But she made it harder, melting into him with a surrendering, flawless fit.
He propped his chin atop her head, breathing in her scent. Breathing in his scent on her. The night rolled in the open window, tasting of coal smoke and the river. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were older, pretend he’d been able to keep her, pretend they’d made it through this strife. Made it past their disconcerting gifts and his humble status. Made it past the betrothal he suspected she’d toss aside if he asked her to, and the incredibly fortuitous one Ashcroft was possibly set to make. Swallowing regret there was no use voicing, he pressed his lips to a love mark on her neck. She’d marked him as well, scratched his back, bitten his shoulder.
Nothing compared to the damage she’d done to his heart.
“Please tell me that’s food you dumped on the bed.” She turned in his arms, the counterpane fluttering to the floor.
He glanced down at her, stilled. She’d slipped his shirt on and fastened two of the buttons, leaving it to drape and part delicately over her slim frame. “Yes, food,” he said distractedly, wondering why he’d once preferred women with generous curves when the willowy nymph standing before him was simply perfect.
Grabbing his hand, she tugged him across the room, scrambled atop the bed, and lit into the food, attesting to her hunger and confirming she was wearing nothing beneath his shirt. She patted the spot next to her, chewing furiously. Leaning, he yanked the knife from beneath the mattress. With wide eyes, she watched as he jammed the blade in the cork, gave it a good twist, and wiggled it free.
“You like the rough side of me, don’t you?” He skimmed the blade down her arm in a teasing sweep, observed her responding shiver. “I’ll have to remember that.” Then he frowned, thinking, remember for what? This affair ended at dawn.
Propping against the headboard, she stretched out her long legs, smiled widely as his gaze took a sluggish path to her face. Just a few short hours ago, he’d started a deliberate journey at her ankles and worked his way up. It had been a very thorough trip.
“Are you ready to tell me?” She gestured with a hunk of cheese to the scar on his chest.
He climbed to the bed and rested back against the bedpost, facing her but apart, worried he’d not be able to tell her if she touched him. “There’s not much,” he said, his voice raw, invalidating the assertion. “We found a boy with a tremendous gift. A runner assisting ships docking at the wharf. Freddie told the wrong people what he could do, and I didn’t get there in time when a group of sailors decided to brutally test him.” He took a weary pull from the bottle and circled his gaze to the ceiling, not ready to accept the sympathy he’d find coloring her eyes. Not prepared to let her see the guilt that surely lay heavily in his. “You know, the rookery where Julian and Humphrey found me isn’t far away. Part of the reason my living here vexes them. Why return to a slum once you’ve managed to crawl out of it?”
“It’s a good question,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. Let the sound of her breathing, a shift in a floorboard belowstairs, the rustle of silk against her skin settle in his mind. “I was an undisciplined hooligan with a nasty mouth, spewing threats I couldn’t possibly defend. Beatings were routine, even expected. Learning my lesson, as it were, was out of the question. Not when I couldn’t reconcile my despair, not while being dipped in everyone else’s. Walking through the market, down the alleys, the fateful stories, the private misery revealed to me. The cloistered thoughts rushing through my mind were consuming me. And then there were the men.” Tilting his head, he opened his eyes to find the pitying expression he’d hoped to avoid paling her cheeks. He shrugged though the pain was still intense after all this time. “It’s what happens to the beautiful boys.”
She swallowed, her throat clicking. A tear streaked unchecked down her face, and she scrubbed it away. “But they…Julian, he saved you.”
“They mostly saved me, yes.” He took another sip, the wine storming his empty stomach. “Never fear, Humphrey’s punishment when he found them was brutal. In all honesty, it made me realize what crimes I hadn’t been born to perform. A shock to the system about how unprepared I was to live my life in a rookery. Though I was a very skilled thief, a decent enough lockpicker, I was no killer, and to survive, with this gift, one needed to be. Or standing behind someone who was. Anyway, that was that. I was removed from the vicinity. Finley Michel, unknown grandson to a marquis, became Finn Alexander, beloved half-brother to Viscount Beauchamp.”
He flinched when she leaned in, seeking to comfort. One touch and he would shatter. “The only person to truly suffer was my sister. Belle lost everything while I gained. A family, wealth, even if I stepped down a few levels societally, unbeknownst to me.”
Victoria ran a knuckle beneath each eye but had the sharp insight not to approach him again. Then, with a drawn breath, she stilled, her brow pulling in thought. “Ashcroft is downstairs,” she said, smoothing her fingertips together as if they’d just gotten hot.
Finn took another drink, the wine beginning to slacken his awareness. “The troops have arrived. I suspected Humphrey would ferret us out at some point. Ashcroft is a bit of a surprise.”
Victoria scrambled to his end of the bed, her hands going to cradle his jaw, drawing his somber gaze to her frantic one. “I can’t do this with someone else. I won’t. You’re happy to bed every woman in this city but I—”
“Do you think this is like anything I’ve ever experienced?” He shoved to his feet, wine splashing down his arm and to the faded carpet. At her weak smile, he growled, “I don’t know why my anger always seems to goddamn amuse.”
She scooted to the edge of the mattress, her adorable body covered by almost nothing, sending his thoughts in a stupendously lascivious direction. “Because it’s real, Blue. Not that tedious mockery you show the ton.” She wiggled her elegant little toes and cast a shy glance his way. A tender look that melted his heart right where he stood. In a puddle with the bloody wine.
He found himself saying in desperation, “If Ashcroft offers, accept.” Ignoring her startled gasp, he stepped back, creating distance in the only way he knew how. “You would make a wonderful duchess and instantly decrease the odds of Mayfair going up in flames. It’s a win-win, as they like to say on the gaming floor two stories below. Earlier, I woke from a nightmare with a knife in my hand, Tori, which should tell you all you need to know about how far apart our worlds are.”
She shot to her feet and caught him in the shoulder, a glancing blow that nonetheless sent him stumbling. “Oh, you would love to fob me off on the Fireball Duke, wouldn’t you? Tie everything up in a tidy package, no remorse, no bother. Victoria placed in a proper, agreeable situation and everyone’s ecstatic!”
He smacked the wine bottle atop the sideboard and grasped her shoulders. “Actually, I wouldn’t.”
“It’s my choice who I give myself to. Not in marriage, perhaps, but in this.”
She didn’t realize. Much of anything.
That her family had more control over her future than she would have liked. That he’d never been able to play in bed. Be spontaneous. Be himself. Laugh, smile, tease, enjoy. She didn’t realize how awful it was going to be to watch her marry someone else. The Fireball Duke, the Grape, anyone but him. “I want you,” he growled and shook her to help the words sink in, “but you’re not mine. I want to spend the next year inside this room, inside you, discovering every hidden piece of you, body and mind. Talking and touching and baring my soul. But I’m not changing who I am, not taking the potential avenue of escape that’s been offered by claiming the Laurent name, grandson of a marquis, which would never be accepted anyway. The byblow of a viscount I’ll remain, untouchable for you. Let’s be clear on this point. I’d be untouchable no matter the circumstance.”