Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

I t took far too long for everything Finn needed to arrange to be begun. He’d had explanations to make, even if they weren’t the complete truth, and protection to arrange. He’d asked for the countess chamber, which was empty and attached to his own, to be prepared for Esme. He didn’t want to assume she would want to sleep in his bed every night, but he needed her close. Needed to be able to crack open her door and hear her breathing.

When it was all done, it had been nearly an hour since their arrival home. He made his way back toward the parlor where he’d left her, but as he reached it, he heard grunting inside, and thumping. His heart leapt with fear as he threw the door open.

Only to find Esme on the settee, raining punches down on one of the cushions of the couch. She glanced up when he came in, her cheeks flaming red and tears streaming down them.

“Finn,” she said.

He crossed to her in a few long steps and sat down next to her, dragging her into his arms. She was trembling, the hard exterior she’d developed to protect herself cracked by the reality of her situation.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I shouldn’t have left you alone so long, not after everything I told you.”

She was breathing heavily, but she managed to gasp out, “I needed to be alone. I needed to—to feel it.”

He held her closer, marveling at her strength, which never seemed to cease. “What can I do?”

She leaned back. “You are prepared to disrupt your life, on the eve of your sister’s wedding, and you ask what more you can do?”

“For you?” he asked as he brushed back a lock of hair that had gotten caught on her cheek in the track of a tear. “I would do anything.”

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder and he was quiet so she could compose herself. “I need to fight,” she finally said.

“I-I beg your pardon?” he said.

She lifted her head. “Please. It’s how I found my peace and my safety all those years ago when I ran from my cousin. It was the only way I felt like I knew who I was again, and right now I need to know who I am. I know you spar with Ripley, so you can do this with me. I need to fight.”

“You want to fight me?”

“Not fight…hard. Spar then,” she said. “Please.”

He pursed his lips. There had never been a time in his life where he thought he’d agree to swing punches at a lady , but he could see how much she needed this. And he understood. Sometimes it took something physical to fully purge the hurts. It was part of the reason he liked boxing, too.

“Come,” he said, getting to his feet and offering a hand. “I’ve a small practice space. We can spar as long as you’d like.”

To his surprise, she lunged from her seat and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him with all the considerably might in her body. He cradled her close.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his neck. “Thank you for not arguing, for understanding.”

She began to release him and though he wanted to stay that way with her forever, he let her. Their fingers tangled as he led her from the room and down the hall to the parlor where he’d set up a small sparring space with a ring and weighted bag where he sometimes practiced punches.

She smiled up at him, her fear momentarily faded by the place. “I didn’t find this when I was touring my way around your house before. It’s impressive.”

“If you like this, you’ll have to see Ramsbury’s sparring area. It’s huge—sometimes he even hosts fights there.”

Her smile fell. “I’ll never see that, Finn. You know it.”

She walked away and began to work on the buttons along the front of her gown with her back to him. She’d only thrown it on when they left Ripley’s, so when she dropped it around her feet and kicked it away, she was still wearing her sparring outfit from earlier in the day.

“I’ll need to arrange for you to have more clothing brought here,” he said, trying not to stare as she sat on the edge of a chair near the ring and unfastened her boots.

She glanced up. “You really want me here.”

“Until we can figure out how to end this, I need you to be. Please.”

She pursed her lips. “You sent word to Ripley already, yes?”

He nodded. “The first thing I did.”

“Well, I’ll write to Jane, as well. And I’ll ask if she can bring some things here, perhaps tomorrow during the bustle of the wedding so her arrival won’t be marked.”

“She saved you, you said. And you obviously wish to protect her. If she’s so important to you, then I very much look forward to meeting her.”

“ I look forward to you unwrapping all that propriety, my lord,” she said with an arched brow. “Unless you intend to fight in your cravat and waistcoat.”

He smiled at her cheek, and in the same moment, marveled at her transformation. Gone was the woman who had clung to him in his parlor, mobbed by fear. She was the Hellion now. She held herself with casual confidence as she watched him, stood with guarded readiness. She was glorious and she broke his heart. He loved her for making this part of herself to survive, and he wept for the circumstances that had forced it.

“Stop staring, Finn. It’s my turn to ogle you.”

He laughed and shed his jacket, then stripped open the buttons of his waistcoat. She folded her arms and jerked her head toward him, indicating she wanted the shirt off.

“So pushy,” he chuckled, but he was unwinding his cravat as he did so. He stripped open the buttons of his shirt and then tugged it over his head.

She let out a little sigh. “Much better.”

“Is it?” he asked before he sat to remove his own boots. “Do you want to wrap your hands?”

“I will and I warn you, I plan to swing.”

He inclined his head. “Very good.” He grabbed for wraps and she moved to the edge of the ring, holding out her hand. He caught it and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm and then the inside of her wrist.

“We can have that kind of sparring match later,” she teased, her voice a little more breathless.

He nodded. “I look forward to it.”

He wrapped her hands swiftly and then did the same for himself. Finally he joined her in the ring and they stared at each other for a long, charged moment.

She stepped up and let the back of her knuckles drag along the center of his chest. The fabric of the hand wrap stroked his skin and Finn drew in a sharp breath. She smiled.

“I’m going to throw hard punches,” she said. “I need to. But if it’s too much, tell me.”

He tilted his head. “I’ve watched you fight, Hellion. I know what you’re capable of. I’ll try to keep up.”

Her eyes widened and dilated, filled with arousal. Then she smiled, stepped back and they both shifted to a fighting stance. They circled for a few seconds and she darted her fist out, but without heat or purpose. She was measuring the distance, measuring the quickness of his reaction. He was impressed with her. Many men he’d trained or fought with never did so—they just rushed in like wild dogs and it never ended well.

“Are you going to fight, my lord, or just stare?” she asked sharply.

He circled and she followed. “I’m still struggling with the idea of hitting a lady.”

For the briefest moment, her confidence faded. “I’m not a lady anymore.”

He wanted to argue on that score, but it would do no good. “A woman, then. You . I don’t want to hurt you. I would do anything in this world to never, ever hurt you.”

She stopped circling and stared at him, her eyes wide and filled with emotion he so desperately wanted to name as matching the love he felt for her. But she wiped it away and instead glared at him. “Respect me enough to spar, Finn. Please.”

He sighed and began to dart his hand out, trying to find the right distance where a fifty-percent punch would land more like ten percent. She rolled her eyes and swung at last.

He blocked most of the punch with a quick raise of his arm, but she grazed his chin in the process and he was surprised at how much it stung.

“Too hard?” she asked with an innocent blink of those big, green eyes.

“Pretty hard, Esme,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“I’ve fought men before,” she said as she threw another punch, but he could tell she reduced the strength of it. He blocked it more easily and returned the punch, just grazing the leather corset around her midsection.

“You have?” he asked, eyes wide. He was distracted enough that he didn’t block her punch and grunted when she hit him across the shoulder.

She winced like she hadn’t meant to hurt him and adjusted her stance. They went back to circling. “When most women enter the fight game, they have to start on the streets. Back alleys, men who want to see your tits out, who want to see two women bite and scratch like they’re going to fuck.”

Finn shook his head. “I’ve heard of such exhibitions. How did you feel about that?”

“I hated it. Ripley hates it too, but it’s the way most women make their name. Then they can exit into the more lucrative and professional fights.” She swung and he dodged, but only barely. He was endlessly impressed by how fast she was. “Sometimes in those street fights, they pair a man against a woman. Again, it’s really about eroticism, but they often let us use weapons, you know because we’re so frail and unmatched.”

She said those words and threw hard. He took the punch against the flat of his hand and shook out the sting that followed. “Fuck, that’s extraordinary, Esme.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“With weapons? Like what?”

“Cudgels, knives. One woman used to fight men with two swords. It was very impressive, until she unmanned a bloke who once harmed her sister. Then she went to Newgate.”

Finn shook his head. “You must have been stunned by such violence when you started.”

She nodded. “I was. I’d been so sheltered my whole life. Oh, I was too brash and bold, it was why I never made a match in my debut years. But I’d never been struck. I’d never hit anyone in my life. At first it was terrifying, but it became empowering. I felt strong the first time I won a fight. I felt like I was able to be in control.”

She swung again and this time he caught her fist and tugged. She fell forward against his chest and looked up at him, her bright eyes shining and pupils immediately dilating.

“I like a lady who takes control,” he said softly.

She smiled up at him and then pivoted, breaking the grip of his hand easily. She took a few steps back. “Perhaps we need a street fight, eh?”

He arched a brow. “Oh? Do I need to go get you a sword?”

“No, I’ll go bare with you,” she said with a saucy wink. She gripped the midsection of her chemise and tugged. He realized as she pulled it free that she was wearing two pieces. Her top was a chemisette and as soon as she freed it from the leather she tugged it over her head, leaving her bare from the mid-waist up.

He swallowed hard at the sight of those gorgeous breasts against the dark leather.

“I think I might like street fighting,” he murmured as they fell back into a fighting stance. This time when she struck out, her punch was no longer hard. She barely brushed his chest, letting her cloth-covered knuckles drag down his skin again.

He sucked in a breath and stepped in closer. “I’ve heard some grappling is part of women’s fighting, as well. More often than men’s.”

She nodded. “Oh yes. Sometimes we…”

She trailed off and launched forward, catching his arms. He did the same and they moved around the ring together, eyes locked.

“And a takedown is very easy in this position,” she said. Before she even finished the statement, she swept her leg against his. He didn’t have enough time to adjust and he toppled backward. She came down over him, straddling his body, and pushed his arms back up over his head, holding him down.

“It seems,” he said with a little smile he couldn’t hold back. “That I am at your mercy, my sweet little Hellion. So how shall we fight now?”

T he idea that Finn was at her mercy was a potent one, even if Esme knew it wasn’t really true. Despite her skills, he was a far bigger and stronger person. It he wanted to put her on her back, he could. If he wanted to hurt her, he could.

But he wouldn’t. She knew that down deep into her soul. This man would never hurt her. And that made her feel safe in ways she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

She shifted, grinding down against him. She felt that he was half-hard already and smiled. “I don’t think I want to fight anymore, my lord.”

“No,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Than what do you want to do?”

She leaned down, continuing to hold his hands above his head, and kissed him. He groaned deep in his throat and lifted to meet her. Their tongues tangled and dueled, in a whole new kind of fight that set her body on fire.

“I want that tongue somewhere else,” she whispered when she pulled away.

His dark eyes widened with desire, and then he pulled each hand away from her. He pushed at her skirt and smiled when he lifted it away and showed her to be naked beneath. Then he cupped her bare hips, his fingers pressing into the skin, and slid her up his body.

She realized with a start that he wanted her to ride his tongue like this. And oh, she wanted to. Wanted to use him, draw all the pleasure she could from him, forget with physical acts that were just as powerful as fighting.

She slid up his chest and perched herself over his mouth, where she hovered. He laughed and tugged her flush with him, and then the only sound in the room was the wet lap of his tongue on her. She bunched her skirt in her hands, watching him work at her as she began to ride him. There was no hesitation, he delved into the act of licking and sucking her with nothing but attention and enthusiasm. He swirled his tongue around her, latched his mouth at her clitoris and rocked her hips harder. She rested her hands back on his sides, tilting herself for better access and surrendered to sensation. It was a gift he gave, an act of love that nearly shattered her as much as he would soon shatter her with pleasure.

“Let go,” he murmured against her skin.

She closed her eyes, focused on what he was doing to her. The way his fingers clenched against her skin, the way his tongue swirled, perfect pressure applied to the most sensitive place in her body. She listened to the catch of his breath, the way he moaned as if making her weak was his favorite pastime. And she spiraled in on the building pleasure between her legs, the expert way he built every brick in a wall he intended to pull down.

When it fell, she arched back, crying out his name in the quiet as she jolted her hips over his mouth and let the pleasure wash away everything else in the world. It was only him, it was only her, it was only this.

He drew her through the crisis, his hands clutching her tighter against him, never allowing escape. Only when her elbows buckled, when she collapsed back in a heap across his body, did he relent. She felt him shift, untucked her legs from beneath them. He moved over her, his hands coming into her hair, his mouth finding hers. She tasted her release on him, sank into the warmth and heat of it and of him.

“If this is where sparring with you leads, I’ll do it any time,” he whispered against her mouth.

She smiled. “Only with you.”

“Good.” The kiss deepened and she lifted her hips against him, needing to feel him inside of her. He ground down, the rough fabric of his trousers not hiding that he was hard now.

He shifted her onto her stomach and she whimpered as she lifted herself up in offering. He stroked her from behind and then she felt the bare thrust of him pushing against her wet sex. She collided back and took him inside in one harsh thrust.

“Fuck,” he grunted, and then he caught her hips and any illusion she had of control was gone.

He took her hard and fast, their skin slapping, their moans intertwining in the quiet. As she supported herself with one arm, she shoved her other hand between her legs and arched against her fingers. He moved faster as she gripped him, taking her pleasure as he lost himself in his.

When she came a second time, he let out a loud cry and then she felt him withdraw and the heat of him splashed across her skin.

Together they collapsed on the floor of the boxing ring, his body half-covering hers, his hands still stroking over her as they panted together in release.

“There is nothing like you,” he said as he kissed her shoulder and cradled her back against his chest.

She rolled to face him. “You can’t mean that.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“You’re too good at that to not be experienced,” she argued.

“But you’re you ,” he said, as if that should explain his words. “And when I’m with you, everything falls away but us. Yes, there’s pleasure, but there’s more. You must know there’s more.”

There was an edge to his voice now and she stared at his face, taut with tension that had nothing to do with passion. She swallowed. “Finn?—”

“I’m in love with you, Esme,” he said softly.

The words hung between them, as loud as an canon blast, as quiet as a whisper. She could hardly breathe as she looked at him and saw that he wasn’t playing a game, he wasn’t lying to gain advantage. He meant what he said. This man loved her, despite all the obstacles, despite the fact that there wasn’t a way for this to work out.

He loved her.

She wanted to answer, even though her spinning mind couldn’t formulate a response. But before she could, the door to the parlor opened and into the room came Finn’s sister, Lady Marianne and the Earl of Ramsbury. They were talking and laughing together until they saw Esme and Finn, and then they both stopped short, staring.

Finn shifted in front of her, shoving her chemisette back to her so she could cover herself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he barked out.

His sister was now looking at them through her fingers, but she lowered them as she said, “Lady Charlotte?”