Page 8 of A Raven Reborn

With another sigh, Rosalyn allowed the curtain to fall back into place. Perhaps Finch could give her enough to buy a few things from the market. Surely Patrick wouldn’t object if she made him a decent meal.

Rosalyn washed her plate and returned it to its place before searching out Finch once more. He wasn’t in his room, though. She wandered down the hallway she’d not yet explored and came to a closed door at the end. After hesitating for a moment, she knocked softly. “Finch?” she said quietly. Nothing. Looking nervously back down the corridor, she tried the knob. It was unlocked, so she pushed the door open a few inches, her heart pounding inside her chest.

“Finch?” she whispered again. And then, “Patrick?” for good measure. Still there was no response, so she pushed the door further and stepped inside. This was definitely Patrick’s study. It was larger than she had expected. A grand mahogany desk sat straight ahead. The entire wall behind it was lined with floor to ceiling shelves filled with books. Two blue velvet straight-backed chairs sat in front of the desk. Did he sometimes have meetings with his partners in here? To the right, at the far end of the room near the fireplace, were a pair of plush leather armchairs. Is that where he’d slept while she was in his bed? Guilt settled in her stomach. And now she was invading his personal space without his permission. What had gotten into her? She strode from the room and closed the door softly behind her. Finch had to be around here somewhere. She needed to find him so that she could go to the market and, in turn, start to repay some of the kindness Patrick had shown her.

“Finch?” She called more loudly this time. He still wasn’t in his room, nor had he been in the kitchen, or anywhere else. Shaking her head, she stepped into Finch’s room. Patrick must give him money for buying food for the house, not to mention his wages. There must be a few coins lying around somewhere. She wasn’t a thief, but she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit in Patrick’s room and wait for him to return.

Skipping the drawers in the workshop area, she went straight to the nightstand. Tamping down her guilt once more, she pulled open the drawer and knew she’d guessed right. There was a small, leather pouch in the corner. She reached inside and withdrew enough to buy what she needed.

Now, to find her way outside and to the market before all the sellers closed for the evening.

ChapterFour

Patrick was exhausted by the time he returned home. It was only a few hours before dawn, and he was not looking forward to spending another fitful night in the chair in his study. He poured himself a drink and sank into the soft leather chair. Perhaps it would do. Finch appeared in front of him, holding a tray.

“Finch, you know I don’t usually eat when I come home.”

“I know,” he said with a nod. “But trust me, you will want to eat this.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but then he inhaled the aroma. He nodded his head toward his desk and Finch carried the tray over.

“Where is this from?” he asked as he raised the first bite to his mouth.

It was incredible. The beef was so tender it hardly needed chewing, and the potatoes were nothing short of divine.

“From your own kitchen, my lord.” Finch gave him a teasing grin.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Finch. You’ve never made anything this good in your life.”

Finch pressed his hand to his chest in a show of feigned indignation, but then he smiled. “I didn’t say I made it, I said it was made in your kitchen.”

“She can cook?”

“Yes she can.” Finch nodded, but there was something not quite right in his smile.

“What are you not telling me?”

Finch shuffled his feet and fidgeted with his thumbnail. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Patrick leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “Finch?”

Finch swallowed audibly, but still said nothing. Patrick moved to stand, but as he placed his hands on top of the desk, Finch sputtered into an explanation.

“I… She… I…”

“Spit it out, Finch.”

Finch stared fixedly at his fidgeting thumbs. “She went out to the shops,” he said quietly.

“I assume you accompanied her?”

Finch swallowed again and shook his head. Anger tightened Patrick’s chest. He had just barely rescued the poor girl from a brothel, he sure as hell didn’t want her wandering off alone. It wasn’t safe.

“You had one job, Finch!” Patrick shouted. “I trusted you to watch over her for a few hours while I was away.”

Finch nodded quickly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“What kept you so busy that you couldn’t at least have gone with her?”

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