It was then that Claire noticed the bruises. She touched a hand to her own cheek. “Is that why you needed help?” Claire asked. Her heart clenched within her chest.
“I’m afraid,” the woman whispered.
“Help her, Finn,” Claire said without even thinking. “You can help her, can’t you?”
Finn nodded, though he looked pained.
“Take her with us tonight.”
“That won’t be easy,” he warned.
“You can’t send her back to him.” Claire asked the lady, “Are you truly expecting?”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “But it’s not Finn’s. It’s Mayden’s.”
Claire clutched Finn’s arm. “Take her with us.”
Finn nodded, swiping a hand down his face.
The woman held up a finger. “Can you give me a few minutes? I need to get my reticule.”
“Quickly,” Finn said with a nod.
The woman scurried away in the dark, and Finn laughed beneath his breath. “This cannot end well.”
“You cannot let her go back to him.”
“I suppose I can’t. What do you propose I do with her?”
“Take her back to the Hall.”
“I can’t take that kind of woman to my family’s ancestral home.”
“We can tell people she’s a friend of mine.”
“Everyone knows who Katherine Crawfield is, and you do not need that kind of friend.”
“Just for a night? You can figure out something else tomorrow.”
Finn nodded. “We need to find something to do while she retrieves her reticule.”
Thirteen
Claire looked down over the ballroom and noticed that it had gone dark, aside from the light of a few flickering lamps. She walked to the rail and looked down. In the center of the room, a naked man and woman danced a waltz. “Let’s go,” Finn said again, as he tugged her toward the door. But her gaze was riveted. She drew her hand from his and placed them both on the rail.
Her heart was beating as fast as the hooves of a runaway team of horses. The bodice of her gown was suddenly so tight she could barely take a deep breath. She laid a hand on Finn’s arm and looked up at him.
His eyes sparkled with sudden awareness. He stepped closer behind her, his length pressing along hers. His arms slid around her waist. “Do you want to watch?” he murmured in her ear. His voice was rough again, and it crawled across her skin like lace, ticklish yet firm.
“I’ll probably go to hell for this, but you look so damn intrigued,” he said. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and pulled a chair from its spot beside the wall, partially hiding it behind the curtains, but positioning it so that they could see out. He sat down and patted his lap. “Sit,” he said gently. He tugged her fingertips until she stood between his parted legs. Then he patted his knee again. “Sit.”
“We should probably go.”
“You want to watch them.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “And I want to watch you watch them.”
“I don’t think—” she started. But he cut her off when he wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her down.
“Don’t think,” he said. “Just sit.”