“I didn’t want you trying to steal her away,” Finn said easily. “Move over. I’m taking your chair.” Then he pulled out an empty one for her, and she settled into it.
After the men shifted around to accommodate the new seating arrangements and were lowering themselves, another—this one dark haired and heavily bearded—walked up holding a tumbler of amber liquid, grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, set it between Aiden and Finn, and dropped into it.
“My brother Mick. Mick, say hello to Vivi.”
His gaze wandered over her slowly, not in a licentious way, but he was definitely assessing her as though she were a puzzle box that when opened would reveal a treasure. “You don’t live in Whitechapel.”
“No,” she stated succinctly. “What gave it away?”
His eyes widened slightly, perhaps because she refused to be intimidated by him, his attention jumping to Finn before coming back to her. “Your clothing. They’re very fine threads.”
“I have a skilled seamstress.”
“Who works with expensive cloth.”
“Leave off, Mick,” Finn said, his tone a warning snarl, and again she was struck by how he was protecting her, not wanting the slightest unpleasantness to ruin her evening.
“Her diction is posh—I’d say aristocratic.”
Although Finn had told her not to give away too much about herself, these were his brothers. Surely, they were to be trusted. “My father is the Earl of Collinsworth.”
“Is tonight a lark, then?”
“Don’t you have someone else you can go irritate?” Finn asked.
“Not a lark,” she said. “I’ve long wanted to meet Finn’s family. Although I daresay, with the exception of Aiden and Finn, you don’t resemble each other in the least.” They also seemed to be rather close in age, which baffled her.
“We’ve all different mothers and fathers,” Mick said.
“But how can that be if you’re all in the same family?”
“We’re bastards.”
Finn watched those green eyes slowly blink, once, twice, three times, in shock and—he feared—disgust. He loved his brothers, but at that moment he had a strong urge to kill Mick, or at the very least rearrange the perfect cut of his nose. Finn’s parentage—or lack thereof—never seemed to matter when he was with Vivi.
Mick’s words had suddenly made it matter. Very much.
“We’re leaving,” Beast said, suddenly shoving back his chair and standing.
Confusion furrowing his brow, Aiden looked up. “Why?”
“We’re ruining their night.”
“But there aren’t any other tables.”
“We’ll stand at the counter.” He nodded to Vivi. “It was a pleasure, my lady.” Then he strode off, and Aiden had the good sense to grab his mug and follow.
“Did you not tell her?” Mick asked. He’d been the first brought to Ettie Trewlove’s door, the first she’d taken in and kept as her own, and he’d always viewed himself as the eldest, even though none of them knew precisely when they were born, didn’t know the exact order in which they’d come into the world.
“Finn’s parentage matters not one whit to me,” Vivi said with all the grandeur of a queen passing down a decree.
“It’ll matter a great deal to your father.”
“Go to bloody hell, Mick,” Finn uttered through clenched teeth, striving to rein in his temper before he sent his balled fist flying toward that chin that few people knew sported a deep dimple much like his father’s because his brother kept it hidden beneath his thick beard.
Mick gave a brusque nod before shoving himself to his feet. “Lady Vivi.”
“It’s Lavinia,” she said.
