Page 42 of The Rake is Taken

At the softly spoken words, Finn ushered her outside and to the waiting carriage, his heart shattering for them both.

Finn had suspected she’d come, hence her protection.

The footman followed at a discreet distance, trailing her through streetlamp-lit shadow and light, across slick, rain-drenched cobblestones. Staying close as she snaked between the carriages lining the street outside the Blue Moon, the men inside them laughing and making ribald comments. Her guard made no effort to conceal his presence as he splashed along behind her. He also made no effort to impede her journey.

Prevent her from making a life-altering mistake.

If giving the man you were falling in love with your innocence was a mistake. She considered it a gift. To herself.

Before marrying one she didn’t love, like, or desire to save her family.

This choice was hers. Theonlychoice that was hers.

And his, if she trusted her instincts, which she was foolish enough to do.

Tugging her cloak closer about her face, she crossed the thankfully deserted alleyway backing the gaming hell. Shattered glass crunched beneath her boot as a varied combination of foul scents stung her nose. There was no alternative. Not after seeing Finn’s inconsolable face before he bolted from Julian’s townhouse, Humphrey’s grip on her arm the only thing keeping her from running after him.

She and Agnes had tried to make an unorthodox event routine, settling Belle in a bedchamber more luxurious than any she’d previously occupied if her hesitancy to touch the furnishings provided an accurate narrative. Tucked her beneath an overstuffed counterpane with a cup of cocoa and a plentiful fruit and cheese tray while Humphrey closeted Finn away for—what had Finn called it?—an advice and whiskey session.

This sudden appearance of his sister was too much to shoulder alone. She’d known this the moment he left his discussion with Humphrey to find her haunting the hallway outside the study like one of Simon’s ghosts. He’d only shaken his head wordlessly and stalked past her, rushing out the door like the devil nipped at his heels.

Swallowing her apprehension that she was intruding where she shouldn’t, she halted before the Blue Moon’s side entrance. Lifted her hand to smack that silly little bell when the door opened, and Finn unceremoniously yanked her inside. They stood in the entryway, breathing heavily for no reason, tripping into each other’s gazes.

“If you turn me away, Blue, I’ll find another man at the first opportunity to relieve me of—”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” he snarled and in a masculine show of fury, tossed her over his shoulder, kicking the door shut, and taking the stairs to his chamber two at a time. She slapped his back and hip, struggling, but he contained her easily, lean muscle concealed well beneath his tailored attire. Her cloak slid from her shoulders, and he kicked it from his path without pausing.

Ruining any notion of romance, he marched into the room they’d clashed in two short weeks ago and tossed her atop the massive sofa. She gasped and went to her knees, straightening her skirts while shooting him a glare hot enough to scorch wood. The overflowing bookcases, artwork-lined walls, and curio-stuffed shelves, evidence of a keen mind and industrious life, were no longer a surprise. She now knew there was much more to him than he cared to show a thoughtless world.

The room was chilled, murky, no fire in the hearth, no glow from the gas sconces. The ideal setting for a brooding bastard who was not a bastard after all. Her gaze fixed on the door to his bedchamber as a sizzling spiral lit her up from the inside out. Jealousy and longing claimed her, and that kiss behind the fountain,oh, she could almost feel Finn’s teeth nipping her skin. If he somehow guessed the strength of her attraction, she would leap from the window to the bustling street below without a care.

She nodded to the bedchamber. “Any scantily clothed friend in there this time?”

“You’re my only friend,” he whispered from his vigil by the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched as if he stood in a raging storm. His coat and waistcoat were tossed over his desk, his pale shirtsleeves glowing in the slice of light oozing through the grimy panes. His quietness frightened her, his calm before an emotional storm.

“Then talk to me,” she said, knowing she’d come for his body. But she’d also come for his mind. Better to admit, if only to herself, that she’d come foreverything. “Unless you want me to leave.” Added because his exacting stillness was sending her courage in the wrong direction.

“That’s the problem.” Ripping his neckpiece off, he let it flutter to the carpet. “I don’t want you to leave, but I can’t talk. Not yet. Not when my heart is this bruised. I’m sorry to say, I need a moment. I needyou, but maybe not in the way you’re offering.”

She propped her elbows on the back of the sofa and leaned out enough to catch the scent of his him, brandy, smoke, and bergamot. Close enough to see the stubble shadowing his chiseled jaw. Her breasts pressed into the tufted leather, nipples pebbling, more sensitive than they had any right to be. “Careless liaisons are your preference. Mine, too. I can see why. Talking is a tricky business.”

He turned, wedging his shoulder against the window ledge, letting her see his bleak, hunted expression. Letting her know more about him. His collar was open, exposing golden skin and a dusting of hair and the angry scar she wanted to press her lips against. She took him in, a gradual perusal from his bare feet to the disheveled strands sweeping his brow. Helplessly, she paused mid-review. His form-fitting trousers did little to hide his reaction to her invading his space. “If you want to arrive at your marital bed untouched, you’d better leave now,” he said roughly, and she realized he was as provoked as she was. “It’s your choice, it always has been, but friend or foe, if you stay, I mean to have you. I’m being as honest as I’ve ever been with anyone. I’m tangled up inside, Tori, more than you likely want to witness. I’m not going to make a judicious decision right now. I’m just going to take what I want. What I think might ease my heartache. Or, hell, perhaps it will only make it worse.”

She felt an easy smile tilt her lips.Want. Yes, that about covered it.

He took a fast step forward, jerking his hands from his pockets. “Don’t you dare smile.This, everything between us, is an utter disaster. It’s going to destroy us.”

She started unlacing her bodice, one eyelet, two, three before she looked back at him. He hadn’t moved, not one inch, but his gaze was riveted, air shooting from his lips, the hands at his side closing into trembling fists.

She crooked a finger, her smile growing. “Come ruin me, Blue.”

Shoving off the ledge, he crossed the short distance, grabbed her hand, and drew her from the sofa. Wordlessly out of the room and down the hallway, his stride urgent, his grasp firm. Faintly, she could hear the clamor from the gaming hell, a muffled shout, the clack of dice, loud laughter. Up another flight of stairs until the sounds trickled away. Everything trickled away but the muted rasp of their breaths and their soft footfalls. Halting before a paneled walnut door, Finn tugged a key from his trouser pocket.

“This,” she breathed—a space she recognized as his upon entry. Stacks of books, modest furnishings, subdued colors. An unassuming iron bedstead covered in twisted sheets, battered chest of drawers, escritoire desk. Simple, well-ordered, unadorned.

The room below was where he pretended.

This was where hewas.