Page 39 of This Haunted Heart

Next, he showed me an office and a small library, but most of the books contained behind the glass doors were about the natural sciences or poetry, so I didn’t linger long in there.

The more I reacted to the splendor around me, the more Finley beamed from the inside out. It made my heart squeeze to see this place so empty, though. Such a home was meant to be enjoyed by many. I imagined the lonely walls craving the sounds of movement, longing to be filled with life, the floorboards hoping for someone to tread upon them, the furniture waiting anxiously to be used, the small library eager for someone to come along and put better books in it.

We didn’t get to everything on the second floor before my stomach growled violently. Finley ended the tour with great reluctance to take me down to the dining room.

I was growing accustomed to the opulence around me, but the sight of so much food still took me by surprise and dragged another gasp out of me. I was a woman who had always eaten well at the Lark, but this was a feast fit for a holiday. A feast that filled the long dining table and overflowed the sideboard.

There was so much food that for a moment I thought he was surprising me with some sort of dinner party, and I panicked, feeling horribly underdressed. But there were only two place settings, and since my pirate thought three people made a horde, I settled down.

“We’ll have to serve ourselves,” he said, claiming a bowl from the head of the table. The chair there had a taller back than the others and was more ornate, like a throne. “My staff is unavailable. They’ll be here very little and tend to the barest necessities only. It’s unlikely you’ll even see them. If you need something, you’ll need to tell me so.”

I filled my bowl with creamy oyster stew and helped myself to some spiced cranberries, scalloped potatoes, and roasted duck. Instead of eating it in courses, I plated the food so I could try each dish at once, eager to taste everything. The cook must have spent all day long preparing this meal. There were three types of bread on the table and heaps and heaps of butter. Ilovedgood country butter. It was expensive and very hard to come by in the city.

I sat down with care so as not to jostle the silver I’d stolen where it was hidden against my thighs. As I tucked in, I kept catching Finley watching me instead of eating his own food.

It was clear that this man had suffered a great loss, and for one reason or another, he’d decided I needed to be the one to cure him of his affliction. But I still had no idea what his expectations for his treatment were, and it was past time I found out. My fingers remained firmly crossed that he wanted me to cure him with debauchery. That I could do.

Why else would he capture a retired courtesan?

“Flogging,” I guessed aloud.

Finley blinked at me from across the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m trying to ascertain what you want from me now that you’ve got me here,” I explained.

His brows pinched together. “You think I’ve whisked you away to my summer home so I can flog you in private?”

“Or because you want me to flogyou. I would, you know,” I said, adding a touch grumpily, “I’d flog the devil right out of you.”

Laughter burst from him and echoed off the vaulted ceiling. It irritated me that it rang so attractively in my ears. “Bet you’d even do it for free. But no, I didn’t bring you hereso you could flog me.”

“Pity.” I tapped my spoon against the side of my bowl, pondering. “Costumes! You want to bed me in a costume, and you’d like me to play a part for you.”

“What? This isn’t the theater.”

“It could be, if you wanted that.” I broke up a buttered bread roll and dipped it in my stew before consuming it. “Or perhaps you’d like to see me in your clothing. I can understand why you’d bring me out here away from civilization for that. I can’t even wear bloomers in Salt Rock without getting harassed.”

“No,” he said, looking puzzled, “I didn’t bring you here so you could wear your bloomers.”

“Then is this about my feet?”

“Hold on.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What costumes are you talking about, and what’s wrong with your feet?”

“What I’ve worn for others is none of your business, but I’d put something on for you and play a part as bed sport if that’s what you desired.” Then I gasped in horror, clutching at my heart as a new realization landed heavy on my shoulders. “Oh dear lord, please tell me you’re not some sort of fanatic?”

Mouth full of stew, his forehead wrinkled. He swallowed his last bite down with some difficulty, working his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Did you steal me away because I’m a wicked harlot and you’re going to try to save me with your religion?” It would explain why he seemed so vexed by his attraction to me and why he’d refused to take his own pleasure from me the night before.

He stared back across the table bemused, his next bite frozen midway to his open mouth. He let the spoon drop into hisbowl. “What about our time together suggests to you I’m devout?”

I waved his words away. “You’d be surprised by the religious sorts I’ve met. They almost never seem to match the requirements in their holy books, and yet they insist I live up to the impossible standards they themselves can’t.” The topic brought to mind the horrid baron I’d once been forced to serve, and I nearly lost my appetite.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve met my share of hypocrites, too.” He blew the steam off his next spoonful. “No, I didn’t go to all this trouble to convert you or save your soul or change your ways or any such thing. You were already retiring and leaving the trade. Why would I?”

I sighed, sagging in my seat with relief. “Good. Frankly, I’d rather be flogged.”

Rich, full-bodied laughter shook him. It was a laugh that a person could so easily fall in love with, and with that thought, I finally lost my appetite for good. I watched him eat, pushing my food around with a fork, no longer interested in any of it.

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