She tilted her head and regarded him somberly. “You do know that I didn’t ask for your permission, don’t you?”
“Damn it, Claire. You have to stop these missions of yours.”
She snorted. It was quite an endearing sound, really. “I’ll never stop my missions. I’m a faerie, for goodness sake. If you take away my missions, you might as well take my wings.”
Finn lifted a lock of her hair to his nose. She still smelled like summer. Would he ever tire of that scent? He hoped not. “Will this wash out?”
“It’ll be gone by tomorrow.” She patted his knee. “Don’t fret.”
He finally looked down at what she was wearing. She wore an emerald-green gown, trimmed with a wide gold ribbon beneath her breasts. Breasts that made him fear they were about to tumble out of her gown. Would be such a bad thing? Definitely not.
“I’m taking you back home,” Finn said.
“I want to go to Lord Gelson’s. We don’t have to stay long. I just want to see how well Colette pretends to be me pretending to be Mrs. Abercrombie. What I don’t understand is why Colette wanted to be Mrs. Abercrombie in the first place,” Claire said.
“Colette has wanted entrée into that part of society for quite some time. I assume she met Mrs. Abercrombie, or you, as it were, and decided that since Mrs. Abercrombie was going to be ‘leaving town,’ she could step into her shoes for a night or two.”
“The gall of that woman,” Claire bit out.
“It’s actually quite fortuitous,” Finn said.
“How so?”
“She’s in the line of danger instead of you.” Finn reached up to rap on the roof and get the driver’s attention.
Claire stopped him with a hand on his arm. He looked down at her. She was a vision, even if her face was heavily powdered and her hair a hideous color. He ran one finger along her eyebrow. “You dyed those too?” he asked.
“Whatever it takes.”
“Can you be anyone? Anywhere?”
She mulled it over for a moment. “Typically, yes.”
“What’s the real you?” he blurted out.
She laughed. “You know the real me.”
“Do I?”
She looked directly into his eyes. “Yes. You do.”
***
He didn’t. He didn’t know anything about her. He knew of her world, but nothing about what made it work. He didn’t know she carried his child. He didn’t know that she was quite happy that she had to marry him. Of all the men she could have been stuck with, she supposed he was the best.
“You worry me, Claire. What was your plan tonight?”
“My plan was to introduce myself to Mrs. Abercrombie and learn what I could.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. Would she always vex him so? The pulse beating at the base of her throat was the only sign that she was even the smallest bit nervous. Would he ever know her feelings? Would he ever truly trust that she was what she was supposed to be in his head?
The carriage rolled to a stop and Finn leaned to look out the window. “What the devil is going on out there?” he murmured to himself. There was a long line of coaches outside Lord Gelson’s home where they’d come to a stop. But something was wrong. Guests walked to and fro on the lawn, rather than in the house. And someone had called the watch. Finn slipped his mask from his pocket and moved to get out of the coach. “Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is. But the watch wouldn’t be here for no reason.” He pointed a finger at her. “Do not get out of the coach.”
Claire pursed her lips and didn’t respond to him.
“I mean it, Claire.”
She looked out the opposite window and ignored him.
Finn walked slowly into the small crowd milling about on the lawn, wandering about like he’d been with the guests the whole time, until he saw one of his men. “What’s going on?” he asked as he pulled the man to the side.
His man talked out of the corner of his mouth. “There has been a murder.”
The hair on the back of Finn’s neck stood up. “Who?”
“A widow. I’m not certain of her name yet.”
Finn’s heart stopped for a moment. “A widow, you say?”
“Yes, she was found in one of the playrooms. Some-one had slit her throat.”
“I see.” Finn’s heart was still beating like the hooves of a runaway horse. “Find out everything you can, and come see me first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said.
Finn walked quickly back to the carriage and opened the door. As he climbed in, nothing but empty space embraced him. “Damn her,” he muttered. If she didn’t get herself killed all by herself, he was tempted to wring her pretty little neck.
Twenty-Five
Claire’s teeth chattered, she was so nervous, as she slunk through the shadows of Lord Gelson’s manor house. She put on her black half mask and let herself in the first unattended door she could find.
Voices reached her ears and she froze, plastering herself against the wall. But they continued down the corridor that crossed the one she traveled, and Claire followed them at a discreet distance.
Claire had never been inside this particular house, but she could easily assume that she wasn’t in the servants’ corridor. The rug was too well made. And the paneling on the walls was polished to a shine.
“You there,” a voice called out. Claire froze, but then she plastered a pleasant but not overly friendly smile on her face and turned to face the man.
“Oui?” she asked. “Pardon me, but I do not speak English,” she said in French, her accent heavy as snow on a rooftop. The man stopped and looked at her closely. Claire didn’t speak French, aside from this one statement. She hoped he wouldn’t try to ask her anything else.
He spoke to her like she was a half-wit. A deaf one at that. He pointed down the corridor and said. “You. Have. To. Go. Outside. With. The. Others. Do you understand?”
“Oui, I understand,” Claire said again in halted English. She pointed toward the way she’d come in.
He pointed in the opposite direction. “Go. That. Way.” The door to the room behind him opened and two men walked out. One shook his head. “Have the coroner come for the body,” he said to the man with whom Claire had been talking.
“Yes, sir,” the man said.
Body? Did he say body?
“That way,” he said again, pointing.
“Oui, I understand.” She gave him a smile so sultry that he blushed a bit. Then she turned and sauntered down the corridor in the direction he’d pointed. When she reached the end, she stopped and waited. The man kept going, perhaps to check the rear doors of the house. It didn’t matter. He was leaving. And she needed to get in that room, if only for a moment.
Claire waited until his footsteps receded. Then she ducked into the room and closed the door soundly behind her.
The room was awash in lamplight, which made the situation even starker than it would have been otherwise. Claire skidded quickly to a halt as she saw the large puddle of blood that covered the floor. Nausea rose within her.
Claire swallowed and tried to breathe through the feeling that she needed to cast up her accounts. She might not be used to scenes like this, but she could tolerate it for a moment. Claire stepped around the puddle and sank down on her haunches. She looked over the body, which seemed vaguely familiar. She tugged the mask from her face, and her heart jumped into her throat when she saw who it was. Colette lay there, her mouth slack and open, her skin pasty white. Her brown eyes were wide open, and she was, above all else, dead.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Claire jumped to her feet. She rushed across the room, slid behind the heavy curtains at the window, and stood completely still.
“Claire,” a voice hissed. The door cli
cked open and then closed. “Claire,” the voice whispered heavily.
Claire peeped out from behind the curtain. “Finn?”
“What am I going to do with you?” he ground out. He waved at her there in the dark. “Come on. Let’s go before you get caught.”
“The body. It’s Colette.”
Finn froze. “Colette,” he repeated. He didn’t look terribly surprised.
“Colette. She’s dead.”
***
Colette might have been dead, but Mrs. Abercrombie was the one who’d attended the party, and she was the one who lay in a puddle of blood on the floor. “Let’s discuss this in the coach,” Finn said. His voice was quick and brusque, and he didn’t sound nearly as charming as he normally was. He pulled her out into the corridor and began to rush her down the hall. But voices reached their ears. Two men, if he heard the voices correctly. Finn opened a random door in the corridor and dragged Claire into it.
But he didn’t stop there. He pushed her farther into the room and lifted her to perch on top of the desk in the corner. Then he pulled her skirts up, parted her thighs, stepped between them, and looked into her eyes. “Trust me,” he said.
She nodded as he quickly tousled her hair and pulled her bodice lower, until a pretty pink nipple popped free.
Claire reached to pull it back up, but he cupped her breast with his hand and she froze. He looked down at her, almost forgetting his purpose as he took her nipple into his mouth. He slid her bottom closer to the edge of the desk. The footsteps in the corridor were getting closer. Finn sucked on the nipple and she cried out. “Perfect, Claire. Do that again when the door opens.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, leaning back on her hands at his insistence. It raised her breast higher in the air, and he wanted to lavish it with all the attention it deserved. But there wasn’t time. He had to make whomever was about to walk in the room believe there was sexual congress going on.
As the door opened, Finn began to grunt loudly and thrust between her legs. He kept himself between her and whoever was coming in the room, yet he still didn’t want them to see any part of Claire’s body. So, he tugged her bodice up a little.
A pleasurable noise left Claire’s lips as she wrapped her legs around his waist and held him tightly. He continued to thrust between her legs. He was still firmly inside his trousers, though he wanted badly to be out of them. “Close the bloody door,” he grunted, just as Claire started to make little whimpery noises in her throat. God, she was good.
“You can’t be in here,” a voice called.
“Just a minute,” he grunted out. Damn but it was hard to feign the motions of sex with Claire wrapped around him, making those noises beneath him.
“Out!” the man bellowed.
Finn made a great show of pulling back from Claire, pulling her legs from about his waist, and righting her clothing. “Let’s go finish this elsewhere, love,” he said, his voice slow like that of a drunkard.
Claire made a twittering little laugh. “Yes, my lord,” she said.
Finn slid her bottom off the desk and helped her to stand. “Good job,” he whispered in her ear.
He could almost see her smile in the dark room.
“Out that way,” the man directed, and Finn stumbled trying to get out of the room.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Finn said, slurring his words on purpose.
Claire propped him on her shoulder, pretending to hold him up.
“Don’t leave the premises,” the man warned to their backs as they walked toward the front door.
“Yes, sir,” Claire called back, all sweetness and light. “We’ll be waiting outside.”
But as soon as they were out of eyesight, Finn led her out one of the back corridors and into the dark night.
Twenty-Six
Claire didn’t begin to shake until they were a good way from Lord Gelson’s house. The hack had given up and left them, which wasn’t a bad thing since the officials would have detained a carriage if they saw it leaving the scene of the crime. But Finn was shrewd. He led her through the garden and around the house, then back out to the street so that no one noticed they were leaving.
Claire’s teeth chattered and she hugged her arms around herself. “Finn,” she began softly.
“What?” He glanced left and right, constantly checking to be sure no one was following them. He was distracted by his vigilance.
“That was meant for me, wasn’t it?” she asked. He looked down at her briefly, his eyes skittering across her face.
“Probably,” he replied. He took her upper arm in his grip and hurried her along. “Let’s get a hack,” Finn suggested.
It was late at night, but there at the street corner sat a shabby carriage pulled by an old bay mare. Finn handed Claire in and gave the driver an address.
As Claire got into the coach, she settled against the squabs and tightened her arms about herself even more. She’d never seen a dead body before. At least not one that was meant to be her. Her teeth chattered so loudly that her jaw hurt with the rhythm.
Finn shrugged out of his coat and dropped it around her shoulders, pulling it closed as he pulled her into his lap and held her tightly. “Shhh,” he crooned. Claire settled her face into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent. “It’s going to be all right,” he soothed, his hand rubbing up and down her back.
She nodded into his neck, but her body wouldn’t comply with her wishes that it stop shivering. “I don’t usually get like this in stressful situations.”
“I know,” he agreed. “You’re as stalwart as the day is long. It’s all right. I promise.”
“She looked surprised,” Claire murmured past her chattering teeth.
“Yes, she did,” Finn agreed. “Though I suppose that could be any number of emotions, and we’ll assume the worst since we already know she was murdered.”
Claire took his face in her hands and made him look at her. “He killed her because he thought she was me.”
“Yes.” Finn took her hands in his and chafed them gently between his own. She wasn’t terribly cold. She just couldn’t stop the blasted shaking. “He killed her because he thought she was you. He wanted you. He wanted to hurt you, because you are mine.”
She was his, and she’d never really appreciated that fact, had she? But she had his complete attention in that moment.
He went on to say forcefully, “But you are safe. You’re in the carriage with me, and Mayden is nowhere nearby.”
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to be sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she still trembled.
“You’re not fine.”
“You can take me back to Ramsdale House.”
“No.”
His tone brooked no argument. None whatsoever.
The hackney stopped and the driver hopped down to open the door. Finn stepped out and swept Claire up in his arms when she would have stepped out on shaky legs. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly.
His footman opened the door and stepped quickly to the side when Finn nearly barreled him over. “Good evening, my lord,” the man said.
“Bring a hot bath up to my chambers,” Finn barked.
“Yes, my lord,” the man said as he scuttled away.
“It’s late. You should let them go to bed.”
“It’s late. You should let me do what I want.” He looked down at her, his blue eyes flashing. “Will life with you always be a challenge?” he asked, although she doubted he wanted an answer to the question.
“Probably,” she said. She was what she was. She doubted that would change.
His house was a small set of rooms, but it was immaculately clean and the f
urniture was big and bulky. She didn’t see much of it, however, as he whisked her down the corridor and into his chambers.
He set her down on the edge of the bed and bent to tug her slippers from her feet. The he slid behind her on the bed and started to unfasten her dress.
His hands were tender but efficient as he stripped her down to nothing but her chemise. In the adjoining room, Claire could hear water splashing into a bath. “Is that for me?” she asked.
“Yes. It will help you relax, I hope. And might even stop the shivering.”
She nodded and let him push her chemise up over her knees, so he could roll her stockings down. Finn kissed the inside of her knee quickly and then tugged her hands until she stood. He moved to pull down her drawers, but she stopped his hands. “I can do it,” she protested.
“Feeling shy?” he asked, his lips touching her temple.
“A little.” Actually, she was terrified. If Finn saw her naked now, he would know about the baby she carried. There was no hiding the faint bump that was the new life within her. He would know that she’d deceived him. That she’d purposefully kept something from him. He’d be angry. She was certain of it. “Could I have some privacy?” she asked as the footman knocked on the door to tell Finn the bath was ready.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said, and Claire’s heart tripped a beat within her chest.
“Can you talk to me through the door?”
He chuckled. “If you insist.”
Claire padded across the room and slipped into his dressing room. The big tub stood tall at the side of the room. Steam rose from it in gentle waves. Claire tugged her chemise over her head, and then pushed her drawers down to the floor and stepped out of them. She lowered herself into the tub, and the warm water enveloped her better than any blanket ever could.
Claire laid her head back against the edge of the tub. The water rose to the tops of her breasts, and nothing more than her head and her knees stood out of the water.