He couldn’t imagine it, the terror she must have felt, the horrors she must have experienced.
“It’s an odd world, Finn. There was one girl in particular who took an immediate dislike to me. She would attack for no reason. Yank on my hair or punch me in the stomach. Yell that I was a beast. I don’t know. Maybe in her mind she saw monsters.
“Then there was this man, called himself d’Artagnan—I never learned his real name. Anyway, he started my lessons on using the rapier. Only we used broom handles. And he taught me how to use my fists, how to fight dirty. Other than believing himself to be captain of the musketeers I never saw any madness in him. After I returned home, I went back to see him, once, but they told me his family had come for him. They wouldn’t tell me who he was. Sometimes I like to imagine that perhaps he was needed in France.”
Those brave words uttered tore into his heart—that she would strive to make it sound as though it were all normal. He cupped her cheek. “I want to commit murder.”
She gave him an understanding smile. “I know. That’s the reason I made you give me a promise not to harm my mother.” Gently, she placed her hand over his heart. “Every now and then, I see bits of the boy you were, the one I loved so desperately. I knew that part of you would not take well to this news.”
“Do you think if you go home, she’ll send you back there?”
“To be honest, I don’t know what she will do. But I am tired of fighting her. I want to live my own life on my own terms. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past three months, since I left poor Thornley standing at the altar. He’s madly in love with your sister, you know.”
“As well he should be. She’s a catch, our Gillie.”
She smiled, and he wished he could keep that smile on her face forever. “But are you happy, Vivi?”
“As happy as I can be based on all that’s happened the past eight years. Yes, I wear someone else’s discarded clothing. Some of it is a bit frayed and tattered and has been mended countless times. I have to dress and bathe myself. My comforts are fewer. Nonexistent, really, if I’m honest. But no one tells me what I can or can’t do. All the decisions are mine. It’s going to sound silly, Finn, but what I feel is... free.” She rolled her eyes. “To a degree. I haven’t yet determined how to convince my brother to stop searching for me. And I need to find some sort of employment that will allow me to do more than I’m doing now. But it’ll all come in time.” She placed her hand over his where it still rested against her face. “Tell me you’re happy.”
He didn’t want to lie to her. How could he be happy when all he’d ever wanted was her, and all she now wanted was the freedom to do as she pleased? He’d been imprisoned only five years, but was beginning to understand that she’d been imprisoned her entire life. Drawing her in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m getting there.”
Chapter 15
It was the hand covering the Earl of Collinsworth’s mouth that brought him out of a deep sleep, the tiny prick of pain at the underside of his jaw that kept him still as he slowly opened his eyes. The man staring down at him lifted the dagger from where it poked Collinsworth, pressed a finger of the hand holding the weapon to his pursed lips as his head bent slightly in the direction where the countess slept peacefully, completely unaware of the drama playing out beside her.
The intruder’s message was clear: cooperate or she will suffer.
Collinsworth gave a barely perceptible nod of understanding, fairly certain his tormentor could feel the hard thudding of his heart causing a reverberation through his body. The intruder slowly lifted his hand from the earl’s mouth and stepped back. With his fingers, he indicated Collinsworth should leave the bed.
He did wish he’d slipped back into his nightshirt after making love to his wife, but he much preferred the feel of his naked flesh against hers as they slept. On the other hand, he knew himself to be an impressive specimen of manhood. Perhaps he could intimidate after all. Carefully, he slipped out from beneath the covers, striving desperately not to awaken the love of his life. Once his feet hit the carpeted floor, he straightened to his full height.
The intruder seemed far from impressed, his gaze barely dipping to that in which the earl took such pride. Instead he grabbed the dressing gown from the foot of the bed where it lay in wait and tossed it to Collinsworth, before signaling that the earl should precede him out the door.
Once in the hallway and adequately covered, with the door closed, Collinsworth turned on him. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I want a word,” the scapegrace said in a tone he might use when asking for someone to pass the salt. “The library.”
Collinsworth had taken as much ordering about as he intended. “This room will suffice.” He opened the door to a bedchamber opposite his, turned on the gaslights, and stood in the center of the room with his arms across his chest, waiting as the intruder followed him in and closed the door. He narrowed his gaze. “You’re a Trewlove, aren’t you? I saw you at your sister’s wedding, but I don’t believe we’ve ever been properly introduced.”
“Finn.”
Hardly a proper introduction, but his heartbeat had returned to a calmer pumping. He couldn’t imagine a family striving for acceptance among the nobility was going to risk it by killing a member of said nobility. “What is your purpose in breaking into my residence, into my bedchamber?”
“I want you to call off your hounds.”
“My hounds?” The man was making no sense. “I don’t keep my hounds in London.”
Finn sighed, rolled his eyes. “The dogs you hired to find Lady Lavinia.”
Collinsworth swept a hand through the air as though shooing away an irritating fly. “I called them off weeks ago at Thornley’s urging.” The duke had seen his sister and assured him she was well, living a life she desired. It made no sense whatsoever to Collinsworth, but he’d dismissed the men he’d hired to find her.
“Did you inform her of that?” The anger in Finn’s tone was palpable enough to cause Collinsworth to take a step back in fear he was on the verge of becoming intimate with the fellow’s fist.
“I have no idea where to find her in order to get a missive to her.” He narrowed his eyes as a possibility dawned. “It’s you. You’re the one from her youth.”
He’d known only that when she was seventeen, during her first Season, she’d become involved with someone entirely inappropriate. His father had taken some sort of action to ensure the scoundrel—as the previous earl repeatedly referred to the person—never again bothered Lavinia or the family. Collinsworth had known none of the details, only that his father had arranged transportation for the fellow. His sire had then sent Collinsworth to a remote estate for a year to test his mettle at managing it. When he’d finally returned to London, it was to find that his sister was off touring the continent. His parents had hoped the time away would make her forget about the young man and more amiable to seeing to her duty of marrying Thorne upon her return. Only she didn’t return for three years, not until their father passed. Thorne, naturally, had never been told about the young man. But as he’d still been enjoying his own pursuits, in no hurry to wed, all had worked out. Or so they’d all believed, until Lavinia left him standing at the altar.
Rather than acknowledge the obvious, Finn said, “You’re going to write her a letter and I’ll deliver it.”
