Page 19 of The Gods Time Forgot

Nineteen

“Oh, just look at everyone!” Flossie pointed toward the Academy of Music as they stepped down from the carriage.

It was a colossal square building with hundreds of people waiting to enter in their finest clothes. Suits and ball gowns galore.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t point, Mother. People might think you’ve never been to the opera before.”

“Heavens, you’re right. I forgot myself.” Flossie tilted her chin higher and glided toward the Academy. “You know, your father tried to get us a box. Offered quite a large sum for it, but they wouldn’t take it. I don’t think you understand the opportunity this is, and for opening night, no less.”

Rua didn’t bother answering. Flossie wasn’t expecting a response; she just wanted to hear herself talk.

As they shuffled indoors to the waiting area, Rua took in the faces of the guests and wondered if any of them knew the man she’d killed. Did they know what she’d done? Someone must want justice.

Perhaps the police would come and arrest her here. She would deserve it, of course. She was a killer, after all.

Rua took a deep breath and followed Flossie’s lead. Mentally, she was prepared for the chilly reception, but as she walked past the clusters of women showering her with contempt, she realized it was an entirely different thing to endure it.

She was out of practice and ill prepared. Women spent years learning how to behave in social situations like these. Rua had been given a few weeks, and she’d spent most of them hidden away in the Harringtons’ house.

“Pay them no heed, my dear. You must remember we are sitting in the Lord of Donore’s box. We belong here.”

Rua couldn’t tell if the words were meant for her or if Flossie was trying to convince herself.

The opera house was one of the more lavish venues she had visited. Lush red carpet lined the staircase, and sparkling gold sconces covered the gold-plated walls. Adding to the glitzy effect were Manhattan’s most moneyed residents brushing shoulders, trading stories, in their impeccable evening wear.

“May I take your things, miss?” an attendant asked.

Rua passed him the cape that hid the breasts trying to burst out of her gown. Embedded into the seams of the fuchsia fabric were tiny crystals that shimmered when she moved. She quite literally sparkled. She knew she looked glorious, but it was going to give people even more reason to talk.

She and Flossie moved deeper into the waiting room. It took her only seconds to find Finn in the crowd. He was a standout among the mere mortals as he waited with Ned by the refreshment table.

Not paying Flossie any attention, Rua went to greet them, but she was strong-armed backward.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Flossie whispered harshly.

“To say hello?”

“Please do remember your manners. We are in public,” Flossie hissed. “They will approach us when they are good and ready. Here is Mrs. Fitzgerald and Mrs. Stevens now.”

“Forgive me, I almost forgot I was just a woman,” Rua said bitterly.

Mrs. Harrington ignored her comment. They walked slowly toward her peers as though the most important thing in the world to her wasn’t to breathe the same air as them.

“Miss Harrington, I wasn’t sure you’d grace us with your presence ever again,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. Mrs. Stevens grinned.

Rua said nothing, wondering if either of them knew what their malicious daughters had done to her. She wouldn’t be surprised if they all sat around laughing about how they’d sent na ? ve, desperate Rua down to a brothel. Perhaps tonight was the night they’d expose her.

“She’s well recovered from her cold, I assure you,” Flossie answered for her.

“It’s true, I’m feeling much better,” Rua said.

“I’m sure you are,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, not bothering to hide her disdain. No doubt she was peeved that Finn had allowed the Harringtons access to the coveted opera boxes.

Like the Stevenses, the Fitzgerald family was New York royalty, and Flossie was fortunate Mr. Fitzgerald liked Ned so much, or she’d be dead in the water. She was even more fortunate that she had the Lord of Donore trapped in her home. She had something that these women wanted, and it was for that reason alone that Mrs. Fitzgerald and Mrs. Stevens were bothering to talk to her inside this busy theater.

As the women chitchatted about who had done what at dinner the evening before, Rua’s mind wandered back to Greene Street. Would that man have been at the opera tonight had he not met her? Maybe.

She felt an elbow drive into her arm. She looked up; Flossie’s eyes were pleading. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Most certainly,” Rua answered, hoping she wasn’t agreeing to another luncheon.

“His lordship is looking marvelous this evening,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said.

Rua couldn’t have agreed more. He was smoldering. His navy jacket, tailored to perfection, suited him.

Mrs. Fitzgerald continued, “It’s so kind of you to offer him lodging, though it seems he spends most of his time with Annette.” She let out a little laugh. “He stopped by earlier to bring my daughter flowers. Roses, her favorite.”

“Odd, since he’s been at our home for every meal this week,” Flossie said. “He was concerned for my daughter’s health, you see.”

Rua was at a loss for words as she watched the two women fight over the Irishman’s attention.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something more nefarious going on in that house of theirs,” Mrs. Stevens muttered to Mrs. Fitzgerald, as though she and Flossie weren’t standing right there.

“You’re quite right, Marlowe,” Mrs. Fitzgerald replied.

“Because Finn hasn’t proposed to your daughter, you think something is amiss?” Rua questioned.

“Emma!” Flossie made sure to scold her before turning back to the women. “He and Emma are on a first-name basis.”

No matter what Rua did, they would always think the worst of her, and Flossie would let them. Finn could declare his love for her and whisk her away to be his wife, and no one would believe that she hadn’t tricked him into the marriage.

She stopped listening to the women, and her eyes somehow drifted back to Finn.

As he spoke with the men, his mouth tilted up to the side, revealing his perfectly placed dimple. She moved her gaze upward to his dark-brown eyes, which held more depth than she’d realized. She still hadn’t thanked him for taking her home that night. More importantly, she hadn’t asked if her secret was safe with him, though she already knew that it was.

With a start, she realized he was looking back at her now. He broke his gaze and excused himself from the men.

Her heart stalled.

Flossie and her faux friends’ chatter reached a feverish pitch.

Rua angled herself toward Finn as he moved closer. He was smiling at her, and she found herself smiling back. Somehow, in this congested room, they were the only two people, connected by something well beyond her understanding. She wondered if she shouldn’t just give in to it.

And then a shoulder hit her hard in the back, and she stumbled forward.

“Move out of my way, witch,” Annette spat as she darted for Finn, leaving Rua mortified.

Finn had been looking past her—no, through her—to see the vile Annette. And everyone that mattered in New York had seen it. She didn’t have the strength to look back at Flossie and those women.

Wanting to scream, she kept her eyes on the red-carpeted floor. Maybe if she stared hard enough, it would open up and swallow her. She loathed everyone in this room and their pathetic attempts to make her feel inferior.

“Miss Harrington, are you all right?”

Incredulously, Rua watched as a pair of large men’s shoes stepped into her limited view of the floor.

Lifting her head, she found Finn standing in front of her, looking at her like she was the only woman in the world.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

All she could muster was a nod.

“Would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you upstairs?” He offered her his arm.

She bit down on the insides of her cheeks in an effort to control the grin aching to spread across her face. “I would like that very much.” She locked her arm with his.

Her satisfaction profound, she peeked over her shoulder at Flossie as she and Finn walked through the room. She wanted everyone to see her. Especially Annette. It was easy to find the brat dressed in an orange gown. Not too harvest-like now , she thought.

“You’re looking rather magnificent.” Finn’s eyes dropped to her bare neck and back up again.

“Do you think so?” She laughed.

“You know bloody well I think so,” he said, resting his hand on her back as he guided her toward the main stairway. She shivered at the touch.

Dirty looks and whispers followed them as they made a sharp right. “Under here,” he whispered, pulling her into the space beneath the stairs.

“What are we doing under here?” she asked. “Someone might’ve seen, and I’d hate for them to think poorly of me.” She smirked for good measure.

Finn frowned.

“Rua, how are you doing?” he asked. “I’ve been so concerned.”

“I’m fine, Finn. Really.” She smiled, never having thought of how her silence might’ve affected him.

“I have news,” he said.

A pit formed in her stomach. Sensing her panic, he shook his head, reassuring her. “I’ve taken care of it. No one will ever know.”

He didn’t need to explain; they both knew what it was.

“How—” she started to ask, relief washing over her, but he put a finger to her lips, shushing her.

“Don’t speak,” he whispered, wetting the top of his index finger as he pulled her lip down and his hand away.

Never far from wanting, heat rushed to her cheeks.

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Let me savor this rare moment of appreciation.” His mouth was so close she could almost taste it.

“You should learn to better control your emotions, my lord,” she said, brushing the tip of her nose against his, their mouths close but never touching. “Or one might mistake your concern for something more.”

“Like what?” he asked as they exchanged heavy breaths.

She arched forward, pressing her body against his, and he slipped his arm around her waist. She looked up through her lashes. “Desire.”

She felt the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

Knowing herself—craving too much—she set her hand upon his chest, intending to create a barrier, but all it did was cement his hold.

With a rueful grin, he released her, but not before pressing his mouth to her ear. “I would’ve thought someone as clever as you would have discerned the extent of my desire ages ago.”

Rua blushed, letting out the breath she was holding tight to, and Finn stepped back, straightening his coat.

“So.” She smoothed out her overskirt. “Have I really nothing to worry about?” she asked, a little skeptical.

He nodded.

“But Lily and Annette just get to get away with it?”

Finn frowned. “Their actions were reprehensible.”

“They need to be punished,” she said. “I’ll tell everyone.”

“All that will do is put you at the scene of a crime in a neighborhood they deem morally bankrupt,” Finn said, squeezing her hand. “You will have to settle for no one knowing it happened.”

It wasn’t enough, but it would do.

“How can you be so sure they won’t tell everyone?” she asked.

“I have it handled,” he said, leaving no room for question, but there was nothing she could do about it tonight anyway.

“Are you ready to find our seats?”

“Yes,” she said, taking his arm.

“Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette is meant to be excellent,” Finn said as they walked upstairs to the U-shaped auditorium.

Rua was too distracted with the splendor of the theater to respond.

Below them at the orchestra level sat hundreds of upholstered seats, all filled. Across were three tiered levels housing the most prestigious boxes, identical to the ones they were in now. Ornate gold molding outlined each box, including the railing. Each was decorated with more gold sconces and embroidered silk curtains.

Finn showed Rua to her seat and handed her a pair of small pearl binoculars.

Flossie and Ned were seated at the end of the row alongside a couple she didn’t recognize.

From her position in the Lord of Donore’s opera box, she understood Flossie’s admiration for it—her intense desire to belong. They were untouchable, sitting on top of the world. Here they held sway over Manhattan.

“My daughter has a profound love of the opera,” Flossie announced to everyone. Rua let out an exasperated sigh.

“Is that so?” an older woman dressed in a black mourning gown asked.

“Oh, yes,” Rua said.

“It’s so nice to see the young ones taking an interest. What is your favorite aria?”

“My favorite aria?” Rua nodded with narrowed eyes, unsure of what an aria was.

Her eyes flicked to Finn, who looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Tell her,” Flossie urged.

“Well.” Rua struggled to find the right words. “I love them all equally. How can one choose?”

“Your top three—”

“It’s beginning,” Finn said loudly, pointing to the well-timed curtain rise and the simultaneous dimming of lights.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, lifting the binoculars to her face.

The curtains opened to a darkened ballroom in the city of Verona as the orchestra blared. Her heart skipped a beat, the dramatic notes overwhelming her with their intensity.

“Rua?” he whispered.

“Yes?” she answered, peeking out sideways from the binoculars but never taking her eyes from the stage.

His hand covered hers and pushed the binoculars down. “We’re not staying.”

“We’re not?” She looked at him, her interest piqued.

Taking her hand and guiding her from their seats, he hurried her through the curtains into an empty stairwell.

“No one will take any notice of our absence now,” he said.

Unlikely , she thought, but her eyes lit up. “My lord, I daresay my good sense cannot allow for behavior of this sort.”

Finn paused. “Would you like to go back?”

“No,” she laughed, playfully pushing his shoulder.

“Good.” He smiled. “This way.”

They traveled down four flights of stairs out into the street. The night air was cool—a chilling reminder of her limited time. October was here, and Samhain was on the thirty-first. Wistfully, she glanced at Finn, wondering how it had gotten so complicated.

“Here,” he said, removing his jacket and slinging it over her shoulders. The lining was still warm. She rolled her shoulders, settling into it.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, knowing she would have gone anywhere he wanted.

“I want to show you something. It’s not far.”

Side by side, Finn’s attentive hand on her back, they walked through the streets. No one paid them any mind. Anonymous in the dark, they could be anyone they wanted—a newly married couple, lovers sneaking off for a tryst, or simply two people with the time to explore the complexity of their feelings. Rua sighed, knowing the last option would never be them.

A few short blocks later, they stopped in front of a large three-story brick building. A single lit candle rested in each of the windowsills. “St. Brigid’s Home for Boys and Girls,” Rua read aloud from the sign. “Is this the orphanage?” she asked, recalling one of their past conversations.

“Yes,” Finn said, fiddling with the latch at the front gate.

“So, is this where you take all the girls, then?” she teased.

He glanced sideways at her as he swung open the gate. “Only one.”

Rua grinned, trying to hide her satisfaction.

“Come on,” Finn laughed, guiding her down a path that wrapped around the building.

“It’s so quiet,” she said.

“The children are at evening mass, but they should be back soon,” he said.

They walked up the steps through the side entrance. The hallways were bright, covered in arts and crafts. She’d expected a gray, oppressive atmosphere in a city orphanage, not this.

“This is lovely, Finn, but why are we here?” She knew it wasn’t because he wanted to show off.

“I have a standing date with St. Brigid’s every Monday night. When the children return from mass, I read them stories for an hour before bed. I’ll have to cut it short tonight, but I thought you might like to participate.”

The hallway erupted into chaos as two lines of children burst through the doors, boys and girls of all ages.

“F á ilte! Finn!” Rua heard them shout.

“Finn! Sure, I told ye he would come,” shouted a taller boy. The Irish accents were pronounced.

The older children walked past, offering quick smiles and nods. A few giggles erupted from the girls as they gazed upon Finn. Rua didn’t blame them.

One little boy ran up to Finn, stood on his foot, and wrapped his arm around Finn’s leg. He wasn’t half the size of it.

Finn made a silly groaning noise, pretending to be a monster as he walked. The child clung to his leg in a fit of laughter.

The rest of the children screeched in delight, begging to have their turn next.

Finn took them on two at a time while Rua watched adoringly. He was carefree and lighthearted. She hadn’t known this side of him to exist.

Feeling a tug on her skirt, she glanced down. A little girl, no more than four, was staring up at her through bright-blue eyes.

“An banphrionsa t ú ?” the girl asked.

She was going to ask Finn to translate, but somehow, she realized, she already knew what to say.

“Ní mé,” Rua said, shaking her head at the little girl who’d asked if she was a princess. Finn watched her closely, listening as the Irish slipped from her lips. “Agus cad fútsa?” Rua asked back.

The little girl nodded, pulling her uniform skirt out wide and doing a twirl before running away.

“I didn’t realize you spoke Irish.” Finn’s tone was accusing, as though this were information he should’ve been privy to.

“I don’t …” She trailed off, knowing her memories hadn’t returned. But perhaps embedded between the loss were the core parts of her—deeply inherent and impossible to shake. The language had come to her on a whim, surprising her with its ease. “And so what if I do speak it?” she asked, recovering herself. What was it to him?

“Ah, my lord, ye made it.” A smiling woman in a nun’s habit walked up to them, pulling a child off Finn’s leg, effectively tabling their conversation.

“Sister Mary, this is Rua.” Finn put his hand behind Rua’s back.

Rua smiled.

“Pleasure to meet you, Rua.”

“Likewise,” Rua said, thinking it was the first time someone had met her with a genuine smile upon their face.

“I’ve only time for a quick visit now, but I’ll come tomorrow night, if that suits?”

“Ye are welcome anytime.”

“Pardon us a moment?” Finn said to Rua, stepping off to the side with Sister Mary.

“Of course.” Rua busied herself looking at the pictures on the wall while they talked. She tried not to listen, but there was only so much she could do. She heard the nun thank Finn and saw her stick an envelope into her skirt pocket. He was the reason these orphaned children had a comfortable and safe place to lay their heads.

“Go on now, the both of ye,” Sister Mary said. “Get back to your evening.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Sister Mary nodded. “Lovely to meet you, Rua,” she called, walking in the opposite direction. “Fergus, ye wee skitter, get back in there!” She pointed at the little boy who’d just opened a pair of double doors, letting the sound of boisterous chatter fill the hallway.

Rua laughed as Finn came to her side, taking her hand without a second thought, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Her heart skipped a beat, hoping he wouldn’t let go.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said.

“I’m happy you thought to bring me.”

He held the door open for her with one arm, holding her tight with the other.

Under the light of the moon and the blurry light of the streetlamps, she was so far removed from her counterfeit existence. One elegant brownstone followed another, their only differences being the designs of the balustrades and the flower boxes on the windows.

She counted her steps, wishing they didn’t have to go back to the opera.

Rua wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if it would be hard to leave him behind. Of course it shouldn’t be. Their connection was nothing more than a series of sparkling flirtations. Perhaps if she were someone else … She looked away, a sting in her eyes.

Abruptly, Finn stopped, pulling his hand from hers. Affronted, she turned to face him.

War waged on his face, tearing him between who he was and who he was trying to be. She swallowed hard, knowing which version of him would win. She could see it there in the depths of his eyes, pooling with an inexplicable need that matched her own.

Her breath deepened as she anticipated what would come next.

Finn took a step toward her; they were toe to toe.

His eyes met hers and, finally, he found his answer.

Breath ragged, he cupped the side of her face, working his fingers through her hair.

Her heart thundered as she absent-mindedly licked her lip, his hands anywhere on her body enough to drive her mad.

He responded with a guttural groan, pressing himself into her.

There was no reeling it back now. This was ecstasy.

His palm settled on the side of her neck while his thumb lingered at her mouth. The movement was unhurried as he traced her bottom lip. She trembled under his touch, desperate for more.

“Rua,” he breathed, lowering his forehead to hers.

“Finn,” she whispered back, tilting her face up to his, their lips almost touching for the second time tonight. She could endure the teasing no more.

Seeing the glow of her eyes reflected in his, a sharp rush of clarity shot through her. She felt like herself—clear, powerful, strong. If he wasn’t going to kiss her, she would take matters into her own hands.

And then his mouth crashed down on hers. Urgent and yearning, he set her world on fire. Her fists knotted into his shirt, pulling him closer, but it wasn’t enough.

Messy with wanting, they bumped up against a cemented wall. She let out a little gasp. He grinned and bent forward, burrowing his face in her neck, torturing her skin with his lips.

Pleasure ripped through her as his hands gripped her tighter, holding her for dear life. She melted into his embrace, feeling his strength.

Moving her hands to his face, she traced the outline of his lips, his eyes, his jaw.

He groaned his pleasure. Her pulse quickened at the sound. He kissed her mouth once more, then tragically pulled away.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said softly.

“Neither do I,” he agreed, nuzzling against the top of her head.

They stayed there a moment, silent and reveling. Their kiss had changed things, inevitable as it was. She wanted to know every part of him, despite the feeling that she might already.

He inhaled deeply and stepped back, looking at her thoughtfully. “The scent of meadowsweet torments me night and day.”

“Crios C ú Chulainn,” she said, pleased that he’d noticed.

His face darkened. “What?”

“It’s what the perfume is called,” she answered, not understanding his reaction. “There’s a story to it, I think. Something about the warrior C ú Chulainn using it after battle.” She thought about it a moment. “I suppose the perfumer could have just been selling me a story to entice me. I would have bought it either way.” She wasn’t sure why she felt like she needed to defend her purchase.

He nodded, softening a bit, but his demeanor wasn’t quite the same. “I’m afraid your mother’s attention can only be diverted for so long. We must return.”

A pang of disappointment swelled as they walked in silence back to the opera house. They did not hold hands or acknowledge each other’s presence. They might have never kissed at all.

Regret was a tedious emotion, but it was all she could feel as her mind replayed over and over what could have gone wrong in the minutes since they’d last embraced.

The mention of C ú Chulainn—it was the only thing she could think of. She wondered what it was about her perfume that had him perturbed.

Unless, of course, it went deeper than that. Perhaps his lordship was dealing with a bout of regret himself. He was intending to marry Annette, was he not? And yet he’d kissed Rua—an earth-shattering, bone-melting kiss.

She let out a frustrated huff, thinking about Annette and how she was getting everything she wanted—Finn and a sullied Rua.

They stopped at the back entrance of the opera house where they’d originally sneaked out. The door was wedged open with a small piece of wood, letting the sounds of the performance drift outdoors.

Rua passed in front of Finn, chin up, as he held the door open for her.

To go from such a high to such a low in the span of ten minutes was infuriating. What was the point of inviting her to the opera, sneaking out to the orphanage, kissing her in the moonlight, if he was going to recede back to his churlish ways?

“You know, Finn, for no reason, you ruined a perfectly good—”

He grabbed hold of her arm, swinging her back to his front, and shushed her with a mouthwatering kiss.

His lips were soft as they melted into hers, his tongue gently coaxing its way past her lips.

It was quick. And it was subtle. And it meant everything.