Page 12 of The Rake is Taken
The next thought left her breathless.
What if Finn Alexander, even with his family surrounding him, was alone in his world, too?
Chapter 4
“For God’s sake, sit down. You have the look of a trapped animal.”
Finn halted in the middle of his brother’s study, a space he’d been roaming—window to bookshelf and back—since being permitted entrance five minutes prior. The silence was numbing, Julian’s reproach threading childlike anxiety through him as if he waited for punishment for shattering an antique vase or spilling ink on a cherished rug.
No one could make a grown man cower like Julian Alexander.
Finn nudged a painting resting against the sofa with his boot. A charming portrait of Lucien, Julian’s adorable two-year-old son. “I like living above the Blue Moon,” he said, figuring the argument should start where it had left off six months ago. Although, he didn’t actuallylikeliving there, but the reasoning behind his actions was a perilous pond he wasn’t diving into this day. Not if he could avoid it.
Julian’s paintbrush tapped a steady rhythm on the imposing desk he sat behind. “The gaming hell was an opportunity for us to further the League’s contacts, gain information and entry into various levels of society, develop negotiating power in certain circles, while you learned to manage a business. End of story. I never planned for you to be associated in the way you have been. I think part of its success is due to the chance to carouse with Viscount Beauchamp’s infamous half-brother.”
Finn dropped to a crouch before Lucien’s portrait, a pang of what felt like homesickness flowing through him. Strange, as he’d just come home. “It’s in the black, as you well know. A favorite haunt of every town dandy. The gossip sheets love us. Why, I’m scraping earls and barons off the sidewalk nightly, much to everyone’s enjoyment. Gamblingandtheatre. After taking their money at the faro table, of course.” He stole a glance at Julian, noting that discussion of their financial success had failed to erase his sour look. “Fortunately, reading their minds allows me to have them escorted from the premises before they irreparably change their lives. Hence being known as the ‘friendly’ betting establishment, the gaming hell where you lose, but not so much you feel the need to swim the Thames the next morning.” Knowing it wasn’t a good idea but unable to stop himself, Finn winked and added, “I’m simply doing my part to help society as they’ve always helped me.”
“Using your gift for this idiocy is almost as bad as Piper posing as a medium. Remember how well that worked out?” He sighed, the paintbrush continuing its pejorative tapping. “This was far from my plan.”
“My living in blasted, bland Mayfair was your plan, I know, I know,” Finn snapped, his temper heating. His head was starting to pound from thwarting Julian’s thoughts, privacy not afforded everyone. Control he didn’t alwayshave. Victoria had apparently moved far enough away for her blocking his reading to abate. At least a little. “The League is still top of mind, Jule. My first priority aside from breathing. Have you forgotten the translations I’m doing? The letters from our German contact? The concern you had, someone in Berlin that’s far too interested in us, in the occult. It’s almost spying, which was not Oxford’s expectation when I sailed through those language classes. Their hope was a lifetime spent filling a library with the works of Heinrich von Kleist and Ludwig Tieck.”
“My hope wasnotyou being asked to depart due to unprincipled behavior. Rustication it wasn’t, despite what you said at the time. It was expulsion.”
Finn swallowed hard and scrubbed the back of his neck. “How was I to know the girl was engaged to the Vice-Chancellor’s son? She never let a thought about the poor sod float through that stunning head of hers. I was as surprised as you were.”Though I would have done it anyway, he wanted to add but didn’t dare. She’d been very persuasive, very experienced, and he a green lad of nineteen.
Julian tossed the paintbrush aside and rolled to his feet. Wrenching the window at his back high, he leaned out into an enveloping, dusky twilight. “I don’t understand your desire, after all we did to leave that life, to return to it. Creating intrigue where we pray there is none, living in that horror of a parish. We’re not thieves any longer, Finn. You’re accepted by association, and you always will be. As long as I’m alive, that is. It’s enough. Embrace this life we’ve fought for.”
“You were neverfromthat world, Jule. You only stepped into the pit long enough to yank me out of it, then lie to society about our relationship after, which I’m eternally grateful for. Being born in the gutter is my history, no mind to how much we’d both like it not to be. The truth finally comes out in the end, doesn’t it?” He took a fast inhalation, the scent of paint and turpentine stinging his nose. “My identity lies somewhere between what you created and what Iam.”
“I don’t want your damned gratitude. You’re the brother of my heart,” Julian said between clenched teeth. “After the boy—”
“Freddie,” Finn whispered and closed his eyes to hide what Julian might see, “his name was Freddie.”
“Freddie’s death wasn’t your fault. The League stepped in as soon as we found out about him. You almost died trying to save him.”
“Trying being the optimal word.”
Julian cursed beneath his breath. “Being gutted on the wharf is your idea of your purpose, that it?”
“I don’t know what my purpose is,” Finn whispered too softly for his brother to hear.
“The League can’t save everyone who has the misfortune to have a supernatural talent, Finn. It’s not possible in this lifetime, and we’ll both suffer greatly if we think it is. I’ve filled this estate with every single person I’ve found who is gifted and has no place. Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France. The new groom is from a small village in Italy, Finn,Italy. Those letters you translated last year, remember?” Julian traced a crack in the windowpane and shrugged his broad shoulder. “I can’t save everyone. Nor can you. I’m truly sorry if I unwittingly placed that expectation on your shoulders.”
The scar on Finn’s chest burned as if the knife that had created the wound was again slicing across it. His mind, for the first time since Piper’s near-tragedy years ago, was open to the dreadful possibilities. Julian’s visions when touching objects; Piper’s ability to heal; Simon’s talent for seeing those recently departed from this life; the Duke of Ashcroft’s proficiency at starting fires with nothing more than a mental wish. These gifts placed the people he loved in a vulnerable position, one that shook him to his core. He traced the curl of Lucien’s ear in the painting, praying Julian’s son hadn’t inherited any supernatural tendencies from his parents.
It was hard for him to explain, but Freddie had been the first person he’d lost—and the boy’s death hadn’t just broken Finn’s heart, it had broken hissoul.
It sounded maudlin, but his sense of self had flowed down the Thames with Freddie’s lifeless body.
“I fear you’re thriving on the chaos you’re placing yourself in. And the threat isn’t coming from the outside as it did with Piper and Sidonie, with the groom who tricked his way into our ranks last year and tried to steal the chronology, something, someone, I could influence. You. The danger this time is insideyou.” Julian beheld him for a long, tense moment, then he gave up, yanking his hand through his hair with a terse grunt. “If you’re not going to let me in, who will you let in, boy-o? That’s what I lie awake at night wondering.”
All the asinine things he’d done to light a fire beneath society’s arse since the accident flashed before Finn’s eyes until he wondered what the hell he’d been born to do with his life. If he slipped up and anyone found out about his gift, the consequences for the League and the community Julian sought to shelter at Harbingdon would be dire.
Guilt slicing through him, he crossed to the sideboard and poured a generous amount of gin in two tumblers. He and Julian liked theirs dry and neat, no sugar, no lemon, as was presently the fashion. Upon his return, Julian seized the drink before Finn could settle it on the desk, his scowl communicating his irritation over Finn’s recent activities.
Finn could list each cockup if asked, though he prayed Julian wouldn’t. It was quite a feat. He’d taken his insouciant disguise, the philandering, careless bounder, and somehow made it real. When it wasn’t real—at least he didn’tthinkit was.
“Who’s the girl?” Julian finally asked, the words thinly sliced, as if he preferred to address the divisive issues but had mercifully decided to start with the straightforward ones. “A momentous occasion as you’ve never brought a woman home. Should I have another nursery prepared? Lucien will still be using his for a bit. Arrange for a special license, perhaps, as the chit looked to be quality?”