Page 78 of The Best Marquess

“Storms don’t bother me at all. Do they upset you?”

“No,” Pippa began, but just as the word left her mouth another clap of thunder rattled the window panes, and mortifyingly, she yelped like a sad puppy.

“If they are upsetting, you could come and sleep in here with me,” said Finn mildly. “But I cannot assist if you don’t tell me the truth, Pippet.”

Oh. He wasn’t going to let her jest her way out of this. He was going to make her say the words. Strip her armor away and leave her utterly vulnerable.

But if you share your fear, you can climb into bed with him. Finn will be so warm, like your own personal fireplace under the quilt. He might even stroke your shoulder the way you like…

Pippa gripped handfuls of her nightgown for courage, then blurted, “I do not like storms. I never have. They are…unsettling. I feel…afraid.”

“Then come here.” Finn moved over in the bed and lifted up the sheets and quilt. Casting aside all pride, she ran across the room and near dived onto the mattress. Seconds later, his arm curled around her shoulders and hauled her against his chest.

Pippa continued to tremble. But eventually her mind registered safety for Finn’s bare chest, her own personal sea wall, was warm and solid. So she didn’t disturb her spectacles—her nerves were far too shredded for blurred vision—Pippa carefully repositioned her head. Ah. There it was. The steady, soothing sound of his heartbeat under her right ear.

“Would you…pet me?” she mumbled, tugging on her nightgown’s bodice ribbon so it gaped a little and he could easily slide his hand under the fabric.

Finn chuckled. “I take it you mean stroke your shoulder?”

“Yes. I like it. Not just in bed, either.”

“Really?” he replied, now sounding surprised. “Forgive me, I have been laboring under the misapprehension that you do not overly enjoy being touched outside of lusty play.”

On another occasion, she absolutely would have jested her way past the question. But it seemed the protection of warm chest and steady heartbeat during a storm quite loosened her tongue. “I do not enjoy being touched by people I don’t trust. Or those who touch with insincerity and air kisses. Oh, Pippa dear. Mwah mwah.”

“Understandable.”

“People did that after my mother died. I had to hold all things together because Father and Lilian were so distraught. Xavier escaped to his tree house and pulled up the rope ladder. Georgiana just misbehaved. I was only ten, but the servants started coming to me to ask questions about the household. I had to mature very, very fast. And the neighbors, the vicar, the physician, all the adults who visited, praised me for that, for being so mature. I wasn’t hugged or comforted, they shook my hand and told me I was a good brave young lady. I wanted to be a good brave young lady. So I did more and more. But good brave young ladies don’t get scooped into laps and rocked. Nor do good brave women. They just get allocated yet another impossible task.”

“That they do,” said Finn, his fingertips drawing circles around her upper arm. “And then your grandmother arrived, and she would have offered as many hugs as my father. None.”

“Precisely.”

“May I ask…is the fact you don’t like storms something to do with your mother’s death? I hated that I was away at school when she passed. I wrote to my father, begging him to let me come home. He refused. So I had to send you daily letters instead.”

Pippa blinked back tears. “I still have them. In a bundle. They were evidence, you see. That someone was thinking of me. And to answer your other question…yes. There was a terrible summer storm that night. Lightning hit a tree and split it in two, half of it fell over the road leading to our country estate, so the physician was delayed by several hours. Mother had a fever. Just a fever. But she was here and then…she was gone. I didn’t…I didn’t g-get to say g-goodbye…”

Choking on a sob, Pippa tried desperately to regain control. But as though a dam had burst, a lifetime’s worth of tears gushed down her cheeks and onto Finn’s chest. Unable to see anyway, she tugged off her spectacles and buried her face in his shoulder. He rolled on his side to face her, his other arm curling around her waist, and held her tightly. Not saying a word, just anchoring her as she sobbed so hard her whole body shook.

It might have been minutes or hours later, but eventually the tears ran dry, and Pippa winced at the throbbing of her temples. “Apologies for the waterfall,” she said hoarsely, wiping his shoulder with the sleeve of her nightgown.

Finn slid a finger under her chin and gently lifted it so she had to look at him. “No jests, Pippet. As I’ve been informed, there is no shame in crying.”

“But it’s been ten years!”

“Yes, but you’ve never had the opportunity to properly mourn before. You can only suppress pain for so long before it bubbles up and bursts free.”

“I suppose,” she said reluctantly.

“Do you want to hear a story I heard about your mother? I didn’t realize she proposed to your father and not the other way around.”

Pippa laughed, perhaps the wateriest sound the world had ever heard. “What?”

“Kingsford confessed at his club. Apparently, she got tired of waiting.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Mother directed all things. Father just beamed and said Yes, Mandy. She was so loud and loved to be outdoors, ankle deep in soil and shrubs with Lilian, but on the other hand, she presented me with my first book of Latin phrases and read me Shakespeare. I never really understood Mother and Father’s marriage, for they seemed like such opposites…but they complemented each other. They made each other whole. Loved each other so deeply, and never hid it. Imagine loving someone that much…and having them snatched away. It’s a wonder anyone loves at all,” she finished with a yawn, soothed to sleepiness.

Finn went still, his hand pausing in its stroking. “So, you think some people are afraid to love because the pain of losing it would be too great?”