“Selfish, boorish, every bit as unpleasant as I recalled,” he said, but he did so slowly, as if trying to ease her into a thought she wouldn’t like.
She pulled her hand away slowly and stared at him. “You found yourself uncertain of his intentions,” she said. “You think him innocent of my charges.”
His immediate surprise that she could read that in his expression and body language was almost comical. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t an unfair judgment, especially after what sounded like a brief encounter, and yet anger rose up in Esme’s chest. No, not anger. Disappointment. She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted this man as an ally. Wanted his support not just for an investigation, but to tell her that her beliefs about her father weren’t just born out of heartbroken grief and a weakness. She wanted him to take her side.
And now that he wasn’t, at least not wholeheartedly, her chest hurt and revealed even more of the weakness she had been admonishing herself for all day. She got to her feet and turned away.
“This was a mistake, I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll just go on as I was.” She took a long step toward the house and ultimately escape, but he rushed to his feet and went after her.
“Esme!” he said, catching her hand.
She yanked her hand back and threw her elbow out to thwack his fingers away, then pivoted and set her body, immediately in a fighter’s stance.
He stared at her, his breath coming hard and heavy, but he didn’t move toward her. Instead, he took a step away, hands lifted to show he was no threat. A lie. All he was was a threat,perhaps not to her physical person, but to everything else she’d built and become.
“Please,” he said, more softly now.
She was blinking at tears, hating herself for letting him see them. “If you want to take his side?—”
“I’m onyourside,” he interrupted, and now he stepped up again, this time more carefully and took her hands in his. There was nothing aggressive about the motion, nor about the way he smoothed his thumbs across the top of her hands so gently. This time she didn’t pull them away. “I’ve spoken to him all of once and the first impression he leaves is of a silly fop. Of course that could be false, he could be much more Machiavellian beneath. So I don’t necessarily believe one way or another that he did something yet.”
She pursed her lips. “When you put it that way it sounds…reasonable.”
He let out a low chuckle. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that before.” His smile fell. “Esme, don’t you think it would be agoodthing if we determined that your suspicions about Francis are untrue? That your father’s death was deeply tragic, but natural?”
The tears she had felt stinging her eyes now began to slide down her cheeks no matter how she tried to stop them. “I-I need it to be someone’sfault,” she gasped out. “I want there to be someone to blame.”
His eyes softened and he drew her in, putting his arms around her, holding her against his chest as his hand came up to stroke her hair gently. She dug her hands into his coat, clinging as she was wracked by sobs she hadn’t been able to release for years. It shocked her how they came, how she couldn’t stop them, and how he quietly allowed them without comment, without discomfort. All he offered was kindness and understanding.
Eventually the pain loosened, released its harsh grip on her body and soul and she was able to stop weeping. She lifted her head from his now-damp coat and heat filled her cheeks.
“My apologies,” she whispered.
He cupped her cheek, brushing away some of the remaining tears there. “I doubt you’ve ever fully been able to grieve thanks to your cousin’s actions. You needn’t ever apologize for how you feel, at least not to me.”
He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief, monogramed with his initials. He handed it over and she first wiped it over his jacket.
“I must at least apologize for the state of this coat.”
He smiled. “Things are things. It’s not damaged.”
She tilted her head in wonder at him, then wiped her eyes and nose. When she had put herself back together a little, she sighed. “I didn’t even allow you to finish your story. So you talked to my wretched cousin and made your first impressions. You planned to invite him to your sister’s engagement ball. Were you able to do that?”
He nodded. “I was. You should have seen his eyes light up, the grasping fop. He was thrilled to be included in such a highly spoken-of event and he agreed to attend. So the next part of our plan is already in motion and we’ll see where it leads.”
She clutched his hand in hers. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m sure his tongue will be loosened when he has a drink or two in him and is puffed up in his own importance.”
“That’s my hope, as well,” he said. “I won’t stop, Esme. I’ll continue until I’m certain I’ve uncovered everything he may be hiding when it comes to your father. I promise you that.”
She stared at him. There had been many men who had made her promises since her father’s death, both when she’d briefly worked as a lightskirt and since. She’d never had any trust in them. Butthisman had already kept his word and she foundherself believing that he always would. That she could trust him with her faith and hopes. Dangerous but oh so bewitching.
She inched closer to him on the bench and his pupils dilated as she rested a hand on his chest. “Thank you, Finn,” she whispered before she leaned up and kissed him.
He allowed it, his arms coming around her, drawing her even closer. The brush of lips turned headier, hotter, as she traced the crease of his mouth with her tongue. He opened to her, letting her taste and tease him until her breath was short and all she wanted was to be closer to him. As close as she could be.
She drew back. “I want to go to your chamber.”
