Page 58 of The Best Marquess

“Oh, I would…”

Pippa’s voice trailed off as two footmen placed their supper plates in front of them and her stomach roiled violently.

What fresh hell was this?

It was difficult to know which repulsed her more, the bloodied slices of beef or the vegetables cooked to the consistency of mush. She took a gulp of wine instead.

“Lost your appetite, Pippet?”

Glancing over at Finn, she was mollified to see his plate equally untouched. “I am famished, just not for this crime scene. If I strain my ears, I can still hear a plaintive moo.”

Her husband grinned apologetically. “My father enjoyed beef cooked in this fashion. And vegetables the consistency of mud. I’ll request something else. Perhaps an emergency infusion of dessert would be better?”

“I think so. I shall speak with the chef to ensure food is never served in such a manner again. He will create dishes to please us, not his former employer. From this day forward, a new Pinehurst era.”

“I would appreciate that. No blood necessary, the ton sharks circle closely enough as it is,” said Finn as he beckoned over the three footmen standing at attention near the dining room wall. Minutes later, much to her relief, the too-rare beef had been removed. Instead, a large slice of apple tart seasoned with nutmeg and served with a dollop of vanilla cream sat in front of her, and she dipped her spoon in eagerly. This was fare she approved of.

Once they’d eaten their fill of tart, Pippa moved her bowl to one side and then took another gulp of wine. “So. Between the black-shrouded body and the anecdotal stories that made my ears hurt and filled me with dread and despair, today was a scene cut directly from a gothic novel. Do you concur?”

Finn hesitated, glancing at the footmen. “If you’re finished, perhaps we might retire upstairs.”

Oh dear.

“As you wish,” she said graciously.

They walked to his bedchamber in silence, and Pippa was even more perturbed when Finn politely dismissed his valet and Ruby so they were alone. Then he ambled over to the chairs in front of the fireplace, sat down, and removed his shoes, stockings, jacket and cravat.

“What an endless day,” said Finn, leaning his head back on top of the chair. “I take it the stories you heard were all about Saint Pinehurst the Great, sole reason the city of London has not fully turned into the darkest pit of sin and vice imaginable?”

Pippa nodded as she joined him. “They were. I believe the phrase ‘a lion of the House’ was used on several occasions. Also ‘exalted lord’ ‘a man of noble virtue’ and ‘splendid husband and father’. It is my solemn duty to inform you, Finlay, that the man in the shroud who you had buried in the family tomb in a small, private ceremony mere hours ago, is not in fact your sire.”

“Thank God for that. But I do have a tale that can best yours.”

“Oh really? Your Regiment started attacking each other in their bid to offer you the finest embroidered handkerchief and the sweetest words of comfort, and your mourning jacket was torn to shreds by the fangs and claws?”

Finn’s eyebrows almost quirked into his hairline. Mortified at her outburst, Pippa began studiously examining her fingernails. It seemed now that she’d been fortified by apple tart her mind had begun functioning again, and she remembered every single excruciating detail of her conversation with Natalie about deeper feelings. About jealousy.

Which she had just demonstrated with such aplomb.

Gah.

“I mean, er…” she mumbled. “Do tell me your tale.”

“Pippet…he replied, surprisingly gently. “They can offer as many handkerchiefs as they like, but I carry my own. It’s a small square of linen with a crooked embroidered ‘P’. You dropped it at a picnic when you were about eight or nine. I should have returned it, but I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Her heart began to thump erratically. That sounded like a declaration. Except it couldn’t be. If Finn had held tender feelings for her since childhood, then how was it he’d grown up to be England’s premier rake? Everyone knew the Regiment wasn’t just for show, that he’d bedded all of them. It wasn’t logical in the slightest to claim affection that stretched that far back in time. “Er…well. Cunning of you to only confess that after our marriage, so I cannot pursue justice for such a shocking crime.”

Unexpectedly, Finn looked a bit hurt at her jest, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, an odd sensation pressing on her chest. But it was his own fault. Finn knew that even a hint of tender sentiment caused her to duck and weave like someone attempting to escape a swarm of bees. Acts of devotion she believed. Things she could see or touch or receive, like a book. Words, she did not trust. Good lord, one only had to look at her family to see the way words were used as tools of destruction. Either that or a way to conceal, and absolve themselves of any responsibility.

No, she much preferred acts.

“Quite,” said Finn eventually, as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Anyway, my tale. I had just sat down to have a restorative brandy with Gabriel, when we were interrupted by Lord Campbell and Sir Edwin Ironside of all people.”

Relieved at the change of subject to something far removed from the realm of uncomfortable emotions, Pippa sat forward in her chair. “Ugh. What did those two cretins want? Do not spare a single detail.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Well, Lord Campbell wished to know my stance on pleasure clubs. Apparently, my father’s one true purpose in life was to get them all closed down. Sir Edwin, however, wished to tell me about a brand-new business in the city called Bliss that was peddling filth. They both desire to stamp out immorality with a steel boot, and demanded to know if I was going to follow in Father’s footsteps and join them.”

Pippa stared at him, her mouth agape. “I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. They want you, the secret owner of Bliss, a provider of accessories to pleasure clubs, to…join a quest to destroy Bliss and pleasure clubs?”