“What door, dear?” The lady cocked her head to the side.
The door in the painting. I went through it. The sign over the door said “Dulcis domus.” But she couldn’t say any of that. “I ended up in Lord Phineas’s bedchamber.”
“Many a lady has found herself in my grandson’s bedchamber. And many who weren’t ladies, too, if you understand my meaning.”
Claire did. She understood it all too well. She was one of them, once upon a time.
“You’re Sophia’s sister?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“A lovely girl.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Everyone thought Sophia was lovely. And charming. And smart. And the Trusted Few had even allowed her to marry outside the fae. With no recriminations. No clipping of her wings for committing Unpardonable Errors. Every last one of them. It was like Sophia was charmed. “She’s the new Duchess of Robinsworth.”
“So, I hear.”
The dowager duchess made a sucking noise with her tongue against her teeth.
“I won’t stay long,” Claire began.
“I don’t expect you to. In fact, I suspect that you will be gone by morning.”
Claire’s mouth opened and closed. She didn’t know what to say. She probably looked like a blasted salmon.
“Rest well, my dear. I’ll have a maid sent up with something you can wear.”
Clothing. If she had clothing, she could leave the Hall. The farther she could get from Phineas Thorne, the better.
“Good night, dear,” the old woman said.
“Did you mention you would send someone up with some clothes?”
“Oh yes, yes. I’ll send someone up.”
“Thank you.”
Claire would linger long enough to get dressed, get a bite to eat, and then she had to get as far from Phineas Trimble as possible. Before he figured out her secret.
***
Finn crept quietly down the corridor toward Claire’s room, determined to get some answers from her if it was the last thing he ever did. It might be, if his mother or his grandmother caught him lurking in their wing of the estate near Claire’s room.
The last time he’d seen Claire, she’d looked just about as disheveled as she did tonight after rolling through the tiny door. Her hair had been down, and he’d brushed it back from her forehead as she laid her head on his shoulder. He remembered the feel of her head lying trustingly on his chest as her breaths slowed. As he’d caught his own breath. As he’d realized what they’d done.
He slowly turned the handle to her door and stepped inside. A single candle burned on the bedside table, and it cast a hazy glow about the room. Her form was outlined by the lump under the counterpane, and heat shot quickly to his groin as he wondered what she was wearing beneath that blanket.
Finn sat down gingerly on her bed and lifted a hand to her shoulder. He would gently wake her before taking her to task for disappearing the way she did. His heart thumped like mad within his chest, and his hand shook just before he nudged her awake. But the lump he thought was her wasn’t her at all. Finn jerked the counterpane back and jumped to his feet.
“Damn her,” he cursed. She was gone. Again.
A muffled laugh sounded behind him. He turned quickly, prepared to defend himself if he needed to do so. But it was just Miss Thorne, lounging on a chaise before the fire. She wore a whi
te nightrail that must have come from his grandmother. Her tiny toes peeped out from beneath the hem. She wiggled them and Finn bit back a groan. “You find something amusing?” he bit out.
“The look on your face when you realized that was a lump of clothing beneath the counterpane.” She laughed again. She laughed like a child being tickled, and he found the innocent sound of it to be most arousing. Everything about her stirred the fire in him, from his fiery anger to his manhood.
“Where have you been?” Finn asked sharply.