A heavy cloud stripped itself away from the moon to reveal the Duke of Westover’s dark features. Aidan stared up at his shadow-cut face, his brows knit into a heavy frown. Shoving his hand from her face, she quickly pulled from his grasp. “You’ve managed to take ten years off my life!” she lashed out sharply. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”
“By journey’s end, let’s hope I haven’t snatched several more.” Aidan noted the sanguine tone of his voice and stepped back a pace; Justin chuckled wickedly. “Having second thoughts, are we?”
“No,” she stated with much more aplomb than she’d actually felt. “I’m simply debating the wisdom of having you as my traveling companion. But then, I tell myself you are just a man, like any other.”
“Am I?” Justin asked, stepping closer to her, his white teeth catching and reflecting the moonbeams as his lips curled into an immoral grin. “Don’t fool yourself into believing I am, Lady Prescott. I might consider it a challenge and need to prove otherwise.”
Aidan’s eye’s widened perceptibly. “You, sir, lack the manners of a true gentleman.”
“And the term lady is a misnomer where you’re concerned. You may have inherited the title at birth, but you certainly haven’t earned the right to be called such.”
Incensed, Aidan sputtered furiously, “Why, you … you …”
“Bastard?” he questioned, his deep rumble of laughter echoing through the silent air. He noticed the shocked look in her wide eyes. No doubt she’d thought to call him such, but like her pretentious sisters within the peerage, would never have voiced it openly. “My lineage is as pure as the driven snows, Lady Prescott.” Again deep laughter pealed from his lips. “I assure you I’m not a woods colt; however, I might be considered a miscreant, a rogue, or a scoundrel. The choice is yours.”
All three! she thought, glaring up at him, fighting off the odd feelings he evoked in her. “You neglected to include knave, reprobate, and blackguard.”
His devilish smile grew wider. “So I did. Thank you for reminding me. Now, since you harbor no illusions about my character, and I hold none about yours, shall we proceed as planned?”
And I hold none about yours… The words echoed through Aidan’s mind, and as she viewed his mocking features, she wondered how he perceived her. Manipulative, exploitative, selfish, a cunning she-devil? Or did he possibly believe her a close relative to the legendary vampire, certain she was the sort of woman who would drain the last drop of blood from a man’s body in order to ensure her own survival?
How dare he think of her in those terms! Especially when it was he who held title to being a seducer of women. Woe to all the unsuspecting females who had the misfortune to cross his path, Aidan thought, herself included. No doubt he carefully measured his prey, then, when least expected, quickly pounced, devouring their flesh for his own carnal satisfaction! Certain it was so, Aidan shored up her defenses.
“Yes,” she answered finally, her eyes flashing her distrust.
Unveiled, her anger fomented in her huge violet eyes, making Justin take pause. Would he reach Gretna Green alive? he wondered, certain the sentiment he’d read in her scintillating gaze was closely akin to murder. At eight-and-twenty, he found the prospect of being lowered into a gaping black hole extremely unappealing. Puzzled, he thought her animosity would be far more understandable if he’d lain siege to her virginity and had taken it, not because he’d consented to help her. Cannily, he decided he’d best protect his back at all times.
Suddenly irritated that he’d agreed to this foolish undertaking in the first place, he snatched the case from Aidan’s hand, cupped her elbow, and forcefully escorted her down the mews.
Aidan dug her heels into the cobblestones, fighting against Justin’s crushing grip. Not only was he hurting her, they were going in the opposite direction from the street. “Where are you taking me?” He didn’t answer. “I demand to know where we’re going!”
He rounded a carriage house, which jutted out into the alleyway, and stopped. “To my horse.”
“Horse!”
“Yes,” he replied in a harsh whisper, pulling her snug against his side. “And keep your voice down, lest you wake the entire neighborhood.”
Aidan gazed up at the huge black stallion and blinked. “Surely you don’t expect me to … to ride with you?”
“Unless you’d prefer walking.”
“A conveyance would have been—”
“Too noisy. I wasn’t about to have my coach driven down these mews, my ducal crest emblazoned on the door for all to see, just to pluck you from the night and whisk your ladyship away in comfort. Now, do you ride? Or do you walk?”
Mutinously she gazed up at his handsome face, her lips pressed into a tight line. The arrogant jackanapes! she fumed, while simultaneously wishing he wasn’t so close. The heat radiating from his powerful masculine form transfused her clothing and seared her flesh wherever their bodies touched. It frightened her, yet intrigued her as well.
Hastily Aidan separated herself from his hard length, her eyes again sparking her aversion; again Justin caught their unfriendly message and chuckled. “You should learn to mask your thoughts, Lady Prescott,” he said, smiling, “before they lead you into trouble.”
Like flint hitting steel, they easily struck sparks off the other. Aidan felt threatened. “My thoughts are my own,” she snapped, quickly using her anger as a shield.
But his thick-lashed silvery gaze instantly penetrated her defenses as he whispered, “Not when your beautiful, expressive eyes speak them so clearly, little one. They say much more than you know. A man can hardly refuse what they promise.”
The deep, throbbing timbre of his voice shook Aidan to her core. His metamorphosis from disdainful persecutor to gentle persuader, practically in the same breath, nearly undid her. No wonder the majority of her gender groveled at his feet. He was equally capable of evoking both hatred and desire, challenging the feminine heart to tame him or inflame him, whichever it dared. Was she any different from the rest of them? No!
Maddened by the truth, Aidan again pulled her cloak of anger around her and hid behind it. Breaking free of his grip, she hiked her skirts and placed her small hand on the pommel; her foot slipped into the stirrup. As she struggled to lift herself from the ground, the big stallion shied and pranced sideways; his hostile whinny sliced through the still air.
A virulent curse escaped Justin as he grabbed the reins and, with a hard jerk, yanked the stallion’s combative head down, silencing him. Before Aidan could protest, his large hands spanned her tiny waist and hoisted her, dumping her sideways on the saddle. In one fluid motion, he settled in behind her. “Hold this,” he said, stuffing the case into her hands; then his sinewy arm slipped around her waist, pulling her snugly against him, trapping her between his outstretched thighs. Aidan stiffened at his familiarity and fought to free herself from his taut hold. Again the horse shied. “Be still or we’ll both be sprawled on the cobblestones. Like me, Apollo doesn’t trust you.”
Trust me! she thought, knowing she was literally in the clutches of the most notorious rogue in all of England. Yet, she swallowed her protests. “Apollo? I’d hardly have named him after the god of sunlight when he’s as black as midnight.”
“Apollo is also the god of prophecy. From his reaction to you, I’d say my stallion was warning me against any further involvement in this tomfoolery. Had I any sense, I’d deposit you back at the gate.”
Had she any sense, she’d tell him to do so! “George shall be awaiting us,” she reminded. “You’ve given your word.”
“So I have, Lady Prescott,” he bit out, wishing to hell he hadn’t, for the nearness of her soft form provoked his desire. Turning Apollo, he set the stallion into a steady walk. “But I didn’t promise George your trip would be a pleasant one. Such an allowance is entirely up to you. Let it be known, here and now, your actions will dictate the mood of our journey.”
The warning vibrated through Aidan like a great bell sounding a death knell, and as they approached the gate, leading back into the gardens, she eyed it at length. Should she keep to the course she was presently on, her nemesis baiting her every inch of the way? Or should she slip from the saddle and fly to the sanctuary of her home?
Guessing her thoughts, Justin reined Apollo in next to the gate. “Last chance, little one. What choice do you make?” He watched as she viewed the iron portal, and was certain her body leaned itself toward it. He smiled to himself, then started to kick his foot from the stirrup and help her down. Abruptly she faced forward; her back stiffened perceptibly. With her head held high, its crown level with Justin’s chin, she clutched her case against her, unwilling to budge. “Then a bride you shall be,” he said, urging Apollo forward again. “Congratulations, Lady Prescott… or is it best wishes?” he asked, badgering her anew. “I sincerely hope you never regret your decision.”
Apollo’s hoofbeats echoed through the clear night as Justin guided him down the side streets and through the dark mews and vacant stableyards, keeping their movements as secretive as possible. Slowly he headed them toward Westover House, where his coach awaited them, ready to roll the moment they arrived. As Justin held her in his unyielding embrace, he noted how Aidan’s soft hip fitted itself snugly against his groin and how her full breasts innocently brushed his arm. The light scent of lavender wafted upward from her fragrant tresses, which shone like copper in the moonlight, to fill his nostrils, and he fought the hot arousal that suddenly scorched his loins.
Devious and virginal, he reminded himself cynically. And she belongs to another, he silently added, fighting the temptation to set his heels into Apollo’s flanks and propel the stallion into a full gallop to end his own agony. They were barely two blocks from his home. If he could only last. Doubting he would, Justin slowly eased back and away from Aidan’s soft, appealing form; instantly Apollo halted in his tracks.
Copper curls slashed against Justin’s face as Aidan’s head spun round. “Why have we stopped?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
In reply, a short derisive laugh escaped Justin’s throat. What was he to say: Because, milady, in order to escape your luscious, provocative little body, I inadvertently commanded Apollo to do so? Hardly. Dammit all! If he could only be rid of her! His arm tightening unmercifully, Justin slid hard against Aidan and heeled Apollo’s sides. The stallion bounded forward, almost unseating his charge, but Justin held her fast. As she bounced between his thighs, he found his agony had increased tenfold, and he gritted his teeth in consternation.
At full speed, they vaulted into the stableyard behind Westover House, where Justin reined Apollo to a jarring stop and dismounted. Grabbing the case from her hand, he dropped it and pulled Aidan from the saddle. “Cool him down,” he ordered over his shoulder to the yawning, sleepy-eyed stableboy as he led a scurrying Aidan to the awaiting coach. Silently scoffing at himself, Justin wondered if he’d been referring to Apollo or himself.
Her feet scrambling to keep up with Justin’s hard, angry strides, Aidan glared her discontent and opened her mouth to express it, when her foot snagged the hem of her gown. Stumbling, she almost landed on her knees, but Justin quickly righted her. “Why such haste?” she asked, brushing at her dress, then straightening her cloak with a jerk. “The way you’ve been burning up the earth, one would think someone had set your seat afire.” Staring at her a moment, Justin twitched his lips, then let fly his full-throated laughter; Aidan blinked. “I see nothing humorous in the way you’ve been treating me. A gentleman would never—”
Aidan’s words stalled in her throat as Justin scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the coach. “Woman, you’re pressing your luck,” he said close to her ear. “We’ve already decided, once, I’m not a gentleman and you are not a lady.” With a flick of his wrist, the door opened and he dumped her onto the leather seat. “My expediency is merely fueled by the knowledge that the sooner I get you to Gretna Green, the sooner I’ll be rid of you.”
The door slammed shut, and a surprised Aidan watched as the Duke of Westover strode back for her case. Having secured it in the boot, he swung inside the conveyance and dropped the heavy curtains over the windows. With a rap of his fist, Justin signaled his driver, and the coach was set into motion.
In the blackened void, Aidan’s remaining senses heightened. Although she couldn’t see her nemesis, she heard his indrawn breath and its steady release, smelled his clean, manly scent, felt his overpowering presence. His very being seemed to envelop her in a hard, crushing embrace. The stifling heat in the airless coach suddenly closed in on her. Certain she was about to suffocate, Aidan gasped and reached for the lowered curtain.
“Leave it!” Justin commanded sharply.
Startled, Aidan gazed across the murky cavity at his obscure form. Ignoring Justin’s command, she lifted the curtain from the open window to inhale the refreshing night air deep into her aching lungs.
Instantly Justin lurched from his seat. Whiplike, his hand snapped over her wrist. “I said leave it,” he ordered barely inches from her ear as he pulled her hand away from the flap.
Aidan struggled to escape his harsh grip. “Let loose of me!” He’s too close, her mind screamed, her free hand pushing against the solid wall of his chest. “Let go!”
As her pleasing woman’s scent rose to fill his nostrils, her ineffectual struggles provoked him, and a sudden wave of masculine lust surged through him. By the gods! Had he gone insane? Certain he had, Justin abruptly released Aidan’s wrist and fell back into his seat. “I apologize if I hurt you,” he said, his voice strangely tight. “When we’ve reached the outskirts of London, you may raise the curtains—not before.”
Fighting the memory of his nearness, Aidan rubbed her wrist. “What ludicrous reason could you possibly have to keep them closed? By the time we’ve come upon Islington, we’ll be baked alive.”
“Secrecy.”
“Secrecy! Why, it’s as black as pitch in here. No one can possibly see us. Not even with the curtains up.”
“Your lovely features, Lady Prescott, might reflect themselves in the moonlight, the gaslights, or the coach lamps—all three, for that matter. To ensure that no one recognizes you, they shall remain closed.”
“But I’m suffocating in this unbearable heat.”
“Then I suggest you close your mouth and stop adding to the already burdensome atmosphere.”
Her jaw clamped shut, and she glared her intense dislike at the shadowy man across from her. Barbarous beast! she thought, wishing there were some way she could make him suffer equally as much as she was, if not more so. Not having a clue as to what manner of torture she could foist on him, she threatened in a mutinous tone, “If I don’t get some air this instant, I shall faint!”
A much-used feminine ploy, Justin thought, and chuckled. “Then I suggest you keep your smelling salts close at hand. Or better yet, perhaps you should lie upon the seat so you won’t fall and injure yourself.”
Each word that escaped Justin’s mouth had sounded to Aidan like it was drifting away from her, instead of toward her. The heat—was it really affecting her? An odd sibilant noise, resembling that of an ocean wave, started in the depths of her ears, to suddenly fill her entire head. At the same time, an unexpected sensation of lightheadedness overtook her; nausea instantly claimed her.
“I … I …” She swallowed hard and shook her head, hoping to clear it. “Your Grace,” she said weakly, feeling herself slipping deeper into the chasm which had suddenly opened up before her eyes. “I feel very … strange.”
With a whispered curse, Justin came up off his seat and shouted, “Potts! Stop the coach!” Scooping Aidan’s limp form into his arms, he kicked open the door, splintering the wood, and ducked through it into the cool air. A soft moan drifted to his ears as he bent to one knee, his charge resting languorously across his lap. Her shoulders encased in one arm, his free hand lightly smoothed along her damp forehead. “Rest easy, little one,” he soothed gently; then, hearing his driver’s feet hit the cobblestones, he ordered over his shoulder, “Find some cool water and a cloth. Be quick about it.”
As Potts scurried off, Justin turned his attention back to Aidan. Huge violet eyes stared sightlessly up at him and he cursed himself for not taking her at her word. “Forgive me, little one, but I thought—” A groan erupted from Aidan’s throat; she stirred and blinked. “Take a deep breath. Another. That’s right.”
Aidan’s eyes focused and she found herself staring up into a splendid pair of silver eyes. Their tender regard caused a contented sigh to escape her throat; a small smile curved her lips. Then her gaze surveyed the face encasing them; she stiffened. “What … where … ?” She jerked upright and instantly wished she hadn’t. “Ooh … I’m going to be sick!”
Swiftly rising, Justin set Aidan to her feet and led her to the gutter, where he gently supported her. After what seemed an eternity, Aidan finally straightened and accepted a cool, damp cloth from Justin’s hand and shakily blotted her face. “Better?” he asked, then took the tin dipper from the plump tavern maid who hovered near Potts’s side. “Here, little one, rinse your mouth, then drink some.”
Aidan took the dipper and followed Justin’s bidding. “Thank you,” she whispered, handing the empty dipper back to the woman. “I feel much better.”
“Ye still look a bit pale, mum,” the woman said. “Are ye certain ye be all right?” She turned to Justin. “Ye best see to your missus, sir. And take good care of her. When I was early on, I got the pukes all the time. Wore me out, it did.”
Early on? Aidan questioned silently, then suddenly realized the woman thought Justin and she were husband and wife and that Aidan carried his child. “I’m not married,” she blurted, thinking to set things straight.
“Oh?” the woman questioned, her brow rising loftily. Her gaze first raked disdainfully over Justin, then Aidan. She dropped the dipper back into the pitcher, sniffed loudly, and set a course for the tavern several yards away. The door opened and a shout of laughter erupted from the merrymakers inside; then the panel banged shut and all was quiet.
Her eyes wide, Aidan remarked, “A bit snobbish of her, passing judgment on us like that. Who does she think she is?”
“A good Christian woman, I suppose,” he stated, lips twitching. “Apparently we’ve given her the wrong impression.”
“She should never have spoken out like that in the first place,” Aidan snapped, annoyed because the maid had ridiculously paired Aidan with the man next to her. “Wrong impression, indeed!”
Justin chuckled. “Obviously she had no idea we were her so-called superiors. One wouldn’t think to find members of the peerage dressed so plainly, milady. Nor would one think to find a duke’s daughter relieving the contents of her stomach into the gutter. Nor another duke assisting the lady as she did so.”
Aidan fused red. Why did he have to remind her of the indelicate spectacle she’d made of herself? Embarrassed beyond words, she picked up her skirts and marched back to the coach. But when her eyes met the yawning black hole centered before her, she abruptly stopped. A film of perspiration suddenly overlaid her brow. Her hands felt cold, clammy. She gasped for air.
Justin came up behind her, his brow wrinkling in concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hands settling on her shoulders.
“I … c-can’t go back in there,” Aidan replied as a violent shudder racked her rigid body. “It … it’s like a … a tomb.”
Feeling her fear, Justin again cursed himself for having made her ride in the dark, claustral coach. He had been deliberately cruel, he knew, for he remembered how he’d barely been able to breathe himself. Why had he been so bent on punishing her? Simply because she wished to marry a man of her own choosing, and not her father’s? What business was it of his anyway? None, he conceded. Except that he’d unwisely gotten himself involved in this unseemly situation.
A vibrating rumble caught his ear and Justin realized it was the sound of coach wheels rapidly rolling toward them. Without hesitation he lifted Aidan into his arms and ducked inside his own vehicle. His backside hit the leather seat, his struggling charge still held tightly in his embrace. As the second conveyance came to a halt beside his, his arm snaked out, catching the splintered door, jerking it shut.
Instantly Aidan felt the oppressive atmosphere close in on her again. Palpable anxiety consumed her, destroying all logical thought. “Let loose of me!” she demanded, fighting her jailer, fearing she’d suffocate. “I’ll scream if you don’t!” Justin’s hand compressed over her mouth just as a feminine voice called his name.
“Justin—Your Grace, are you in there?”
Cynthia! he thought while resisting Aidan’s attempts to free herself. Dash it all! Of all streets, she had to come down this one. He clamped his jaw and swallowed an expletive as Aidan’s sharp teeth sank into the meaty flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
Certain she was about to faint anew, Aidan furiously kicked her legs; her feet thumped madly against the side of the coach. His injured hand still covering her mouth, her trapped protests expelled themselves as softened groans. As Justin fought to tame the wildcat in his arms, the coach was set to rocking on its springs.
“Justin!” Cynthia’s screech shattered the air. “Who’s in there with you? Who is she?” his mistress demanded angrily as the coach continued its wild, rhythmic lurch. “Why, you … you snake! Cheat! In the middle of a public street—have you no shame at all?”
Cursing all womanhood, Justin hit his booted heel against the floor. “Potts! Go!” he yelled, and the coach bounded forward as thunderous hooves struck the pavement, nearly dumping its occupants onto the floor. As soon as he was certain they’d gained enough yardage between Cynthia’s coach and his own, Justin heaved the clawing, biting tigress in his arms upward and tossed her into the seat opposite his.
Aidan gasped. But instead of letting loose her tirade as Justin had expected, she jerked the curtain aside and gulped air into her lungs. Renewed, she turned shimmering eyes on the Duke of Westover. “You, sir, are an insidious repugnant creature,” she stated, trying to keep her angry tears at bay.
“I disagree with your depiction of my character,” he said, fighting down his own anger. Examining his hand, he gingerly flexed it. Amazingly, she hadn’t drawn blood, but it was nevertheless bruised. “Considering the fact that our little scheme was almost exposed by your childish conduct, I had little choice but to restrain you as I did.”
Molten silver eyes met flashing violet through the darkness. He was right, of course, but Aidan refused to admit it. At least, not to him. She thought of defending her actions by saying she’d been overcome by the airlessness of the coach, which was partially true. But, more so, it had been Justin himself who had caused her to behave like she had.
Encased in his strong arms, pressed close to his unyielding chest, she’d felt the force of his masculinity. Frightened by it, she’d forgotten their urgent need for secrecy. Oh, God, she thought, knowing the man affected her in ways that no other ever had. Why had she agreed to come with him?
Bolstering her anger, she hid behind the one emotion she was certain would protect her. “Childish!” she returned, determined he’d never know the truth. “Had you not brutally forced me—”
“Yes, childish!” he snapped, his patience close to shattering. He jerked the curtains aside, securing them, for they were almost to Islington; Aidan cringed as his hands cinched the panels on the window nearest her. She relaxed when he fell back into his seat. “Had Cynthia seen us, within the hour all of London would have known I was with Lady Aidan Prescott, the Duke of Atwood’s precocious but nonetheless virginal daughter! As it is, she has no idea what particular female it was who set my coach to rocking, subsequently making her think something improper was taking place inside and ‘in the middle of a public street.’”
Aidan’s eyes widened; a red stain bled across her face as Cynthia Danvers’ accusing words replayed themselves in her mind, painting a vivid picture of how the woman and the outside world must have viewed the scene, and the erroneous conclusion that was drawn: The Duke of Westover and some unknown female had been making love! “In a coach?” she asked incredulously, not realizing she’d voiced her thought aloud.
A snort of laughter erupted from Justin. “Yes, my naive little innocent—in a coach. And Cynthia, being an experienced woman, understands as much,” he said without reverence for her sensibilities, and watched as Aidan’s blush deepened. He chuckled. “For a young woman who is about to marry, you know little of a man’s passions.” He viewed her at length, then, sensing the truth, teased, “I suppose poor unsuspecting George will be made to spend his wedding night alone.”
Aidan instantly thought to deny the verity of his statement, but couldn’t. She wondered what manner of man he was, then decided he possessed no decorum at all. “What transpires between George and myself is none of your affair!” she retorted, then watched as Justin’s teeth flashed white in the dim light.
Perceptive eyes perused her a long, timeless moment. His knowing smile faded. “As I had suspected, Lady Prescott. You’d never really intended to be a wife to George—a genuine mate—had you?” He noted how her eyes turned toward the window, away from his own penetrating gaze. Perhaps she had a conscience after all. “What is he to be?” he continued his attack. “A mere prop? A piece of scenery to be shoved in and out of your life for theatrical effect?” She didn’t answer. “I pity your future husband. And I pity you.”
Still no response came forth, and as Justin viewed her perfect profile, bathed in soft moonlight, he indeed pitied her. Stubborn, spoiled, impudent, audacious, she definitely was not the woman for George. Weak, oppressed, insecure, cowardly, George decidedly could not control her. She needed someone who could tame her without breaking her spirit. His harsh rebuke had been meant to chide her into changing her mind about marrying George. Belatedly he realized his words might have done the opposite. Indeed, they might just spur her into becoming “the genuine mate” he’d spoken of, simply to prove him wrong.
Certain George was as untried as she was, Justin feared the man’s clumsiness might ruin their naive attempts at lovemaking. He’d cause her pain, pain that could make her unresponsive for all time, and Justin felt his heart cry out: Little one, you should be loved by a man who can show you what pure pleasure really is. At least once … on your first awakening.
He remembered how she had felt in his arms as they’d danced, as they’d ridden high on Apollo’s back, as she’d lain limp and helpless after she’d fainted, as she’d struggled against his hold, fighting him only moments ago. And he remembered how she’d aroused him. Aroused his sympathy, aroused his anger, aroused his desire.
Incredibly, as he now viewed her, he imagined himself close beside her, his softly spoken phrases and gentle caresses wooing her, seducing her. Their lips would meet, tentatively at first, then shape themselves into an urgent kiss, thirsting tongues mating wildly. And when he’d kissed her senseless, heated love words whispered in her ear, her anxious pleas filling his head in reply, he’d lower her to the seat, remove her clothing and his, and love her as no other man possibly could. Then, when he was certain she was ready, her hips writhing, begging for his pleasures, he’d enter her secret place, easing slowly upward, his mouth covering hers to capture her momentary cry of pain, and fill her completely. Allowing her time to adjust, he’d wrap her silken thighs around his waist, his tender words reassuring her, praising her, seducing her anew. Then, with his hands molding her rounded bottom, he’d show her the rhythmic movement that would eventually bring them boundless ecstasy. And as their exalted cries finally filled the air, his lips would cover hers once more in a deep, loving tribute to the perfection they’d shared.
Hot desire suddenly racked Justin’s body. His eyes closed and he breathed heavily. Virginal and naively sweet, he thought. And he wanted her. Just once. In a coach. This coach! Now! His heavy lids opened and he gazed longingly at her. “Aidan,” he whispered thickly, “you can’t let him be your first. I won’t let you. Little one, you need a man who knows how to love a woman.” He reached for her. “Aidan? Sweet?”
The soft sounds of slumber met his ears, and Justin fell back in his seat, his head hitting the coach wall with a thud. Instantly he shook it, clearing away all residue of his fantasy. What in God’s name had he been about to do? To suggest? Sweet Lord! Had he gone mad! He’d never had a virgin. Never wanted one—until now! They were a trap ready to spring, inflicting certain death to his freedom!
Frowning, he gazed at Aidan’s sleeping form and thought of his mistress. Although their arrangement had been intermittent and unpredictable, the worldly Cynthia gave him satisfaction. His body, at least. But lately she’d begun to press him, subtly hinting at marriage, and he was beginning to think it was time he moved on. After tonight, he might have no other choice!
Justin’s lips twitched and broke into a wide grin as he envisioned Cynthia’s startled look when his coach, his ducal crest emblazoned across the door, started shaking convulsively. No doubt her shock had quickly turned to indignation, her blue eyes narrowing as an angry flush mottled her fair skin. He could only imagine the curses that would have been heaped upon his head had he not ordered Potts to be off.
Certain the fiery vindictive blond would not hear him out, he decided that perhaps it was best it had ended like this. Although he’d known it to be inevitable from the start, he never did like severing a relationship. Indeed, this way there would be no messy scenes, no angry accusations and heated rejoinders, no tearful pleading, begging him to stay. Perhaps he should thank his charge for making his life a bit easier. Yet, Justin realized that if Cynthia ever discovered who the mysterious woman in his coach actually was, Aidan Prescott’s life would be made a living hell. He felt an odd sort of protectiveness well up inside him. Then, instantly angered that he’d felt anything at all, he dashed both women from his mind.
Settling back, Justin folded his arms over his chest and propped his boots on the seat opposite him. In but a few hours, Potts, obeying his master’s previous instructions, would pull into an inn, which was a safe distance from London. In the meantime, Justin planned to get some sleep, but as the miles passed, he found himself endlessly gazing at the young beauty across from him, his eyes never tiring from the sight of her. Finally the coach slowed and he glanced out the window. They’d arrived at their destination. Not wanting to wake her, Justin pushed open the damaged door, lifted her into his arms, and stepped out into the night air.
Aidan felt herself floating. Muted voices sounded in her ears, but she refused to rouse herself, content to remain in her state of dreams. Strong arms carried her up the stairs, boots scraping along the worn boards, and she pressed her cheek against the solid chest, snuggling closer. She felt herself drifting downward; a soft feather mattress enveloped her. She purred like a tiny kitten and turned onto her side. Deft hands removed her dress, a cover eased up over her shoulders, and a whiff of breath blew out the candle on the stand near her bed. A light tread moved quietly away from her toward the door, and as though she were still a small child, she called through her sleep, “Good night, Papa.”
Justin turned, his brow arching toward a lock of dark hair. A derisive smile cracked his lips, turning itself inward. At the moment, having just removed her dress and having had to physically restrain himself from removing more, he felt anything but fatherly. A long breath escaped his lips, and he finally answered, “Good night, Aidan. Sleep well, sweet princess.” Then the door closed behind him.