Page 31 of The Rake is Taken

Victoria glanced at the library window, the feeling of someone watching—though she couldn’t see clearly without her spectacles—shooting a dart of unease through her. She didn’t need to picture him as a child, abandoned and abused, to make her want him more. Her yearning was a vibrant entity all on its own. “There’s no need to tell me this,” she replied in a terse tone she wished she could sweeten like one of her confections, “when I’m going to marry the Grape and live happily ever after. Or not. The end of the story isn’t always a love to last a lifetime. I’ve never seen it done in such a fashion. Not necessary, is it?”

Piper sighed despondently and trudged up the path. “That, my new friend, is exactly why I told you. Finn knows what love is like. He’s experienced it every day since Julian and Humphrey pulled him out of Seven Dials, when you, sadly, have not. You’re the one we’ll have to fight harder for.”

Victoria stumbled to a halt, Piper’s words stinging like she’d walked through a patch of nettles.

With a choking sigh, she realized she’d not had anyone fight for her in a very long time.

Chapter 10

The dream tore through his night.

Victoria. Light from a blazing hearth washing over her, hair loose, an amber shroud about her face. He peered through the dense shadows to see she clutched a tarnished chain, the ends dangling from the crease in her fist, the clasp slapping her wrist as she gestured. An appeal. Imploring. Not in fear but frustration.

He moved closer, heat from the fire stinging his cheeks.Que voulez-vous de moi?What do you want from me?

Victoria shook her head and pointed to the darkened corner…and it was then he noticed the other woman. The filthy tip of a worn slipper, the ragged hem of a nondescript gown. She tilted her head into the meager light—revealing eyes the exact color of his.

The smile that captured her face was golden, as earnest and radiant as the sun. The answering dash of love to his heart, instant and spontaneous recognition, nearly brought him to his knees.

Finn wrenched from sleep and dragged quivering fingers through his hair, the ends blunt and shorter than they’d been in many a day. That damned haircut. Backhanding sweat from his brow, he slid from the bed on unsteady legs. Rage was carving him up, as was the memory of that kiss, the most erotic he’d experienced in a lifetime of experiencing them.

She’d touched him, ferocious, lips and tongue and teeth, scorching him with her hot breath and even hotter skin, making him consider a future he’d never before considered while knowing her dreams were more than she’d implied.

Personal. Tohim. A piece of hislife.

Victoria Hamilton had made him, for one imprudent moment, feel things he’d never hoped to feel. To him, as potent as a first kiss, a first tup.

The sense of betrayal, a sensation he’d not suffered since those appalling days in Seven Dials, drummed through his body. Stealing his breath and his restraint.

Yanking a shirt and trousers on, he was out his bedchamber door and down the hallway before he’d put his thoughts in order. Muddled, mixed with the scent from the dream—lemon and linseed—a fragrance that called to him from long, long ago. Victoria’s room was on his floor, second door, left. He’d known but tried not to imagine her nestled beneath a silk counterpane, her long legs twisted in damp sheets. His body covering hers, pressing her into the feather mattress. Those amazing eyes of her lighting up as he wrapped his fingers around hers and slid inside.

He’d imagined everything. And more.

How dare she, was all he could manage, knowing full well talking to her in this state—with fury making his hands shake until he had to curl them into fists to steady them—was not the smartest plan. An experienced swindler, he rarely showed even the slightest whiff of irritation or let anyone see what he thought of them, even when dealing with the mindless procession of titled idiots who frequented the Blue Moon. Anger was the biggest tell. He’d never encountered anyone who, with a simple snap of their fingers, made him so furious he wanted to put his fist through a wall.

Untilher.

When he reached her bedchamber, he cursed soundly to find it empty, those tangled sheets he’d visualized highlighted in a streak of pale moonlight. The room smelled of her, that slightly sweet, appetizing, entirely too tempting fragrance that only kicked his resentment a notch higher. Well past midnight, the house was silent, at rest, her long-suffering maid sleeping belowstairs. He strode to the window, knocked the drape aside. The lawn was deserted except for a footman he could see patrolling the parameter.Julian and his security. Though it looked like they would need it.

Where could she be?

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the thoughts flowing in and out of his mind like a gently-drawn breath. Only a faint flicker of recognition not his own, so she was close. Close enough to block, or he’d have been privy to every opinion in the house. Rolling his fingertips together, he searched the lowest level of his consciousness. Deliberate, patient, until he caught her.

One teaspoon vanilla extract, he heard her say as clearly as if she stood next to him.

Snapping his eyes open, he left the chamber at a run, barreling down the narrow servant’s staircase that led to the kitchens in a reckless sprint. He halted in the arched doorway, stunned to truly find her there, spreading blueberry jam onto flat squares of dough he suspected were the delightful pastries he’d eaten for breakfast the past two mornings, better even than Cook’s crumpets. He’d been late to Julian’s meeting for the bloody crumpets when he’d sever an arm for the pastries.

And they’d been hers.

Brilliant.

The woman could break his gift, kiss him until he almost passed out,andcook.

One more moment, he decided as he stood there, indecisive and unsure. To allow his boiling blood to settle, to allow yearning to tighten his chest. Then he was going to get the information about the dreams and be done with this. Done with her. Let Julian record a thousand pages of notes in the chronology about the blocker, test Victoria with every talent on the estate, marry her off to Ashcroft if he so desired, buthe,Finn Alexander, philanderer, mind reader, thief, would be finished. He couldn’t trust her. Obviously could never trust her. And he didn’t know her—and without his tricks, he didn’t know how togetto know her. Get to know any woman.

This feeling of helplessness was intolerable.

“Too thin, Tori,” she murmured and rolled a length of dough between the wooden chopping block and her palm, back and forth until he imagined both the dough and her skin were warm and sticky.