Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

F inn lay on his side hours later, watching Esme sleep. The light from the dying fire spread a soft glow across her skin and he traced the shaft of it with his fingertips. They had made love until exhaustion had taken her, and normally he might crow about his prowess in this moment.

Only that exhaustion seemed to have at least something to do with what she’d confessed to him in the last twenty-four hours. Everything to do with the fact that she’d been running, she believed for her life, since her father’s death.

He frowned at the thought. While what Esme had told him about her cousin and his behavior since the marquess’s death was deeply troubling, he wasn’t certain it amounted to murder. The very idea of it was shocking. Heartbreaking. Enraging.

Chilton had been the best of men. If someone had snuffed out his life, he hadn’t deserved it. But whoever had done it did deserve the harsh hand of justice to slam down on him and make sure he paid.

Esme let out a little sigh and turned toward him. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her expression softened by sleep. “What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

“How gorgeous you are in firelight,” he said before he leaned in and kissed her.

She returned the caress, cupping his cheek with her hand and letting out a shuddering sigh of pleasure. But when she pulled back, she looked undeterred. “That’s a sweet thing to say, but it’s also a half truth.”

He arched a brow. “And you can read me so well?”

She was quiet for a moment and caught the hand he had been tracing along her skin. They both watched as she folded her fingers around his. “Over the years I’ve learned to read men as much as possible.”

He frowned at the reasons why she’d had to make such a study. Frowned at the idea that she’d ever been unsafe out in the world. Her cousin definitely deserved to pay for that.

“I was thinking that your cousin shouldn’t be allowed to get away with murder, if he did indeed commit one. Nor should he get away with dislodging your life.”

She glanced up at him. “But he did. And he will. People like him always do.”

“Unless,” he began, and then cut himself off.

She sat up a little. “Unless what, Finn?”

“Unless someone like him decides to intervene.”

Now she sat fully up and inched away from him on the bed. He frowned at the loss of her touch and the way that her expression went guarded. "What are you saying?”

“I could investigate,” he said. “I could push. I could find out the truth.”

I t felt like an ice-cold hand had pushed into Esme’s chest, wrapped around her heart and was now squeezing. She gasped for breath even as she tugged the coverlet up around herself.

“What happened to your promise that you would never speak to my cousin about me?” she snapped.

“I would never bring you up, Esme. I’m not talking about confronting him or revealing you. I said I wouldn’t and I won’t.”

The edge of her fear faded a little as she stared into his eyes. As she’d told him before, she had learned to study men for their genuine character, to guard herself against attacks. But Finn looked earnest in his suggestion.

She felt a flare of hope she hadn’t allowed herself in years. One she hated. Hope only caused disappointment in the long run. She couldn’t let a pretty face convince her otherwise.

She folded her arms. “What do you think you could do exactly?”

“Insert myself. Everyone knows I was close to your father. If I asked questions about him, that wouldn’t be unexpected.”

“It would also be potentially dangerous if I’m right about my cousin’s murderous heart,” Esme said. “Why would you bother?”

He tilted his head, and for a moment it felt like he could see right through her. “Because I cared for your father.”

She was surprised how that statement stung. It was foolish that it did. She and Finn barely knew each other and all they had shared was two nights of passion. Amazing passion, yes, but nothing that should make her wish that he thought of her in his plans for her cousin, not just her father.

“Well, my father adored you,” she said, and ducked her head. “You were his favorite.”

Finn slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Yes, we were close, but in this case your remarkable ability to read others has not served you. I most definitely wasn’t his favorite. During our talks, he would go on and on about you, Esme. He adored you .”

She hated that memories flooded her, along with tears that stung her eyes. She tried so hard not to think of her father because it hurt so much. But now she could almost see his smile, smell his tobacco, hear him laughing at some story she told him over breakfast.

“Well,” she gasped out. “Perhaps he did at that.”

Finn took her hand. “I want to know the truth, too.”

She nodded slowly. Of course he would. She’d opened a Pandora’s box when it came to the demise of her father. Of course a man who’d cared for him wouldn’t be able to simply close it and walk away. Why hadn’t she anticipated that?

“I suppose,” she said slowly. “That after more than two years, my cousin must believe he got away with whatever he did. I’m gone, no longer a bother and a reminder. No one has arrested him or even investigated him.”

“He could have his guard down,” Finn said. “My thought exactly.”

She worried her lip. He wasn’t wrong about that. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

She expected him to argue, or even to tell her he didn’t care about her opinion. After all, he could do whatever he liked. He didn’t need her permission. But instead, he just nodded.

“It’s been an emotional few days for you,” he said. “I understand why it would be difficult to make a decision about something that’s brought you so much pain. Think about it. And when you’re ready to discuss it again, send me word.”

Her brow wrinkled. “You…you won’t do anything until I say?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.” He leaned toward her. “I think you’ll find that I’m actually not as much an arse as I pretend to be. Though don’t tell. I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.”

She found herself laughing. “Not after all these years building it up, I understand.” She sighed. “Yes. I’ll think about what you suggested. And now I should go.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and she shivered at the warmth of his breath on her skin. What this man did to her. “You’re certain I couldn’t convince you otherwise?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure you could. But it’s for the best if I take some time by myself, I think.”

“I understand.” He moved for the door. “I’ll arrange one of my unmarked carriages to take you home. Take your time dressing.”

He pulled a robe on to cover all those lovely grooves and valleys of his remarkable body, then exited into the antechamber where she assumed he would ring for servants. She stared up at the canopy of the bed again with all its rich fabric and expertly carved wood. Even the bed was from a different class than she was now.

And yet this man wanted to help her. Help himself, too, of course. But he wasn’t forcing anything. All he did was give. Orgasms, a listening ear…an offer to punish the man who had stolen her world, her life, her father.

It was a bewitching thought that such a man existed.

Slowly she got out of the comfortable bed, stretching muscles that ached from wicked use over and over that long night. She found her gown near the doorway and wrapped it over herself, tying and buttoning the little hidden places where the dress came together and could be removed easily. One of the benefits of being Esme and not Lady Charlotte anymore. Lady Charlotte’s gowns had not been something she could put on or take off herself. God, she hardly remembered Lady Charlotte anymore. That part of her had begun to die the same night as her father and been buried when she ran away.

She blinked at unexpected tears and went to the mirror to fix her hair as best she could when half her pins had disappeared to heavens knew where. When she felt at least somewhat presentable she took a deep breath and moved for the chamber door and the antechamber within.

Finn wasn’t there so she took a moment to look around as she hadn’t when she’d needed him more than she needed information. It really was a lovely room, filled with the personality of its owner. She smiled at the landscape painting she instantly recognized as an Ezra Pembroke piece. Did Finn know what else the man painted? Wicked, erotic portraits?

Actually, he likely did. Finn was no monk, that was certain. Though the number of books stacked beside a comfortable chair by the fire did imply he was also not just a libertine. She moved to them and looked at their spines. There were some histories of different parts of the empire, a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets and, most shockingly, a copy of The Castle of Wolfenbach , a wonderful, horrid Gothic novel she had adored as a girl.

She left the books and was drawn to the mantel, where a few miniatures were perched. She couldn’t help but smile, for they were all of Finn’s sister, Marianne. One from when she was a very little girl, another she looked to be around thirteen or fourteen and a more recent one. Esme had come out two years before Marianne, and Finn’s sister had an unfortunate first few years after her debut, so they hadn’t known each other well. But she’d always liked the bookish wallflower. She was kind, and Esme appreciated that now more than she probably had during her years in ballrooms and drawing rooms.

There was a light knock at the antechamber door and she turned toward it in surprise. “Yes?”

The door opened and Finn stepped in. He paused in the doorway and leaned on the jamb, his gaze flickering up and down her body. She warmed at the focus of his stare, the desire in it. Good Lord, but it was out of control to want someone so much. To be wanted in equal measure.

“You—you didn’t have to knock. This is your room and you’ve seen me naked multiple times.”

He chuckled as he entered, at last. “And I hope to do it again in the future. But that doesn’t mean you surrender your right to privacy as you prepare yourself.”

She shook her head. There were few men who understood that consent was something forever asked for and given. Fewer still in the class this man belonged to.

She motioned to the mantel. “I love these portraits of your sister.”

He stepped closer. “Yes. I suppose I’ll have a new one to add to the collection, as I’m sure she and Sebastian will pose for one after their wedding in ten days.”

“That wedding helped you uncover my true identity,” she teased.

He smiled down at her. “Your attempt to comfort me about my sister did that, my dear.” He sighed. “I worry about her, but…”

“But?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “She and Ramsbury declare they are happy and in love.”

“Do you not believe it to be true?”

He stared at Marianne’s most recent portrait a moment, an expression of sadness in his eyes. “Sometimes I believe it. I see their connection now that my blinders have been torn off, certainly, and not just the physical. But love? I’m not certain I’d recognize it if it were there. I have not much experience with the emotion.”

She shifted. He knew so much about her father, but she knew so little about his. Only what rumor had told her years ago. But rumor was so often wrong.

“Your parents weren’t a love match, then?” she asked gently.

He stiffened and didn’t look at her. “Very much not. My mother longed for it, though. Chased it. Rode every wave of that man’s attention and crashed on the rocks when he withdrew. She was obsessed with how she could force him to see her. She had a breakdown right before my sister came out and died shortly after.”

“Oh yes, I recall that. Your poor sister, not only losing her mother but having her coming out so tied to such a tragedy.”

He nodded. “There were so many rumors about how our mother died, that was all people saw when they looked at her.”

“How did your father take it, after all those years of dangling her on a string?”

He laughed but there was no humor to the broken sound. “My father was annoyed she’d ruined his night out with his mistress.”

He trailed off and she couldn’t help it. She reached out and took his hand, cupping it between hers as she stared up at him. He finally looked down at her and in that moment, in the soft firelight, he looked lost. How she wanted to find him, even if that was the most dangerous desire she’d ever experienced.

She released him and backed away. “I assume your carriage is ready for me?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. All you need do is give my man your direction and he’ll take you. If you’re ready, I’ll escort you down.”

He held out an arm and she almost laughed. It was all so proper after a highly improper night together. But she took the arm, loving the shape of his muscular bicep beneath the silky fabric of the dressing gown he wore. Together they walked through the halls and down the stairs into the foyer. She braced to encounter his butler again, be stared at and sniffed at by someone who knew what she was.

But there was no one. It was just them. Finn stopped and turned toward her, cupping her cheeks gently. “This night was wonderful, Esme.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He bent his head and his lips brushed hers, gentle at first, but slowly it transformed, becoming heated. It made her want to forget her promise to leave. It made her want to shove him down on the hard marble floor and feel him surrender to her, feel herself surrender to him, all over again.

So she stepped away, lips burning and breath short. “Goodnight, Finn.”

“Goodnight,” he said softly and then reached back to open the door.

She slipped out to the carriage that was waiting for her there and briefly gave her direction to the driver who held the door for her. She gave one last glance to Finn, watching her from the doorway, and then got in. The carriage began to move and only then did she flop back against the seat and draw a deep, full breath at last. The man seemed to keep her from doing that when she spent any time around him.

He had unmasked her in every way now. She had allowed it. But instead of offering censure, he offered protection. He offered assistance. She would have a great deal to consider now, a great many decisions to make.

And not all of them were about the investigation of her father’s death. Because when she thought of Finn, it wasn’t just of his offer to investigate her cousin. He made her think of passionate kisses, warm arms, pleasure and…and a future she had surrendered long ago. One she couldn’t allow to come creeping into her thoughts and ruin the life she had now. It wasn’t real.

Somehow she had to recall that.