“It’s all right, Finn,” she whispered softly. “Like your time in prison, it was long ago.”
“But it never leaves you, not completely. Jesus, Vivi.” It seemed taking the Lord’s name in vain was all he was capable of at the moment. Then something occurred to him and he leaned back, studying her features. “What about Thornley? What the devil was he doing during all this? Why didn’t he stop it?” He was going to have a quiet word with his brother-by-marriage. A quiet word and a hard punch.
“He didn’t know. No one knew. Not even my brother. Mother told them I was traveling the continent with an old aunt. It wouldn’t do at all for it to be known their daughter had gone mad. Thorne wasn’t responsible for me yet, Finn. You can’t blame him.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Three years. Dear God. He knew exactly how long three years were when they were lived with no freedom. If her father weren’t already dead, he’d meet with him tonight and put him in the ground. “Thornley didn’t find it odd that you were away for three years?”
“He was in no hurry to marry, was sowing his oats. I think he rather found it a relief that no serious courtship was yet called for.”
“If I’d known—”
“What could you have done, Finn? From prison?”
He’d have found a way to escape, to save her. Having never felt so impotent in his entire life, he skimmed his knuckles along her soft cheek, searching for solace for them both. “How did you even survive something like that?”
“It wasn’t quite as bad as it could have been. Oh, there were the occasional ice baths and restraints. But as long as I was quiet and calm, I seemed merely to baffle the alienists. They couldn’t quite determine what was wrong with me. And I learned to fight, because while I might have tried to remain docile, not everyone did.”
He couldn’t imagine it, the terror she must have felt, the horrors she must have experienced.
“It’s an odd world, Finn. There was one girl in particular who took an immediate dislike to me. She would attack for no reason. Yank on my hair or punch me in the stomach. Yell that I was a beast. I don’t know. Maybe in her mind she saw monsters.
“Then there was this man, called himself d’Artagnan—I never learned his real name. Anyway, he started my lessons on using the rapier. Only we used broom handles. And he taught me how to use my fists, how to fight dirty. Other than believing himself to be captain of the musketeers I never saw any madness in him. After I returned home, I went back to see him, once, but they told me his family had come for him. They wouldn’t tell me who he was. Sometimes I like to imagine that perhaps he was needed in France.”
Those brave words uttered tore into his heart—that she would strive to make it sound as though it were all normal. He cupped her cheek. “I want to commit murder.”
She gave him an understanding smile. “I know. That’s the reason I made you give me a promise not to harm my mother.” Gently, she placed her hand over his heart. “Every now and then, I see bits of the boy you were, the one I loved so desperately. I knew that part of you would not take well to this news.”
“Do you think if you go home, she’ll send you back there?”
“To be honest, I don’t know what she will do. But I am tired of fighting her. I want to live my own life on my own terms. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past three months, since I left poor Thornley standing at the altar. He’s madly in love with your sister, you know.”
“As well he should be. She’s a catch, our Gillie.”
She smiled, and he wished he could keep that smile on her face forever. “But are you happy, Vivi?”
“As happy as I can be based on all that’s happened the past eight years. Yes, I wear someone else’s discarded clothing. Some of it is a bit frayed and tattered and has been mended countless times. I have to dress and bathe myself. My comforts are fewer. Nonexistent, really, if I’m honest. But no one tells me what I can or can’t do. All the decisions are mine. It’s going to sound silly, Finn, but what I feel is . . . free.” She rolled her eyes. “To a degree. I haven’t yet determined how to convince my brother to stop searching for me. And I need to find some sort of employment that will allow me to do more than I’m doing now. But it’ll all come in time.” She placed her hand over his where it still rested against her face. “Tell me you’re happy.”
He didn’t want to lie to her. How could he be happy when all he’d ever wanted was her, and all she now wanted was the freedom to do as she pleased? He’d been imprisoned only five years, but was beginning to understand that she’d been imprisoned her entire life. Drawing her in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m getting there.”
Chapter 15
It was the hand covering the Earl of Collinsworth’s mouth that brought him out of a deep sleep, the tiny prick of pain at the underside of his jaw that kept him still as he slowly opened his eyes. The man staring down at him lifted the dagger from where it poked Collinsworth, pressed a finger of the hand holding the weapon to his pursed lips as his head bent slightly in the direction where the countess slept peacefully, completely unaware of the drama playing out beside her.
The intruder’s message was clear: cooperate or she will suffer.
Collinsworth gave a barely perceptible nod of understanding, fairly certain his tormentor could feel the hard thudding of his heart causing a reverberation through his body. The intruder slowly lifted his hand from the earl’s mouth and stepped back. With his fingers, he indicated Collinsworth should leave the bed.
He did wish he’d slipped back into his nightshirt after making love to his wife, but he much preferred the feel of his naked flesh against hers as they slept. On the other hand, he knew himself to be an impressive specimen of manhood. Perhaps he could intimidate after all. Carefully he slipped out from beneath the covers, striving desperately not to awaken the love of his life. Once his feet hit the carpeted floor, he straightened to his full height.
The intruder seemed far from impressed, his gaze barely dipping to that in which the earl took such pride. Instead he grabbed the dressing gown from the foot of the bed where it lay in wait and tossed it to Collinsworth, before signaling that the earl should precede him out the door.
Once in the hallway and adequately covered, with the door closed, Collinsworth turned on him. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I want a word,” the scapegrace said in a tone he might use when asking for someone to pass the salt. “The library.”
Collinsworth had taken as much ordering about as he intended. “This room will suffice.” He opened the door to a bedchamber opposite his, turned on the gaslights, and stood in the center of the room with his arms across his chest, waiting as the intruder followed him in and closed the door. He narrowed his gaze. “You’re a Trewlove, aren’t you? I saw you at your brother’s wedding, but I don’t believe we’ve ever been properly introduced.”
“Finn.”
Hardly a proper introduction, but his heartbeat had returned to a calmer pumping. He couldn’t imagine a family striving for acceptance among the nobility was going to risk it by killing a member of said nobility. “What is your purpose in breaking into my residence, into my bedchamber?”
“I want you to call off your hounds.”
“My hounds?” The man was making no sense. “I don’t keep my hounds in London.”
Finn sighed, rolled his eyes. “The dogs you hired to find Lady Lavinia.”
Collinsworth swept a hand through the air as though shooing away an irritating fly. “I called them off weeks ago at Thornley’s urging.” The duke had seen his sister and assured him she was well, living a life she desired. It made no sense whatsoever to Collinsworth, but he’d dismissed the men he’d hired to find her.
“Did you inform her of that?” The anger in Finn’s tone was palpable enough to cause Collinsworth to take a step back in fear he was on the verge of becoming intimate with the fellow’s fist.
“I have no idea where to
find her in order to get a missive to her.” He narrowed his eyes as a possibility dawned. “It’s you. You’re the one from her youth.”
He’d known only that when she was seventeen, during her first Season, she’d become involved with someone entirely inappropriate. His father had taken some sort of action to ensure the scoundrel—as the previous earl repeatedly referred to the person—never again bothered Lavinia or the family. Collinsworth had known none of the details, only that his father had arranged transportation for the fellow. His sire had then sent Collinsworth to a remote estate for a year to test his mettle at managing it. When he’d finally returned to London, it was to find that his sister was off touring the continent. His parents had hoped the time away would make her forget about the young man and more amiable to seeing to her duty of marrying Thorne upon her return. Only she didn’t return for three years, not until their father passed. Thorne, naturally, had never been told about the young man. But as he’d still been enjoying his own pursuits, in no hurry to wed, all had worked out. Or so they’d all believed, until Lavinia left him standing at the altar.
Rather than acknowledge the obvious, Finn said, “You’re going to write her a letter and I’ll deliver it.”
“You know where she is?” Trewlove simply stared. Collinsworth sighed. “Of course you do. Is she well? At least tell me that.”
“Well enough. She’ll do better once she knows no one is looking for her.”
“Tell her to come home. All will be forgiven.”
His expression was one of disgust and fury. “She’s done naught for which she needs forgiveness.”
Ah, yes, he was definitely the chap from her youth—or perhaps he was a recent conquest—but it was obvious he cared deeply for her. For some reason, Collinsworth felt a measure of relief to know this man was watching out for her. “We’re not going to the country until she is back within the bosom of the family. We keep thinking she’ll come to her senses—”
“There’s nothing wrong with her senses. Now get that damn letter written.”
An hour later, Finn stood in Vivi’s bedchamber, watching as she slept. Unlike her companion in the room whose snoring reminded him of the arrival of a train, she was silent. In sleep, she looked almost as young and innocent as she had when he’d first met her—only now the tiniest of furrows creased her brow as though even in dreams she worried about the children or was reliving her time in a madhouse. He wished he could wipe away every moment of pain she’d ever experienced.
He glanced around at the sparse furnishings. Two beds that looked more like cots, small, narrow with plain wooden bedsteads and thin mattresses. A small plain pine table beside each bed. A washbasin, mirror, and one straight-backed wooden chair. Drab curtains at the window. Christ, the room was depressing.
As he set the letter her brother had written on the bedside table, he had little doubt she’d find employment elsewhere, that she could soon move into more comfortable lodgings now that she was free to move about as she desired without fear of being hauled off to her mother, who had treated her daughter so unconscionably cruelly. If she hadn’t extracted a vow from him earlier in the evening, he’d have paid a little visit to her mother as well. As he turned to leave, she whimpered. He froze, waited.
She made another sound, this one more desperate, more alarming. He glanced back at her. Her head had begun thrashing, her hands were fisted in the sheets. Small strangled whimpers escaped. He was familiar with those noises. He’d made them enough times in prison when locked in a nightmare where danger lurked. Within the gossamer shadows of the dream, he’d be striving to scream for help but it was as though his vocal cords were frozen, couldn’t function properly, and no one would ever be alerted to his distress.
He folded his hand over her shoulder, gave her the gentlest of shakes, leaned near, and whispered in her ear, “Shh, now. You’re safe. No one will ever harm you again.”
She quieted, stilled, and he left his hand where it was until her breathing slowed and deepened. He pressed his thumb to the pleats between her brows, rubbing them until they disappeared. With one last look at her, lost in peaceful slumber again, he crept on silent feet from the room, wondering how he could ensure the words he’d just spoken were a promise.
Lavinia awoke on a sigh. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept so well or felt so rested upon first opening her eyes. Perhaps she should attend a fete every night. It was still dark, but she knew dawn would be arriving soon because Sister Bernadette had lit the lamp and was going about her morning ablutions at the washbowl.
She remained beneath the covers, preparing herself for the briskness of the chill that would greet her, dreading the moment she placed her feet on the cold floor. If she ever had any extra coins, she was going to purchase rag rugs for each of the sisters so they could ease into the day. So much she had taken for granted—never having cold feet, for one.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself and pushed her way up—stopped. Stared at the letter resting on the bedside table, a letter with her name on it. She recognized the handwriting as her brother’s, and her breath caught. “Did Sister Theresa deliver this?” she asked, picking it up with care as though it were a hideous spider that would suddenly leap free and skitter over her.
“I don’t think so,” Sister Bernadette said. “It was there when I lit the lamp. Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning.” She settled back against her pillow and studied the letter, a small smile beginning to form. She had a strong suspicion she might know how it had come to be where she’d found it. Finn was still ever so skilled at breaking into bedchambers.
Turning it over, she slipped her thumb beneath the wax that bore the family crest and worked it free. She unfolded the paper and read the words.
My dear Lavinia,
I have called off the hounds—the two gentlemen I hired to find you. Actually, I did it weeks ago, but I didn’t know how to get word to you until your friend made his presence known and offered to deliver a message to you. So you are now free to go about your pursuits without worry that you will be snatched from the streets.
However, I do hope you will consider returning home. Mother worries terribly, as do I. I don’t know what objection you had to Thornley—I’ve always found his company to be top-notch—but be that as it may, I am certain we can find someone else more agreeable for you to marry. We will remain in the city until you are again in residence.
Your loving brother,
Neville
Clutching the letter to her chest, she felt as though a great weight had been lifted, as though she could float to the ceiling if she so desired. Bless Finn. What a glorious gift he’d given her, almost as grand as Sophie. She was free at last.
Later that morning, after finishing with the morning lessons, she was tapping the letter she’d written Finn on the desk, wondering how to get it to him. She had no idea where to find him. She supposed she could take it to his sister at the Mermaid and Unicorn and ask her to deliver it to him. Only she didn’t really want to send him a letter expressing her gratitude to him for what he’d done. She wanted to tell him in person. Which the letter she’d written indicated. I need to see you.—V.
Simple and sweet.
She did wish she’d asked him where he laid his head at night. The patter of tiny footsteps sounded just before Daisy charged into her office. She came to an abrupt stop, hopping from foot to foot, as though she needed to be taken to the loo. Her eyes brightened, her impish grin filling most of her face. “He brung the horse back, Miss Kent! ’N’ this time, it’s gots a saddle!”
She shouldn’t have felt such immense joy and yet she did. She wondered if he might like to have another outing. This time in Whitechapel. Yet even as she had the thought, she knew they needed to end their association. But it was so difficult when they were once again friends, in spite of the past.
She followed Daisy out into the garden to discover he’d not only brought Sophie but another horse, a fine chestnut spec
imen. She wasn’t surprised someone who’d once spent a good deal of his day calming horses would be the owner of good horseflesh.
In a grand gesture, he swept his flat-cap from his head. “Miss Kent.”
“Mr. Trewlove.” She couldn’t stop herself from moving up to Sophie and greeting her with a rub of her neck and a kiss on her forelock. “You brought her back, delighting the children once again.”
“Did my actions delight you?”
“You know I’m always delighted to see Sophie,” she said, giving him a teasing little smile. “However, with a saddle on her, it’s going to take most of the morning to give these children a ride.”
“The saddle is for you. I was hoping you’d accompany me somewhere.”
“Going about during the day is a bit risky. Or at least it was. I received a letter from my brother, so now I’m given to understand that no one is searching for me.”
“How fortunate for you.”
She angled her head thoughtfully. “You gave me your word you wouldn’t bother my family.”
“I vowed not to bother your mother. You’ll never know how hard that vow was to keep.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What did you do to my brother to prompt him into writing his letter?”
“Merely woke him from his slumber.”
“Is he now gallivanting about town wearing a splint?”
He grinned. She did so love his grins. “No. As he was an innocent in all this.”
“Yes, he was. Did he look well?”
“He looked put out to be disturbed. But I do think he is worried about you. I assured him you were where you wanted to be, doing what you wanted.” He tipped his head to the side. “Now, I’m hoping you’ll want to take a ride on Sophie.”
She did. Desperately. “She is my weakness.”
The air seemed a bit clearer today, the sun a bit brighter, as she rode Sophie slowly through the streets of London. It felt marvelous to have her beneath her.
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 17
