She felt a flare of hope she hadn’t allowed herself in years. One she hated. Hope only caused disappointment in the long run. She couldn’t let a pretty face convince her otherwise.
She folded her arms. “What do you think you could do exactly?”
“Insert myself. Everyone knows I was close to your father. If I asked questions about him, that wouldn’t be unexpected.”
“It would also be potentially dangerous if I’m right about my cousin’s murderous heart,” Esme said. “Why would you bother?”
He tilted his head, and for a moment it felt like he could see right through her. “Because I cared for your father.”
She was surprised how that statement stung. It was foolish that it did. She and Finn barely knew each other and all they had shared was two nights of passion. Amazing passion, yes, but nothing that should make her wish that he thought of her in his plans for her cousin, not just her father.
“Well, my father adored you,” she said, and ducked her head. “You were his favorite.”
Finn slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Yes, we were close, but in this case your remarkable ability to read others has not served you. I most definitely wasn’t his favorite. During our talks, he would go on and on about you, Esme. He adoredyou.”
She hated that memories flooded her, along with tears that stung her eyes. She tried so hard not to think of her father because it hurt so much. But now she could almost see his smile, smell his tobacco, hear him laughing at some story she told him over breakfast.
“Well,” she gasped out. “Perhaps he did at that.”
Finn took her hand. “I want to know the truth, too.”
She nodded slowly. Of course he would. She’d opened a Pandora’s box when it came to the demise of her father. Of course a man who’d cared for him wouldn’t be able to simply close it and walk away. Why hadn’t she anticipated that?
“I suppose,” she said slowly. “That after more than two years, my cousin must believe he got away with whatever he did. I’m gone, no longer a bother and a reminder. No one has arrested him or even investigated him.”
“He could have his guard down,” Finn said. “My thought exactly.”
She worried her lip. He wasn’t wrong about that. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
She expected him to argue, or even to tell her he didn’t care about her opinion. After all, he could do whatever he liked. He didn’t need her permission. But instead, he just nodded.
“It’s been an emotional few days for you,” he said. “I understand why it would be difficult to make a decision about something that’s brought you so much pain. Think about it. And when you’re ready to discuss it again, send me word.”
Her brow wrinkled. “You…you won’t do anything until I say?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that.” He leaned toward her. “I think you’ll find that I’m actually not as much an arse as I pretend to be. Though don’t tell. I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.”
She found herself laughing. “Not after all these years building it up, I understand.” She sighed. “Yes. I’ll think about what you suggested. And now I should go.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and she shivered at the warmth of his breath on her skin. What this man did to her. “You’re certain I couldn’t convince you otherwise?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure you could. But it’s for the best if I take some time by myself, I think.”
“I understand.” He moved for the door. “I’ll arrange one of my unmarked carriages to take you home. Take your time dressing.”
He pulled a robe on to cover all those lovely grooves and valleys of his remarkable body, then exited into the antechamber where she assumed he would ring for servants. She stared up at the canopy of the bed again with all its rich fabric and expertly carved wood. Even the bed was from a different class than she was now.
And yet this man wanted to help her. Help himself, too, of course. But he wasn’t forcing anything. All he did was give. Orgasms, a listening ear…an offer to punish the man who had stolen her world, her life, her father.
It was a bewitching thought that such a man existed.
Slowly she got out of the comfortable bed, stretching muscles that ached from wicked use over and over that long night. She found her gown near the doorway and wrapped it over herself, tying and buttoning the little hidden places where the dress came together and could be removed easily. One of the benefits of being Esme and not Lady Charlotte anymore. Lady Charlotte’s gowns had not been something she could put on or take off herself. God, she hardly remembered Lady Charlotte anymore. That part of her had begun to die the same night as her father and been buried when she ran away.
She blinked at unexpected tears and went to the mirror to fix her hair as best she could when half her pins had disappeared to heavens knew where. When she felt at least somewhat presentable she took a deep breath and moved for the chamber door and the antechamber within.
Finn wasn’t there so she took a moment to look around as she hadn’t when she’d needed him more than she needed information. It really was a lovely room, filled with the personality of its owner. She smiled at the landscape painting she instantly recognized as an Ezra Pembroke piece. Did Finn know what else the man painted? Wicked, erotic portraits?
Actually, he likely did. Finn was no monk, that was certain. Though the number of books stacked beside a comfortable chair by the fire did imply he was also not just a libertine. She moved to them and looked at their spines. There were some histories of different parts of the empire, a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets and, most shockingly, a copy ofThe Castle of Wolfenbach, a wonderful, horrid Gothic novel she had adored as a girl.
