Chapter 9 #2
He said the name that had been on everyone’s lips around a decade ago, even in the rookery where she and Iris had lived after escaping the orphanage.
Finn had a vague impression of the doctor riding into the British garrison, battered and barely alive, the sole remnant of a campaign gone horribly wrong.
“He is the most famous survivor.” Owen’s jaw looked chiseled from granite, as harsh as that mountainous terrain was reputed to be.
“But not the only one. There were others who were taken captive: British soldiers, sepoys, camp followers. Some of us were recovered in the years that followed—to minimal fanfare, understandably. No one wanted to be reminded of the humiliation. Of the worst military loss in our nation’s history. ”
The horrors of what he’d survived and his reception upon returning home caused her eyes to sting.
It wasn’t fair; then again, life rarely was.
Apparently not even for this man whose existence was far from the easy, privileged one she’d imagined.
It was strange to realize that the devastation he’d endured gave them something in common.
She laid a hand on his biceps and found it a quivering arc of steel.
“I am sorry,” she said.
He shook her off, his eyes flashing. “I don’t want your pity.”
Another thing they had in common.
“I don’t pity you.” She made her decision. “I understand you.”
She unbuttoned her left glove and peeled off the layer of black lace.
She heard Owen’s sharp exhalation and tried not to let it bother her.
She told herself that she didn’t care—that while she had many flaws, vanity wasn’t one of them.
Objectively speaking, the scars weren’t even that bad.
The six circular marks on the back of her hand were about the size of peas, and they’d faded to a silvery color.
More scars dotted her forearm, but she reckoned she’d shown him enough. Maybe too much.
After a heartbeat, he said, “What happened?”
“One of the attendants at the orphanage liked to dole out punishment.” She forced herself to shrug. “To this day, I cannot stand the sight of a cheroot.”
There was a pause. A string of expletives exploded from Owen, the words so blue that even Finn, whose vulgar vocabulary was advanced, had to blink.
“Is that possible? Anatomically speaking, I mean.”
“I don’t give a damn,” he growled. “The bastard deserves it and more. Give me his name, and I will see that he pays for preying upon innocents.”
Even though his chivalry was pointless, it was novel enough to give Finn a thrill.
“Thank you, but that is unnecessary.”
Years earlier, the Hawks had paid the attendant a visit. He would never hurt another child again.
“Bloody hell, Seraphina. He hurt you.”
Owen took her hand. With a gentleness that clogged her throat, he rubbed his thumb over the scars one by one.
“Yes, he did,” she said. “I did not survive a vicious war and subsequent captivity—I do not know what that is like. But I spent years fighting a different kind of battle, in a different kind of prison. I am a survivor. We have that in common.”
He closed his hand around hers.
“I wish we shared a different kind of bond,” he muttered.
“A brutal past isn’t the only thing that draws me to you.”
She’d meant to tease him, to lighten the mood, but his regard intensified. The fierceness of his gaze made her wonder how she’d ever believed him to be a spoiled and sheltered lord when he was clearly so much more than that.
“You’re drawn to me.”
It was a statement rather than a question.
She couldn’t bring herself to lie. “Yes.”
“You came here to apologize. Did you also come for something else?”
Crikey.
In that instant, she recognized the extent of her self-delusion. She’d come to make amends, yes, and to figure out another way to get into Bottoms House. But she’d also wanted to see Owen. To kiss him again. To be with him in a way she’d never allowed herself to be with any man.
She was acutely aware of his warm and solid grip. The tension of his lean frame just inches away. She’d never let a fellow come this close unless she wanted something from him. Her pulse fluttered, as did that traitorous place between her thighs. In that instant, she couldn’t deny her desire.
“You,” she admitted. “I came for you.”
His eyes darkened—with delight, maybe. Hunger, most definitely.
“I am at your disposal,” he said.
She didn’t know how he could make formality sound so filthy—and irresistible.
Then he claimed her mouth, and she stopped thinking.
Her senses came alive with the taste and texture of him, the way they fit like two halves of a whole.
Their lips and tongues tangled. He cradled her jaw in both hands as he kissed her, as if she were something precious.
When he swung her into his arms, his impetuousness startled a laugh from her.
“Perhaps we are getting carried away,” she said breathlessly.
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.” She fiddled with his collar, searching for the right words. To draw the line that could not be crossed. “But this arrangement is for tonight only, and I must insist upon discretion—I have a reputation to protect after all. There are also, um, boundaries I am not prepared to cross—”
“Only what you want, Seraphina. I am at your command, and I will be discreet,” he said intently. “You have my word.”
Relief blossomed inside her. Despite the heat in his eyes, she knew he would respect her limits.
He was a gentleman—a soldier of honor. He wasn’t like Jimmy or other followers who’d tried to pressure her into the culminating act.
While Finn believed in seeking pleasure, she would not do so in a manner that might result in consequences.
Her life was complicated enough without bringing a bastard into the world.
Growing up unwanted and unloved was a legacy she had no intention of passing on.
Moreover, there were many paths to satisfaction: all it took was a bit of creativity and passion.
Her instincts told her that Owen had both in full measure…
and that she could trust him. With a twinge of guilt, she wished the reverse were true as well—that she was worthy of his trust. Despite her ulterior motives, the desire she felt for him was genuine.
She wanted to give him more of her true self, even if it was only a token.
“My name is Finn Kidd.” She wound her arms around his neck. “My friends call me Finn.”
“Finn.” His slow smile made her heart flutter. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”