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Didn’t he know that she could be anyone she wanted to be? She spent her li
fe in disguise. She could be anyone she wanted and make everyone believe it. “I’m not innocent, you know.” She said the words softly. And he suddenly turned to look at her. His gaze was hot enough to set fire to the carriage.
“I was there when you lost your innocence, Claire. You need not remind me.”
“But you just said I couldn’t attend with you because I’m not the right kind of lady.”
“You’re still not the right kind of lady.”
“I beg to differ.”
“It’s a masked ball. With all sorts of debauchery. Courtesans and mistresses. And a few paid ladies.”
“You mean whores?”
Finn sputtered into his closed fist. “Where did you learn such a word?”
Claire rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve been inside me, for goodness sakes. I’m no better than any of those ladies. Let me attend with you. Just for the sport of it. You can get your information and then we can leave.”
“Don’t say things like that,” he ground out. His voice sounded like it had been dragged down a gravel road before it left his lips.
“That I’m no better than those ladies?”
“That too.” He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “And that I’ve been inside you.”
Claire’s breath caught in her throat.
“I happen to remember it in vivid detail,” he went on to say. His gaze was locked on hers. “You needn’t comment on it.”
“You remember…?” Her voice was a quiet whisper, but he still heard her.
His fists clenched at his sides. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself before he said, “I remember everything. The taste of your skin. The smell of your neck. The feel of your thighs wrapped around me. The little breathy sounds as you cried out. I remember it all. I remember it in great detail. So, you would do well not to speak of it again.”
“Or what?” she taunted.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and a footman opened the door and lowered the step. “Or you might find yourself in a similar situation.”
“Take me with you tomorrow?” she insisted. She didn’t want him going to a den of iniquity alone. Or with any other woman.
“No.”
She would just have to change his mind.
Twelve
Finn dressed with great care the next night, making sure his cravat was folded to perfection, and the pin that winked from the center of it matched his eyes perfectly. He let Simmons apply scented shaving soap when he shaved off his evening stubble. He looked presentable, he assumed. He tugged at the length of his jacket. Despite the debauchery that would be present, he knew this would be a formal ball.
Simmons bent and wiped an imaginary spot from the toe of Finn’s boot. He stood up and surveyed Finn with a critical eye. “I believe you are presentable, my lord,” Simmons said.
He was more than presentable. Presentable was a Christmas goose. He was the blasted chandelier in the middle of the ballroom, alight with a thousand flaming candles.
Finn hated these gatherings. He would rather stay at home. If he stayed home, he could go and find Claire and entice her to talk to him. She’d been surprisingly absent all day. Finn had even gone to search her out at one point during the day, worried for her, but was informed by Wilkins that she had gone out to visit the apothecary with her new maid.
What on earth might she need from the apothecary? And with what did she purchase it?
“I gave her some of the household funds,” Wilkins had informed him. “I believe His Grace would have wanted me to do so.”
Finn should have thought of her need for money and given her some of her own. He had plenty to spare.
