Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
The night had not yet faded as Finn neared the water’s edge. When she knelt, cupping her hands and lowering them into the water, she broke the moon’s reflection into rippling shards. She drank the sweet water, then jerked when she saw another glowing image had taken the moon’s place.
“Rose,” she whispered.
The green eyes flared brighter.
“Finn.” The woman’s mouth curved. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Am I seeing you? Or are you a figment of my imagination?”
“Reality is what you make of it.”
Finn moistened her lips. “Why do you seek me out?”
“Because I know you. We are the same. Fruit from the same tree.”
“We’re not.” Finn shook her head. “To begin with, you are a ghost.”
“I wasn’t always.”
Rose’s smile was so sad that Finn felt an impulse to comfort her.
But how did one console a spirit?
“We both lose what we love to save it.” Rose’s gaze shimmered. “I already have, and you will soon.”
“I don’t understand—”
“When the time comes, don’t be afraid.”
Finn awakened with a gasp.
The first thing she saw was Owen’s sculpted, lightly furred chest. She was cuddled against him, his arm slung possessively over her hip. At some point, he’d thrown his coat over them. They must have dozed off, and now the grey wash of light told her it was nearing dawn.
Panic pinched her fully awake. She gazed at Owen’s peaceful face; seeing how relaxed he looked, she didn’t have the heart to wake him. With care, she extricated herself and tucked the coat around him. Finding his shirt, she slipped it on and headed for the water’s edge.
Drawing a breath, she peered at the stream—and saw only the gently moving current.
Did I dream of Rose? Or was that a vision?
She couldn’t be sure, and her brow furrowed as she considered the message Rose had given her.
I know you. We are the same.
Trembling, Finn wrapped her arms around herself. They were nothing alike. By all accounts, Rose had been a wronged innocent. Whereas Finn…
I am the wrongdoer.
She stared into the murky forest, wishing she had another choice.
Any choice other than to continue fleecing a good man.
Her eyes stung as she recalled his unflinching honesty, the way he’d bared his past and his feelings to her.
He had given her his trust, and blooming hell, his love—and she was going to lie and steal from him, then vanish?
After everything he’d survived, she was going to bloody him and leave more scars?
She found her pendant, absently rubbing the pitted heart.
She wasn’t the type of woman who brought men to their knees. It was Owen’s generous nature that made him vulnerable. No wonder he’d sought refuge in vices; how else could a man that caring and decent survive? He felt keenly and truly…and it killed her to use his strength like a weapon against him.
To take and take and take—and give nothing in return.
She felt his presence an instant before his arms circled her waist.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he murmured.
As selfish as it was, she leaned into him, drawing comfort.
“They are not worth that much.”
“Nonetheless, I would like to hear them. After bending your ear, it is the least I can do.”
Hearing his uncertainty, she turned and placed her palm against his stubbly jaw.
“I don’t mind listening,” she said honestly.
“Neither do I. Try me,” he offered.
Suddenly, she had the urge to give him something of herself—something real.
“I was thinking about a friend,” she blurted.
“Oh.” He cocked a brow. “Not a male friend, I hope.”
“No, silly. She is like a sister to me. In the earlier years, more like a mother.”
“Does she have a name?”
She hesitated. “Iris.”
“How did you come to know Iris?”
She flashed back to Iris’s hard, youthful face.
I’ll distract the bastard. You hide, Finn.
Hide where I showed you, and don’t come out.
And she had—she’d let Iris take the pain for her because she was scared.
Because Iris was stronger and smarter and always knew what to do.
Now Iris was depending on her, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her friend down.
“We met at the orphanage. Iris is three years older than me and far wiser. She took me under her wing—gave me her bread so I wouldn’t go hungry and protected me.”
When Owen picked up her hand, kissing the old burns, her heart clenched.
“She sounds remarkable,” he said. “I would like to meet her.”
“Perhaps someday.” The lie caused a bittersweet pang. “You would get along. At first, she’d think you are too good to be true. But once she got over her suspicions, she would like you.”
Owen smiled slowly. “Now I know where you got your trusting nature from.”
Finn had to laugh.
“Where is she now?”
Her amusement faded. “In London. She’s…not well.”
“I am sorry she is ill.”
He was so dashed sincere that her heart hurt.
“Is there anything I could do to help? My family knows an excellent physician—”
“No,” she said quickly. “Iris has, um, seen plenty of quacks and hates them. There’s nothing to be done.”
“That makes it worse, doesn’t it?” He tucked a tress behind her ear, his gaze solemn. “Feeling powerless to help those you love.”
Relieved that he didn’t push, she nodded. “I made things worse. Iris and I…we did not part on good terms.”
She knew she was divulging too much. But his understanding undid her. What had begun as a desire to give turned into a burning need to share.
“I didn’t agree with the way Iris was handling her affairs,” she said in a rush. “I tried to interfere—and it made her angry.”
Until that day, she and Iris had rarely fought. But when she’d brought up her suspicions about Carver, Iris had turned on her.
“You don’t know the first thing about Carver!” Iris’s eyes had snapped with anger. “He loves me. He wants to marry me.”
“He’s using you. Using the Hawks. He’s dangerous—”
“What do you know of men?” Iris had tossed her mane of red-gold hair, her crowning glory. “You’re a virgin. You never let Jimmy have more than a slap and tickle.”
“This isn’t about Jimmy.” Finn had held onto her patience. “This is about Carver being a manipulative snake. You need to hear the truth. He doesn’t care about you. He’s been feeding you that poison, and it’s…it’s changed you.”
Before, Iris had been sharp as a blade. Now her gaze was glazed, her thinking sluggish. Her temper had turned unstable, alternating between placid and vicious.
“You’re just jealous,” Iris spat.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Who wants you, Finn?” Iris taunted. “You flock to our little crew, but they can’t give you what a woman needs. Here’s the truth: you’re jealous of me because no one wants you. You’re no good to anyone. No one loves you, and you’ll always be alone.”
“The two of you haven’t made amends?” Owen asked.
“No.” Finn shut away the memory. “There hasn’t been the opportunity to mend fences.”
“Do you want to?”
“More than anything,” she whispered. “But I don’t know if it’s possible.”
I don’t know if I can save her in time.
“If she loves you, she will forgive you.”
“It is not that simple.”
There was a pause.
“I hurt Ethan,” Owen said. “In the worst way possible.”
Seeing the tautness of his jaw, she said tentatively, “How?”
“I injured his hand. Not on purpose, but that doesn’t matter. He was trying to help me, and I destroyed the thing that meant the most to him: his career as a maestro. He might have become as celebrated as Liszt—playing piano was his passion, his reason for being. And I took that from him.”
His agonizing guilt tightened her chest. Hurting one’s loved one would be a terrible burden to bear—how she would feel if she let Iris or the Hawks down. Yet she thought about what she’d observed of Owen and his brother.
“Lord Ethan doesn’t seem to bear a grudge. In fact, he seems quite content.”
“He’s found happiness with Xenia. He’s composing now and garnering acclaim for his works.
He says what happened is water under the bridge, but that does not absolve me—nothing can.
” Owen’s stark conviction tore at her heart.
“I share this only to say that if Ethan can forgive me for what I’ve done, Iris will certainly forgive you. ”
Finn sensed that he didn’t want to be comforted. Although his brother had forgiven him, he still held himself accountable. Perhaps he needed to do so as penance—the way she could not let herself forget her own failures.
She sighed. “We can be our own harshest critics.”
“That is undoubtedly true.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You know, I am relieved to discover that it was your friend you were brooding over.”
“Why is that?”
“I thought that frown of yours had to do with my declaration.”
His candor tied her tongue.
“Maybe I did, um, think about what you said.” She realized she was blushing. “A bit.”
“I meant it.” His eyes were as clear as the dawn. “I am falling in love with you, Finn, but I don’t want my feelings to be a burden. The last thing I want is for my honesty to discomfort you.”
You have no idea. But it’s not for the reason you think. It’s because I don’t deserve your love or your honesty. It’s because when push comes to shove, I must choose Iris over my own happiness.
“You’re not a burden,” she whispered. “The truth is, I wish…I wish I could give you more—”
“You gave me plenty last night, love.”
His wolfish grin caused her nipples to stiffen against her borrowed shirt.
“As for the rest, take your time. I am not going anywhere. I will be here waiting—for as long as you want me to be.”
When he kissed her tenderly on the forehead, she shut her eyes and wished she could make a different choice.