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

by Lorraine Heath

  “He accused me of stealing a horse.”

  She thought she might be ill. “How could he do that? How could he lie?”

  “Perhaps he thought he was protecting you.”

  “Me? No. If anything it was his reputation he was striving to keep unsullied. The shame he would have endured if it was learned his daughter ran off with a commoner.” She squeezed his hands. “I saw nothing in the newspaper about your arrest.”

  “I think your father ensured it wasn’t mentioned in the paper at all. Or perhaps my siblings saw to that. It wouldn’t help any of their businesses if word got out that a Trewlove was a thief. At the time, I didn’t bloody well care.”

  Because he’d thought it was what she’d wanted. It took everything within her not to wail at the injustice of it. Then the tears were burning her eyes again.

  “No more tears, Vivi. It breaks my heart to see you weep.”

  “But it hurts, Finn. It hurts to know he did this to you and I didn’t know. I thought you’d abandoned me, and it was I who abandoned you.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “But I feel as though somehow I should have. I was angry at you, but my anger was misplaced. It should have been directed at my father and now he’s no longer here to endure my wrath.” She wished she could call her father out, make him tell her everything he’d arranged, but he’d passed away a few years ago. “Prison must have been absolutely horrid for you.”

  “Better than what was originally planned for me: transportation.”

  She knew criminals were sometimes transported away from England’s shores, to Australia. “How did you manage to avoid that punishment?”

  “Aiden. He had a word with our father, convinced him to use his influence to see my sentence changed, reduced. I’m not exactly sure how he managed it, what he might have traded for the favor. He won’t talk about it, won’t tell me what price he paid, but I know it cost him dearly, simply because he won’t talk about it, doesn’t want me feeling beholden.” He traced a finger along a line on her palm as though he’d only just discovered it. “But I feel it just the same.”

  And now she owed Aiden as well for what he’d done to spare his brother a worse fate, a fate that had come about because of her. “That night, my mother had come to my bedchamber, unexpectedly, shortly before midnight. She didn’t seem surprised to find me still dressed, but then she hardly paid enough attention to me to notice things like that, so I thought nothing of it. She wanted to talk about”—she dug her fingertips into her forehead, trying to force herself to think more clearly, to recall exactly what was said—“my giving a recital, so Thornley could hear me perform. I played along, pretended I thought it was a splendid idea, and deep inside I was shouting with glee because I’d never have to perform again. I would never have to take on a role I didn’t want.”

  “Were you already betrothed to him when you agreed to marry me?”

  She shook her head. “No. Our fathers had signed an agreement, but he had yet to ask for my hand. Neither of us was in any hurry. I think we knew we weren’t truly suited. Although earlier this year we did try to force it. We made it official and became betrothed in June. However, in the end, I couldn’t see it through.” She looked at him as earnestly as possible, not bothering to disguise her fury. “Mother must have been in on whatever Father was planning, must have come to my room to purposely delay my departure. How could they be so treacherous, so cruel? Then to keep it all from me.

  “And then my maid, equally to blame. I’m convinced it was her. When I thought you hadn’t shown, she consoled me—ah, the cheek of her. She convinced me if I gave a gentleman the milk, he wasn’t likely to purchase the cow.”

  “Ah, Vivi. If you believe nothing else, believe this. Having tasted the milk, I damned well wanted the cow.”

  A burst of laughter escaped her, and she covered her mouth. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d laughed, but his eyes were twinkling with merriment as though he was remembering a happier, more joyful time.

  Very slowly, as though he feared she might skitter away, he reached out and touched a finger to her lips. “I always loved your laughter.”

  “I’ve kept it locked away for a good many years now.”

  He stroked his thumb over her lower lip, and she nearly drew it into her mouth, remembering the saltiness of his skin and how much she’d enjoyed it, but now was not the time. They were both wounded, only now coming to realize the weapons used to inflict the damage were different than they’d thought. He placed his hand back in hers.

  “Was prison terribly awful?”

  “Lonely. They sent me to Pentonville. It’s supposed to be a model prison, but it’s just cruel. We lived in isolation. When we went for walks in the prison yard, we had to wear brown hoods and weren’t allowed to speak to each other. Men went mad, Vivi. For a while, I thought I would.”

  “Oh my God.” She brought his hand up to her lips, pressed a kiss against his knuckles, wanted to weep once again for all he’d endured. “I’m so sorry, Finn. If I could do it over, I’d have not told a soul.”

  “Then how would you have gotten dressed for our outing to Gillie’s pub?”

  He was striving to make her feel better, but how could she when she now knew what he’d suffered?

  “I spent a lot of time thinking about that night and how pretty you looked.”

  She was relatively certain, based on the warmth penetrating her cheeks, that she was blushing. “I’d have thought you’d have preferred me in a ball gown.”

  “That night was more for dreams.”

  It had been. A magical, fantastical night. When they’d danced together. When he’d come to her bedchamber.

  “I’m actually surprised your brothers didn’t confront me,” she said.

  “I forbid it, convinced them I’d see to the matter once I was free.”

  “But you didn’t confront me once you were free.”

  He shrugged. “After five years, I simply wanted to forget.”

  “I can’t blame you.”

  Leaning in, he cradled her cheek. “Now I find I wasted three more years. If I’d gone to you and demanded an explanation, we’d have learned the truth so much sooner. You’d have been back in my life. We could have picked up where we’d left off.”

  She wasn’t quite as confident of that outcome as he was. She’d gone through a lot during those five years he was in prison, things that had irrevocably changed her. If he learned of them, he might realize he no longer had a care for her at all.

  “Miss Kent?”

  At the sound of Sister Theresa’s voice, she leaped to her feet, nearly knocking the chair over in the process, vaguely aware of Finn standing, more aware of his gaze boring into her even though she couldn’t see it, but the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was no doubt confused by how she’d been addressed, but she’d never admitted to those here that she was of the nobility. “Oh, Sister. You startled me.”

  “It’s a bit late for a gentleman caller.”

  Her heart still jumping around in her chest, she nodded frantically. “Mr. Trewlove rescued me tonight when I was attacked by some thugs. I was thanking him with some tea.” Which she hoped the sister didn’t notice had not been made. “A paltry offering in exchange for my life, but there you are.”

  “I do wish you would cease with these excursions late at night,” Sister Theresa admonished.

  “I’ll take better care in the future. I’m going to see Mr. Trewlove out now.” Turning to Finn, she indicated the door.

  “Sister,” he said flatly.

  “Mr. Trewlove, your family is quite well known in Whitechapel. Which one precisely are you?”

  “Finn.”

  “Have we met before? Something about you seems familiar.”

  “Not that I can recall, Sister.”

  “Well, I often mistake people for someone I’ve seen. We appreciate your rescuing of Miss Kent. She is quite beloved by all here. Good night, sir. Go with God.”

>   Lavinia followed Finn out onto the stoop. “I’m sorry things came to such an abrupt end there, but I don’t think she’d have left the room with you still present.”

  “Stop apologizing, Vivi.” He grinned, the familiar grin from his youth. “Besides, I can always sneak back in.”

  “I share a room with one of the sisters.”

  “Pity.”

  She combed her fingers through his hair. “I’m so terribly sorry for what my family did to you. And those words seem so lacking, so inadequate.”

  “What do we do now, Vivi?”

  “We return to our separate lives.”

  “You don’t think we can start where we left off?”

  “No. If you felt half as much anger, resentment, and . . . hatred as I felt toward you these eight years, if it festered within you as it did within me, then I don’t think there’s a path for us. We’ve changed, Finn, you know we have. The circumstances changed us. We’re not the people we were. My parents, damn them both to hell, saw to that.”

  Bringing her hand down, she cradled his jaw. “But know this: I did love you once, with all my heart. And that night, I fully intended to leave with you.”

  The Cerberus Club never closed its doors, so Finn knew he’d find his brother somewhere within the walls of his gaming hell. If not in his office, then in the room where he slept. Aiden lived and breathed his club. The only time he wasn’t about was when he stopped by Gillie’s tavern for a pint.

  As he walked through the varied rooms, he noted that business was brisk tonight, but then it always was. The club drew commoner and the less influential of the nobility—second sons, third, fourth, as well as those who were no longer given credit at the more respectable gambling hells or had lost their memberships completely. Even a few women were about, matching their skills against the men surrounding them. As far as Aiden was concerned, coins were neutral. He cared nothing at all about the hand that surrendered them. He cared only that they were surrendered.

  He finally caught sight of his brother standing on the upper landing, looking out over his domain, exuding the same amount of confidence and power that Zeus might have as he observed the world from Mount Olympus. Everyone knew he was not a man to be crossed. Something about him had always said he was one to be reckoned with, even when he’d been a boy, playing the pea game on the street, taking money from people who thought they could determine under which of three cups he’d placed the pea. But his hands were always too quick—not in moving the cups, but in removing the pea without his actions being spotted.

  Finn made his way up some hidden stairs that only those who worked for Aiden knew about and had access to. When he reached the landing, he wandered over to where his brother stood. “Good crowd tonight, even for the wee hours of the morning.”

  “Tonight’s take will see me bathing in whisky. How was your night?”

  “Enlightening. I wondered if I might have a word.”

  “Certainly.”

  Finn glanced around. “I was thinking someplace more private.”

  Aiden chuckled low. “No one can hear us here.”

  “No, but they can see us, and you’re not the best at holding on to your temper.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. We’re not going to tussle, are we?”

  More than once they’d settled their differences with their fists. “I hope not, but it depends on how reasonable you are.”

  Aiden grinned. “Where’s the fun in being reasonable?”

  Still, he led the way down a corridor to his office and took the chair behind his desk, while Finn took the one in front. It was leather, thickly padded, extremely comfortable. Aiden did like his creature comforts.

  “You’ve never answered before when I asked, but tonight I have a need to know. What bargain did you make with our father to ensure I wasn’t transported?”

  His brother’s brow knitted even as he waved his hand over his desk as though shooing away a pesky fly. “Don’t worry yourself over it. I’ve told you before I paid it gladly.”

  “Aiden, some information has come to light about the night I was arrested, and I feel a sudden need to know everything about that time. I didn’t press on a lot of it because it was unpleasant to face—or I thought it would be. I’ve discovered that letting things lie has proven to be a great disservice to a good many. Please. What was the bargain you struck?”

  Aiden leaned back in his chair, dropped his head back, and stared at the ceiling. Finally, he released a great gust of air, lowered his head, and met Finn’s gaze head-on. “Sixty percent share of my profits from the Cerberus Club.”

  “You’re not serious. You can’t have been daft enough—”

  Aiden shot out of the chair. “He wasn’t going to do a bloody thing to help you, not lift so much as a goddamned finger. You’re his son! I don’t give a fig that we were born on the wrong side of the blanket. He shouldn’t care that we’re not legitimate. He fucked our mothers, and then thought to be done with us by placing a few quid in Ettie Trewlove’s hand? It doesn’t work like that. His blood is in our veins.” He was breathing heavily, harshly. This was one area where they’d never agreed—Aiden resented their father with every bone in his body while Finn couldn’t have cared less about the scapegrace. “The authorities were going to send you to the far side of the world. I couldn’t let them do that.” He dropped back into the chair. “I knew his finances were in dire straits, so I used his difficulties to get what I wanted, what I needed.”

  “But sixty percent—”

  He shrugged. “I offered fifty. He’s a hard bargainer, our damned sire, more of a bastard than either of us. But it was worth it, Finn. I’d have gone as high as ninety.”

  “And you call me a fool.”

  “I love you, brother.”

  Seemingly embarrassed by his last declaration, Aiden busied himself pouring whisky into two glasses. “You’re all I have.”

  “You have Mick and Beast and—”

  “It’s not the same.” He shoved a glass across the desk to Finn. “Their blood is not my blood. Don’t misunderstand. I love them, I’d die for them. But you and I have a bond that goes far deeper than anything I share with them.”

  After swallowing some whisky, he set down the glass, ran his finger along the rim. Finn could fairly see the wheels turning in his mind. “Why the curiosity tonight?” he finally asked. “You asked when you got out of prison, were content with me not saying. Why insist tonight? What’s this information that came to light?”

  “She didn’t betray me, Aiden.”

  “Ah, God. Are we talking Finn’s Folly here? You’ve seen her, spoken with her? What good will come from that? Besides, the cunning bitch would lie—”

  “She wouldn’t, not to me. And don’t call her anything disparaging. I won’t have it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “If she didn’t betray you, then who did?”

  “She believes it might have been her maid. She was the only other person who knew we planned to run off together.”

  “The maid.” He scoffed. “Toffs always blame the workers.”

  It was an odd thing that they both had such a low opinion of the aristocracy when two of their siblings had married into it and Finn had once fallen for a girl of it. “Maybe I was just careless.”

  “Not you, brother.”

  “I was younger then, Aiden. Not as cautious.”

  “You’ve always been cautious.”

  Finn wasn’t in the mood to argue. Taking a sip of whisky, he tried to recall how he’d been back then, how in his excitement to see Vivi, he’d often thrown caution to the wind. But Aiden was correct. He’d never been that reckless. He was no longer quite certain he could say the same of his brother. He took a slow swallow of the whisky, waited as it burned its way down. “So how long do you have to give our bastard of a sire sixty percent?”

  “Into infinity.”

  “Christ, Aiden.”

  He laughed. “Do you know I’ve actually considered hiring some deal
ers who are skilled with sleight of hand, who could ensure the house loses? To lose everything, to deny him anything more?”

  “But you love this place.”

  “I do, that.”

  “Perhaps we could transfer your debt to him over to me.”

  “You’re not giving him a penny. Avoid him, Finn. He’ll find a way to make you pay what you don’t owe. He’s good at that.”

  He nodded. “Life’s not fair. Our mum’s husband appeared to be a good man, and he died young. The earl is a scapegrace of the first order and still draws in breath.”

  “I’ll get even with him eventually. Don’t concern yourself over it. Simply leave it to me. Are you gonna marry the girl now?”

  Shaking his head, Finn took another swallow, welcomed the burn, waited for the haze it might bring. “She feels responsible for what happened to me. She says we’ve both changed too much, aren’t who we once were. She’s right about that. I loved the girl she was. I’m not sure how I feel about the woman she’s become. She’s different. There’s a hardness to her, and yet a generosity. I can’t figure her out. I don’t understand why she’s chosen this path.”

  “You sound like a man smitten.”

  “Intrigued, more like. You’d have to see her again, Aiden, to know what I’m talking about.”

  “I have no desire to come within a hundred miles of her.”

  “Yes, well, that desire’s been dashed. She’s living at a Sisters of Mercy foundling home not so far from here.”

  “She can’t be happy there.”

  “Oddly, she seems at peace there.”

  “Smitten,” Aiden grumbled disgustedly.

  “I’m not.” He wasn’t but couldn’t deny there had been something comforting about sitting at the wooden table in the warm kitchen, holding hands, talking with her. He’d once imagined them together in a house, her preparing his meals. It had never occurred to him that a lady of the nobility might know nothing at all about how food was prepared. How young and innocent he’d been. If they’d married, they’d have no doubt starved to death. What had he been thinking to believe she’d have been content to live in the squalor he’d had to offer her?