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.”
