

  “Leave off, Mick,” Finn said, his tone a warning snarl, and again she was struck by how he was protecting her, not wanting the slightest unpleasantness to ruin her evening.

  “Her diction is posh—I’d say aristocratic.”

  Although Finn had told her not to give away too much about herself, these were his brothers. Surely, they were to be trusted. “My father is the Earl of Collinsworth.”

  “Is tonight a lark, then?”

  “Don’t you have someone else you can go irritate?” Finn asked.

  “Not a lark,” she said. “I’ve long wanted to meet Finn’s family. Although I daresay, with the exception of Aiden and Finn, you don’t resemble each other in the least.” They also seemed to be rather close in age, which baffled her.

  “We’ve all different mothers and fathers,” Mick said.

  “But how can that be if you’re all in the same family?”

  “We’re bastards.”

  Finn watched those green eyes slowly blink, once, twice, three times, in shock and—he feared—disgust. He loved his brothers but at that moment he had a strong urge to kill Mick, or at the very least rearrange the perfect cut of his nose. Finn’s parentage—or lack thereof—never seemed to matter when he was with Vivi.

  Mick’s words had suddenly made it matter. Very much.

  “We’re leaving,” Beast said, suddenly shoving back his chair and standing.

  Confusion furrowing his brow, Aiden looked up. “Why?”

  “We’re ruining their night.”

  “But there aren’t any other tables.”

  “We’ll stand at the counter.” He nodded to Vivi. “It was a pleasure, my lady.” Then he strode off, and Aiden had the good sense to grab his mug and follow.

  “Did you not tell her?” Mick asked. He’d been the first brought to Ettie Trewlove’s door, the first she’d taken in and kept as her own, and he’d always viewed himself as the eldest, even though none of them knew precisely when they were born, didn’t know the exact order in which they’d come into the world.

  “Finn’s parentage matters not one whit to me,” Vivi said with all the grandeur of a queen passing down a decree.

  “It’ll matter a great deal to your father.”

  “Go to bloody hell, Mick,” Finn uttered through clenched teeth, striving to rein in his temper before he sent his balled fist flying toward that chin that few people knew sported a deep dimple much like his father’s because his brother kept it hidden beneath his thick beard.

  Mick gave a brusque nod before shoving himself to his feet. “Lady Vivi.”

  “It’s Lavinia,” she said.

  Another nod from his brother as though he’d suspected her name wasn’t as simple as the one by which Finn had introduced her. “Enjoy what remains of your evening.”

  Finn waited until he could no longer hear the tread of his brother’s big feet before looking at Vivi. “I’m sorry you had to learn that about me the way you did. Mick has always taken the circumstances of his birth personally.”

  She placed her warm hand over his balled fist resting beside his tankard, and he wondered when she’d removed her gloves. “I spoke true, Finn. I don’t care.”

  Relaxing his hand, turning his palm up, he unfurled his fingers and threaded them through hers. “I should have told you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I thought you might want nothing more to do with me.”

  “Silly Finn.” Lifting their joined hands, she pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Whenever she went away for the winter, she always returned changed, but this time the differences in her seemed more pronounced, as though she’d shed the cloak of youth.

  There was still an innocence to her, but not a childishness. Her purity was a product of her life, her upbringing. She was sheltered and protected; he found no fault with that. He didn’t want her to have to experience the harshness of his world.

  “Tell me everything,” she said softly. “How you came to have your family.”

  “Not here.” The din wasn’t made for sharing something so private and personal. If he was honest, he wasn’t certain he wanted to look into her eyes as he told her, didn’t want to see the sorrow or the shock or the disgust. The darkness would better suit the telling. “Do you like the wine?”

  She laughed lightly. Her laughter always managed to reach into his soul, tickle it, warm it. “I haven’t even tried it.”

  He watched as she lifted her glass, sipped, and the delicate muscles of her throat worked. Then her tongue gathered up the lingering drops from her lips as he longed to do. “It’s quite tasty.”

  “Would you like to try beer?”

  With a nod, she pressed her teeth into her bottom lip and her eyes twinkled as though he’d asked her to do something truly naughty. He wished he had. He scooted the tankard toward her, again mesmerized by the delicate way in which she drank. Then chuckled low as her face scrunched up, an expression that would have looked ghastly on any other woman but was endearing on her. It made him want to lean over and kiss those puckered lips.

  “It’s so bitter,” she exclaimed.

  “I suppose you have to develop a taste for it. Perhaps we’ll try the brandy later.”

  She glanced around. “Do you spend a lot of time here?”

  “Most evenings. Not much else to do otherwise.”

  “I can’t imagine it. My evenings are filled with readings, and recitals, and theater. Then this year, of course, there will be balls and dinners. I fear I might not be able to meet you every Tuesday.”

  “I’ll be waiting all the same.”

  “I hate for you to waste your time. We could have a signal—drapes drawn aside or a candle in the window.”

  “We don’t need a signal, Vivi. Waiting for you brings me pleasure. If you don’t come, I missed out on a pint. Where’s the harm in that?”

  “Oh, Finn.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Things are changing between us.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the changes might be more than she realized. “If you don’t want them to, then tell me not to wait for you ever again.”

  “It just about kills me not to see you when we’re at the estate. I think I would die if I didn’t see you when I was in London.”

  He knew with certainty that he would if he couldn’t see her, but he feared frightening her away if she knew the depths of his feelings, so he grinned cockily. “Then see me you shall.”

  “I’m ever so glad you brought me here. Now on the nights when I’m not with you, I can envision you within these walls, arguing with your brothers. Laughing with your sister.” Her brow furrowed. “Where’s your other sister?”

  “Fancy? Probably abed. She’s just a child.” She was only nine, having come late into their mum’s life. She was the only one to whom Ettie Trewlove had given birth, the result of a man taking advantage. While he and his brothers had been only fourteen when she was born, they’d made a vow to protect her, their mum, and any other woman who was treated unfairly by unscrupulous men.

  “I do want to know how your family came to be.”

  It wasn’t
an uplifting tale, but he owed her the story.

  “Years ago, my mum advertised to take in by-blows for a fee,” he said quietly, holding Lavinia against his side as they lay on his jacket in her family’s gardens, near the corner brightened with the colorful pansies—not that he could see that, of course, because it was dark. But it was her favorite place to sit and ruminate, and now when she was here, she would think of him.

  They’d stayed at the tavern until it closed. She’d tried scotch—which burned her throat—and brandy—which made the inside of her nose tickle but had a warmer feel to it as it went down, and she rather liked it. All the while she’d felt his brothers scrutinizing them and thought she might have a notion regarding how someone had felt being left in the stocks all day, back when people were shamed in such a manner. She’d ignored them as much as possible, because she wanted a pleasant evening with Finn. He was all that mattered.

  “Mick was brought to her first. Then Aiden, then six weeks later me. The man who brought me was the same one who brought Aiden. Cocky bugger. Didn’t even bother to hide the crest on his carriage.”

  Her heart kicked against her ribs so hard she suspected he felt it. “Your father is an aristocrat? Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be associated with him.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I don’t know anything about her. Since he had two by-blows delivered within weeks of each other, we assumed he had more than one mistress. Aiden follows him around occasionally, knows he keeps more than one mistress on hand at a time, has even spoken with him. But I have no interest in him whatsoever. He’s not the sort with whom I want to associate—a man who treats women abominably, who gets rid of his children without compunction.”

  She couldn’t believe it. “He just . . . he just gave you away?”

  “Never looked back. Never checked on us. Paid our mum fifteen pounds for each of us.” He chuckled low. “Asked if he could pay a lower fee for me since she already had one of his bastards. Mum made him pay full price.”

  “That’s horrid.”

  Rolling over until he was facing her, he cradled her cheek, stroked his thumb along the corner of her mouth. “That’s one of the reasons I didn’t tell you. It’s not a happy tale, but my mum—Ettie Trewlove—she’s been good to me. She loves us, all of us, and made us into a family. Not all baby farmers care about the babes brought to them. They’re just business. She cares, so I’ve been fortunate in that regard.”

  “She’s the fortunate one. To have you.” And she couldn’t help but think she’d be fortunate as well if she could have him—even knowing that she couldn’t, that it was an impossibility. But he was hers at this very moment, secluded as they were, with no one to know what they were about. Her heart ached for him, for all the doubts that had to plague him. She couldn’t imagine being cast aside, needed to reassure him that his revelations had not changed her feelings for him—

  But even as she thought it, she realized they had changed. They’d grown deeper. What a remarkable person he was to rise above such a sordid beginning. Lifting her hand, she curled it around his neck as she leaned in and captured his mouth, declaring it and him as her own.

  As his growl reverberated around them, he didn’t hesitate to open his mouth to her, and she took advantage, deepening the kiss, striving to communicate with a passionate sweep of her tongue how much she adored him, how his past mattered only to the extent that it had shaped him into someone she loved.

  And she did love him. It frightened her to consider how much she did. She couldn’t give voice to the words. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Eventually, she would have to honor a pact her father had made. But not now, not at this moment.

  So she kissed him with fervor and joy and heartache, and didn’t object when his hand cradled her breast and squeezed. Or when he lowered his mouth to the taut pearl and closed his mouth over it, the heat sending warmth spiraling through her, pooling between her thighs. Clutching the back of his head, she held him where he was, wishing no cloth separated the silkiness of her skin from the velvety roughness of his tongue. She sighed and moaned and knew she was being a wicked girl, but it all felt so marvelous. Where was the harm in luxuriating for only a minute or perhaps two?

  Then his lips were back on hers, and she was dragging her fingers through his hair. She almost gave voice to these feelings that wanted to burst forth like the fireworks she’d seen lighting the sky at Cremorne Gardens.

  Eventually, he was the one who showed restraint, who drew back, and looked down on her. “Next Tuesday,” he whispered, a vow, a benediction.

  And she wondered how she could possibly go that long without seeing him and remain sane.

  Sitting in the Mermaid, downing his third pint of beer, Finn admitted he hated every night of the week except Tuesday. This night was Wednesday, the night after he’d brought Vivi here. He wanted to bring her again, wanted to take her somewhere else. He wanted to experience all manner of adventures with her.

  He barely stirred when a chair was pulled out, spun around, and Aiden dropped into his line of vision, crossing his arms over the back of the chair. “What were you thinking last night to bring that lass here? She’s an earl’s daughter.”

  “I’m an earl’s son.”

  “You’re an earl’s bastard. He’s never acknowledged you, and he’s never going to. Your mother was his mistress—”

  “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything about her. We just assume that to be the case because he had two by-blows to deliver in short order. She could have been a servant or some lord’s daughter.”

  “What? Are you wishing on stars now, thinking if you take a piece of him and a piece of your mother that you can make yourself a whole that’s worthy of her? It’s folly, Finn. She’s folly. Nothing good will come of this.”

  Chapter 6

  1871

  Nothing good would come from his going after her, but damn her to hell, he’d not be bested by the traitorous chit.

  Before the pain had fully subsided, he caught his breath and forced himself to his feet. Drawing on vast reserves of determination, he raced after her, not having to go far before spying her. She walked at a brisk clip, but continually glanced around, searching for any dangers. The girl he’d known hadn’t been so self-sufficient, so aware. What had transpired in the years since he’d seen her? He fought not to care, not to wonder.

  Slowing his pace, quietening his steps, he managed to catch up with her rather sooner than she probably would have liked. The irritation fairly flowed off her in waves. He’d always been able to read her so well. It was the reason her betrayal had come as such a surprise. He’d been caught completely unawares and, in the end, had felt like a lamb led to slaughter—considering his occupation at the time, the comparison seemed more than appropriate.

  She quickened her pace. He followed suit. “You can’t outrace me.”

  Stopping abruptly, she swung around and plowed her fist into his shoulder, knocking him back two steps. He furrowed his brow. “Where did you learn to land a punch like that?”

  “None of your business. Now leave me be.”

  “You just happen to be going the same way I am.” Since he was planning to go the same way she did. He despised his curiosity, his need to once again know everything about her. Mentally, he shook his head. He hadn’t known everything about her before. He’d only thought he had.

  “Then cross the street. Walk on the other side.”

  “What’s the matter? Finding it difficult to resist kissing me?”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever kiss you again.” Once more, she began marching forward, a soldier on her way into battle—or striving to leave the battle behind. But he was spoiling for a fight, had been from the moment he’d first clapped eyes on her after eight long years.

  It irritated the devil out of him that she was more beautiful now than when he’d last seen her and they’d made promises to each other, promises broken mere hours l
ater. The years, maturity, had added a grace to her that she’d not possessed at seventeen when he’d declared his love for her. It further vexed him that his body—his traitorous cock—reacted to her nearness.

  Once more he fell into step beside her, heard her harsh sigh, took perverse pleasure in knowing his presence upset her. Good. He began to whistle a tune he’d tried to forget, one he’d heard at a ball when she had waltzed in his arms. He wondered if she remembered the moment with fondness or if it ripped into her heart the way it tore into his. She’d played him for a fool. No memory of her should be pleasing to recall but there were still nights when he lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling because when he closed his eyes he saw her.

  Five years of his life spent in isolation and the only thing to keep him company, to keep him sane, were memories of her. They’d sustained him. Originally, he’d called them forth to fuel his need for revenge, for retribution, but the loneliness had increased until he transformed the memories into dreams of what his life would be after prison. They gave him hope that love awaited him somewhere, that a woman would again smile at him, laugh with him, fill him with joy.

  He hated her because she’d filled him with so much joy and then snatched it away. Spoiled, pampered daughter of an earl. Not looking so spoiled now though, was she?

  He should leave her to the thieves, drunkards, and miscreants. But the thought of any man laying so much as a finger on her filled him with a fury that shook him to his core. She was no longer his, had never really been his, and yet a foolish part of him couldn’t forget that once upon a time she had very nearly been, that couldn’t forget the girl she’d been.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked.

  “Pardon?”

  She sighed with irritation, but he didn’t know if she was irritated with herself for asking or with him for making her ask it again. “How did you know I was here? Thornley tell you?”

  “No. Gillie did.” The duke had given his sister a miniature of the woman who’d left him at the altar because Gillie had been striving to help him locate her. All they knew was that she’d come to Whitechapel. Not why or exactly where.