He ignored the need to take possession of that mouth that spoke with such determination and authority, making it impossible to doubt the words. There was a fierceness to this woman that hadn’t existed in the younger version. Oh, she’d had a temper and had smacked him a time or two, but he suspected she’d now use that blade on him without regret. Strange how she was acting the injured party when she was the one who had tossed him aside. Finn’s Folly, his brothers had called her. She’d lived up to the moniker with a betrayal the depths of which he’d have never believed of her.
“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about you. What are you doing here,Lady Lavinia?” He’d intended to keep his voice neutral and yet he’d been unable to prevent his last two words from being filled with the disgust he harbored toward her.
Her answer was a digging of the tip of the rapier more pointedly into him. He felt a prick, thought she might have actually drawn blood. Not that he let his surprise show on his face. He moved not a single muscle, at least not visibly, although every part of him tensed, ready to spring into action if need be.
“Stay clear of me,” she ordered.
“Or you’ll what?”
Another hard press. This time she definitely broke skin.
“Go ahead,” he dared. “Run me through.”
“Don’t think I’m not tempted.”
In one swift fluid movement, he brought his arm up, knocked the rapier aside, closed his hand around her wrist, and snagged the other when she brought it forward in defense. He shoved both her arms behind her back, manacled her wrists together with one strong hand, grabbed her shoulder with the other, and jerked her forward until her breasts were pressed to his chest, her head bowing back as far as she could take it.
Bringing her this close had been a hell of a mistake. Her pelisse had flared out on one side and the hardened peak of her nipple poked his chest where his coat had parted with his movements, creating a small expanse where he could feel the warmth of her, triggering memories of when the entire naked length of her had warmed him. His body reacted as though she’d spread herself out over a bed, inviting him to seduce and conquer. He wanted to torment her as she’d tormented him all those many long years ago. “Once you were old enough, neither of us seemed to have any restraint when it came to temptation.”
She shouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of her earlier position, but it all had been a bluff. She could no more kill him than she could cease to breathe. And not because she’d never killed anyone, but because he was Finn. While he was responsible for so much pain, there was a time when he’d been responsible for her most ultimate joy.
Now she could barely stand to be this near to him, should have despised inhaling the familiar fragrance of him. After what he’d done to her, how could she still take pleasure in the wonderful dark, rich, leathery scent of him?
Questions hovered on the tip of her tongue, questions she’d not give him the satisfaction of asking. What had she done to turn him against her? Why hadn’t he come for her as he’d promised? But it no longer mattered why he’d abandoned her. Too much time had passed. She was no longer the girl she’d been. His answers wouldn’t change the past, wouldn’t change her or her plans for the future. “Release me.”
She could see the anger burning low in his eyes, her words a spark to kindling that would soon be ablaze. He somehow managed to snuff out the flames, his grin slow in coming but devastating when it reached completion. Bold, and wicked, teasing, filled with promises of pleasure—if she would but succumb. “I think not. You drew blood. There’s a price to be paid for that.”
“There’s always a price to be paid with you, isn’t there?” Eight years ago, they’d made plans to run off together, to leave everything behind—and he hadn’t shown. He’d left her languishing, heartsore and devastated, with tears streaming down her face. “I paid it once. I’ll not pay it again.”
His smile disappeared, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed. His hold loosened only a fraction, his hips swayed back slightly, but enough. Unhampered by petticoats as they were no longer a luxury she could afford, she jerked her knee upward with all the force she could muster, felt his soft bollocks giving way to her hard bone, and felled him with one whack. Grunting with pain, gasping for air, he dropped to all fours, his strangling sound giving her a sense of satisfaction that horrified her on one level because she took such pleasure in it.
Snatching up her rapier from where it had fallen, sheathing it back into its scabbard, she was surprised to note her hands had all their feeling. He hadn’t been holding her as tightly as she’d thought, hadn’t harmed her. Perhaps she’d have taken pity on him now if he hadn’t devastated her years ago. “Steer clear of me,” she ordered before spinning on her heel and marching toward the entrance to the street.
“Vivi!” he rasped.
She nearly turned back around, nearly went to him to comfort and ensure she hadn’t caused any permanent damage. Instead she carried on.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped over her shoulder, her voice echoing between the buildings. He’d given her that particular pet name and he alone had ever used it, his quiet, intimate tone always making it sound like a cherished endearment, back when she’d thought she meant everything to him.
Chapter 4
1863
On the Cusp
“Once you are presented to the queen,” her mother said, “you will find yourself immersed in a whirlwind of a Season. Such wonder, such excitement, such thrills. Ah, to be young again.”
Ah, to be in London again, Lavinia thought as their coach, bearing only she and her mother since her father and brother had returned to the city a month earlier, traveled over the rough road, four horses at the helm. She knew she should be anticipating participating in her first Season, but the eagerness that had her fairly bouncing on the plush leather bench had more to do with her impatience to see Sophie—and, if she were honest, her impatience to see Finn as well.
In the two years since he’d carted off her mare, they’d met at the stroke of midnight every Tuesday and he’d taken her to visit with Sophie. She’d become quite adept at not getting caught. She’d learned not to put on her shoes until she was sitting outside on the stoop. She wore the simplest of clothing, no petticoats, so no rustling noises disturbed the quiet when she dashed down the stairs and through the hallways.
Always he was waiting for her, with that horrid old wagon, but she’d even come to appreciate it because it rocked so much that often the movement would cause her to nudge up against him, over and over, as though the groaning wood and creaking bolts wanted them together.
“I daresay, after you’ve had your coming out, Thornley will press his suit, will officially ask for your hand. You will be married by year’s end, my girl.”
Any other lady would be on pins and needles waiting for a betrothal she knew was to come, but Lavinia was in no hurry, actually hoped he might not propose this Season. Oh, she liked him well enough and couldn’t deny he seemed to grow more handsome with each passing year, and she understood fully he was her unquestioned destiny. It wouldn’t do at all for the daughter of an earl to marry a man whose trade was the disposal of horseflesh. Still, that didn’t mean that sometimes she didn’t dream...
Whenever Finn took her to his brother’s brickworks factory, he would lead Sophie out of the paddock, place his large hands on either side of Lavinia’s waist, and lift her with his strong arms until she was sitting on her mare’s back, entwining her fingers into the silver mane. Then he would walk her up the road and back, up and back, and they would talk about his life and hers and how very different they were. She had time for strolls through gardens, could identify all the flowers, while he barely knew the difference between a rose and a carnation. Although in spite of their dissimilarities, they had a good deal in common. They enjoyed reading adventure stories, preferably in exotic locales. They found solace in looking up at the stars. Sometimes after she’d ridden Sophie, she and Finn would stretch out on a blanket and gaze up at the night sky. He knew all the constellations and had pointed them out to her. Her favorite moments were when they had a picnic, but everything was done at night when secrets were best held close.
