Page 21 of The Rake is Taken
Julian placed the penknife on the window seat with almost solemn reverence, a dull click that resonated through the room like a church’s bell. “I’ve never encountered an object, not once in my life, without images—soft and muted or fantastic and grotesque—storming my mind. More vivid than any painting I can create, and trust me, I’ve tried. Laid out what I see on canvas as a way to expunge the illustrations from my mind. This has happened every day, with every touch, every doorknob, every spoon, every teacup, except for four instances.” His gaze circled back to her, blazing with enough emotion to send her to her knees had she been standing. As outlandish as it seemed, he looked like he wanted to drop to his knees himself. She’d suspected this man to be taciturn when he was anything but. “Four instances when you and I have shared the same space.”
“Blasted, bleeding hell,” Humphrey growled and shoved to his feet, stalking to the sideboard situated at the back of the library. “I had a deadly feeling about this summer.”
“Calm down, Rey,” Julian murmured. “This could be a very good thing.”
“A fine predicament is what it is. We’ll need an army to fortify the estate because once they find out about her, we’re at war. You’d better get word to Fireball.” The carafe clinked as he poured, the glass smacking wood after he drank. Apparently, the startling admission meant morning refreshments would be served, at least to handsome beasts who rescued viscounts from rookeries and genuinely detested the occult but chose to live amidst it.
Victoria frowned. “Fireball?”
“The Duke of Ashcroft,” Finn replied from his drowsy repose. “A story for another day.”
Ashcroft. She flinched, kicking her puzzle book beneath the table, so bewildered her teeth were beginning to ache. “I’m not doing anything to weaken your ability, my lord. I’m simply...being. My parlor trick involves stealing time. Brief, insignificant spans of time. I make people forget trivial events, often things they’ve seen me do that I, in all honesty, shouldn’t have done.” She felt Finn’s searing gaze strike her, the judgmental oaf. “I present a change of plan when it suits, paltry misdirection. I persuade people to take certain paths, a harmless nudge.”
“My lady, misdirection appears to be your side gift. However, your main one is astounding in our world, and as you’ve just entered it, I understand your lack of awareness. You see, you’re not weakening my ability, you’re halting it in its tracks. Not to sound disrespectful, especially in front of my cherished wife, but if you were a timepiece, I’d never remove you from my pocket. Around you, I amordinary. As it is, I’ve spent two mornings in a dining area not of my choosing but one that brings blessed relief from the constant visions. Have you not noticed the crowd in there, servants and family at one table? Have you seen that happen at any aristocratic home in England? Scullery maids and the lord of the manor dining together? But I can’t deny them what is so wonderfully rejuvenating to me as well. You diminish the chaos in their minds, if not outright erasure.Thatis your gift, one that places you in grave danger should our enemies ever,everknow of your existence. And someday they will, make no mistake.”
“What enemies? I have no enemies.”
Julian flipped the penknife to Finn, who caught it with a one-handed snatch. “Leave it to you, boy-o, to bring home the second most obstinate woman in England. As it seems I’ve failed to convince her, Piper darling, queen of obstinacy, you’ll have to try.”
Victoria scowled as Finn slipped the penknife in his pocket without meeting her gaze. The graceful cur was doing nothing to save her from this interrogation when she’d protected him earlier.
Piper staggered to her feet with assistance from her husband. “Excuse me, everyone, while I roam the room. I can’t sit for long periods without my back spasming, because he or she is a very, very active babe.” She laid her hand over her rounded tummy and smiled, her eyes glowing as fiercely as the emeralds in Victoria’s favorite brooch. A family heirloom sold long ago to pay one of the many creditors pounding on their door.
Victoria settled back with an inward sigh, and an acknowledged cautionary prickle dancing along her skin. She would leave this library with more understanding than she’d ever been granted about herself if she let them continue. But did she genuinelywantto understand? Why change her life over a chess move employed to divert select interactions, an innocuous exchange always in her favor? Altering little except to postpone a marriage she didn’t want. Hide reckless kisses she’d mistakenly thought would ease her loneliness. Buying time by stealing it. Why complicate the future with talk of blocking supernatural gifts and being someone’s shielding pocket watch when she could muddle along with some normalcy, the ordinary life Julian Alexander spoke of with such reverence.
This entire country sojourn was inviting the abnormal into her existence.
Piper circled the sofa, halting before the chronology. She flipped a page, two, before she looked over her shoulder. “My grandfather, the Earl of Montclaire, started the League after he realized his wife was afflicted with an unnatural skill, a skill I unfortunately inherited. Healing, not in the medical sense, more an ability to...calm. Strengthen. Provide control. I help mystics find their way.” She smoothed her finger over the lines of text. “He died protecting this, a book containing everything he knew about the occult. And in his final moments, he placed responsibility for the organization, responsibility for maintaining the chronology and protecting his granddaughter, at Julian’s feet. To be honest, lobbed all three like explosives when my husband was little more than a boy himself. In the ensuing years, we’ve grown from a scattered collection of enthusiasts into an organization spread across many countries, with contacts at every level of society, sheltering those at Harbingdon when dire need requires it.”
“This is why the gaslights flicker, doors open and close without touch. The haphazard way…” Victoria paused, twisting her hands in her lap, remembering a lady never commented to her hostess about the disorder of her home.
Piper flipped another page and laughed beneath her breath. “Harbingdon does run a bit like a carriage with a missing wheel most days. Everyone employed on the estate is a member of the League. Either personally affected or a family member of someone who is. So you see, most are placed in positions they were never trained for. But this effort has created an environment of acceptance and, frankly, safety.”
Humphrey grunted from his position guarding the refreshments he’d had yet to offer anyone else, clearly unimpressed by this aspect of Harbingdon’s management.
“Like you, I have another gift in that I see auras, as I told you the day you arrived.” Piper drew her hand through the air as if she were painting on a canvas. “Colors surround everyone I meet, ones that tell me quite a lot about their state of mind. You’re one of only two people I’ve not been able to record this portrait for. Combined with Julian’s lack of touch and Finn’s inability to read your mind, I predict we have much more to discuss.”
As if on cue, Finn rolled off the sofa and strolled to the chronology. So, he hadn’t been asleep. She watched his lower lip slip between his teeth as he began to flip pages, searching, his long body angled over the imposing leather-bound volume, his hair a tousled mop he had to repeatedly sweep from his vision. He trailed his finger along the lines of text, whispering in a mix of English and German. “There’s mention of someone with the ability to”—he leaned in, brow creasing as he translated—“place obstacles in the path of a mystical corridor. As closely as I can interpret, as the script is quite dated.” He tilted his head, his frown sending that enticing little dent between his brows. “This references an obstructer, though the earl called it a blocker as he’s noted in the margin.” Pausing, he glanced back at Victoria, his regard as tangible as a touch. “But you should think of this as a puzzle, Tori, if it makes the investigation into your gift more palatable.”
Their gazes met as a jolt of awareness passed between them, keen emotion she feared was closer to desire than friendship. Which would just be her rotten romantic luck when all of England lay scattered at his feet. Finn’s eyes were highlighted in the muted light cast from the window, so penetrating she had trouble wading from their depths. Proof of his intelligence, entirely at odds with his lackadaisical demeanor, it brought a hot pinch to her stomach and a shot of anger to her mind.You hide this incredible intellect behind carriage races and feckless mistresses, she thought but let the critical observation remain unspoken.
“Who knows about you?” Humphrey asked from his shadowy corner. “About this?”
Victoria tore his gaze from Finn’s, able to provide an answer she suspected would ease some of the tension in the room. “Aside from my companion, Agnes, who’s been with me since birth, no one. I’ve shocked more than a few governesses into silence, true enough, but the stolen time only left them befuddled. I never felt the need to confess what I considered a ridiculous trick of nature. Of course, I told my brother, he knew, but now he’s…gone.” She picked at a loose thread on her skirt, avoiding the pitying gazes sure to arrive with the next revelation. “My mother wasn’t directly involved with childrearing, distasteful business, or so she stated on many occasions. My father was unconcerned about anything aside from his horses. So I was left to my own devices, easily able to hide anything that made me different. And when I was introduced to society, my outspoken demeanor and insignificant dowry sent me like a boulder over a cliff. Straight down and out of sight. Not many were tempted to befriend me.”
“Your frightful temper couldn’t have helped,” Finn murmured and negligently flipped a page. “Or your astounding penchant for trouble.”
Victoria yanked the thread free and swallowed what she’d love to say if not amid unfamiliar company. If the trace of a smile lighting Finn Alexander’s face grew any wider, she was going to lose the scant hold she had on her frightful temper. “My intended, Baron Rossby, has no clue about my parlor trick, will never have a clue. Our agreement, funds to save my family in exchange for an heir, does not require me to share my life.” Which sounded miserable, she knew. However, the reality surrounding aristocratic marriages was often ugly.
“Rossby,” Julian echoed in an unenthusiastic tone.
She nodded, eyes on her lap, refusing to confront the criticism sure to make her feel worse about a situation she had no control over. “Yes, the Grape. It’s an unfortunate moniker, although he does slightly resemble—”
The door to the library burst open, and a little boy raced across the room and piled into Finn’s legs before Victoria had time to draw a proper breath. Finn laughed, swinging the boy into his arms without a hint of the discomfort she’d always felt around children.
“Fig, Fig, Fig,” the scamp chanted.
“Finn,” he corrected, sliding his forearm under the lad’s skinny bottom to hold him up.