She had a feeling he might not be referring to what worked best for the club, but what worked best when it came to seduction.
She was beautiful, but then he’d always found that to be true about her. Whether she’d been angry at him for carting away her beloved horse, grief-stricken for the same reason, overjoyed at the sight of Sophie, standing toe-to-toe against women who wished her harm, gathering children about her like a mother hen with her chicks, defending his dream to his sister—
The beauty wasn’t so much in the shape of her mouth, the curve of her chin, the slope of her nose, the green of her eyes. It came from something that flowed from deep within her, something that sometimes brought a glow to her skin or a blush at other times. Something fierce, strong, and undeterred by any obstacles that might have been placed in her way.
“That gown needs a necklace to set it off,” he told her now.
Her hand—so small, so delicate, when compared to his—came up, her fingers landing in the hollow at her throat. “I’d have once thought so as well, but I have no interest in jewels any longer. I wore a pearl necklace on the day I was to wed. I sold it, so I’d have funds for purchasing children.” She shook her head. “That’s a ghastly thing to say, an awful way to word it.”
“You’re not really purchasing children, making slaves of them.”
“I suppose not. It’s just a sad state of affairs that we live in a world where something like that happens.”
“I thought things like jewelry were passed down through generations. Did the pieces you wore on your wedding day have no sentimental value?”
She took a slow sip of her wine, licked her lips. “My father gave the pieces to me on the day I was presented to the queen, not so much out of love but obligation. It was expected. He didn’t present them to me directly. As I recall, my maid brought them to me in his stead. If I’d married Thornley, I might have passed them down to my daughter, although I suspect he’d have purchased pearls for her. I don’t mean to pry, but Gillie looked to be in the family way.”
“She is.”
“They’ve only been married a few weeks so . . . I’m glad he did right by her.”
“He didn’t marry her because she was with child. He didn’t even know when he proposed.”
“Would she have kept it, do you think? If they hadn’t married?”
“Without a doubt.”
“She’s a strong woman, your sister.”
“Stubborn, more like. She knows what she wants, and you’ll have no luck convincing her otherwise. And unlike a lot of women who find themselves in her situation, she has the means to make her own way. She has a very successful business, and she’s put money aside. Before long, you’ll be as successful.”
She laughed lightly, a sound that wound its way through his chest, tightening it. “I can’t imagine it. Women of my station don’t work. They get pin money but it’s not enough to make a difference. We marry. We go from the care of our fathers to the care of our husbands. It terrified me running from the church. I hadn’t thought it through completely. To be honest, I don’t know that I thought being your partner through completely either.”
“You can always walk away.”
“I’m not that foolish.”
He bent toward her, wanting the conversation to move on. “So tell me. Do you prefer the candles or the chandeliers?”
She glanced around as though giving it serious thought, before returning her attention to him and leaning toward him until he could see the reflection of the flames flickering in the dark center of her eyes. “Since only ladies will be dining in here, I should think the chandeliers alone would suffice. I suppose you could open the dining room to men.”
“I suspect most would never get this far once they spotted the gaming tables.”
“Perhaps the ladies could use the gaming room as a gauntlet to test their lovers’ devotion.”
Settling back in his chair, he studied her for a long moment. “Put temptation before him, and see if he can ignore it in order to be with the lady to whom he recites sonnets?”
Her lips curled up into a wicked but enticing grin. “Something like that.”
“Perhaps he would pass through the gauntlet without making a single wager because he was hungry, starving, in fact. How would she know?”
Her laughter was like bells tinkling, sprites dancing on petals, real and magical at the same time. “And which are you? Devoted or hungry?”
“If you have to ask, then I’m making a rather poor effort at it.”
She meant for it to be a joke, something to laugh about, to tease each other over later—but the look he gave her was indeed that of a man who was hungry, ravenous, in fact, but it wasn’t food he sought or a belly that was in need of sustenance. His intense stare was that of a hunter who had sighted his quarry, a predator who was accustomed to capturing what he sought, to holding on to it, to claiming it.
She had an insane urge to run—but that had always been her answer. Planning to run off with him because she hated her life with the family, the future they’d mapped out for her. Running away from Thornley for the same reasons. Afraid, always afraid to stand her ground. But here was this man who had lost five years of his life because of her, looking at her as though no time had passed at all. No, that wasn’t true. He’d never looked at her like this, as though he could devour her and make her grateful he had, as though everything he’d ever wanted was within reach, if she would just stand her ground.
Nearly jumping out of her skin as a footman set a bowl of soup in front of her, she was grateful his intrusion forced her to break eye contact with Finn. The hold he had on her was such that she wasn’t certain she’d have had the strength to look away. “My, this looks delicious.” Reaching for her glass, she was dismayed to find her hand trembling.
He chuckled low, darkly, as though he’d followed her thoughts down the errant path they’d traveled, as though he knew she didn’t want to be drawn to him. “The cook will be glad to hear that.”
“We should probably call her a chef, start some rumors that perhaps she’s from France.”
“That rumor would die the moment anyone heard her speak.”
“I could teach her a few words.”
“We might be a house of vice, Vivi, but I want us to be an honest one.”
His expression was earnest, no teasing, no seduction. When discussing the business, he was serious. “You’re right, of course.” She tasted the soup, pleased with the flavor. “This is rather good.”
The conversation turned to other good things. Funny moments from his youth, teasing his brothers and sisters, being teased in return. Happier times from hers when she’d been given Sophie and taught to ride. They avoided talking about their own past, the past they’d shared. And she couldn’t help but think that if they hadn’t met before, if they were only starting to know each other tonight, she would have been charmed by him. If there was no past, perhaps she would feel comfortable charming him.
Although old habits, ingrained since birth, were difficult to ignore, and she found herself being a bit more flirtatious than she should have been, smiling secretly, lowering her lashes provocatively. Especially when the wine—as fine a vintage as anything served at a lord’s table—was urging her to lower her resistance, to reveal her interest in every word he uttered, and she was interested. She always had been. He was the first not of her class to speak to her as though she were an equal, to show her a nongilded world. He’d been brawn and muscle, strength and tenderness, and the years had only added to his allure. He filled her with hope for a better world, a more meaningful life. He was the reason she no longer cared about pearls or diamonds. Although she did very much enjoy wearing the silk gown for him, especially when his gaze would dip to the swells barely contained within the cloth. She did wish she’d stop imagining his lips dotting her flesh with kisses.
She told herself it was the wine, but two glasses were hardly enough to make her lose her head. It was him and the candles and
the fine dinner. They finished their meal with a snifter of warm brandy, the heat making it taste all the smoother.
“The ladies will enjoy dining here. The cook outdid herself.” She wasn’t surprised. She’d tasted other offerings when food was brought to the office midday, brought to her rooms in the early evening. But tonight’s fare had been special, designed to seduce the taste buds. Everything tonight had been designed to seduce, from the caress of silk over her skin to the tantalizing spirits on her tongue, to the shadows, the flickering flames, the low voice of the man sitting with her.
“I studied the dining room at Mick’s hotel,” he said. He lifted his snifter. “And naturally, Gillie shared her knowledge of liquors. Thornley took her to wineries in France after they were married, not that she did much sampling from what I understand. But she’d always wanted to see them. Her excitement—after their return—at telling us about everything she experienced”—he made a sound that could have been a laugh or a scoff, but either way there was affection in it—“you’d have thought he laid gold at her feet.”
“I should think for a tavern owner his gift was better than gold.”
“Do you regret not marrying him?”
“No, we weren’t well suited. We never really talked. We simply went through the motions. My entire life has been going through the motions. I think I have lived more in the months since August than I did my entire life before.” She shook her head. “That’s not true. I was always more alive when I was with you. I always felt more myself. Perhaps the fairies switched me out at birth, and I don’t have noble blood coursing through my veins after all.”
“You have noble blood, Vivi. There was a time when I’d have faulted you for that.”
“It seems we are all too quick to judge, based upon what we see of a person rather than what we know or are willing to learn about the person.”
“Maybe we’ll change a few minds when our patrons are mingling.”
“I shall hope so. That would be a wonderful contribution from our establishment.”
He set aside his empty snifter. “Are you finished?”
She’d savored the last drop of the brandy, wished their time together would continue, but it was getting late and they had a lot of work remaining to be done on the morrow. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
Shoving back his chair, he stood, assisted her in standing, and offered his arm. Certainly, she could wander back to her rooms of her own accord, but she welcomed the opportunity to again touch him. However, instead of heading toward the door through which they’d entered, he began leading her toward one in the opposite direction.
“You’re going the wrong way,” she told him.
“No, I’m not. I have something else to show you.”
He opened the door, and she stepped through into a salon where the gas-lit chandeliers glowed, filling the room with warm lighting that barely held the shadows at bay, giving the area she’d designated as a ballroom an intimate feel. Then the lilting strains of an orchestra began to fill the silence, and pleasure flowed through her as though she were comprised of strings that were being plucked.
Without words, without urging, with nothing more than his hands to guide her, he swept her across the polished parquet floor. This, she realized, not dinner, was the reason he’d wanted her to wear the gown. The meal was merely a prelude to his seduction. It was here with her in his arms that he would pursue her in earnest.
Where she would welcome him doing so.
She was weary of fighting the attraction, of ignoring what she felt for him. They moved in tandem, complementing each other. Always it had been thus between them, an understanding that required no voice. Holding his gaze, she realized that with him she was always falling, falling in love, always would be, going deeper and further. That was the reason she’d been unable to marry Thornley. Because she hadn’t wanted a life without this, without a connection that spoke volumes without speaking at all.
Finn never tried to shape her or mold her into what he thought she should be. From the beginning, he’d merely accepted her as she was, foibles and all. From the beginning he had made her happy.
No one had ever looked at her as he did—as though he would die if he couldn’t have her, as though he would die if he did. His failure to show had hurt so desperately, because he’d meant so much to her. And she’d allowed that hurt to create a fog that was only now beginning to lift. He hadn’t abandoned her. He’d been taken from her.
And now he was back. Different, altered. But impossibly very much the same, but not the same at all. He exuded sensuality. She could sense the need for her shimmering off him in waves. His brown eyes had grown darker, smoldering with banked desire.
The orchestra players skillfully moved from one tune to the next, Finn’s steps never faltering. He’d been a fine dancer before, but now there was a confidence in his movements. “You’ve been practicing,” she said, surprised how breathless she sounded, as though she’d just come unglued with him in her bed.
“No, just watching. Too many weddings of late where dancing was called for.”
She was well aware his brother Mick had married that summer, Gillie in the fall.
“Are you going to dance with the ladies who come to the club?” She wasn’t particularly pleased with the spark of jealously that thought brought, imagining him as one of the men making each woman feel special, treasured. Touching a lady, holding her as close as he held Lavinia. She wouldn’t claim him as hers, and yet she didn’t want anyone else to either.
“It depends,” he said.
“On what?”
“On whether there’s a chance in hell that I would feel for one of them so much as an ounce of what I feel for you.”
Every speck of air seemed to have fled the room, leaving her struggling to draw in a breath. Halting, he cupped her face between his hands. “I know you’re afraid to feel anything for me again because of how much it hurt when you thought I’d tossed you aside like so much rubbish. Do you think I didn’t experience, too, the agony of thinking you’d betrayed me? I was a wreck, Vivi. I walled off my heart, built a moat around it, made it impenetrable, or so I thought. Until I saw you again, until I watched you lead children—clinging to your tattered skirt—away from a woman who didn’t have it within her to care for them properly. You’re a sorceress, with a magic about you that renders all my barriers ineffectual. Do I fear I’ll experience that pain again? I know I will—if you walk away or fate takes you from me. But I’m willing to risk it for just one more night with you.”
It wasn’t fair that he could spout such beautiful words that weakened her resolve. Had he taken to reading poetry or romantic novels of late? He was baring his heart to her, and she could no more allow it to be wounded again than she could return to her previous life. He must have seen her answer in her eyes, or heard it in her sigh, or felt it in her body melting against his, because when she wound her arm about his neck and lifted her mouth, his was already there, waiting and ready, taking what she was offering as though it was nectar from the gods.
It did not escape her that they were behaving entirely inappropriately in front of an audience of musicians who didn’t miss a single note as they played on, a realization that would have mortified Lady Lavinia but merely amused Vivi. With him she was different, saw shades to herself she hadn’t even known existed. He was good for her, unfurled her like a tightly wrapped bud that feared opening and revealing itself to the sun.
He loved what she’d become, what she was now, what she was doing. He hadn’t used the word specifically, but she felt it in the way his hands roamed over her back and pressed her ever nearer. Then they were no longer roaming, but lifting, lifting her into his arms, cradling her as though he could keep harm at bay, as he might have held her on the night after they wed, as though no one had ever hurt them or torn them asunder.
As the music continued to play, the notes rising in crescendo as though foreshadowing the arrival of the climax to a tale, Finn began striding from the ro
om, a definite purpose echoing with each step, he who could move about so silently, no longer taking any care to do so. She pressed her knowing smile against the underside of his jaw, where the skin was soft and warm, fragrant from the heat there, releasing the scent of sandalwood. He’d bathed for the evening as well. The short whiskers along his jaw tickled her forehead, delighting her with the pure masculinity of the bristles.
He barely paused as they reached the backstairs, ascending them like a man who found no weight too much of a burden. His breathing remained even and calm while hers occasionally hitched as they grew nearer to her rooms.
He passed the corridor that would have taken them to his, continuing along the hallway that looked out over the gaming floor, keeping to the wall that housed offices so they weren’t visible from below, striving to protect a sterling reputation she no longer possessed, but then it wouldn’t do for the servants and staff to know they were up to no good.
As they approached her door, he said, “Do I leave you here or go on through?”
He was giving her a choice in case he had misread her acquiescence, the way she burrowed against him, and she loved him all the more for it. For not assuming their wants were the same, their needs mirrored in the other. She took his earlobe between her teeth. He groaned. “Carry on,” she whispered as seductively as she could.
She moved about this building with locks not used, with nothing worth pilfering, but when he closed the door behind them, he lowered her to the floor, reached back, and turned the lock. Then he looked at her and waited, just waited.
“It’s a shame the orchestra didn’t follow us,” she said, not doubting the path they were on but not quite certain how to follow it. “I rather enjoyed the music.”
“We’ll make our own.” Lifting the lit lamp from the table where she’d left it, so she wouldn’t return to darkness, he took her hand.
“No.” He stilled. “Leave the lamp here, lower the flame. We’ll make our way through the shadows.”
“I want to see you.”
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 24
