“No, I won’t do that. I’m a secret partner in this endeavor.”
“Ashamed of it? Or ashamed of being seen with me?”
She was horrified by his conclusion. “Neither. But while no one at the tavern might have known who I was, the ladies I’ll be inviting certainly will. I don’t want to be part of that life any longer. I’m not well suited to it.” She sighed. “I’m tired. I think I shall retire.”
She began walking sedately toward her rooms, not at all surprised when he followed.
“Promise me you won’t be going out to meet with anyone.”
“I’ve already told you I have no appointments.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t be going out.”
Stopping at her door, she faced him. “I plan to do nothing more than curl up in bed and sleep soundly.” Possibly better than she had during the three months since she’d run off.
He slowly skimmed his fingers along her cheek. “I’ve been thinking about something Robin said. You’re very pretty.”
She doubted it, as she was rather certain her skin was turning blotchy with the blush that was creeping over it—if the warmth she suddenly felt was any indication.
“And I should kiss you,” he said quietly, his fingers ceasing their stroking and burrowing their way into her hair as his palm cradled her chin, her cheek.
“Finn.” She’d intended to voice an objection, but his name on her lips was little more than a breathy sigh, an invitation, a welcoming.
When his mouth touched hers, she gave in to all the desires and yearnings she’d been holding at bay and returned his kiss with an enthusiasm that mirrored his. His tongue stroked hers, then swirled about leaving no corner, no hollow, untouched. He was skilled at causing her body to react, to grow lethargic and warm, to tingle and curl in on itself. He sent nerve endings rioting and pleasure cascading. With so little effort.
It had always been thus between them, kindling waiting for the strike of a match. But somehow, now, everything seemed to burn hotter and brighter, threatened to consume until nothing remained except ash. And in the ash perhaps she would be reborn to love again, perhaps her heart would heal, perhaps the wounds would cease to fester, perhaps she would find the courage to confess everything.
Drawing away, he pressed his lips to the underside of her chin, to that lovely spot near her ear where his heated mouth, when laid against it, always turned her knees to jam. She seemed incapable of stopping the sigh of surrender from escaping.
“I want you, Vivi,” he whispered.
“You want the girl I was, and she no longer resides within me.”
Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “You’re wrong. It’s the woman I want, the woman you are now.”
She forced herself to flatten her hands against his chest and push him back until the air she breathed no longer carried his dark fragrance. “If all this, the partnership, was in hopes of getting into my bed, we should cancel it before we go any further.”
“It’s what you can offer my business not what you can offermethat spurred me toward offering you a stake in this place—but that doesn’t mean there can’t be more between us.”
Reaching up, she brushed the hair off his brow. “You wouldn’t find me attractive in the least if you knew everything that transpired since the night we were to run off together.”
“Then tell me.”
Rising up on her toes, she planted a kiss on the corner of that lovely mouth of his. “Good night, Finn.”
Turning, she opened the door, crossed the threshold, and closed the door behind her. She took three steps forward and waited, waited to see if he’d follow her in. She didn’t know if she’d find the strength to resist him if he did.
After several long minutes, still alone, she walked to the window and gazed out on the street, determined to remain strong against the allure that was Finn Trewlove.
Chapter 19
She’d nearly finished writing out the invitations when the seamstress arrived two days later, a couple of servants in tow carrying several boxes. She didn’t bother tamping down her excitement as she stood and—out of the corner of her eye—caught Finn’s smug expression. It seemed in the matter of clothing, he understood her better than she understood herself. She thought she’d resigned herself to wearing worn frocks, but now the prospect of wearing something that was hers again brought with it unexpected delight. Perhaps she hadn’t left her previous life behind as much as she’d hoped.
She led Beth and her girls into the living quarters, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for them to unpack the boxes, tossing aside the thin paper and carefully displaying her new wardrobe over various pieces of furniture.
A navy-blue frock with buttons up to the collar and at the cuffs. Smart. Sharp. Something perfect for a business owner. A gray frock with blue piping and a flounce here and there, something else a woman of business or one with a purpose would wear. Undergarments, corset, silk, lace, ribbons, and bows—
And lastly an evening gown, a froth of dark rose satin and taffeta with a low bodice and straps that would fall off her shoulders, leaving them bare for wandering lips to savor. It was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in ages. She had to clutch her fingers at her waist to stop herself from reaching for it. “I’m not in need of a ball gown.”
