“I’d have run back to her.”
He gave a slow nod, acknowledging he’d have done the same. “Vivi won’t listen to me. She wants nothing to do with me anymore actually. I’d begun to think there was a chance for us, but every time I do, something steals her away.”
“Fell in love with her again, did you?”
“I never fell out of love with her, but what I was feeling now was stronger, more settled. I can’t explain it. The depths of it should have terrified me and instead it brought me peace. Makes no sense, I know. Too much beer already.”
“You once loved her as a boy would—when joy was found in fleeting moments of chasing after things, where the chasing was more fun and the capturing disappointing. Now you love her as a man would—when the joy is found in the holding, in finding the permanence, in no longer chasing the happiness because what you’ve captured at last is the best of all, and you know it’ll never be better.”
Beast had always had a knack for figuring out people, what they were feeling, the truth behind their lies. Although he didn’t usually put his thoughts into so many words.
“Yes, well, apparently I didn’t capture what I thought I had, which is the reason that I’m sitting here getting foxed and contemplating doing something truly stupid.”
Beast’s brow furrowed. “How stupid? What are you going to do precisely?”
“Visit the bugger who fucked my mother.”
“Now which one are you?” the Earl of Elverton asked, lounging indolently in a large purple velveteen chair in his study, holding an etched tumbler aloft, paying far more attention to the way the light from the flames dancing on the hearth were captured in the amber liquid than to Finn, who stood before him.
He’d not bothered to offer his bastard a drink, not that Finn would have accepted if he had. He wasn’t here to socialize. He was here for answers.
However, taking in his surroundings, he couldn’t help but wonder if the lord’s fine threads had been purchased with Aiden’s profits, along with the thick gold rings that adorned three fingers of his left hand, the gold letter opener lying on the desk, the gold statuettes of naked nymphs in various poses of play, and the strumpet who’d been on his arm when he’d walked into the residence. Finn had been in the foyer, standing in the shadows, awaiting his return.
“I’m Finn Trewlove, your bastard, and I’ll have a word,” he’d announced as he’d stepped out into the light, causing the lightskirt to squeak and the man responsible for his existence to merely scowl.
The earl had instructed the girl to wait for him in his bedchamber and not to disturb the countess while making her way there. His words had made Finn ill. If he was that disrespectful of his wife—to bring his dove here—how badly did he treat his mistresses? Badly enough to take their children from them.
“The second lad you delivered to Ettie Trewlove’s door,” Finn said.
The older man shook his head. “I don’t recall.”
He almost identified himself as Aiden’s brother but each of the earl’s by-blows could fit that description. “The one who was to be transported to Australia. You made an arrangement with Aiden Trewlove. In exchange for using your influence to keep me here you would share in his profits from the Cerberus Club.”
“Ah, yes.” Finally, he took his gaze from his scotch and focused it on Finn. “Got yourself in trouble with some earl’s daughter as I recall. He was not at all pleased with my interference. Lucky for you, he was someone I didn’t much fancy, so I took pleasure in proving my power exceeded his. Have you gotten yourself in trouble again? It’ll cost more. The whole point in dispatching with my bastards was to avoid the irritation of having to deal with them.”
He’d never before met the man or spoken with him, but he was coming to loathe him more than he had. To think of Aiden humbling himself before this maggot to ask a favor of him on Finn’s behalf caused his stomach to roil. “Who is my mother?”
Elverton laughed, an ugly, hideous sound, the sort Finn had once heard lads making as they pulled wings off flies. “How the hell should I know? Boy, do you have any idea how many bastards have come into this world because my impressive cock plowed into a woman?”
Fury erupted within Finn, swift and hard, and it was all he could do not to attack the creature sitting there all smug.
“I keep a drawer filled with adverts from baby farmers promoting their services. When a wagtail comes to me in tears, blubbering that she’s carrying my child, I hand her a clipping and a pouch of coins and tell her to see to it herself.”
He was sickened to know this man had sired him, that he showed such unkindness to promiscuous women who found themselves in trouble. Still he shook his head. “No. You delivered me to Ettie Trewlove’s door.”
Shrugging, he took a sip of scotch, licked his lips. Finn could see none of himself in this toad. “Then perhaps she died so it was left to me to handle what remained. Or perhaps I cared for her a bit and wanted to spare her the humiliation. There were a few I saw to, especially if I didn’t think the woman would rid herself of it.”
“So you might have taken me from her.”
“If it was the only way to ensure I wasn’t bothered by the brat.”
Finn was barely aware of launching himself across the space separating him from the vile insect. The glass of scotch went flying. Pressing his knee to the man’s chest, his shin to his belly, holding him in place, he closed his hands around the man’s throat until Elverton was gasping for air and his eyes were bulging from their sockets. They were equal in height, but the earl lived a slovenly life of vice and laziness. He didn’t possess Finn’s muscles or strength. “Look closely at me, you swine. Do you see no woman from your past in my features?”
The loathsome pig frantically shook his head, and Finn accepted that he was never going to learn anything at all about his mother. What did it matter? Ettie Trewlove was his mum. Perhaps he was simply striving to understand what his daughter might feel when she learned the truth of her parentage.
He gave the earl a shake, watching as his face began to take on a purple hue. “Listen well. You are done taking any more money from Aiden. If I hear differently, I shall take those rings from your fingers after I’ve separated the pudgy things from your hand.”
A gurgling came from the gent who had sired him as he struggled to say something. Finn loosened his hold and bent his ear toward the earl. “Pardon?”
“I’ll see . . . you hanged.”
Finn gave him a wolfish grin. “Think you that your influence or power is greater than that of either the Dukes of Hedley or Thornley or Mick Trewlove or the entire Trewlove clan? Facing them together, you’d find yourself little more than a gnat against lions.”
Shoving hard on the man, Finn released him, straightened, and stepped back. “Your bastards are no longer youths of the streets with no recourse. We can stand on our own, but when family stands with us, we are unstoppable.”
Spinning on his heel, Finn began striding from the room, stopped, and glanced back. “Which arm do you favor?”
Finn brought his horse to a halt outside a rather ramshackle house and tethered the gelding to a post, knowing no one in this run-down area of London would dare steal from a Trewlove. He strode up to the door, didn’t bother to knock, but simply walked into the residence that had been gutted and rebuilt for the woman who lived here.
“Finn, love,” Ettie Trewlove said as she got up from the cozy chair before the fire and approached him.
He bent his head to make it easier for her to press a kiss to his cheek, the way she always greeted him. After visiting with his vile sire, he was in need of a good deal of comfort, of a visit home.
“Mum.” His voice sounding scratchy and raw, he enfolded her in his embrace, hugging her tightly, welcoming the comforting feel of her arms cocooning him in love.
He held her securely for several long moments before easing back. She patted his cheek affectionately.
“I’d put on the kettle, but you look to b
e in need of something a bit more bracing. Gillie brought me a fine cognac. I’ll pour us each a drop.”
Standing there, he watched as she efficiently went to a sideboard and poured more than a drop into two snifters, stirring to life the warm memories of all the times she’d done for him, never expecting anything in return.
He took the glass she offered and sat in the chair opposite the one she took. She lifted her snifter. “Cheers.”
They both sipped, studied the amber liquid, waited.
“What troubles you?” she finally asked.
Leaning forward he dug his elbows into his thighs, clasped the snifter between his hands. “When I was seven, if the woman who’d given birth to me had come for me, had taken me from you, how would you have felt?”
“My heart would have broken, love. Just as it did when you were twenty-three and taken from me.”
“But you had other children.” Children the footman’s sister didn’t have.
“Dear Finn. No child replaces another. You’re all so different, you see. From the beginning, you were each unique. Mick, he was stubborn, determined to have his way, whether it was the way I held him or fed him—he’d let me know if he didn’t like it. And Aiden, there was always the devil in him. But you, the first time I held you, you burrowed against me and I knew you had a tender heart, a protective nature. So the taking of you, even when you were a wee one, would have broken my heart.”
“Would you have fought to keep me?”
“That’s a question, isn’t it? Having given birth to my own children, and having illness snatch three away from me—well, I know that side of things as well, don’t I? I’d understand a mother’s need to come for her bairn. As long as she loved you proper, I don’t know that I’d have the right not to let her take you.”
“I have a daughter, Mum.”
“Ah, my lovely boy.”
He barely had time to stand before her arms were around him, holding him close, as tears burned his eyes. “She was born while I was in prison. I didn’t know, Mum. I didn’t know I put a babe in Vivi. I thought I knew the price I paid for loving her, and now I’m learning it was so much more costly.”
His mum eased him back into the chair, pulled her footstool over, sat on it, and took his hand in her frail one. But still he felt the strength and love in her touch. He took a shuddering breath. “Vivi’s back in my life. Our little girl lives with another couple. Vivi wants to take her away from them. I’m trying to understand what she’s feeling because it seems so unbelievably cruel to take her from what she’s known. I’m afraid it’s going to tarnish my love for her.”
She rubbed his upper arm. “I don’t know the right answer, pet. Sometimes there isn’t a right answer. But know this. Had you been taken from me I’d have never stopped loving you, never stopped wondering about what you were up to, never stopped worrying over you.”
Chapter 24
Lavinia had been unable to sleep, too many emotions toying with her through the night keeping her awake. The excitement of being able, at long last, to hold her daughter in her arms was beyond bearing. She had spent hours considering all the various frocks she would have sewn for her, the bonnets she would wear, the toys with which she’d play, the books that would be read to her as she was rocked in her mother’s lap. Then like a kaleidoscope pointed toward the sun, the glass turned, and another image came to mind: the sorrow and disappointment easing over Finn’s beloved face like shadows covering the land as night fell.
Dressed in the gray, she left her chambers, striving not to fret about the possibility of encountering Finn. She’d cloistered herself in her rooms after their row. She hadn’t packed up her remaining frock and gown because she would leave them here, taking nothing with her except for the clothes on her back, once again determined to start over—only this time with her daughter by her side.
She would have simply gone down the stairs but caught sight of Robin sitting with his legs crossed beneath him on the landing outside the office door. She needed to take him to the bank and then there were the errands he was to run for them, delivering the invitations, which she didn’t want to think about. She wouldn’t be here when all the ladies arrived, wouldn’t see the success of the place. Perhaps she would read about it.
“Hello, Robin,” she said, heading for the office.
His face brightened, and he nimbly jumped to his feet. “Morning, Miss Kent.”
Ruffling his hair, she walked by him and into the office, surprised Finn wasn’t yet there. “We’ll have to search Mr. Trewlove’s desk to see if we can find your bank draft.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
Turning, she noticed there seemed to be movement in his jacket. He reached inside and pulled out a tiny kitten.
“Ye was so sad yesterdee, I thought this would help.” He held the ball of white fur toward her. “He’s so small I don’t think he’ll make a good mouser, but I think he’ll be a good snuggler. I tested him last night, sleeping with him and all, and he snuggled right fine.”
“Oh.” Tears stinging her eyes at his thoughtfulness, she took the offering, smiling as the kitten mewled. “Where did you get him?”
“One of the cats I cares for that keeps the mice away—she had a bunch of babies. She made a loud meow when I took the kitten, but Gillie says she’ll forget I took it after a while, cuz animals don’t keep their babies with them.”
“No, I don’t suppose they do.” Not like people, not like her, who had never been able to forget the infant she’d brought into the world. “I think you might be wrong, though, about his mousing capabilities. He just needs to grow a bit.”
“You like him, then?”
“I do indeed, very much.”
The lad puffed out his chest, rocked back on his heels, clearly delighted at the notion of pleasing her. She was going to miss him when she left here, although perhaps when she was properly situated she could find errands for him to run.
“What have we here?” Finn asked, standing in the doorway, looking a bit like death warmed over.
“Are you unwell?” she asked.
“Head hurts. Got foxed last night, did something stupid, which caused me to get foxed some more. A kitten?”
She held up the little lad. “Robin thought I was in need of cheering. We must take him to the bank and then”—she waved her hand toward the stack of invitations on her desk—“we have the errands for him to run.”
“We’ll do the errands tomorrow. What are the arrangements for today?”
She knew he was referring to her going to get their daughter. “I sent a missive to Neville with James yesterday evening instructing my brother to lend him a carriage today. He’ll be arriving at eleven.”
“All right. I’m going to run young Robin to the bank, see him safely to Gillie’s. Don’t leave before I return.”
His words surprised her. “Are you going with me?”
“If you have no objection.”
She shook her head. “You have as much right to be with her as I do.”
“All right, then. Come on, Robin, let’s go make you a rich lad.”
“I’ll find a box for the kitten while you’re away,” she said, feeling a strong need to say something, to convey that she was glad he was coming with her without actually telling him how relieved she was.
He gave a little nod while he ushered Robin from the room. As he disappeared from sight, her heart gave a little lurch. How was it that in acquiring what she’d longed to have for seven years, she felt she was losing so much more?
Not a word was spoken as her brother’s carriage carried them to Watford, which only caused her nerves to tauten. Finn and James sat opposite her, both looking as though they were on their way to a funeral. It should be a day of rejoicing, a journey toward happiness, yet worry began to take hold. She wanted to ask James a hundred questions.
What was her daughter’s name? What did she look like? What did she like to do? What made her laugh? Did she eat her vegetables?
The carriage came to a stop in front of a small quaint cottage on the outskirts of the town.
“What does your brother-by-marriage do, James?” Lavinia asked.
“He’s a cabinetmaker. Makes a good living at it. Fanny has never had to do without.”
“Fanny?”
“My sister.”
“Of course.” She hadn’t thought to ask for any of their names, perhaps because she was hesitant to make them real.
James alighted, then handed her down. Finn followed them out.
She clasped her hands in front of her, suddenly not certain she really wanted to be here, as James opened the gate of the white picket fence.
Finn placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m here.”
She looked up at him, holding his brown gaze, so grateful he was. “I didn’t expect to be so nervous.”
“She’ll adore you.”
But did he any longer? She knew she was going against his wishes, but she had little doubt that once he saw their daughter, met her, he’d understand the wisdom of her plans.
With a gentle nudge, he guided her through the gate and up the path. A woman, neither tall nor short, stepped out onto the porch, wringing her hands in front of her. Her brown hair was brought back into a sensible bun. Her dark blue dress showed no wear. Her brown eyes were sad, but her smile was warm. She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Welcome, my lady.”
“Miss Kent will do.”
“This is m’sister, Fanny Baker,” James said, the introductions all out of order. “Fanny, this gent is Mr. Trewlove.”
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 29
