Tammy Falkner - [Faerie 02] (5 page)

He turned the glass until the point that had the print of her lips on it faced him. Then he slowly drank. Her heart leaped within her breast. She jumped to her feet and crossed to pick up a hairbrush. She began to drag it through her golden locks.

“We can find a maid to do that for you,” he said. He may as well have said, “The sky is blue,” but he didn’t know what to say to her.
I’ve missed you fiercely. I think about you constantly.
And the ultimate question,
Are
you
with
child?

“I quite like doing it myself, thank you.” She closed her eyes and let the brush slide down the length of her hair. The brush caught on a snag, and she stopped to pull the knot out. He stepped forward and took the brush from her.

“No,” she protested, covering her head with her hand to stop his good intentions. He just wanted an excuse to touch her, nothing more.

He laid a hand on her shoulder to hold her steady and began to brush her hair with the other. She acquiesced with a long sigh, but she didn’t relax. He could feel her tension in the set of her shoulders. In the rigidity of her posture. “Where do you plan to go?” he asked softly, afraid to break the calmness of the moment.

“I don’t know,” she said, allowing her eyes to close.

“Back home?” He let the soft fall of her hair slide between his fingers.

“Can’t go back there until the moonful, if then.” Her shoulders began to relax a bit, and she shifted lower in the chair.

“If you’d wanted to see me, you could have just come to the front door like a normal person.” A grin tugged at his lips.

“What makes you think I wanted to see you?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“Because I have nowhere else to go.” She sat up straight and took the brush from his hand, laying it on the dressing table with a clatter. “My land is not a good place for me right now…”

***

And it wouldn’t be, not once her secret became known. Once people knew she’d coupled with a human.

“Everyone you know is there.” His eyes appraised her in the looking glass. Too closely.

“That is my problem, you see.” She got to her feet and crossed back to the fire. “I can’t stay there. Not right now.”

He was an amateur detective. Sophia had told her. He liked to solve riddles and puzzles, and find things out about people. Perhaps she could appeal to that side of him.

“About what happened between us,” he began. He stopped for a moment to cough into his closed fist, clearing his throat.

“Must we discuss that now?” She sighed heavily. She didn’t want to discuss it. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to deal with it.

“I think there are some things we need to say to clear the air.”

“You’ve been in my bed,” she said with as casual a shrug as she could manage. “It’s really no great event.”

“It was for me,” he said quietly.

It was for her too. But he bedded a different woman every night. She would wager on that. “It was but a moment.”

“Were there consequences of our actions? In your land?” He probably wanted to know if they’d snipped her wings. Or punished her in some other way. She was being punished, but not by the fae. She laid a hand on her stomach.

“No,” she replied. “They were not aware of our indiscretion.”

“Good,” he said softly. “I was worried for you.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was no more than a breath.

“Will you be here in the morning?” he asked. He looked deeply into her eyes. As though he searched for the truth. If she told him the truth, he’d run screaming from the room. Or do something equally as foolish, like try to marry her.

“If it’s all right with you.”

He nodded. Nothing more. Just a nod. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded in return. He would see her. She would let him shelter her while she figured things out. If that was at all possible.

The door snicked softly behind him as he left the room. Claire heaved a great sigh and looked at herself closely in the looking glass. How the devil had she gotten here to this place, to this time, in this predicament? Why had the door brought her to Phineas Thorne? And what on earth was she going to do now?

Finn rose with the sun the next morning, tossing the counterpane off quickly as he got to his feet. A tiny voice in his head warned if he didn’t move quickly, Claire would vanish like the wind. Gone before he could get an opportunity to settle anything with her.

He dressed and let Simmons shave him quickly, then stepped out into the corridor. He adjusted his clothing, feeling for certain like a debutante at her first ball. Was his cravat tied tightly? Was the sapphire pin stuck in the center too ostentatious? Were his boots polished to a shine? How did his arse look in these breeches?

Claire would hardly care about what a fine figure he could turn out. She was probably gone, anyway. He heaved a sigh, took the stairs quickly, and went toward the breakfast room. His lungs deflated when he stepped into an empty room. He turned around and ran straight into her.

“Oof,” she grunted, reaching for his shoulders to steady herself.

“Bloody hell,” he grunted, his hands landing on her shoulders as he reached for her. “Are you quite all right?” She blew a lock of hair from her eyes.

“It’s not every day a lady gets hit by a battering ram. But I’m well.”

Claire had a way of stripping Finn down to the bare bones. He wasn’t the younger brother of the infamous Duke of Robinsworth when he was with her. He wasn’t a wealthy man. He wasn’t a consummate lover of women. He was that idiot who’d just run into her. “My apologies,” he managed to say.

“Where were you rushing off to?” she asked, her head tilting a little to the left as her eyes narrowed at him.

I
was
going
to
look
for
you
. “To call for more coffee.”

She pointed toward the footman who stood at the ready in the breakfast room. “He couldn’t manage that for you?”

“He’s in charge of the sausages.” The corners of her lips began to tip up. “But I assume he could manage coffee.”

“Yes, my lord,” the servant said, as he bustled from the room.

Claire laid a hand on his chest, and he feared his heart would jump out to greet it. “If you wanted to get me alone, you had only to ask.”

“I’ve had you alone before,” he grunted.

Her brows arched in response, but she chose to ignore his response. “Do you have plans for the day?”

Aside from dogging her every footstep? No. “Yes, I have several appointments. What did you need?”

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug. She tugged at her clothing, and it was only then that he realized what she was wearing.

“Where the devil did you get that dress?” It was more like a sack than a dress. He reached out and ran the fabric through his fingers. Her skin would be chafed by the end of the day.

“I think it belonged to the housekeeper. Your grandmother didn’t have anything that would fit me.”

That thing she was wearing didn’t fit her either. “You have nothing else to wear?”

“You saw what was in my hands when I arrived.” She snapped her fingers to get his attention. “I have nothing.”

“That is where you are wrong. You just happen to have me.”

***

Claire’s heart tripped a beat. For a minute, an hour, for a day, she might have him. But not longer than that. “I’m not certain what you mean,” she said, hating the hesitancy of her own voice.

“Clothing is the first thing we must do, because I cannot bear looking at you in that much longer. Shall we send for the modiste? Or go directly to her shop? Since you’ll be in a hurry for something to wear, we probably should go to her shop to see if she has something already made.” He motioned toward the door. “Shall we go?”

“Shall we have some breakfast first?” she asked instead. The idea of being in a closed carriage with him was even worse than sitting opposite him at the breakfast table. She’d have to converse with him. And breathe the same air as him. And not wonder if he was remembering what they did together. Heat crept up her face.

“Shall I have someone bring a fan, Miss Thorne?” He waved a hand, stirring the air in front of her face.

“Shall you not be quite such an arse?” she retorted.

He chuckled lightly. It was an endearing sound, really. And it made her want to laugh with him, but only for a moment. “I will endeavor not to be an arse if you will try your hardest not to erupt into flames at the mere thought of spending the day with me.”

“That wasn’t what happened,” she began, but his smile grew, and she realized that sparring with him was too enjoyable for him. It gave him too much pleasure. “I’m famished, and I might keel over from starvation if you don’t allow me to break my fast soon.”

He motioned her toward the sideboard, where several covered dishes lay. He picked up a plate for her. “Shall I choose for you?” A servant lifted the lid on the first dish, and the rich smell of cooked, greasy sausage reached her nose. Her stomach revolted. She’d thought she was past this point, but such was not the case, because not only did her stomach revolt, but her head began to swim as well.

“Will you cover that, please?” she bit out, looking away as she breathed in and out through her mouth. Her mouth filled with saliva, and she pressed a hand to her lips. The plate in his hand clattered to the top of the sideboard as he dropped it and reached for her.

“What’s wrong, Claire?” he asked as the servant maneuvered a chair beneath her bottom, which was fortunate, since it happened just as her knees gave way. She flopped into the chair. The nausea was passing, but not quickly enough. Finn shoved her head down between her knees and instructed her to breathe deeply. If she breathed deeply, she might smell that disgusting sausage from across the room and that would just make things worse.

His hands toyed with her hair as he held her head down. It was almost amusing, the position she was in. “You can let me up,” she said, but the sound must have been hidden in her hair or her skirts or something, because he was suddenly kneeling before her, his hard gaze assessing her face as he looked into her eyes.

“What did you say?” he asked. His brows were drawn together, his eyes wary.

“I said, ‘You can let me up.’” She said it louder this time, and he scrambled to help her sit up.

“I’ll never make you wait before feeding you breakfast again,” he declared, a sparkle lighting his eyes. “Does sausage always make you want to cast up your accounts?”

“Not typically,” she admitted. But she certainly couldn’t explain it, could she? “Perhaps I could just get some toast?”

He got to his feet and let a servant fill a plate for her, overflowing with toast. “Jam?” he asked.

“Just toast,” she clarified. She couldn’t stomach jam any better than she could sausage. And the very thought of eggs…

“Just toast,” he repeated as he placed the plate laden with toast at the table and helped her into a chair.

She batted her eyes at the footman. “Could I get some tea, please?”

The man turned to retrieve a cup of tea for her. “Don’t bat your pretty little lashes at my servants,” Finn warned.

He thought she had pretty lashes? “I did no such thing,” she denied. She had, but only because she could. She hadn’t expected Finn to notice. “And they’re not your servants, are they? They’re Robinsworth’s.” That little jab was unnecessary, she knew, but she didn’t like to be told what she could and could not do. Not in the least.

“Right now, they answer to me. Robin hasn’t been home in months.”

“Do you have any idea when he and Sophia will be returning?”

“Nothing definite.”

She hoped it would be longer than a fortnight. She had at least a fortnight, maybe longer, before people would begin to notice. Before she’d have to find somewhere else to stay. Perhaps she could make some female friends by then and find a safe haven.

She picked up a piece of plain toast and nibbled delicately on the edge. She’d learned in the early days of her condition that some things would sit well with her stomach, and some would not.

The butler—she thought his name was Wilkins, but she couldn’t remember for sure—appeared in the doorway, where he stood at attention until Claire elbowed Finn in the side. “What is it, Wilkins?” he said with a heavy sigh.

“I wanted to inquire as to whether or not Miss Thorne will need a maid of her own.”

In other words, he wanted to know how long she would darken their doorstep. “That won’t be necessary,” she began.

But Finn cut her off. “Yes, please. She will need everything one needs when one travels. It appears all her luggage was lost.”

Wilkins nodded and said, “I’ll begin to make arrangements.”

Claire chewed her toast slowly, afraid her stomach would revolt, but when she finished the piece, she looked up at him. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I am quite afraid to. If the smell of sausage does that to you, I’ll wait until later.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. He was the reason she was in this condition, so she supposed he could suffer somewhat, couldn’t he? Without her feeling remorseful? Her stomach was feeling much better, but she still didn’t think she could tolerate that smell. She pushed her plate in his direction. “Would you like some toast?”

He smiled and raised a piece of toast to his lips. His eyebrows drew together like he was wondering about her. He’d better not wonder too much. Or he would find out much more than he wanted to know.

The bell over the door of the modiste’s shop tinkled as Claire walked through the door. The entryway was clean and classical with a large settee, some high-backed chairs, and damask walls. It looked… expensive. Claire suddenly realized that she had no money with which to buy new clothing.

“Finn,” she breathed, turning around quickly to go out and find him, but he’d stepped into the shop behind her and she ran directly into his chest. Claire stopped for a moment to inhale the clean scent of him. He smelled like morning in the forest in her land. She took a deeper breath, her nose pressed against his chest.

“Claire?” he questioned as he took her shoulders in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong. Not when he was nearby. She completely forgot her qualms about money, until the modiste bustled into the shop. “Good morning,” the woman chimed.

“Good morning,” Finn said. His glance toward Claire worried her for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. He bent and took the lady’s hand. “Colette,” he said smoothly, drawing her knuckles to his lips. “Lovely to see you.”

Colette? He knew the lady? Intimately, if the way her eyes warmed at the sight of him was any indication.

She was really quite lovely, with long, dark hair and a willowy body. But then she snapped her fingers at Claire’s face and said, “The maid can wait in the back.” She arched a brow and ruffled her fingers to move Claire along.

Finn’s face colored. “She’s not a maid.”

“Oh,” the woman said, a sudden irritation flashing in her green eyes. “Of course, she’s not.” She turned to Finn and laid a hand upon his arm. “Where did you find your new ladybird?” she asked.

She watched as Finn’s back went ramrod straight. “I found this one in Lord Ramsdale’s parlor. She just happens to be his daughter.” That wasn’t the truth, not the part about finding her in the parlor—she hadn’t even seen her father’s home yet—but the look on his face made it seem indisputable.

“Oh, I thought she was your new mistress,” the lady breathed, laying an amused hand over her mouth.

“She’s the new Duchess of Robinsworth’s sister,” Finn said, his voice full of hauteur.

That got the lady’s attention. She swallowed so loudly that Claire could hear it. “I assumed because of her attire…”

“Her luggage was lost. Carriage accident.” The man could lie with a straight face. Claire didn’t know if she should be jealous of his ability or in fear of it.

“The poor dear. So, you’ll need everything?” The modiste looked to Finn and he nodded.

“Everything.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “And to whom should I send the bill?”

Finn’s back grew even straighter. “To her father. Who else?” He looked down at Claire. “I will leave you in very capable hands, Miss Thorne.” He bowed and started for the door.

Certainly he wasn’t going to leave her here. “You’re not staying?”

He smiled indulgently. “I’ll return for you in an hour.” He arched a brow at the modiste. She shook her head and held up two fingers. “Two hours, then.” He nodded again and quit the room.

The modiste rang a bell, and two women appeared from the back of the shop and led Claire toward the rear. They spoke in rapid-fire French, and she had no idea what they were talking about. But when they started to unfasten her clothes and then threw them into the fire, she got the feeling that they didn’t approve of them. Not at all.

She stopped them when they got to her chemise. With the fashionable high waist of gowns, she could keep her secret for a while, but not if people started measuring her waist.

***

Finn looked down at his watch fob again and checked the time. He’d been gone for an hour, and he wanted to return to be certain Claire was all right. But he didn’t want to seem overly involved in her care and set tongues wagging.

When he’d been to the shop with Katherine, his former mistress, he’d stayed the whole time, watching her preen over silks, lace, and other fripperies. And she’d tried on clothing for him to be certain he liked it. It didn’t matter if he liked Claire’s clothing. He wouldn’t be helping her out of it. Or squiring her about town in it. And if he paid any undue interest, the modiste would get it into her pretty little head that they had a closer relationship than he intended to portray. Then Claire would be ruined. Ruined before she’d even stepped into society for the first time.

He supposed he could waste some time at White’s for a bit. He ambled down the street and entered the establishment.

He perused the room, happy to find that most of his consorts weren’t about. It was much too early in the day. Only a few older gentlemen sat about, drinking tea and looking through the
Times
.

“Lord Phineas,” a voice called. Finn turned and groaned inwardly when he saw Viscount Vinceberry motioning him over. The viscount was a middle-aged man, still sharp as a tack and as randy as a bull. He was everything that Finn hated in a gentleman. “Come and join me,” Vinceberry suggested.

Must he? He supposed it couldn’t be avoided.

“I’ve a little matter I wanted to discuss with you.” The last time Vinceberry had wanted to discuss something with Finn, he’d put him on a wild-goose chase looking for a man who was shagging his wife. The man didn’t exist. But it had been a bit of sport trying to figure out what had happened.

“How can I be of service?” Finn asked. Very few people knew he took great pleasure in solving crimes. And that he employed a small lot of thieftakers and spies. Unfortunately, the viscount was well aware.

“Not service, particularly,” Vinceberry prevaricated. “But I thought you might want to know…”

“Pray tell,” Finn drawled.

“It’s about Katherine.”

Finn’s gut clenched. “Katherine is no longer my concern.”

“Rumor has it she has taken up with Mayden.”

She’d taken up with the Earl of Mayden before she’d even left Finn. Mayden was an earl. But not a kind man. “That is not news to me.”

“The news, my boy, is that she was seen about town looking like he cuffed her a bit too hard on the cheek. She’d tried to cover it with powder, but it was clear as day.”

“Why is this any of my business?” Finn asked. He regretted the sharpness of his tone for only a moment.

Vinceberry tugged at his cravat. “I thought you might want to know, what with the fact that she’s,” he stopped to clear his throat, “increasing.”

So someone had gotten Katherine with child? Poor sod. “I still fail to see why this should concern me.”

“You didn’t know.” The man sat back and pushed his lips closed tightly. He inhaled, like he was steeling himself. “You needn’t claim the bastard, of course.”

“Why would I—?” Finn bit of the rest of his sentence as understanding dawned. “You’re implying that the bastard is mine.”

If it was, Katharine would have already come to him to collect funds from him. And for him to secure a place for her to live. She knew he would come up to snuff. “I’ll pay a visit to Katherine,” he bit out. He got to his feet.

“Brilliant idea,” the old man said. His eyes narrowed. “Take care with Mayden. He’s not known for his patience. I hear he’s very protective of his little dove.”

Protective, aside from the times he hit her. Of course. Finn understood men like him all too well. “I’ll take great care.”

Finn left the shop with a purpose in mind. But he glanced down at his watch and noticed the time. He didn’t have time to pay a call on Katherine right now. But he’d be certain to do so very soon. Finn stepped back into the modiste’s shop, and the tinkle over the door drew Colette out to greet him. The moment she saw him, the sway in her step grew almost provocative. It was most unfortunate that she no longer tempted him.

“Is Miss Thorne ready to depart?” he asked.

“Almost,” she said, as she stepped close enough to graze his arm with the side of her breast. “A lovely young lady,” she said, watching his face.

“She is quite dear to her family,” he said. He refused to fall into Colette’s trap.

“Will you be attending Ackley’s soiree tomorrow night?”

He hadn’t planned to attend. But it would be the best and only way to get close enough to Katherine to find out the truth of her situation. She always attended Lord Ackley’s soirees. They were known for their debauchery. Ackley had married his former mistress. She walked about in polite society but was still shunned in a lot of places. So she liked to throw parties where men could bring their mistresses and feel comfortable that no one would be the wiser. These parties usually required masks, but it was fairly easy to find out who was who after speaking with them. He knew Katherine intimately; he felt certain he could find her in a crowd.

“The soiree?” Colette pressed.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She looked up at him like she was waiting for an invitation. “I have invited a lady to attend with me.”

Colette laughed. It was a throaty sound, more like a purr than merriment. It made his skin crawl. “Who is the lucky chit?” Colette asked. She pointed toward the back of the shop. “Certainly not Miss Thorne?”

“Certainly not,” he spit out, trying to look appalled. “Her father and my brother would skin me alive for even thinking of taking an innocent to such a place. I rather like my stones just as they are.”

***

Claire stood behind the curtain and gritted her teeth so loudly she was surprised Finn couldn’t hear her. But he kept talking with the lady he called Colette. And Claire listened. She’d take his stones herself if he even dared to attend a soiree with the modiste. She was awfully familiar with his person. And he seemed to be enamored of her breasts. He hadn’t taken his eyes off them as they talked.

Claire pushed the curtain to the side and stepped into the entryway. “Miss Thorne,” Finn said with a quick bow. “Did Colette see to your every need?”

“Not the way she wants to see to yours,” Claire muttered.

“Beg your pardon?” Finn asked. His eyes twinkled, so she knew he’d heard her.

“I have a small wardrobe to send with Miss Thorne,” the modiste said. “We just happened to have a customer who ordered a lot of clothes and left for the continent before she picked them up. We have been waiting for the right person to come along and claim them. We shortened the hem on this one, and we’re working on the rest.”

“You look lovely, Miss Thorne,” he said. His eyes jumped about on her body, rather like he was watching a tennis match. Did she discomfit him? Perhaps a bit.

“Thank you,” she replied. Her heart thrilled at the tiny compliment. “If you’d send the rest of the clothing to Robinsworth’s address?” he asked of the modiste.

“Robinsworth’s address?” The modiste looked startled. “Rumor has it that’s where
you’re
residing, my lord.”

Finn looked down his nose at the woman. “You’re certainly not implying that there’s anything untoward happening at Robinsworth’s?”

Claire thrilled as the modiste said, “Certainly not.” She turned to Claire and curtsied. “It was an honor seeing you today, my lady.”

Finn held out his arm and Claire laid her hand upon it. He led her out of the shop with a determined stride. It wasn’t until they were outside that he took a deep breath. “What’s your relationship with that woman?” Claire asked. She hated herself as soon as the words left her mouth. But she couldn’t keep from asking.

“Define ‘relationship,’” he said with an unrepentant grin.

“You’ve bedded her.” Claire’s heart thumped hard within her breast. She didn’t like the thought of him with the modiste at all. Not one bit. In fact, she had an uncommon urge to stomp back into the shop and jerk the woman’s hair from her head.

“That was a very long time ago.” He looked a little uncomfortable as he handed her into the carriage.

“Not long enough for her.” Claire harrumphed, falling back heavily against the squabs. “To what party was she referring?”

“Just a gathering.” He looked out the carriage window.

“Do you plan to attend?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Why?” Her heart stuttered as she waited for his response.

“I need some information that can only be obtained at this soiree.”

“So, you do plan to attend.”

“Only if I can find someone to accompany me.”

“I would be happy to attend with you.”

“It’s not that kind of soiree,” he said with a harsh glance in her direction. “It’s not for ladies. It’s for people like Colette.”

“And like you.”

“And like me,” he agreed. “And not for ladies like you.”

Didn’t he know that she could be anyone she wanted to be? She spent her life in disguise. She could be anyone she wanted and make everyone believe it. “I’m not innocent, you know.” She said the words softly. And he suddenly turned to look at her. His gaze was hot enough to set fire to the carriage.

“I was there when you lost your innocence, Claire. You need not remind me.”

“But you just said I couldn’t attend with you because I’m not the right kind of lady.”

“You’re still not the right kind of lady.”

“I beg to differ.”

“It’s a masked ball. With all sorts of debauchery. Courtesans and mistresses. And a few paid ladies.”

“You mean whores?”

Finn sputtered into his closed fist. “Where did you learn such a word?”

Claire rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve been inside me, for goodness sakes. I’m no better than any of those ladies. Let me attend with you. Just for the sport of it. You can get your information and then we can leave.”

“Don’t say things like that,” he ground out. His voice sounded like it had been dragged down a gravel road before it left his lips.

“That I’m no better than those ladies?”

“That too.” He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “And that I’ve been inside you.”

Claire’s breath caught in her throat.

“I happen to remember it in vivid detail,” he went on to say. His gaze was locked on hers. “You needn’t comment on it.”

“You remember…?” Her voice was a quiet whisper, but he still heard her.

His fists clenched at his sides. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself before he said, “I remember everything. The taste of your skin. The smell of your neck. The feel of your thighs wrapped around me. The little breathy sounds as you cried out. I remember it all. I remember it in great detail. So, you would do well not to speak of it again.”