Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

E sme stared at the crumpled page of London’s notorious Scandal Sheet gossip rag. Every week Jane stole a copy for Esme to enjoy, and normally she did. There was some fun to peeking back into the life she’d once led. But today she had read the main item three times and felt no pleasure at the voyeuristic experience. Only worry.

A certain wallflower who just spent time at her brother’s estate has come home and within days become engaged to a once-wicked earl! Who knows what wiles were employed to land such a catch, and if the stunning development will damage the lifelong friendship between the groom and his equally powerful now future brother-in-law? Earls will be earls, it seems.

The blind items of the sheet were never meant to be difficult to decipher, just easy to deny if someone wanted to make claims of damage against the paper. It was obvious this was referring to the Earl of Delacourt and his best friend, the Earl of Ramsbury.

“Oh, Delacourt,” she said softly as she pushed the paper aside.

She could only imagine his feelings on the subject. He’d always been protective of his sister, she’d known that even when he was little more than a phantom her father adored. To have her marrying someone well known as a scoundrel and under what sounded like potentially scandalous circumstances…

Well, it would weigh on him.

“You look like you will cry,” Jane said as she entered the parlor and flopped herself into the chair across from her at their small table. “What could possibly be in that paper to make you look so?”

She shook her head. “I’m being ridiculous, I know.”

Jane folded her arms. “Is this about that marquess again?”

“He’s an earl,” Esme corrected softly.

Jane pursed her lips and dragged the paper to herself, reading the blind item swiftly. “I see. And is he the one marrying the sister or the one who lost her to his friend?”

“He’s the one who is seeing his sister marry a friend,” Esme admitted with only a brief glance toward Jane.

Her friend snatched the paper up and crossed to the fire, where she tossed the page in. When she looked back, her expression was lined with worry. “Esme, you’ve worked hard to build some safety for yourself. To break free of a world that would have likely killed you had you stayed. Why would you endanger all you’ve created over some man ?”

It was a valid question and Esme put her head down on her arms because she couldn’t face Jane when she answered. “I don’t know! I’ve known plenty of handsome men, been attracted to men over the years, but I wouldn’t risk myself for any of them. I suppose that the fact that my…my father cared for him might have something to do with it.”

Jane’s mouth dropped open. “He knew your father? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

Esme looked up at her. “Because you’d give me the very look you are now. I knew you would scold.”

“Why shouldn’t I? That is even more reason to stay away from this man! Far away. He is actually from your old life—if he ever found out who you were…”

“I know.” Esme shook her head. “I know you’re right. I’m being the worst kind of fool and I despise myself for it.”

Jane sighed. “I’m sure I can’t imagine what it must be like to walk away from everything you ever cared about. Everything you ever knew.”

Esme looked at her, saw her friend’s strength and steel. “Of course you do.”

Jane softened a little and took her hand. She gave a little squeeze. “I’m spending an evening with a very fine merchant tonight. He’s taking me to the theatre.”

Esme was grateful for the change of subject and nodded. “How exciting. What will you wear?”

“The blue silk, I think. As long as you weren’t going to wear it tonight.”

She and Jane often shared gowns, with Jane stuffing the bust to fill out the space Esme needed more of. What was the point of spending twice the money on clothing when they could economize and save even more just in case? In their world, there were so often unexpected issues. Like one’s foolish obsession with an earl, for example.

“No, I didn’t intend to wear it,” she said when she realized Jane was waiting for the response.

“Excellent. And what will you do tonight?”

Esme glanced toward the fireplace. The paper was long gone now, nothing more than ash, but she knew what it said. If his sister was back in Town, Delacourt was, too. So she might run into him at the Donville Masquerade.

“I think I’ll just stay in,” she lied. “Read a book, go to bed early.”

“Well, I might not be back at all tonight, so you should enjoy your time,” Jane said. “Now come and help me, will you?”

Esme followed her to her chamber to help her dress and fix her hair, but all along she could only think of seeing Delacourt again.

Even if she shouldn’t.

F inn felt sour as he stood along the wall at the Donville Masquerade. He felt no pleasure in watching the games around him. His mind was too twisted up in knots to do so. He could only think of Marianne and Ramsbury, he could only think of a woman he would never see again.

God, he needed to get drunk beyond reason and just forget everything for a while. He turned to order another drink and start that very process, only to find the Hellion standing just behind him. His breath caught at her sudden arrival, like some apparition he’d conjured with inappropriate thoughts.

“Good evening,” she said softly.

He let his gaze flit over her. Tonight she wore a silky red gown that left little to the imagination, it was cut so low. Her mask matched and had black stitching. She looked like a fantasy, yanked from his very addled mind.

“You know,” he said, trying to rein himself in. “For a woman who isn’t interested in my company, we certainly keep seeing each other often enough.”

Her lips parted at his peppery tone, but she didn’t back away as some ladies might have. “Some moths go to the flame even when they know they’ll be burned.”

He barked out a humorless laugh at that assessment and his thoughts returned to his sister once more. Things were resolved now. Marianne and Ramsbury were engaged and deeply happy, but he still hated himself for not seeing what had been right before his eyes. “Oh yes, that seems to be entirely true.”

Her expression softened and for a moment she almost seemed to understand. How she could, he didn’t know. She extended a hand toward him, a lovely hand despite the faint bruise on one knuckle that reminded him of who she was. Or who she pretended to be in public, at any rate.

He should have turned away from it. He wasn’t in a pleasant mood and the idea of being rejected once more by this woman did not rank as something he wished to experience at present. But he was as much a moth to her flame as anyone else. And he found himself reaching out to take her hand.

She said nothing, but guided him to the dancefloor. He sighed as he put his arms around her and they began to move in time. She was quiet for what felt like a very long time, just staring up at him. Her dark green eyes were somehow a comfort as they held his, like a cool walk in the woods.

“I never said I wasn’t interested in your company,” she said softly.

He drew in a shallow breath. “You’ve refused me two times, Miss X. Forgive me if I’m confused.”

She swallowed and for a long moment she was silent, her gaze never leaving his. Then she said, “I won’t make you ask again, my lord. Will you come to the back with me? Please.”

His heart began to pound as he stared at her. Was this happening? After the days apart when he’d been obsessed with her? After all the heated dreams that woke him hard and aching in his twisted sheets?

If it was another of those dreams, he didn’t want to wake up. He released her from his arms and motioned toward the back. “Lead the way.”

She took his hand and did so, weaving them through the writhing crowd, guiding them toward the secret rooms in the back where couples played out their fantasies with more privacy. She motioned to the servant guarding the space and he nodded his head, putting up four fingers to tell her which room was open. It was obvious she had done this before. Briefly Finn wondered if she’d ever cared about anyone she brought here, but he pushed the thought from his head. It didn’t matter. This was a night of pleasure, nothing more.

They moved down the dimly lit hall and she pushed open the correct door. He followed her inside and watched as she locked the door and then crossed to a panel on the wall opposite a big bed. It was meant to allow for voyeurism for those in the passageway behind the rooms, but she slid it shut and then faced him.

“This is just for us,” she said softly.

He nodded, unable to form words when she was coming across the chamber to him, her hips twitching and her pupils dilated with as much desire as coursed through his own veins. All other thoughts and worries and pains slipped from his mind as she lifted up on her tiptoes and tugged him down to kiss her.

Whatever would happen next, he wanted to savor this night. He wanted to drown in it, and in that moment he didn’t really care if he ever surfaced again.

E sme hadn’t intended to find herself in the backroom of the Donville Masquerade, her tongue tangling with Delacourt’s while his strong arms came around her. Or perhaps she had, and had only been lying to herself when she’d told herself she only wanted to see him, only wanted to talk with him, only wanted to dance with him.

All she knew was that when she saw the brokenness, the lostness of his expression in the hall, she had needed to touch him. Needed to be with him. She knew that look all too well and sometimes pleasure was the only way to quell the harder emotions.

He drew back from the kiss, looking down at her, his breath short. She said nothing, but unfastened the buttons of his jacket and slid her hands beneath, where his body heat was trapped. She hissed in a breath at the hard strength of his chest, at the way her short nails raked the brocaded fabric of his waistcoat.

“I want to know your name,” he whispered as he bent to take her lips again. She moaned as his tongue tangled with hers, making her body tingle with anticipation.

“Why?” she muttered against his mouth, the word ending on a gasp as he guided his hand to her shoulder, down her arm, cupped her hip and molded her even closer.

“I want to say it while I take you, I want to moan it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands stilling on his lapels, even as he continued to massage and stroke and awaken her with desire. He began to unfasten her dress, one button at a time. It hooked in the front, made it easier for her to maneuver and take care of herself. He bent to press his lips to her collarbones, her chest, the very tops of her breasts as he slid the fabric open wider with each button.

“Esme,” she whispered.

He lifted his gaze, held hers a long moment, and then he smiled. “Esme. Beautiful, delicious Esme. You’ve always had me at a disadvantage when it comes to our names, but Finn. You must call me Finn when we do what we’re about to do.”

Her heart throbbed. She’d always thought of him as Delacourt. Sometimes she’d heard her father call him Phineas. But this nickname, it felt intimate. Something only his closest friends or family would use. And he gifted it to her.

“Finn,” she repeated softly, and he gripped her hip harder, like it pleased him.

“Again,” he said, and drew the fabric of her gown away, baring her from the waist up.

“Finn,” she gasped when he brought his mouth back to her flesh and slid it over her nipple.

She dug her hands into his hair, holding him there as he began to suck her, gently at first, then ever harder as she arched against him, gasping for breath and purchase. He backed her toward the bed and laid her back, continuing to lick and suck from one nipple to the other.

His hands crept lower, thumbs catching in the folded fabric at her hips. She lifted them, grinding against him even as he shoved the fabric down and she kicked it away so that she was naked with him save her stockings and slippers.

He pulled back, got to his feet and stared at her. She knew what he saw. Her days training made her body more muscled than the typical lady and she had bruises here and there from her fights. Sometimes when men saw her they acted like they didn’t like those things. They wanted everything to be soft and gentle. She had been forced to leave soft and gentle behind years ago.

“You are gorgeous,” he whispered as he unwound his cravat, shed his waistcoat, then tugged his shirt over his head.

She sat up as he did so and smiled at the toned body she’d known was lurking beneath all that propriety. “And so are you.”

She got up and now it was her turn to touch. He stood still as she flattened a palm to his chest and dragged it lower, feeling the warmth of him, the firmness, the wiry hair that peppered the muscle. He was a fine specimen and oh, she relished the idea that she would claim him, even just for a little while.

Her hand glided over his stomach and his breath hitched as she played her fingers at the waist of his trousers. She met his gaze, held there and then cupped his cock. He was hard, pressing against the straining fabric and her palm as she rubbed him.

“Very nice, Finn,” she whispered.

He laughed. “I aim to please.”

“As do I.” It was true. In this moment, all she wanted to do was please him, make him lose control. Make his legs shake while she tasted him. She flicked open the buttons of his fall front. The placket of his trousers dropped away she lowered to her knees, looking at his cock as she stroked him. He was as beautiful here as anywhere. He was thick, the flesh a shade darker than the rest of him. She smiled at him, darted out her tongue and licked.

“Esme,” he gasped.

“Yes,” she whispered between continued teasing licks. “Keep saying it.”

He dug his fingers into her hair, his fingers briefly touching the cord that held her mask in place. She froze, but he didn’t try to reveal her. He simply adjusted his hands with a moan when she took him into her mouth fully. She squirmed as his fingers gripped the back of her head, urging her to take more as she sucked him. She did, reveling in the feel of his hardness every time it touched her throat. Reveling in his increasingly incoherent sounds of pleasure as she eased him to the edge. She rocked with her strokes, aroused by pleasing him, by the command of his touch, by the edgy need of his moans and cries.

She would have finished him that way. She would have finished him and licked her lips like a cat and then demanded he play with her until he was hard again and they could start over. But he seemed to have other ideas.

He caught her armpits and lifted her, tugging her off of him and pressing her back so she fell into the bed. His dark eyes were glittering as he caught her thighs, massaging them before he tugged her to the edge of the mattress. He lowered his mouth and she widened her legs, aching for what she could see he would do.

“Yes,” she cried out as his mouth covered her sex. He peeled her open, massaging her as she began to grind up to meet him. His tongue traced her, teased her, tasted every inch of her. When she twisted against the pleasure, he pressed a hand to her hip and held her steady.

And then he began to swirl his tongue against her clitoris. She gasped, gripping the coverlet with both hands, rocking against his tongue as he expertly brought her up to the edge with just a few swipes. She had never felt so close to coming so soon with a lover. Normally she had to work for it, but this was like floating, flying, as if it was something she had been built to do with him.

He started to suck her and her back bowed off the bed as waves of electric pleasure roared through her. “Finn!” she cried out, loving how he moaned against her, the vibration only making the pleasure better, higher, deeper.

He gave her no quarter, continuing to suck and lick until at last her body collapsed, her legs still shaking and her body weak with pleasure.

Only then did he rise up over her, wrap her legs around his hips. He pressed his mouth to her, letting her taste her pleasure as he speared her in one long thrust.

She jolted as she stretched to accommodate his thick length. He drew back and took her again, his fingers digging into her thighs as he moaned, “Esme…”

She lifted to him, holding his stare as he claimed her over and over, grinding his hips against her already sensitive clitoris, bringing her pleasure back to a peak that she couldn’t resist. He smiled as she gasped and groaned beneath him, feeling the edge of that pleasure so sharp between her legs.

“Again,” he murmured, just like before, but he meant for her to come.

She let herself fall, twisting and arching against him. He moaned at her body’s grip, at the waves of her pleasure, and she reveled in how the tendons in his neck tightened, showing her that she had dragged this man to the fine edge of his control. She wanted to break him. She wanted to feel the cracks as he shattered above her.

She rocked harder, her pleasure gripping him, and he cursed. His face grew red, his breath sharp and unsteady. Then he shouted her name, withdrew, and the heat of him splashed against her stomach as he came.

He collapsed over her, dragging her back onto the bed so they were no longer half off the sheets. She adjusted her mask to be certain it was still secure and then rested her head on his chest, their breath slowly matching as they both came down from the high of pleasure. She found herself tracing the lines of his chest, memorizing the ridges and valleys of him.

“Was it worth the wait, my lord?” she asked, glancing up at him.

He smiled. “Very much so. I needed that.”

She tilted her head. She ought not to push, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself. “Why?”

He drew a long breath. “I’ve been…out of sorts the last few weeks. It’s partially your fault, you know.”

“My fault?” she repeated.

He nodded. “All I could think about was you since we last parted.”

Her heart fluttered at that. “Compliments, compliments. But you said only partially. What was the other reason?”

He shook his head and the teasing light went out of his eyes. “My sister and my friend are…they’re marrying. He’s a rake. A rogue. I always warned him off her, for fear he would seduce her. And he…he did.”

She sat up a little. “Oh. Was he forced her marry her?”

“No.” His lips pursed briefly. “He—he claims he loves her. I sent him away, but they reunited upon our return to London. She is ecstatic and every time I catch him watching her, it’s with true regard.”

“But isn’t that good?” she asked carefully. “Would you not wish your sister to marry for love? Or is the man not of your world?”

His answer meant everything to her. Would he dismiss someone below him, as he thought her to be? As she was in truth now, after the years lived where and how she had.

“He is. He’s an earl like me,” he said. “And yes, I’ve only ever wanted her to marry someone she actually wanted. I never would have forced her to do otherwise.”

Esme smiled a little. Not many brothers or fathers or cousins could have the same said of the women in their care. For most ladies of distinction, their only value was seen in trading them for marriage. They only existed through their relationship to some man, either the one who sired them or the one who tried to breed the next heir with them.

Finn sighed. “I just…I missed the signs. I wasn’t a good brother. What if I’m missing them now? What if she will be hurt because I’m distracted by my own problems?”

She saw the true worry in his expression, the pain. Once again he looked lost and she wanted to help him. Needed to, it seemed. She cupped his cheek gently.

“Finn,” she whispered. “You can only do so much. If they seem to be in love, then you must simply be pleased by that and hope for the best.”

“Perhaps,” he said softly. “I only want to protect her.”

She smoothed her fingers over his cheek again and thought of the sister he so adored. She had come out after Esme, and they had been in different circles. But she’d always liked her. Always thought highly of her intelligence and gentle kindness to those around her.

“Perhaps you needn’t. I think Marianne has always had a good head on her shoulders and?—”

His brow wrinkled and he sat up suddenly to stare at her. “Marianne? How do you know her name? How do you know anything about her?”

She froze. How in the world had she made such a mistake to not only use his sister’s name, but also to imply she knew her? The answer came up swiftly, though, slapping her in the face. She’d wanted to comfort him so much, and she was so easy with his company, that she had forgotten herself for a moment. The mask, at least figuratively, had slipped and now she had to put it back before he revealed her completely.

“I-I don’t know anything,” she said, scooting back from him a fraction. “You said her name earlier.”

His nostrils flared slightly. “No, I didn’t. I know I didn’t. I never said her name was Marianne. And that wouldn’t explain how you’d speak of her with such familiarity.”

She folded her arms, faking indignation when what she truly felt was terror, tingling down her to her fingertips, throbbing in her pounding heart, making the room tilt ever so slightly. “I didn’t. I don’t know what you mean.”

Frustration lined his face. “Stop lying, Esme. You said my sister has a good head on her shoulders.”

She threw up her hands. “I misspoke, I meant to say I was certain she did considering what you’ve said about her and who you are. You’re making something out of nothing.”

“I wish I were,” he said, and leaned closer. “Who are you?”

“I’m—”

“Who are you?” he repeated, slowly and succinctly.

She swallowed. He was too clever to lie to, too clever to believe whatever she said to put him off. Oh, she had failed herself, drawn in too much by a man who put her off-kilter. Jane had warned her and she hadn’t listened.

Why hadn’t she listened?

“Who are you?” he said again, this time more gently as he reached out and drew his fingers along the bottom of her mask.

“Leave it alone, Finn,” she whispered, but it was a plea, not an order. There was no stopping this now and she knew it.

He pinched the mask edge between his thumb and forefinger and gently lifted it, pulling it over her head and tossing it away. She prayed he wouldn’t recognize her, but she knew those prayers couldn’t be answered as he stared, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide.

His voice trembled as he cupped her cheek and said, “Charlotte?”