Page 8 of The Gods Time Forgot

Eight

Rua was glad to be rid of the Lord of Donore. At least, that’s what she told herself as she entered the cloakroom.

The doors shut behind her, drowning out the collective chatter of the three hundred guests.

She needed time to collect herself and get him out of her head. She rested her hand against her stomach, trying to catch her breath. Something had come over her. An all-consuming moment of madness where she could focus on nothing else but him. In his presence, she felt a spark. A twinge of excitement in an otherwise bleak existence. More than that, she felt familiarity.

Perhaps it was too much for one day. She wasn’t prepared for this, and she was acting foolish out of her desperate need to blend in.

She paused at the mirrors, looking exactly as she felt—flustered. Red cheeks, sweat in her brows, hair falling out of place. Perhaps this was the cause for the dirty looks. She leaned in closer, noticing unusual gold flecks in her green irises. She blinked a half dozen times. Did her eyes always look like this?

She thought back to the portrait of Emma hanging in Conleth Falls. Those eyes were green and subdued. Surely an artist would have picked up on a shimmering gold color, if only to bring out an ounce of life in Emma’s morose face.

There were so many other things Flossie was ignoring about her daughter. What was a slightly different eye color when the rest of the body looked the same?

Rua moved past the mirrors and found a comfortable chair behind a floral three-paneled room divider. The fresh roses lifted her spirits. Despite the tall ceilings and gilded edgings, the room was intimate. A side table with a stack of books sat beside her, and a lovely painting of a woman drawing under a tree hung above. She could feel her stress beginning to leave her.

Maybe she’d stay here for the rest of the night. After all, she had danced with the self-proclaimed most important man in the room. What more could she do?

She smiled to herself. If she was lucky, that dance would catapult her right into high society’s frigid arms and the Fitzgeralds’ good graces. Then she could retreat to the Harringtons’ library and never come out again. She was already tired of trying. Being a debutante was exhausting.

Ballroom babble and cold air filled her sanctuary.

“Can you believe he danced with her, of all people?”

“Shut the door.”

The door shut, but the chill never left. Rua sat forward to listen.

“His first ball and he dances with that filthy, pagan potlicker.”

Pagan potlicker? Rua mouthed the words. She recognized Annette Fitzgerald’s delicate voice instantly.

“I overheard Mr. and Mrs. Harrington practically beg the man to dance with their daughter. Quite pathetic, really. And what choice did the Lord of Donore have? They’re in business together.”

“Exactly right,” Annette said. “You heard how she disappeared this summer while attempting to sacrifice herself in some sort of satanic ritual?” There was a pause. “Yes, well, apparently, she killed the man hired to help bring her home. Her mother thought she could keep it a secret, but how dare she! Letting her evil infect us all.”

They were talking about Rua, that much was clear. But killed a man? She shook her head in disbelief. She knew the man had been hurt, but killed? Because of the water?

She couldn’t very well have that spreading around, but now wasn’t the time to defend herself. All she could do was hope these women didn’t come behind the divider and discover her eavesdropping.

“How did you learn of this? She should be turned over to the authorities,” another woman said.

“Servants know everything that goes on in a household,” Annette said.

“It’s preposterous that she should even be let into these parties. The entire family is a disgrace. Remind me again of why your father is in business with them?” someone else chimed in, her question sounding more like an accusation.

“Unlike your father,” Annette spat, “mine is a man of his word. Mr. Harrington was involved before we knew of his daughter’s affliction.”

“Well, at least the Lord of Donore danced with you first.”

“I’m not worried. It was all out of pity and really is indicative of the kind of man the lord is. Can you imagine that he would risk his reputation to dance with someone so unfortunate?”

Rua’s body shook with an indecent amount of temper. So much so that it gave her pause. She sat back, took a breath, and thought of Flossie. A well-behaved woman would never raise her voice. She would not engage. She would become a doormat.

“Let’s just hope the lord knows to keep his distance going forward. My father has already warned him,” Annette said.

“What does anyone really know about the Lord of Donore anyway? My aunt says he showed up in London declaring relation to an Irish king. A bit suspect, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, it’s not,” Annette snapped. “He’s wealthy and he’s handsome. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were married by next summer.”

“Wait,” someone said, followed by hushed voices and whispers. Rua feared they were about to discover her, but then there was a shuffling sound and the door opened. “Gather yourselves, ladies; I must find the lord before that heathen can do any more damage.”

The sounds of the women’s voices disappeared out the door. Rua considered going after them, but what would be the point? She wouldn’t change their minds about Emma or the Harringtons, that much was obvious.

It must be so nice for the Lord of Donore to be above their scrutiny. She wondered what they meant about him showing up in London out of thin air. Was there something unscrupulous about everyone’s favorite Irishman? Or perhaps she was just looking for excuses to explain the effect he’d had on her. Either way, something was off.

Rua stilled, hearing the door open once more. She listened as quiet footsteps approached. She braced herself, sensing that she was about to be exposed.

“Ah, Miss Harrington, I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Rua said nothing as a young woman with dark-brown hair and a stunning pink ball gown smiled down at her. She didn’t remember meeting her, but she could have been in the salon when Mrs. Fitzgerald first introduced her. The many faces were a blur.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. My friends can be a bit boorish when they’re threatened.”

“I never threatened them,” Rua argued.

“Certainly not directly, but it does not change that they are, in fact, threatened.” The woman raised a knowing brow. “I’m Lily Stevens.”

“Emma,” Rua said, hating the lie.

“This might come across as a bit odd, but I am part of a women’s group, a society really, and we meet every couple of weeks. I think you’d be a perfect candidate for membership.”

“How do you figure?” Rua asked, mistrustful of Lily’s intentions. Especially after claiming Annette and those other vipers as her friends.

Lily smiled. “It’s a club for strong-minded women. Unique individuals with interests beyond the marriage mart. Not for the likes of Annette Fitzgerald,” she added, as though that might sway her, and it might have if Rua weren’t already suspicious of her motives.

“I appreciate your consideration, but I don’t think—”

Lily cut her off. “My group does not judge women as harshly as the world does. You don’t have to give me an answer now. The next meeting is in a few weeks.”

Rua nodded, mustering a fake smile.

“Well, Emma, I shall leave you to your solitude,” she said, smiling back at Rua. “Oh, and keep this between us, would you?” Lily winked and left the cloakroom.

What a strange invitation.

With no intention of leaving, Rua riffled through the stack of books and decided on Godey’s Lady’s Book , Vol. 80. Maybe it would teach her how to act, though that was unlikely, seeing as her mind was flat out rejecting the printed words. Every other sentence she felt herself nodding off and having to reread the section before. Eventually, Rua shut the book altogether and closed her eyes.

As the dark grew around her, so did the pull of the water. She ran faster, knowing it was the only way.

She couldn’t let him see her. There was no coming back from what she’d done. What she was going to do.

Tears pooled and burned her eyes.

A tangled mess of vines took her to the ground. She lay there, wondering why the earth wouldn’t just swallow her whole.

“Rua!” The voice of hope and reason called for her.

She closed her eyes tight.

There could be no more hope; there were only her sins.

Guilt fueled her resolve. She lifted herself up and kept running.

“Is this where you’ve been all evening? Napping!” Flossie’s shrill voice cut through her slumber.

Rua’s eyes flew open. “I wasn’t napping.” She stood up too quickly and grabbed the table for balance. “I was resting my feet.”

“You’ve been gone for hours.” Flossie glared at her.

Rua’s eyes flew to the clock. It was well after midnight. “Have you been searching for me all this time?” she asked, worried that she might have sent Flossie into a tizzy.

Flossie shook her head. “Out of sight, out of mind, my dear. I thought it was best for everyone. Let’s go. The carriage should be here any minute.”

Rua had to admire Flossie’s obstinance.

She wondered how many people had wandered into the room and seen her passed out on the chair. That should garner some goodwill among the women.

The ballroom had almost cleared out. The remaining guests were making their way out through the front doors.

She searched the crowd to see who was left, not willing to admit there was only one person she was looking for.

Ned, looking a shade of red she hadn’t thought possible and smelling of drink, approached and hurried them toward the door. “I don’t want to wait another minute. Our transport is here.”

The Harringtons filed into the carriage, fake daughter and all.

“I think that went well, all things considered.” Ned took a flask from his breast coat pocket and emptied the last remaining drops onto his tongue.

“Well? Our daughter took a nap in the cloakroom.”

Rua contemplated asking Flossie if she knew who Lily Stevens was but decided against it.

“I said ‘all things considered,’ ” Ned corrected his wife.

Rua groaned and turned her body away from the couple. She couldn’t wait to be alone. The ball had not been as bad as she was expecting and yet had somehow been worse. The party guests seemed more than happy to ignore Rua’s presence, a detail that would make all events going forward tolerable. Her problem, however, lay in the Fitzgerald women’s extreme distaste for her.

And there was the Lord of Donore. It would probably be the last time she ever came in contact with him; Annette would make sure of that. She batted down the unwelcome swell of disappointment and ignored the sharp prick of jealousy.

“We have big plans for tomorrow,” Flossie said. “We must continue to show everyone we’re not to be dismissed.”

“This one feels a bit snugger,” Rua said as the maids fit the whalebone corset around her middle. While she adored the look of the hourglass shape, she despised wearing the garment that made it possible. Rua sucked in as the maids fastened the front busk. Slowly, she let her breath back out. There was no fear of ripping the garment. It was as if they’d dipped her in cement.

“Where is it that we’re going today?”

The maids pulled the beige skirt over the slight bustle and fitted the jacket on Rua’s arms. There were no ruffles on her underskirt today but a white embroidered design all along the edges that she couldn’t make out because it was so faint against the cream color of the fabric. She didn’t understand why she was wearing a jacket in this hot August weather.

There must have been two dozen buttons from top to bottom, constricting her further with every snap. The buttoning stopped when they reached the middle of her neck. She wanted to pull at the fabric, loosen its hold on her neck, but her movements were stilted. The final touch, a bonnet pinned to the top of her hair, covered her tight ringlets.

“Why am I being dressed like this?” Rua choked out. It was different from her other gowns.

The chambermaids giggled, and Mara dismissed them with a stern, “Leave.” She turned back to Rua. “You look lovely. And your mother insisted.”

Rua strained her neck backward and lifted her arms, hoping to loosen the jacket a bit.

“Here, you’ll also need these.” Mara handed her a pair of gloves.

“But these are leather.” Rua gaped. “It must be ninety degrees outside.”

“They’re kidskin and essential.”

“Essential to what?” They’d have to cut the gloves off her when she returned home.

Instead of answering, Mara laughed as she shuffled Rua out of the room.

“There you are, darling!” Flossie cooed from the bottom of the stairs. Ned stood beside her. “The promenading will begin shortly. We will meet the Fitzgeralds by their tent.”

Rua would rather eat knives than spend the afternoon in a shared space with Annette and Mrs. Fitzgerald.

“Are we going to the park, then?” Rua asked, unsure of where the tent would be set up.

“Where else?” Flossie snapped, looking at her as if she should know better. And she should, she supposed. Emma would.

They spent more time packing into the carriage than actually traveling to the park. The upper tens appeared to enjoy wasting their time on frivolous things, because to do so was a privilege in and of itself.

Rua couldn’t believe the amount of people in the park. She and the Harringtons walked along a wide path lined with elm trees and wooden benches, not one of them vacant. Families and couples were out lying in the grass, having picnics, with children running wild. Topless carriages carried well-to-do ladies while others rode bikes.

Then there was the more formal crowd, the one Flossie was rushing toward, who were strolling with their parasols and bowler hats. The promenade in Central Park was nothing more than an extravagant parade of wealth.

“Darling, come here. Come and say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Flossie said as she pushed and shuffled them through the crowd.

Rua forced down a rising wave of antipathy as she approached the couple. She wasn’t in the mood to dodge insults this afternoon. Her dress was too tight, and she’d had only a scone for breakfast.

But as she glanced around the mass of wealthy men and women, she understood that things were not going to go her way. Everyone was staring at her, whispering back and forth.

She wondered what they were saying. Did they suspect she was an impostor? Had they heard about the devil worshipping? Or did they simply not like her?

“Ned, good to see you,” Mr. Fitzgerald said, ushering them under his family’s white marquee.

“How’s the head?” Ned asked.

“Not as sore as yours, I imagine.” The two men laughed and went to get drinks from the table.

“Miss Harrington, lovely to see you again,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “Annette is around here somewhere. Probably still on the Lord of Donore’s arm.” She looked around and then looked back to Rua, wearing a smug grin. “Your riding habit is darling.”

“My what?” Rua looked to Flossie, who was eyeballing Mrs. Fitzgerald as she spoke to a servant.

“Your riding habit.” Flossie’s voice dropped lower. “Do not make a fool of me.”

Mara might’ve mentioned this when she helped dress her this morning.

“You mean for me to ride a horse, in front of these people?” Rua whispered harshly.

She wasn’t sure she even knew how to ride one, and she certainly wasn’t going to try to figure it out now. Imagine falling off a horse in front of everyone that mattered. No way would she risk it.

“You have two seconds to adjust your face,” Flossie hissed.

Wearing her best smile, Rua whispered back, “I wish you had told me what was happening, because I would have told you that I can’t ride a horse.”

“Oh, please don’t start. So help me, you’ve been riding your entire life.”

“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked.

Rua didn’t know what to say to change Flossie’s mind beyond the obvious—that she wasn’t her real daughter.

“Yes, of course,” Flossie answered before turning back to Rua. “Go now, find Mara and have her take you to your horse. I want you seated promptly.” Flossie shooed her away.

Rua was absolutely not going to go find Mara and her horse. What she was going to do was disappear into the crowded park and stay lost long enough to miss whatever horseback-riding event was going to happen.

She allowed herself to be carried away by the crowd of people, slipping away from the Harringtons and Fitzgeralds. A sense of relief overcame her, realizing she could leave now and never go back. The thought of never seeing Flossie’s sour face was tempting.

The scent of roasted nuts and stale beer wafted around her as she made her way around the park. Vendors were haggling over the prices of everything from turkey legs to shawls. If she had some money, she could buy a bigger hat and hide her face.

A large crowd had gathered around the pond. She walked past the mass of revelers, a wide array of cultures mashed together on one tiny island, all in search of the opportunity the city promised them.

As she slipped farther into the swarm, there was a noticeable change in the clientele. Not a top hat in sight, just falling-down drunkards and brawlers. The women were dressed for the warm weather with far less layers than Flossie would deem appropriate. Rua was out of place, and it was obvious.

Not wanting to be caught somewhere she shouldn’t be, she continued walking. She didn’t have a destination in mind; she only wanted to put space between her and Manhattan’s elite.

It was exasperating to pretend she cared for anything other than her own well-being. To cater to Flossie’s pedantic whims. She sighed, staring at the Central Park woods in the distance, what remained of undeveloped Manhattan.

She found herself drawn to it. Farther and farther she went until the noise from the parkgoers vanished. The path narrowed, overgrown with brush and shaded by treetops. Tall grass and scrawny bushes guided her way. The world around her was quiet, the way it was meant to be. No blaring horns, no shouts from vendors. No people at all.

She smiled when she saw the meadowsweet, so dainty amid the rest of the undergrowth. She walked toward the sweet-smelling white flower, trying to remember when it had become her favorite.

Soon the path became nothing more than stomped-on grass, the hedges barely pushed out of the way. Dead leaves littered the ground, tangled with low bushes and rocks. She sensed she should turn back, but there was something lingering in the air. A low hum, meant only for her, drawing her forward.

Skirts trailing in the dirt, she chased the sound. The gentle vibration grew louder as she moved, guiding her in the right direction. So determined was she to reach it, she hardly noticed the fuggy air or the way her breathing faltered.

And then a branch snapped, echoing loudly around her.

She spun around, frantically looking for what she couldn’t see. High and low she searched, but there was nothing. No squirrels or rabbits. No person lurking behind her. Nothing to account for the sound.

Heart pounding, she kept walking, this time slower, and with the disquieting sense she was being followed. The buzzing sound had all but vanished, permitting the full weight of her poor decision to sink in. If she let out a scream, would anyone hear her?

Slicked with sweat and unable to think, she was no longer confident she was going the right way. What was the right way to begin with?

She paused, her gaze sweeping the trees, hoping for any kind of discernible marker, one that would guide her back to the park and the people she didn’t want to see. Though why should the universe offer her one? She’d foolishly followed a strange noise deep into the woods. It was one bad choice after another. Perhaps dying alone in the woods was to be her destiny, if only she’d lie down and accept it.

Hands on her hips, she bent forward, letting out an exasperated groan. But there was no relief to be found while wearing whalebone. Struggling, she rose back to her full height, lifting her hair off the back of her neck to cool down. The heat was going to kill her before anything else got the chance.

“Enough is enough,” she muttered, deciding her next move. She took a step forward and quickly changed her mind. Perhaps she had come from the other direction. She turned around, this time letting out a scream as she did so.

Before her stood a man, tall and broad shouldered, with swirls of golden-brown hair under a bowler hat.

The Lord of Donore.

She stumbled backward. He reached out and steadied her, sliding one hand behind her back and the other around her upper arm. The touch of his hands burned right through the fabric of her gown, sending an onslaught of shivers down her back. He pulled her in tighter, intoxicating her with his scent. What was it? she wondered, taking a deep breath. Sandalwood? Rosewood? Some manly concoction; it didn’t matter.

Coming to her senses, she pushed out of his arms and took a much-needed step backward. “What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on me like some feral hog?” she gasped.

“I beg your pardon?” He choked on the words.

“Why were you following me?” She focused her gaze, still trying to catch her breath.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked. She couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed, though he had no right to be either.

“It wasn’t your business yesterday, and it certainly isn’t your business today,” she said, wondering how he’d managed to creep up on her like that.

“On the contrary, Miss Harrington.” He took a step closer, his gaze lingering on her mouth before moving up to her eyes. “Everything you do is my business.”

“What a deranged thing to say,” she countered, trying not to let his proximity cloud her judgment.

“I’ll ask you again: What are you doing out here, alone, when everyone you know is back there?” He extended a long arm and pointed in the direction she didn’t know she needed to go.

She pushed past him, not intending to answer.

He waited a moment, long enough for her to get a few steps ahead, and then caught up to her. “I wanted to see for myself if you’re as much of a liability as they say you are. I need to protect my business interests.”

The nerve of him. She spun around on him. “I don’t care how important you think you are; you are out of your depth with me.”

“Is that so?” he challenged, meeting her eyes with a fierceness that drove through the center of her chest. As if he’d looked at her this way a thousand times before, but her mind offered no explanation—only a crack in the wall exposing her damaged foundation.

“Yes,” she said, more breathless than she’d have liked.

There was a pull from deep within her core, tethering her to this very spot, to him. She’d felt a pang of recognition yesterday, but confronted with it again, she was sure of it. She knew him and she wasn’t supposed to.

“Very well, Miss Harrington.” His expression softened, as though he were looking at her for the very first time. “Allow me to start over?”

“By all means,” she said, trying to clear her head, but her thoughts could not compete with the warning bells firing off. How could she feel like she knew him when she didn’t know herself?

“I am in business with your father,” he said.

“And?” she asked, searching the recesses of her mind for any indication that she’d ever known him. His eyes, his physique, his lovely Irish accent. Surely she wouldn’t have forgotten someone like him.

“And I will not allow anything to undermine the construction of that hotel.”

“So, you’ve appointed yourself as my keeper?” she asked, mocking.

“No. That’s not what I said.” He took his hat off, running a hand through his hair, looking flustered for the first time.

“Then what?” she asked. “I’m failing to see the connection between a hotel’s construction and you feeling entitled to the knowledge of my whereabouts.” Though she saw the connection clearly. A scandal was bad for business. She was bad for business.

“I’ve encountered you twice now in places you should not be. And, if I’m not mistaken, it’s only your second day in the city.”

“Who says I should not be here?” She wasn’t sure why she was continuing to provoke him.

“If you cannot understand that there are places women simply do not go during certain hours of the day, and most assuredly not alone, then I am afraid we are at an impasse.”

“I understand well enough. I simply do not agree.” Rua turned away from him again and continued down the well-worn path. He followed suit.

“I do not necessarily agree either,” he said, after a pause, “but as a contributing member of society, I find it in my best interest to follow the rules.”

“That is because the rules were made with your best interests in mind,” she said.

He glanced sideways at her. She saw the smile he was trying to hide. “Fair enough, Miss Harrington.”

“If you’re going to be following me around all the time, you might as well know my name. It’s Rua.” She smiled at him, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. It was questioning, defensive almost.

Brows furrowed, he asked, “Rua?”

The sound of it on his lips warmed her soul. Like a secret meant only for them. And then she realized what she’d said. “It’s my middle name,” she corrected quickly, but not quick enough. “I prefer it to Emma, though no one obliges me.”

He nodded, saying nothing more.

She didn’t like that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that he seemed to scrutinize and judge every word she said. Nor did she like the lingering curiosity he left hanging overhead, taunting her with hidden yearning and misbegotten wishes.

He hadn’t intended to follow her all the way out here. Merely curious when he saw her wander off, he assumed she was going to visit the vendors or sneak an ale, but then she kept going. He couldn’t believe it when she left the path and continued on into the woods. She could argue it all she liked; it wasn’t safe.

But now, upon hearing her call herself Rua, he was at a loss. He was certain her first name was Emma. Perhaps it was her middle name, as she’d said, but her cagey explanation made him think otherwise. But what reason would she have to lie?

“What time is it?” she asked him.

He checked his timepiece. “Quarter to four.”

“Good.” She nodded, looking ruffled. “I’d better get back now.”

“I will accompany you,” he offered, eager to get out of the woods. There was a quiet darkness emanating from within. While he normally preferred the solitude of the outdoors, he was on edge and reluctant to travel any farther.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” she said, and walked away.

It had been too easy for him to leave the promenade and follow Rua. She was utterly magnetic, and he her polar opposite.

He’d been in the midst of a conversation with Annette and another young woman, discussing table settings for an upcoming dinner at the Randalls’, when he spotted Rua arriving with her parents. Why Annette and her friend were prematurely concerned with seating arrangements was beyond him, but as he was considering a courtship with Annette, he thought it best to at least pretend to share her interests.

He watched as Rua exchanged harsh words with her mother before slipping away, wearing a satisfied grin on her face as she did so.

It was the grin that intrigued him, leaving her looking like she’d just gotten away with something. He had to see what she was up to. For business’ sake, of course.

He shook his head, knowing he was lying to himself. If he wasn’t careful, Ned Harrington’s daughter would bring his world to a grinding halt. Annette, on the other hand, would help it flourish. She was agreeable and reserved. A woman whose life matched the one he wanted.

Rua wasn’t even an option. In fact, she had gone out of her way to make sure he knew how uninterested she was. So why was he fighting his courtship with Annette?

Finn kept pace behind Rua, wanting to make sure she was returned safely. Or perhaps, despite his better judgment, he wasn’t ready to part with her. He loved a woman that could hold her own, and hell if she couldn’t hold hers.

“Rua,” he whispered to himself once more. A name so uncommon it wasn’t even a name. Rua was red in Irish. He had a hard time believing Mrs. Harrington had chosen that name for her daughter. But what other explanation was there? Was he so convinced of the rumors about her that he’d jumped to strange conclusions? Or was it something else entirely?

Her hair, her freckles, her smile—all of it so familiar. What was the explanation for that?

In the distance he could see the mall. The crowd had grown livelier as the hours wore on.

“Donore.” A man from the Union Club gave him a nod. Finn nodded back, pleased.

“Where have you been?” One of the Harringtons’ lady’s maids hurried over to Rua. “You missed the ride.”

He could see Mr. and Mrs. Harrington standing under an elm, speaking with the Fitzgeralds and their daughter, Annette.

Finn walked toward them, regretting his decision to return with Rua. She made sure to pause long enough to make it appear as though they’d returned together, side by side. Mrs. Harrington eyed them with glee while every member of the Fitzgerald family looked disgusted.

Though he wasn’t fond of Mr. Fitzgerald keeping tabs on the company he kept, he understood the sentiment. Rua had already demonstrated her propensity for rule breaking twice now.

“The Lord of Donore intercepted me on my way to the stables, and I lost track of the time,” Rua lied to Mrs. Harrington effortlessly.

The look on Richard’s face was enough to make Finn consider contradicting Rua’s version of events, but whether she was a hellion or not, he was not in the habit of calling women liars in front of their peers.

So Finn stayed quiet.

Rua gave him a subtle nod of appreciation, a small gesture that satisfied something deep within him. He ran a hand through his hair, stunned that it had taken all of twenty-four hours for him to get mixed up with the one woman he had been warned to stay away from.

Needing to salvage the situation, he did the only thing he could think of. “Miss Fitzgerald, would you care for a stroll around the lawn?”

He glanced at Rua, not to taunt her but to see if she cared. He didn’t know why that mattered to him. Though he regretted looking instantly, for the scowl on her face could have leveled an army.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Annette responded, looking like the cat that got the cream. “That would be lovely, my lord.” He took her arm and left Rua behind him. At least that was what he intended to do. His mind had other ideas.

He’d concluded that the rumors about her might not be far off base. She was bizarre, for one thing, but she was also headstrong, with a quick wit. A lethal combination.

“Do you promenade every day?” he asked Annette.

“Nearly. It’s quite fun, isn’t it?” Annette smiled.

“Quite.” Finn nodded, thinking it was one of the more frivolous habits of the upper class but at least it was done out of doors.

Annette kept her eyes ahead, walking with the all the airs and graces one would expect of someone with her upbringing. She would be a welcome addition to his life, an asset of the highest degree.

Rua was a wild card. Things would be infinitely more exciting, but they would be tumultuous and unstable. He’d never know what she was thinking or what she wanted. She was a force unto herself, and it was no way to build a life.

Christ. How had he circled back to imagining a life with Rua?

Perhaps it was that in all her perceived faults, he found he was envious of her ability to simply do as she pleased. A luxury Finn would not grant himself. But in her freedom lay ruin, and he’d do well to remember that.

He stared ahead, trying to free his thoughts of her.

Everyone they passed smiled and said hello, a far cry from the scowls he’d received with Rua on his arm last night. But this was how it was supposed to be. This was what he wanted for himself. Respect. And he would earn it through the Fitzgeralds.

He’d make a point to invite Annette to his opera box later in the week. And he should send flowers. Yes, that would make clear his intentions.