“Not like you to put on airs.”
“Not like you to question my orders.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been different of late. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like your monthly is lasting forever.”
She sighed heavily. “Get the damn bottles.”
With a negligent shrug, he headed out of the room to do her bidding.
“You should probably tell him,” Finn said, leaning against the counter. Her brother had arrived a few minutes earlier, removed his cap, and been studying it as though he’d forgotten its purpose.
“He’ll figure it out soon enough and then he’ll probably quit.”
“I doubt that. I think you underestimate how much you’re loved, Gillie.”
“Until there’s scandal.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Can I have a word?”
She moved up to the counter. “Of course.”
He jerked his head to the side. “Over there.”
She followed him to a table in the very back corner of the tavern. They hadn’t yet brought back the shutters on the windows, so they were deep into the shadows. Finn pulled out a chair for her, waited until she sat before taking the place opposite her. She wasn’t accustomed to her brother being quite so accommodating. Not that he was ever rude but all her brothers understood she could fend for herself, preferred it.
He took the seat opposite her, clasped his hands on the table, and met her gaze head-on. “I love you like a sister. I’ll never love you more than that. I don’t have it in me to do so, but if you’ll marry me, I’ll do right by you and this babe.”
“Finn—”
“It’d be a marriage in name only. I’d never expect you to honor your wifely duties.” She’d never seen her brother blush before. The deep red blotching his skin was a sight to behold. “As I said, I think of you as a sister.”
“I know you do, Finn,” she said quietly. “I think we’d both be miserable if we tied the knot. But I do appreciate your willingness. Besides, someday you’re likely to meet someone who’d make you regret already having a wife.”
“My heart’s locked up tight, Gil. The offer will remain should you change your mind.”
Laying her hand over his tense ones, she rubbed them, trying to get him to relax, knowing he was battling memories. “Still love her so desperately, do you?”
His response was simply to look beyond her as though gazing into the past.
“What was her Christian name?” she asked.
His gaze, hard as a diamond, cold as ice, came back to her. “I’ve not spoken it in eight years. I’m not going to do so now.”
Pressing her forearms to the table, she leaned forward. “You called her Vivi, but what was her real name?”
“Christ.” He shoved back his chair.
“I think she’s here.”
He froze, stared at her. “What do you meanhere?”
“In Whitechapel.”
“Why would she be here?”
“I don’t know but—” She reached into her pocket, brought out the miniature Thorne had given her, and placed it on the table. She’d debated with herself a thousand times whether she should tell Finn what she suspected, whether it was to his benefit to bring up the past or to leave it buried. “I thought she looked familiar, but I’d only seen her once and that was years ago. She’s somewhat older in this painting.”
Slowly he sank back into the chair. He didn’t touch the portrait but neither did he take his eyes from it. “Where did you get this?”
