Page 12 of Four Promises to Love

Unfortunately, his words had an immediate effect upon the ladies.

“I do trust your judgment, dear.” Lady Gigi bit her lip. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”

“You have a say in things, Owen.” Xenia Harrington’s remorse was obvious. “We value your opinion ever so much.”

“Perhaps we ought to put the matter aside for now,” the countess said. “A decision does not have to be made today, after all.”

“I think that is for the best,” Lady Gigi agreed. “Thank you again for an elucidating experience, Madame Seraphina. We shall be in touch.”

Before Finn could think of a way to stop her plan from falling to pieces, the ladies gathered around Lord Owen and shepherded him off. They did not look back, but he did. Finn’s gaze clashed with his: she saw the storm of his emotions but couldn’t guess the cause.

Why is he so bleeding hard to read?

Then they were gone, and Finn was left fuming.

Caleb approached her, his expression stark.

“I’m calling a meeting of the Hawks,” he said.

A half-hour later, Finn headed up to the meeting in the attic. She’d taken her time changing out of her seer’s costume. Truth be told, she’d been stalling. She would have to disclose her full history with Owen Harrington, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Her gang had one cardinal rule: Hawks fly together. They shared everything and kept no secrets from one another. Their survival depended on trust and utmost loyalty. The night Finn had lured Lord Owen to the tavern room, Tansy and Nell had been keeping watch from a distance. Given the dark setting, the girls might not have recognized Lord Owen as the pigeon they’d plucked. However, that wasn’t why Finn was dragging her feet. No, that reason had to do with what had happened between her and Lord Owen in the room beyond watchful eyes.

She regretted her instinct to keep her indiscretion to herself. At the time, it had been too embarrassing to share that she had allowed herself to be pleasured…by a mark. By a swell, to make matters worse. While the Hawks were not prudish—growing up in London’s rookeries relieved one of delicate sensibilities—Finn could not bring herself to admit that she’d lost control of the situation.

With Iris gone, Finn, as the next eldest, had been left in charge. She had to ensure the survival of the group. She was supposed to set a good example…which didn’t include climaxing in the arms of a stranger she was planning to rob.

How could I have been so stupid?

Like interest owed to a moneylender, her bad decisions were compounding rapidly. Now she had to deal with Lord Owen, who’d erected himself—ugh, get your mind out of the gutter, Finn—…who’d planted himself like a bloody brick wall in her path. She had compromised the current mission because of her lapse in judgment. Because she’d lost control for a few moments, Iris’s well-being and the survival of the Hawks were in jeopardy.

Give an inch—and the world will take everything.

Finn shivered. Out of habit, she touched her tin heart pendant, the feel of the dented metal soothing her. Someone had tied it around her neck as a baby. It was the only thing she’d been able to hold on to—probably because it was worthless to anyone else. But the little rusted heart was hers, and she wore it always, even under her seer disguise. Knowing she would need confidence for the meeting, she’d dressed it up, threading it on a bold red ribbon.

Entering the attic, she saw her family waiting for her. They’d chosen this open area as their meeting place: it was the highest room, with windows that provided a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding neighborhood, which seemed peaceful but one never knew. As Iris had drilled into their heads, a Hawk could never be too careful. The former owner had left behind a macabre trove, and his stuffed creations made for an interesting ambiance.

Beady-eyed creatures, some with fur and others with feathers, overflowed trunks and cabinets. Finn’s favorite was the peregrine falcon perched on a stand, its piercing yellow eyes keeping vigilant watch. Chains and hooks hung from the rafters, swaying with subtle menace. Glass vessels, metal implements, and other tools of the trade cluttered the shelves. The Hawks had lugged up a battered sofa, scarred table, and collection of mismatched chairs.

Finn almost smiled to find everyone exactly where she would have predicted. Caleb sat at one end of the table, drumming his fingers impatiently. Next to him, Nell was scribbling in a ledger. In an adjacent corner, Tansy had fastened two of the hooks together to form a swing, and she giggled as she soared through the air, her blonde curls bouncing. Simon, who at fifteen was the youngest after Tansy, was on his hands and knees. A gangly, rawboned youth, he was fiddling with delicate wires coming out of the floorboard.

Finn strolled up to him. “What are you doing, lad?”

When he looked up at her with his huge brown eyes, the memory of their first meeting tugged at her chest. His head had been in the muck and beneath the boot of a master sweep, who’d been tearing a strip off his hide while onlookers enjoyed the entertainment. That had been three years ago, and even at that tender age, Simon hadn’t cried. He’d just gazed up at her with misery and resignation, and Finn couldn’t walk by.

Luckily, Iris had felt the same way. They’d managed to free Simon from his master and welcomed him into the flock. He’d paid them back with gratitude…and a special set of skills. As it turned out, no lock could keep Simon out, and his talent with mechanical matters rivaled Tansy’s athletic abilities.

“Broken,” Simon said, his brow furrowed. “Swing, swing.”

He was a fellow of few words, yet Finn knew what he meant.

“Your rig worked fine,” she replied. “You put the fear of God into those coves. If the chandelier had swung any farther, someone would have had an apoplectic fit, and we can’t have a customer cocking up their toes on the first day, can we? Bad for business.”

“Bad for business.” Simon’s grin was slow and sweet. “Fix. Swing.”

“Deal with the chandelier later, Simon,” Caleb said imperiously. “It’s time for a council of the Hawks.”

With a prickle of annoyance, Finn headed to the table. At twenty-three, Caleb was a year younger than she was, and while they’d always butted heads, their rivalry had been mostly benign. Lately, however, he’d been challenging her authority. He’d somehow gotten the idea that he ought to be the leader just by virtue of the extra equipment God had given him.