Page 28 of The Rake is Taken

“I paid for every window from my funds.”

Julian laughed then for some bloody reason, tapping his pencil against his knee in time to an internal clock. “Your adventures have kept me young, Finn. Should I have desired a quiet life in the country with my beloved wife and babies.”

Finn released a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Piper’s never given you a peaceful day in your life, and she never will. But you love her too much to notice. And speaking of serenity, who’s on the docket to arrive this week?”

Julian had the good grace to flush, halting the tapping of his pencil. “A young groom from the Marquess of Ardmore’s estate. His communication with animals is unparalleled, but he’s being thrashed daily by the villagers because he made mention of his gift. There’s scant information about such a talent in the chronology. Most intriguing. We have Piper to help him, and maybe now Lady Victoria, too.”

Finn looked to the wiry mutt who never strayed more than ten feet from Julian. Henry lifted his head, yawned, then let it fall back to his crossed paws with a contemptuous sniff. “Superb. I can’t wait to finally find out what he’s thinking.”

Julian sank into the chair across from him; a gleaming mahogany battlefield laid out between them. “Lady Victoria’s talent is inconceivable, so formidable it makes Piper’s look dull in comparison, a statement I never thought to hear myself make. Especially when I wondered, to the depths of my soul and back, if I’d be able to protect her. Now there’s another. A blocker, which I didn’t even believe existed.” Julian trailed his finger over a drop of dried green paint on the desk. “Until someone from the other side infiltrated the League last year, a man we had no knowledge of until he arrived here seeking asylum, I thought we might be safe for longer. For my lifetime and yours. For Lucien’s. But now…”

Finn directed a veiled glance to the envelope he clutched—sent from a Parisian friend of the League with deep-seated contacts in the supernatural world, a man who’d had word of menacing rumblings—hoping Julian didn’t see the tremor travel down his arm and into his fingers. “You’re going to propose she marry Ashcroft.”

Julian braced his forearms on the chair, set to rise. “She must be further from the house than I thought if you’re able to dip back into my mind. Let me check on the distance so I can note—”

“Jule, I can’t read anything.” Finn tapped the envelope against his head. “And no blinding headache trying not to. Trust me. They’re giggling by the fountain, dreaming up mischief. Their thoughts, and yours, are closed to me.”

Julian settled back, frowned. “Then, how did you know?”

Finn unfolded the letter and smoothed his palm over it, diving into the lines of text. French came easily, too easily he thought. He woke from dreams with the language heavy on his tongue, spilling from his mind like an overfilled mug. “It makes perfect sense. Ashcroft makes perfect sense. Title. Money. Protection. Everything she requires. And when she sucks the fire from his fingertips the first time”—Finn made an inelegant crease in the foolscap, barely containing the twist of irritation the purposely suggestive words sent through him—“he’ll throw himself at her feet in supplication. Even if he has to give up the opera singer, reported to have the most talented lips in London, by the by. A wonder he hasn’t burned down his Mayfair townhouse.” Finn smiled but kept his eyes on the page. No need to invite Julian into whatever might be written across his face. “You just know he’s caught more than one bed on fire.”

“Glass houses, brother of mine, glass houses.”

Finn flicked away the critique, struggling with a line of colloquial speech in the letter he wasn’t sure how to interpret. “It’s a perfect solution. Wish I’d thought of it myself. Oh, wait, I did. Now you just have to get Victoria to agree.” He spared her spectacles, sitting almost within reach on the desk, a hard look, vexed for no reason. Or no reason he wanted to admit. “Good luck with that.”

“It isn’t perfect in any way if you care for her, Finn.”

Finn folded the letter with two neat tucks and slipped it inside the envelope. “You know how it goes. Women can’t seem to help themselves, and apparently, neither can I.”

“The kiss Piper and I witnessed was nothing, that’s what you’re saying.”

“A bit of boredom. I’m used to the excitement of Town, and so is she. Consider it a country pleasure among friends.”

Julian was silent for so long—a painful, drawn-out hush—that Finn was forced to look him in the eye. Lord, did his brother know how to employ medieval torture.

Finn tossed the letter to the desk, feeling his temper notching higher. Yanking open a desk drawer, he nudged Victoria’s spectacles into it and slid it shut. “It would be ruinous for her to consider an association with me.”

“From the ton’s perspective, I agree.” Julian flipped to a blank sheet in his folio and began to sketch, his hand whipping across the page. An artist since he was a child, he often drew while he talked. Finn had long-ago gotten used to it. “If that’s what she wanted, however, who cares what they think? You don’t owe society a thing, Finn. I’ve made sure of it. You have funds and a family. A home. Your wife won’t have anyone to challenge, please, or enrage butyou. Chose for love and only for love. That’s my advice. Above and beyond this weird realm we find ourselves thrust into, find the person you can’t live without.”

“I’m not cut out for marriage, Jule. Mind reading presents too many complications. And would place too much strain on the one relationship where my giftisn’ta concern.”

Julian paused, did another hum beneath his breath, then added a stroke to the drawing. “I used to think that about my gift, about Piper. Too much responsibility. Too incredible a task to protect and love her at the same time. While growing the League, being the man I wanted to be. Only when I allowed myself to do just that without thinking about it so hard did the world right itself, was I able to find my home, my place. Fear kept us apart for years. My fear, not Piper’s. I still wake some nights in a panic, thinking I let her go, let Lucien go, because of my stubborn belief thatIknew better. When I knew almost nothing except that I loved her.” He glanced up, then down, and Finn had the awful realization that Julian was sketching him. “In the end, I just blindly went with my heart.”

Welcome anger washed over Finn, and before he could stop himself, he sent his hand across the desk, hurling papers and ledgers to the carpet. “I don’t even know who I am, Jule!” With a choked inhalation, he slumped back, realizing he’d spoken in French. Rage flowing from his soul in a language a rookery orphan shouldn’t know.

Shouldn’t dream in. Shouldn’t adore.

With the calm composure he was known for, Julian knelt and began to tidy the mess Finn had made of his correspondence. “You know, you did that often when we first pulled you off the streets. During what I called the night terrors, when Humphrey and I had to hold you down to get you to sleep, you’d slip into this perfectly-accented French mixed with the most dreadful cockney. You went from street thug to refined toff in the blink of an eye while telling me exactly what I was thinking. It was terrifying.”

Finn searched the ceiling for a crack, a spiderweb, anything to keep from looking at his brother. Losing control wasn’t a reward he normally afforded himself. “I don’t remember.”

“Probably beneficial that.” Julian slapped two neat stacks on the desk. “I hope Humphrey has children of his own someday. He was so good with you. Had all the answers when I was hopeless, little more than a boy myself. You and I would’ve never survived without him. His gruff exterior is as contrived as your glib charm.”

Finn gestured to the mess he’d made, his smile weak around the edges. “Apologies. It seems I left my glib charm in London.”

“Thank God for something.”

Finn laughed, affection for his brother overwhelming him. A frightening sentiment that had kept him hiding in his maisonette above the Blue Moon for months.