His smile grew, but his eyes remained closed, a detail she was thankful for as she assisted him to a resting slump against the pillar. Settling in beside him on the step—far enough to prevent them accidentally touching but close enough for a shimmer of awareness to dance along her skin—she wondered if she should start a conversation or merely endure the charged silence for as long as she could stand it.
“What are you doing out here at this time of the night without that rabid-eyed duenna of yours?” he finally asked as he dug around in his waistcoat pocket. Gesturing to the cheroot he extracted, he anchored it between his lips.
Victoria nodded, charmed by his graciousness in light of the impropriety of the situation. “I couldn’t sleep. Agnes always can. At the drop of a hat. It’s so quiet here, except for the occasional creak of a floorboard or rattle of a windowpane.” She traced a crack in the step. “I suppose I’m used to the commotion of the city. The stink and bustle, the feverish pace. Even if one suspects they don’t like it, one becomes inured.”
He exhaled a wisp of smoke but didn’t comment. Then, in an outrageous offer, he offered the cheroot to her.
“Oh, no, I—”
“You can do anything you want, Tori. You left the vipers behind in Town. It’s just you, me, and the crickets.” He tilted his head, gazing at the sky. “And a thousand stars. Just look at them, will you? Besides, I know you to be a very bothersome package, up to a dare.”
Releasing a huff, she took the cheroot from fingers more suited to sculpting clay than smoking stubs and lifted it to her lips. The tip was moist, which sent a dart of heat straight through her. No way to deny it. “It doesn’t taste good,” she whispered with a grimace.
“Why, no, it doesn’t.”
She coughed and handed it back to him. “Then, why do it?”
His gaze caught hers, sapphire dialed down to onyx in the shadows. “Because I can.” Then he laughed, an enchanting sound that wrapped around her as handily as her missing shawl. And she found herself laughing with him. “There’s that wicked smile. I feared the prospect of spending your summer here had forever altered your disposition. Broken your courageous spirit.” He gave her one sweeping glance. “However, you’re here, cavorting around in your nightclothes. That’s courage in action.”
She rested back on her elbows, marveling at her ease with a man she barely knew. With his patient air and unruffled manner, he was gifted at making people feel comfortable. Even if being comfortable was not in anyone’s best interest. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here, or shall I wait for the explanation over kippers and toast?”
Finn stretched his legs out with a sigh. Long limbs that took time, there and back, to complete the study of. His boots were polished, his breeches pressed, shirt neatly tucked. What immaculate stylishness he had, even in this state. Another of his gifts. “What did Piper tell you?”
He needs a friend.
Victoria dug the tip of her pinkie deeper in the cracked marble. “Nothing, actually.”
“Many thanks, Pip,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“I believe the interpretation was, she’s your problem.”
He gave the cheroot a twirl, the flaming tip shooting a crimson glow over his skin. “For the first time in my life, I’m challenged.” He was silent for a thoughtful moment, his hand going to his brow and pressing. “But earlier today, while you were away from the house on your walk with Piper, thoughts just flowed through me like a rushing brook, and this is what I surmised. Without intending to surmise anything, I should add. One of the kitchen maids is worried about her mother after a recent illness. A footman, a fairly new arrival at Harbingdon, is obsessed with his cousin. Although I can’t say if it’s a man or a woman suffering from the footman’s admiration. Cook broke a tureen she worried she might need to prepare the roasted lamb. The guard at the gate”—he frowned and flicked the cheroot into the azalea bushes lining the veranda—“oh, Lord, never mind that one.”
She rolled to a sit and turned to face him, tucking her night robe around her. “How do you know these things?”
He tapped his temple. “My parlor trick.”
She gasped and brought her hand to her head.
Chuckling, he drew his knees up and rested his forearms on them, a boy’s stance in a man’s body. “Relax. For some reason, I can’t steal a damn thing from that fascinating brain of yours. Believe me, I’ve tried. Besides, you clog the pipes when I’m close to you. It’s bloody weird. A temporary but astounding respite. I don’t hear anything. Which I’m not sure how to fathom.”
“You read thoughts? Minds?”
He made a checkmark in the air. “Yes, yes.”
She clenched her hands in her robe, her palms dampening. “All those events. Balls. Horse races. The gaming hell. Musicales. Bond Street during the apex of the season. I saw you there once surrounded by a veritable flock. How can you stand it?”
His smile dimmed, his charm tumbling off the edge of a cliff, and leaving what she supposed was a truthful expression. An extremely weary one. “Judging from tonight’s performance, the last year’s performance, perhaps I can’t.”
“But not me,” she whispered, her gaze drifting across the lawn and to the golden glimmer of a lake she could see in the distance. “You steal thoughts, but not mine.”
He balanced his brow on his folded arms and was still for so long she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “I would pinch them if I could, I can’t seem to help myself. I’m a born thief, Tori, I’m laying that right out there. A rake the likes of which you’ve never encountered. But, somehow, you’re blocking my gift.” He exhaled through his teeth, cursing softly. “Gift. What a tidy word for a disastrous burden.”
“How long…?” She gestured inanely to her head, to his.
“As long as you’ve been able to nick chunks of time. Forever, am I right? I used to have to touch people to capture their thoughts, mostly anyway, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve gained more control. Much due to working with Piper. She’s quite talented in helping one strengthen their ability. I can shut it off, or rather, turn it down. Sometimes. But in a crush, it’s impossible. Walking down a crowded street is like going to war.”
“Healer,” Victoria breathed, recalling Piper’s word from earlier. Lady Beauchamp was indeed afflicted, just as she and Finn were. His request to come to Harbingdon for the summer was starting to make sense.
“She isn’t a medical doctor. It’s more a healing of the soul.” He rolled his head to look at her, shadow and light playing across his high cheekbones, his firm jaw. “I send my mind out like a dog to hunt. Then I’m brought back thoughts, along with a face to connect them, usually, which is helpful. Thoughts no one wants to release, thoughts buried deep. People have unwittingly shared clandestine affairs, murderous dreams, ghastly degradations, fantastical aspirations, heartfelt fantasies. I journaled for years, my hands covered in ink, pages and pages of notes because Piper said it would help clear my mind but…”
“Your mind is full, but you’re empty,” she whispered in a ragged voice.