“Anne,” Finn scolded as he hugged her tightly and set her back on her feet. “A lady doesn’t fling herself at a gentleman.” He winked at her.
“Sophie flings herself at Papa all the time,” the girl said, her brows drawing together. “And Lady Ramsdale even kisses Lord Ramsdale.” She put her fingertips over her mouth and giggled. “Sophie’s going to have a baby.”
Goodness, a lot could happen in three months. He ruffled her hair with his hand. “I’m glad you’re home.”
She scuttled past him and he continued toward the study. He didn’t stop to knock on the door but admitted himself. He startled, however, when he realized that Lord and Lady Ramsdale were present, as were Sophia, Claire, and their brother Marcus. Ronald and another woman Finn recognized as one of their servants occupied a space at the back of the room. Claire looked like she’d rather be presented to the guillotine than her parents.
“Robin,” Finn said. His brother smiled and embraced him quickly, and Finn shook hands with Lord Ramsdale and Claire’s brother. He bowed toward the ladies.
“Thank you for taking care of my daughter,” Lord Ramsdale said. “We hadn’t intended to stay as long as we did in the land of the fae, but there was a lot that needed to be taken care of.” He looked fondly upon his wife. Claire looked like being drawn and quartered would be preferable to standing next to them.
“No trouble at all,” Finn managed to say. Having them there was akin to having the rug pulled out from beneath his feet. Like tottering on the deck of a rolling ship. Like having his life snatched away. Like a great, yawning canyon had just been placed in the path between him and Claire.
Lord Ramsdale’s eyes narrowed at him, but he didn’t say anything more.
Claire looked down at her toes. He ached for her. This was painful, he could tell. “What are you all doing here?” she asked.
“We wanted to see you,” Lady Ramsdale said. “We had no idea where you’d gone. You just disappeared.”
“It’s a long story,” Claire began.
Finn interrupted. “A story best told over dinner, perhaps?” He turned toward Claire. “I came to collect you for our outing, Miss Thorne.” At her confused look, he continued as smoothly as possible. “You promised earlier today that you would accompany me to the art exhibit in town. Did you forget?”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, how could I forget?” She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “We have plans to visit the art exhibit. In town.” She laid a hand on Finn’s arm. Her touch shot straight to his heart. She was going to let him attempt to save her from the situation. Meaning she preferred his company to theirs.
“Art,” her father said. “An art exhibit, you say?”
“Yes,” Finn croaked.
“I happen to be a connoisseur of art. Perhaps we can join you?”
“Tickets had to be purchased in advance, I’m afraid,” Finn replied. “And it’s sold out. But I promise to have her home in a few hours.” He quirked a brow at Ramsdale. “She has so been looking forward to it.”
“Of course,” Ramsdale clipped out. He stepped back and Finn held his elbow out to Claire. She laid her hand upon it and let him lead her from the room.
***
Claire didn’t take a breath until they were out of the duke’s study and standing outside the closed door. Then she did the unthinkable and threw her arms around Finn’s neck and kissed him. Right there in the corridor. She embraced him and laid her lips on his.
Finn laughed against her mouth as he kissed her quickly and set her away from him. Apparently, he had more sense than she did. “I thought you were going to toss me over, there for a moment,” he admitted.
“Thank you,” she sighed. “Thank you so much.”
Finn’s tone softened. “You’re welcome.” He looked up and down the corridor. “What do you want to do for the next few hours?”
“Oh, you need not entertain me. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not in question. But I did tell your parents we would be going off together. So, I think we should. Where would you like to go?”
“There’s not really an art exhibit, is there?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh.” Claire rang her hands together. But then she noticed the painting behind them. It was a painting of a sunny room, with a lady’s desk off to one side. On top of the desk rested a quill pen and several pieces of parchment. “Let’s go there,” she said.
“Beg your pardon?” Finn looked at her as if she was bound for Bedlam.
Claire felt for the magic paintbrush that was tucked into her garter. It was there. This should work. The question would be whether or not she could take Finn with her. She reached a hand into the painting and felt for the other side. It was there. Warm and safe. She leaned her head into the painting, much the way someone would dip their head beneath the water while swimming in the lake, and saw that the room was as pictured—quiet and serene.
Finn ran a hand through his hair as his jaw dropped. He blinked his eyes open, closed them, and then did it again. “Pick me up and put me into the painting,” Claire urged. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he lifted her in his arms.
“There has to be an explanation for this. I am not going to stuff you into a painting.” He held her there, suspended in the air.
“It’s all right. You can go with me.” She nibbled her lower lip. “Or at least I think you can.” She pointed toward the painting with her toe, which sank into the painting ever so slightly before he jerked her back.
Footsteps sounded at the other end of the corridor. “Please hurry. Someone is coming.”
He stood there like a dolt, holding her in the air. So, she clambered out of his arms and jumped head first into the painting.
***
Finn stood there in the corridor, wondering what the devil he’d just witnessed. But then a slim hand reached through the painting and motioned him forward. He took it in his grip and tried to pull her back through. But she held firm. She released his hand, shook her finger at him, and motioned him with a crooked finger again. She held her hand still in the air, and he took it reverently. Any sort of trouble could befall her in there. He had to go with her to be sure she was safe, didn’t he? He counted to three and leaped into the painting to join her.
Finn had a little experience climbing out of windows from his more debauched days, but the oak floor he landed on was much harder than the ground. He rolled into his shoulder and onto his back. Claire stood looking down at him with her hands on her hips.
“Hello,” she said with a tiny wave.
Seventeen
Claire looked down at him. He deserved accolades for being open-minded enough to dive into a painting, particularly since he hadn’t even known magic existed until a few months ago, and he’d had very little exposure to it.
He didn’t make any attempt to get up from the floor. He just lay there and gazed up at her. “Would you like a hand?” she asked.
“No,” he grunted, rolling his shoulder. “I think I’ll just lie here for a bit. Don’t mind me. I just fell through a magical portal into a painting.” He shrugged and twisted his mouth in a most amusing fashion. “Happens to me every day. I should be used to it by now.”
Claire sank down on her haunches and looked at him. “I couldn’t think of any other place to go.”
“A carriage ride wouldn’t have been enough for you? A trip to the park?” He grimaced again. “No, you would only settle for diving head first into someone’s library.” He sat up on his elbows and looked around. “What is this place?”
Claire looked around. She wasn’t entirely sure. “Some lady’s sitting room, maybe?”
“How did we get here?” He lumbered slowly to his feet, dusting himself off as he stood up.
“We jumped,” she replied. “Don’t you remember?” She reached for him. “You didn
’t hit your head when you fell, did you?” She riffled her fingers through his hair. “Never mind,” she said, as she stepped back. “Nothing could harm that hard head. I need not have worried.”
“Very amusing,” he said, but a grin formed on his lips. “Can we go back?”
“I don’t want to go back yet,” Claire said. “Let’s wait until my parents are gone.”
“Is this a house?” Finn asked. He walked toward the walls, but when he touched one, his hand sunk as though into mist. “That’s a bit odd.”
“This whole situation is odd.”
“So, the room isn’t part of a house?” He touched the mist again and then pulled his hand back.”
“No, it’s just a room with furniture. No real barriers. If you walk out of it, you end up nowhere.” She sat down on the settee and kicked her shoes off, then pulled her legs up beneath her skirts. “This must be a figment of someone’s imagination. If it were a real place, we could walk around it just as we could any other place.” He looked askance at her. “In other words, we can walk into places that are real and be in the real place, via the painting. But if the place isn’t real, it’s just…” She held her hands out to the sides. “Like this. Do you remember the night I tumbled into your room? I went there through a painting.”
“You had a painting of my chambers?”
She still didn’t understand that part. Not completely. “No. Just a painting of a door. It just happened to be your chambers on the other side.”
“How do we get back?”
“The magic always gives me a frame to climb back through.” The only time it hadn’t was the night she’d tumbled into his room. She pointed to the painting on the wall. It was a painting of the corridor they’d come from. Nothing more.
“How does it work?” He looked closely at the painting, but when he touched his hand to it, it was firm.
“It only works for me,” Claire said. “I don’t understand why it works. But it does. When I was four, my grandparents put a paintbrush in my hand, and as long as I had that paintbrush and some magic dust, I could go into any painting I chose. They took the paintbrush from me after I went away for a sennight. I’d launched myself into a kitchen I’d painted, and it was filled with food and drink. I knew they’d be angry at me after I’d been gone a day, so I stayed a while. When I finally came home, they took the paintbrush from me and hid it.”
“And you have said paintbrush now?” He looked from one hand to the other.
Claire patted her thigh. “Tucked in my garter.” She laughed at the bemused look on his face. She had to give him credit, though. Not many men would have jumped through a portal with her.
“Does it work for anyone who holds the paintbrush?”
“No. Only me. Sophia and Marcus tried it again and again, and they couldn’t go anywhere.”
“Pity for them.”
“They were always envious.” She laughed lightly at the thought.
“I wouldn’t have thought you were so precocious. You seem much more reserved than Sophia.” He quirked a brow at her. “Or are you?”
“I think I proved on the night I met you that I wasn’t as reserved as you might think.” Heat crept up her cheeks at the reminder.
“You’re pretty when you blush,” he said softly as he sat down beside her on the settee. “So, what do you want to do while we’re here?”
Claire yawned into her cupped hand. “Take a nap?” She laughed at his stricken look. But she was tired. She’d never needed as much sleep as she did right now. “Want to go to bed with me?” she asked.
***
Finn’s gut clenched at her choice of words. “Go to bed with you?” he said with a laugh. But then his voice dropped to a silky slide. “I think I already did that.”
She blushed even more profusely. “A gentleman wouldn’t mention such things.”
He chuckled. “I think we have already proven that I’m no gentleman.”
“What are you, exactly?” she asked as she scooted him over to the end of the settee. She lay down and put her head on his thigh. She looked up quickly. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“My lap is at your disposal,” he said with a flourish of his hands. She gently laid her head on his lap, and he started to run his fingers through her hair. He hit one of her pins and she flinched. He tugged it gently from her coiffure. Then he proceeded to tug them all from her hair, one by one, until her strawberry blond tresses fell over his lap in waves. “So pretty,” he breathed.
She rubbed her cheek on his thigh, rooting farther into him for comfort. She sighed heavily and the heat of her breath sank through the knee of his trousers. He ignored the heavy pounding that was starting in his manhood. If she didn’t look up, she wouldn’t even notice it. He stroked his fingers down the length of her hair. She settled against him. “Tell me about you, Finn. What are you, aside from the duke’s brother?”
She let him stroke her scalp and caress the side of her face, smiling softly as he did so. So, his little kitten liked to be petted. Evidently, she liked it a lot. He’d originally thought she was prickly, but she wasn’t. She was soft as cotton but with sharp teeth and claws when she needed them.
“I am nothing, aside from the duke’s brother.” It pained him to say that, but it was true. He had no calling. No purpose in life, aside from his amateur detective work and the crimes he solved. He didn’t even solve very many of them himself anymore, not since he’d started managing Robin’s holdings. He paid his men to do it. “I like to learn things about people. I can find a needle in a haystack.” He jostled her shoulder when she softened against him.
She snorted. “Sorry,” she said. “I told you I was tired.”
“Am I boring you?” He stroked down the length of her hair again and she purred. He felt the vibration of her throat in his leg, and heat shot straight to his groin. An erection he could ignore had just turned into one he couldn’t. He adjusted it, pushing it to the side away from her head.
“Are you comfortable?” She started to sit up, but he turned her head away from him.
“More comfortable than I think I’ve ever been,” he admitted.
“Tell me about the crimes you’ve solved,” she urged, and yawned again.
So, Finn told her all about himself, and he kept talking long after she’d fallen asleep because he was afraid that he would wake her if he stopped. He didn’t want to give up this moment for anything.
***
Claire woke to the soft rumble of… What was that noise? She moved, and the pillow beneath her moved too. Claire lifted her head to find Finn looking at her. “You snore,” she said. He’d somehow rearranged their bodies while she slept so that he was stretched along the length of the settee with her draped on top of him.
“You make a fabulous blanket,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. He didn’t make a move to change positions, so she laid her head on his chest again.
“You make a nice pillow,” she said against his waistcoat. There was a small wet spot beneath her mouth. Apparently, she’d drooled on him. How mortifying. She moved to sit up, but he put his arms around her. “Don’t move. I like holding you.”
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.
“No clue, but if you’d like to reach in my pocket and get my watch fob, we can check.” He yawned loudly.
“It can wait.” She didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay wrapped in his arms forever. But she couldn’t. He wasn’t of her world. And there could be no future for them.
One of his legs rested along the back of the settee and the other dangled toward the floor. Claire was nestled between his thighs, and she wiggled to get more comfortable.
“Be still,” he warned.
A hard lump pressed into her belly and she suppressed a grin as she realized what it was. She’d held him in her hand last night, and he’d spent himself all over he
r fingers. The thought of doing it again was maddening. She liked pleasing him. And he obviously liked being pleased. She moved to the side to slide a hand down his leg.
“Careful down there,” he grumbled.
“I’ll be very careful,” she whispered as she leaned up and touched her lips to his. He sipped at her lips softly, and she touched her tongue to his.
“Claire,” he growled. “Don’t play games with me.” He lifted her hand from where she’d gripped him through his trousers and pushed her head back down to lie on his chest. “Just let me hold you for a bit, will you?”
But Claire just hitched herself higher, until the vee of her thighs was directly over his manhood.
“Claire,” he groaned. He threaded his hands into her hair and forced her to look up at him. “Don’t start something you don’t want to finish. I’ve been hard for hours. I won’t be satisfied with what we did last night.”
“Thank goodness,” she whispered. Then she leaned in to kiss him again.
Eighteen
“Marry me, Claire,” he said, pulling back from her lips in tiny increments, saying one word at a time. She didn’t even hear him until he repeated it more clearly. “Marry me, Claire?” he asked.
She stilled on top of him. “You know I can’t,” she said, and then she sat up with her elbows on his chest, looking down at him. She looked like a rumpled angel, lying there with her cheeks all rosy and her hair all a mess. The print from the buttons of his waistcoat was etched onto her cheek. His heart squeezed in his chest. Is this what love felt like? If so, he liked it. He wanted to wake up to her looking like this every day for the rest of his life.
“Why can’t you?” he asked.
“Because it’s forbidden.”
“Yet others have done it.” He jostled her shoulder. “You can’t use that excuse. Give me a better reason.”