Coming to an abrupt halt, she faced him. “Why?”
“Because there was a time when I dreamed of you sleeping in my bed. Now you are—even if I’m not there.”
“But you want to be.”
He flashed a grin. “Indeed.” Taking her hand, he led her over to the edge of the landing where they could look down on the gaming floor. Perhaps a dozen women were scattered at various tables. “Imagine it, Vivi. A hundred women, laughing, having fun. Any chance we can move the date up? Make it happen next week?”
“There is a proper amount of time that must pass between when an invitation is dispatched and when the event is to occur.”
“But this place isn’t proper. It’s all about being improper. Shouldn’t our actions reflect that standard as much as our words?”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“We’ll stride through the gaming floor—”
“No, I won’t do that. I’m a secret partner in this endeavor.”
“Ashamed of it? Or ashamed of being seen with me?”
She was horrified by his conclusion. “Neither. But while no one at the tavern might have known who I was, the ladies I’ll be inviting certainly will. I don’t want to be part of that life any longer. I’m not well suited to it.” She sighed. “I’m tired. I think I shall retire.”
She began walking sedately toward her rooms, not at all surprised when he followed.
“Promise me you won’t be going out to meet with anyone.”
“I’ve already told you I have no appointments.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t be going out.”
Stopping at her door, she faced him. “I plan to do nothing more than curl up in bed and sleep soundly.” Possibly better than she had during the three months since she’d run off.
He slowly skimmed his fingers along her cheek. “I’ve been thinking about something Robin said. You’re very pretty.”
She doubted it, as she was rather certain her skin was turning blotchy with the blush that was creeping over it—if the warmth she suddenly felt was any indication.
“And I should kiss you,” he said quietly, his fingers ceasing their stroking and burrowing their way into her hair as his palm cradled her chin, her cheek.
“Finn.” She’d intended to voice an objection, but his name on her lips was little more than a breathy sigh, an invitation, a welcoming.
When his mouth touched hers, she gave in to all the desires and yearnings she’d been holding at bay and returned his kiss with an enthusiasm that mirrored his. His tongue stroked hers, then swirled about leaving no corner, no hollow, untouched. He was skilled at causing her body to react, to grow lethargic and warm, to tingle and curl in on itself. He sent nerve endings rioting and pleasure cascading. With so little effort.
It had always been thus between them, kindling waiting for the strike of a match. But somehow, now, everything seemed to burn hotter and brighter, threatened to consume until nothing remained except ash. And in the ash perhaps she would be reborn to love again, perhaps her heart would heal, perhaps the wounds would cease to fester, perhaps she would find the courage to confess everything.
Drawing away, he pressed his lips to the underside of her chin, to that lovely spot near her ear where his heated mouth when laid against it always turned her knees to jam. She seemed incapable of stopping the sigh of surrender from escaping.
“I want you, Vivi,” he whispered.
“You want the girl I was, and she no longer resides within me.”
Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “You’re wrong. It’s the woman I want, the woman you are now.”
She forced herself to flatten her hands against his chest and push him back until the air she breathed no longer carried his dark fragrance. “If all this, the partnership, was in hopes of getting into my bed, we should cancel it before we go any further.”
“It’s what you can offer my business not what you can offer me that spurred me toward offering you a stake in this place—but that doesn’t mean there can’t be more between us.”
Reaching up, she brushed the hair off his brow. “You wouldn’t find me attractive in the least if you knew everything that transpired since the night we were to run off together.”
“Then tell me.”
Rising up on her toes, she planted a kiss on the corner of that lovely mouth of his. “Good night, Finn.”
Turning, she opened the door, crossed the threshold, and closed the door behind her. She took three steps forward and waited, waited to see if he’d follow her in. She didn’t know if she’d find the strength to resist him if he did.
After several long minutes, still alone, she walked to the window and gazed out on the street, determined to remain strong against the allure that was Finn Trewlove.
Chapter 19
She’d nearly finished writing out the invitations when the seamstress arrived two days later, a couple of servants in tow carrying several boxes. She didn’t bother tamping down her excitement as she stood and—out of the corner of her eye—caught Finn’s smug expression. It seemed in the matter of clothing, he understood her better than she understood herself. She thought she’d resigned herself to wearing worn frocks, but now the prospect of wearing something that was hers again brought with it unexpected delight. Perhaps she hadn’t left her previous life behind as much as she’d hoped.
She led Beth and her girls into the living quarters, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for them to unpack the boxes, tossing aside the thin paper and carefully displaying her new wardrobe over various pieces of furniture.
A navy-blue frock with buttons up to the collar and at the cuffs. Smart. Sharp. Something perfect for a business owner. A gray frock with blue piping and a flounce here and there, something else a woman of business or one with a purpose would wear. Undergarments, corset, silk, and lace, ribbons and bows—
And lastly an evening gown, a froth of dark rose satin and taffeta with a low bodice and straps that would fall off her shoulders, leaving them bare for wandering lips to savor. It was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in ages. She had to clutch her fingers at her waist to stop herself from reaching for it. “I’m not in need of a ball gown.”
“You might be,” a deep voice said with authority and conviction.
Spinning around, she wasn’t surprised to find Finn leaning negligently in the doorway. She couldn’t remember if she’d closed the door in her excitement, not that it would have mattered. He had a way about him of moving stealthily and silently.
“You could change your mind about attending our soiree the night when all the ladies will be arriving to see what we’re offering,” he said, not giving her a chance to offer any sort of excuse for why the gown was unnecessary. “Besides, it’s been made now. I doubt Beth would find any of her other clients in want or need of it. It wouldn’t be fair to her to refuse it.”
“But the cost—”
“It’s a gift.”
“You’ve given me so many already.” Rescued her from women who would do her harm, men who would do worse. Lodgings, an occupation, a return of some dignity.
He shrugged. “Then what’s a small bit more?”
She didn’t know how she would repay him for all his kindnesses. “Yes, all right.”
At least he had the good graces not to gloat, but she could see that her response pleased him. And pleasing him seemed to please her as well. She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Off with you. I need to try everything on to see how well it fits.”
“I could stay and offer a second opinion on how well everything fits.”
She nearly burst out laughing at his innocent expression. “Don’t,” she whispered instead. Don’t make me fall in love with you all over again.
They’d changed once, and they would change again, and she didn’t know how one remained in love when people constantly changed. Success would change them, failure would change them more. All the trials, tribulations, and challenges that life would th
row at them—even without her family to muck things up—would eventually alter them.
He seemed to know what she was asking, what she was referring to, because he did little more than bow his head slightly, step into the hallway, and pull the door closed behind him.
“You’ll need to hire a maid to help you dress,” he told her an hour later after the dressmaker left and Vivi returned to his office wearing the light gray frock. He’d spent that time imagining her climbing in and out of each piece of lace and silk, envisioned helping her with the process, his cock becoming so stiff he’d feared he might have to take himself in hand just to get it under control—the inconsiderate bugger. Not that she was aware of his unconscionable state since the front of his desk provided a barrier from prying eyes, or any eyes for that matter.
“I suppose I shall,” she said as she took her place at the desk beside his. At present, his favorite place for her to be if he couldn’t have her in his arms. “Beth and her girls assisted me with getting into this. Very little additional sewing was needed on any of the clothing, merely a tuck here and a tuck there. She’s very skilled.” She twisted around, facing him, placing her elbow on her desk, her chin in her palm, very much resembling his pose, he realized. “She told me what you and your family did for her.”
“We’ve little tolerance for men taking advantage of their positions.”
“I’ve always felt safe with you. You won’t press me on what I’m not willing or ready to give.”
“There’s no pleasure in taking what isn’t freely given.” He grinned wolfishly. “Doesn’t mean I won’t test you to see where the boundaries are.”
“You’re a stubborn scoundrel.” She studied him for a minute, and he thought she might get up, come sit on his lap, and show him she was willing to stretch those boundaries, perhaps break them completely. “So you’re going to hire Robin to deliver these invitations?” She patted the stack on her desk.
“I am. He can start tomorrow.”
“He’s a bit young to be traipsing all over London.”
“I’ll borrow Mick’s carriage again. The driver can make certain Robin gets all the addresses correct. He likes to feel important, and he’ll deliver them with a great deal of earnestness.”
“How did he come to live in the tavern?”
“Gillie found him sleeping on the stoop one morning and took him in. He’s an independent bugger though, convinced his mum will come for him at the tavern.”
“Did you ever think your mother—the woman who gave birth to you—would come for you?”
He shook his head. “I had my mum. Ettie Trewlove. The woman who took me in. She loved me. I wanted for nothing more.”
“I wonder if most children are curious about their mothers.”
“I suspect it depends on whether or not they’re content where they are. It’s funny. Gillie and I never gave much thought to the people who were responsible for delivering us to Ettie Trewlove’s door. Mick and Aiden, however, care a tad too much. It worked out for Mick. I don’t know if Aiden will be as lucky.” And that bothered him, knowing his brother was striving to forge a relationship with their . . . father wasn’t the correct word. The man who had spilled his seed into their mothers.
“You have another brother—Beast. How does he feel about it?”
“Not really sure. He keeps his thoughts to himself for the most part.”
“I suppose he knows about your venture. I suppose they all do.”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“You’re fortunate in that regard, Finn. You’re accepted for who you are. My family has always strived to shape me into something I’m not.” Turning away from him, she placed a sheaf of parchment before her and dipped her pen into the inkwell. “Perhaps after our grand soiree I shall go have a word with them. I shouldn’t like to miss it should matters go awry.”
He wanted to reassure her, but fate had worked like a bloody devil in the past to prove to them that they weren’t meant to be together. Even knowing neither was to blame, she seemed hesitant to accept they could have a future. He needed to show her that they could. “Have dinner with me this evening,” he said. “In the dining room. We’ll close it off. It’ll only be us. We’ll sample the fare we’ll be offering, make certain it meets with your approval.”
She glanced over at him. “That’s a smashing idea, to make certain that aspect of the business is fit for ladies of quality.”
“Wear the rose gown.”
The gray was serviceable and as the dinner was more about business than pleasure, it would suffice. She told herself that for the remainder of the afternoon as she finished up the last of the invitations and divided them into the ones Robin could deliver in London and those that would need to be dispatched to the country. In spite of her leaving Society behind, she’d kept up with the gossip sheets and knew who was in Town and who wasn’t. The amount of ink given to covering the aristocracy was quite telling. It would have been better spent writing about the impoverished, the orphaned children who roamed the streets, the practice of baby farming.
With that thought in mind, she pulled out the article she’d written. For it to carry any weight, she would need to claim her heritage, sign it as Lady Lavinia Kent, use her family name to do good in the world. She was beginning to feel she no longer needed to hide who she was. Being separated from her family these many months had allowed her to become her own woman. Perhaps very soon she would confront them, allow them to see that they no longer had any sway over her.
By early evening, as she was leaving the office, she was feeling quite buoyant regarding her prospects for the future, and when she walked into her chambers, the froth of rose silk beckoned like an errant lover who had returned after being away for too many years. It was silly to dress up for Finn, and yet he’d asked it of her when he’d asked for little else. And he’d given her so much.
She enlisted the assistance of two of the women she spotted walking around with feather dusters. They prepared a bath for her. She might have lingered in the warm water longer if she weren’t suddenly anxious to see the pleasure on Finn’s face when he caught sight of her in the rose. One of the girls, Meg, turned out to be rather skilled with hair, sweeping Lavinia’s tresses back from her face but securing them so they dangled in waves down her back. It was a simple style, requiring few pins, but she found herself wishing she hadn’t sold her combs, the ones she’d worn in her hair on the day she was to wed. But she’d kept nothing, determined to leave her old life and any reminders of it behind.
“I was wondering, Meg, if you’d care to be my personal maid,” Lavinia asked the young woman now.
“If it please you, Miss Kent.” Her eyes were wide as she bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Yes, it would, thank you. I’ll let Mr. Trewlove know your duties will be changing.”
“Thank you, miss.”
After the servants left, she studied her reflection in the mirror for several long minutes. It had been a good long while since she’d truly given herself a thorough looking over. She was all of twenty-five and yet she couldn’t deny that she appeared considerably older. Worry, grief, and sadness had taken a toll. Yet Finn still kissed her, wanted her.
With one last lingering gaze at the reflection, she walked out of her rooms, wondering at the gladness that swept through her at the sight of Finn, partly bent with his forearms resting on the railing, looking out over his domain. He’d changed his clothing as well, his jacket a dark blue, his trousers black, his boots polished to a shine. While only his profile was visible to her, she could make out the flow of a perfectly knotted cravat.
Turning his head, seeing her, he smiled, pleasure darkening his eyes, and every womanly aspect of her reacted as though he’d just skimmed his hands up the entire length of her person. She’d seen him not less than two hours earlier. How could it be that gladness swept through her as though she’d not seen him in ages?
“I knew the color would suit you,” he said, straightening and
facing her completely. He’d taken a razor to his face, which made him appear more civilized, more polished. Yet she couldn’t deny she rather fancied the rough and dangerous way he looked when his whiskers began making themselves known. He was more handsome than he’d been in his youth, in a rugged sort of way. There was strength and character in his features.
“You went to a lot of bother to dress up for the evening,” she said.
“Thought we’d celebrate.”
“We celebrated last night at the Mermaid.”
His grin spread, and she could see he was well aware she was striving to ensure tonight’s dinner was nothing special. “We can celebrate more than once.”
He offered his arm, and against all her better judgments, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He guided her toward the rear stairs and down into a small warren of hallways that eventually led into the dining room. The dark dining room.
She knew chandeliers were in this room, but they weren’t glowing. Instead the only light was provided by the three tapered candles burning on one of the cloth-covered tables. “Finn—”
“It’s just a bit of atmosphere, to determine if we want the ambiance of candles or gaslights.”
“Ambiance? I’ve always been impressed with your vocabulary.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Amazing what you can learn from reading. Although I sometimes have to ask the fellow at the lending library how to pronounce the word or exactly what it means.” He took the seat next to hers. “My siblings and I used to compete, tossing words out at each other, having to identify what each meant. Gillie was always the best at stumping us, but I came in a close second, throwing her off her game on occasion.”
She could hear the pride and the love in his voice as he spoke about that time. It had been a friendly competition. She had no memory of ever playing any sort of game with her brother. However, she didn’t blame Neville; it was simply the way it was.
A footman came over and poured a burgundy into their glasses. Finn lifted his. “To an evening of discovering what works best.”
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 23
