Lord and Lady Manley rushed down the staircase as another fist-hammering knock rattled the door’s hinges. David, a half-dozen steps ahead of his wife, nodded his assent to the sleepy-eyed butler who hovered near the entry. The man shifted his nightcap to a more stately position atop his balding crown, then slipped the bolt and threw the panel wide.
“Where is she?” Alastair Prescott bellowed, bursting in the door, his harsh tone causing David to pause momentarily.
“Where’s who?” the younger man countered, having recovered to descend the few remaining steps.
“Aidan—where is she?”
Not liking the foreboding look in the duke’s eye, Eugenia gathered her robe more securely around her slight form and stopped at her husband’s side. “Isn’t she at home?”
“If she were, young lady, I wouldn’t be here!” the duke snapped with such vehemence that Eugenia cradled closer to David. “Now, where have you hidden her?”
“I assure you,” David replied, squaring his shoulders, “she’s not with us.”
Atwood’s gaze raked over the young couple from head to foot. “I’m prepared to search this place from cellar to attic if need be.”
Incensed by the older man’s suggestion that the couple was lying, David replied heatedly, “And if you attempt to do so, sir, I’ll have you arrested.”
Observing how the men assessed one another, Eugenia feared they were ready to spring, fists flying. “Your Grace,” she said in a rush, stepping between her husband and the duke, “David has not seen Aidan since the night we escorted her home from the Quincys’ soiree. The last time I saw her was yesterday, when I stopped to inquire about her health. I promise we’ve not had contact with her since.”
His eyes steady upon Eugenia’s, Alastair searched her face. Realizing she spoke the truth, he sighed as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Then where could she be?”
“Perhaps she went for a canter in Hyde Park,” Eugenia offered.
“Before the crack of dawn?” Alastair countered incredulously.
“Are you certain she’s missing?” David asked. “Perhaps she’s—”
“Sir, my entire staff has searched the house from top to bottom, inside and out. There’s not a trace of her. Had not one of the scullery maids risen early and found the kitchen door ajar, I’d still be asleep in my bed and so would you! The maid alerted the butler, who in turn woke me. Thinking a thief had stolen his way in, I went to check on Aidan. Her bed hadn’t been slept in. Penny, her maid, found a case and one of Aidan’s gowns missing, along with several personal items. Penny informed me that one of her own dresses had vanished from the wardrobe in her room. She’d thought it stolen by one of the staff and had planned to report its disappearance today at a more reasonable hour. Upon searching the grounds, one of my men found the old gate that leads out into the mews open. Now, either she’s been abducted by some blackguard to be held for ransom—which I doubt, for no one in his right mind would stop to pack a case if he were relying on stealth and celerity to snatch my daughter. Or—which I deem more likely—she’s run off!”
As she listened to the duke’s account, Eugenia’s mind raced. Instantly she connected her missing friend with their discussion over how the two could keep Aidan from the Earl of Sedgewinn’s clutches. “George,” she whispered, not realizing she’d said the man’s name aloud.
“Who, madam, is George?” the duke inquired.
Her gaze snapped to Alastair’s face, but she found she was unable to hold his impeaching look. “I… I…”
“You know something!” he accused, certain it was so. “Now, out with it!”
David looked from the glowering duke to his wife and noted how her teeth played nervously along her lower lip. “Eugenia, if you do know where Aidan might be, I suggest you tell His Grace.”
Her uncertain gaze climbed to David’s face. “I … I can’t be positive, but she may have …” Eugenia paused, feeling as though she were betraying her friend. Taking a deep breath, she released it and whispered, “Eloped.”
“Eloped!” the duke exploded. “Why in God’s name would she do that!”
“Because,” Eugenia countered, her tone swathed with indignation, “you were going to force her to marry that lecherous Sedgewinn! Had you been less worried about ridding yourself of her and more concerned over your choice of a potential mate, Aidan wouldn’t have felt it necessary to run away!”
Alastair eyed Eugenia at length. Then, hoping to glean as much information as possible, he asked, “And how do you know so much about my plans for Aidan?”
“On the day you informed her of her impending marriage, she came to me for solace. She confided that you two had quarreled. To escape her fate, she threatened to place herself in a convent … anything to keep herself from the lecherous hands of the man you’d chosen for her. I suggested she speak with you. But we both know, Your Grace, her words would have fallen on deaf ears, don’t we?” Eugenia accused, anger flashing in her eyes. Never would she have spoken so disrespectfully to Aidan’s father, but she blamed him totally for her friend’s unhappy predicament. “In fact,” she admitted without thought, “I was the one who suggested she elope to Gretna Green with one of her suitors. One who would treat her kindly.”
“You conspired against me?”
“I would have conspired against the Queen if it meant saving Aidan from Sedgewinn’s grasp!”
David’s gaze stopped bouncing between his wife and the duke to finally settle on Atwood. “Eugenia’s right. You’ve no one to blame but yourself. Sedgewinn is the lowest of all life forms. If Aidan has run off with George Edmonds, I can’t blame her. At least she’s chosen a more-sensible route and is marrying a man who adores her—not the wife beater you chose! You’re lucky she didn’t decide to slash her wrists instead!”
Alastair spun on his heel and started toward the door. “I must stop her.”
“Why?” Eugenia cried, running after him, catching at his arm. ‘To prevent an out-and-out scandal so you can still palm her off on Sedgewinn?”
“That arrangement was dissolved last night. You may think me a fool, Eugenia, but I’m not so much the fool as to give the Earl of Sedgewinn the opportunity to abuse my own flesh and blood. When my temper cooled, I realized my mistake and tossed the earl out on his ear. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must catch my errant offspring before she marries a weakling like Edmonds!”
Eugenia and David watched as the duke strode from the house, the door banging shut behind him.
Within the hour, Alastair Prescott had gathered a band of men. Their pockets weighing heavier, they were eager to join his cause. At full gallop, their fresh steeds ate up the miles as the small group headed north toward Gretna Green.
The sun briefly embraced the range of barren hills, then quickly slipped from view. Fingers of light burst across the azure sky, reaching out like a beacon of hope. Instantly they withdrew as the fiery globe sank further beyond the horizon.
Inside the coach, Aidan gazed through the window, staring at the bleak scenery. A wall of silence had divided Justin Warfield and herself from the time they’d left the inn. Growing weary of the cool tacitness, she closed her eyes, her thoughts wandering backward over the day’s events.
When she had awakened this morning to find herself in a strange bed, in a strange room, she had jerked upright. Discovering she’d been undressed, she was at first mortified, then fearful. Instantly she’d wondered if something had transpired between herself and her guardian. Somewhere in the dregs of her mind, she’d vaguely remembered efficient hands removing her gown, a cover being tenderly tucked around her, then quiet footsteps moving toward the door. In her confusion, she’d thought she’d heard him call her “sweet princess.”
Suddenly frightened that something untoward might have happened to her, she’d frantically searched her memory for a clue which might confirm or deny such a thing. True, she was only partially clothed. But as she’d ruminated over the possibility that Justin had somehow taken advantage of her, Aidan discovered she felt no different than she had the night before. There had been no ghostly sensation of fullness, no lingering soreness which Eugenia had shyly explained a woman experienced after she’d first made love, so Aidan had quickly decided her fears were unfounded. Nothing had happened between the roguish duke and herself. In all likelihood, his endearment had been imagined, as well.
Irritated with herself for having even thought such a thing, she’d bounced from the bed. After she’d washed and groomed herself, donning the same black dress she’d worn last night, she’d descended to the first floor of the inn to find a stoic Justin, garbed in black like the night before, breakfasting alone. Joining him, she had suffered through a wordless meal of cold porridge, the brooding duke’s company equally as unpalatable as her fare. As soon as she’d swallowed the last bite of the unappealing gruel, her escort had whisked her from the inn, her one piece of luggage being carted to the coach by Potts, and the threesome were off again, heading in a northerly direction.
The endless succession of miles, stopping only to change horses, which Aidan soon learned Justin had sent ahead the day before so there were no delays in their journey, and which where to be retrieved later by one of his men, had taken their toll on her nerves. Her guardian’s continuous silence and assessing stare had annoyed and angered her. To prevent another round of heated words from erupting between them, she’d elected to ignore him, and her gaze had riveted itself to the changing landscape beyond the open coach window. But once they’d hit the Yorkshire moors, it had taken all the willpower she possessed to keep her eyes bent on the desolate terrain. The tedium, both inside the coach and out, had seemed immeasurable.
Slowly Aidan’s eyes opened. If only the heather were in bloom, she thought, sighing, her gaze once again affixed to the barren moors. At least then the continuous monotony would have been broken by splendorous splashes of pinkish-purple flowers. Disappointed, she knew it was still too early in the season for its magnificent display. It mattered little, she thought, sighing again, for darkness was nearly upon them.
“Bored, are we?” The foreign sound of Justin’s voice made Aidan blink; her gaze skittered his way. “You’d best get used to the bleakness,” he continued. “George lives several hours east of here. After tonight, dear lady, so will you.” He noted her surprise. “I take it you weren’t aware George doesn’t reside in London during the season. In fact, he only shows upon occasion, staying with friends just long enough so he won’t wear out his welcome. I’m afraid your round of balls and soirees is about to come to an abrupt halt.”
Aidan settled an indifferent look upon him. “It matters not.”
Justin chuckled. “You lie, little one, and we both know it.”
His roguish grin and knowing gaze rippled through her, leaving her feeling somewhat giddy. The man was far too handsome for his own good. She knew it—and he knew it, as well. Tearing his gaze from his, Aidan again stared through the window. She refused to answer him. When her inheritance was settled upon her, she and George would have a place of their own in London. A few missed seasons meant nothing to her. But as she tried to reassure herself of that fact, she found herself unconvinced.
Again the atmosphere froze into silence. Justin’s eyes intent upon her, Aidan thought she would surely come unhinged. But soon the horses’ hooves struck a different cadence, and the coach turned, heading toward the Lake District, growing ever closer to Scotland and to George.
With that thought, Aidan was overcome by a sudden attack of nerves. Wondering if she could actually go through with her planned marriage, she felt the urgent need to pace, to stretch her legs, extend them into a brisk walk, anything to take her mind from what awaited her. But she was confined inside the coach, and her pride refused to allow her to ask Justin for a brief moment’s pause. Instead, she rested her head against the coach wall, again closing her eyes. Before long, she slept.
Justin watched her, infuriated by all the emotion she’d managed to evoke within him. His sullen mood, he knew, stemmed from his refusal to state his opinion of her elopement outright. From the moment he’d left her last night, her soft form snuggled deep in her bed, he’d been fighting the virulent urge to go back to her, take hold of her, and shake some sense into her, in hope of persuading her not to marry George. Her exquisite beauty, coupled with her flaming spirit, would be wasted on the colorless man. George, as dull as he was, could never teach her the ways of love. The man would suffocate her. Justin was certain of it.
Why such knowledge bothered him, he was unable to say. Yet he was in no position to save her from her impending doom. Since she’d taken the step to run off, thereby ruining her reputation, the best he could offer was to set her up as his new mistress. Justin scoffed at the idea, knowing his proposition would be thrown back in his face. Along with the flat of her hand! he thought wryly.
In agitation, he raked his sun-bronzed fingers through his thick dark hair, emitting a low growl as he did so. Damnation! How had he gotten himself into this mess? Stupidity, he conceded, his rapt attention turning away from the slumbering beauty across from him to view the dimming scenery outside his window. He was a fool for caring about what happened to her. She’d made her decision, freely, and she should be made to live with it!
He remembered a long-ago spring day and a sunlit meadow, which lay on the edge of Warfield Manor, his country estate. The revived image filled his mind with the gentle sway of long grasses mixed with a vivid array of sweet-smelling wildflowers. And the pungency of death, he thought, its graphic memory piercing through him. Had he had a normal boyhood and had that boyhood ended differently, perhaps he could open his heart to a young woman, like Aidan, and realize the so-called joy of love. But in reality, he was immune to the emotion, his jaded heart frozen in time.
As the miles passed, Justin found no solace in his thoughts, and as the sky darkened, so did his mood.
Aidan finally stirred from her nap, surprised to see it was dark. A full moon hung in the sky, cloaking the panorama with its silvery light. Gnarled black fingers stretched over the roadway and across the landscape as tree limbs cast their eerie shadows. Stifling a yawn, Aidan turned toward Justin, his face shaded from view. “What time is it?” she asked, sleep still tinting her voice.
“Nearly midnight.” Her gaze shifted from him. She did not respond, only stared through the window, as usual, and Justin viewed her at length. “You seem rather pensive, Lady Prescott,” he stated after a while. “Might it be you’re having second thoughts?”
“No,” she snapped untruthfully, violet eyes settling on him anew. “I’m simply anxious to get this over with.”
“The journey? The marriage ceremony? Or both?”
“The journey, naturally. I’m anxious to see George.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t very well admit she dreaded seeing her intended. At least, not to Justin Warfield. “How much longer before we reach Scotland?” she asked, trying to ignore his constant taunting manner.
“Probably another half hour.” In that instant, a moonbeam spotlighted her features, and Justin saw Aidan’s eyes widen; he grinned. “Of course, if you are experiencing a sudden change of heart, I could always have Potts turn us around—”
“You’ll do no such thing!” she cried, her taut nerves finally shattering. “I … I can’t possibly go back. Not now. Not when—” She swallowed her words and tried to eradicate the vision of the Earl of Sedgewinn, his face suddenly looming up before her eyes, his sharp gaze leering, his vulgar mouth curving into a lascivious grin. “You don’t understand. I simply can’t go back.”
Justin noted the desperation in her voice. “I suppose you fear your father’s wrath. Or perhaps it’s the thought of seeing the jilted bridegroom you left behind. Who is the miserable fellow, anyway?”
Abruptly, Aidan’s eyes misted over. While she traced her sudden tears to her emotional distress, she fought to keep them at bay. Then, with enmity punctuating each syllable, she finally said, “The Earl of Sedgewinn.”
Instantly Justin stiffened. A hard edge set itself along his firm jaw. Had he reserved the least bit of respect for the Duke of Atwood, it now lay dead. “Your father tried to pair you with that whoreson?” he questioned, wanting confirmation.
“Yes.”
Justin strained his ears to hear her whispered reply. The word, having pitifully torn itself from her lips, caused a strange lurch in his chest. “By God! Is the man insane!”
“I’ve caused him too much worry,” she admitted; then her teeth tormented her lower lip as she again stared through the window. “My father wishes to be rid of me. But I couldn’t make myself marry Sedgewinn. He’s … he’s …” She fell silent.
The smallness of her voice, confessing that she felt unwanted, unloved, produced another jab at his heart. Suddenly an unfamiliar feeling overtook him, and Justin moved across the small space to Aidan’s side. Oddly, he experienced an uncontrollable need to comfort her; his arm slipped lightly around her shoulders. “And that’s why you chose George?” He watched her nod. “Did you think him merely the lesser of two evils?”
“George isn’t evil,” she quickly defended, gazing up into silver eyes that were amazingly filled with compassion. “He’s nothing like Sedgewinn. George is kind, gentle, courteous … a true gentleman.”
“But you don’t love him, do you?”
Had not his tender regard mesmerized her, his gentle tone soothed her, Aidan would have denied his words. But his sudden transformation into a caring protector had caught her off-guard. “No,” she confessed, then quickly added, “but, just the same, I plan to make him a good wife.”
Justin’s hand rose. Long fingers framed the oval of her face as he gazed deeply into misty violet eyes, eyes that questioned him, lured him. “Little one, you’re willing to give too much.” His gaze shifted to her softly parted lips, their dewy sheen reflected in the moonlight, and his breath caught in his chest. “You can’t marry a man simply because he’s known to be a gentleman. There needs to be some sort of emotion … a magical feeling which passes between you and the one you choose. You could never be happy without it.”
Fascinated by the mobility of his mouth, she found she was unable to answer immediately. Here, under the cradle of his arm, his gentle fingers lightly caressing her cheek, her heart skipped erratically. Strangely, she felt an unexplained magnetic pull, drawing her ever closer to her guardian. The sensation frightened her, excited her, and she wondered if what she was now experiencing resembled the magical emotion he’d mentioned.
“Could you be happy, little one?” he asked, his searching gaze running over her face. “The truth.”
“I … I don’t know,” she whispered, her gaze casting itself downward, away from Justin’s, for his intent regard made her feel rather … odd. “But I have little choice. My father will never forgive me. He’ll marry me off to Sedgewinn the moment I return.” She shuddered distastefully. Noting her reaction, Justin tightened his hand on the crest of her shoulder, easing her closer to him. Aidan made no protest. “I already committed myself to George. I can’t back away now. He’d be deeply hurt.”
“George will survive,” he said, not caring one way or the other if the man ever recovered from her rejection. At present, it was his ward’s mental anguish, the grief she was suffering over her father’s coldheartedness, that concerned him most. The man’s lack of sensitivity in choosing a suitable mate for her infuriated Justin. If Atwood were within his reach, he’d thrash the man soundly.
“Then what shall I do?” she inquired, her tone defeated.
Liquid violet eyes stared up at him while moist lips trembled softly beneath his gaze, and Justin reacted with a force so strong it jolted him. His restraint snapped. All his latent desires, those which he’d purposely held in check from the moment their eyes had first met while he’d strongly denied they even existed, surged through him. Overpowered by his emotions, he was unable to resist her. “Little one,” he whispered huskily as gentle fingers brushed the fine wisps of hair away from her face. “I’ll protect you … keep you safe. You’ll want for nothing. This I promise.”
With each word, his head slowly lowered, his gaze riveted to her tempting lips. Entranced by their beauty, he wanted to taste their bounty, explore their mysteries, teach them to respond to his own.
Her heart beating wildly, Aidan thought to stave him off, but she could find no convincing reason to do so. Enthralled, she watched as the masculine curve of his lower lip separated itself from its mate, the pair growing ever closer. Overwhelmed by the riot of emotions that were hammering through her, every nerve in her body set on alert, she moaned softly. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Long lashes rested lightly against the delicate skin above her cheeks as she waited with anticipation.
Then she felt his first tentative touch as his mouth brushed silkily over hers. A whimper of protest escaped her when it withdrew. Hearing the wordless entreaty, Justin emitted a groan of longing; his lips captured hers, molding them to his own. Slowly she opened to him, like a rose unfurling in the morning sunlight, and hot fire raced through his veins as she surrendered completely to his mastery.
Sweetly naive, he thought, refreshed by her untried attempts to please him. Following his lead, her tongue traced his lips, imitating each movement he made; then it chased and played a wild erotic game of passion. Raw desire ripped through him. His breath caught; a shudder racked along his hardened body. This was one virgin he would gladly take to his bed. Yet, he knew, she must be gentled into submission, slowly, expertly, and he realized if he didn’t stop this madness now, he would, undoubtedly, lose control here in the coach.
With a will of steel, Justin fought down his rampant desires. Placing one last tender kiss on her lips, he withdrew. Gentle fingers smoothed her coppery tresses, stroking her like she were a small kitten. “We must not rush into anything, little one,” he said, his desire still vibrating in the low timbre of his voice. “When we are back in London and I’ve settled you into your own place, there will be time enough to show you what pleases me and to discover what pleases you.”
Feeling as though she’d fallen into the Thames in the dead of winter, Aidan instantly stiffened. “Pleases?”
Foolishly Justin ignored the sudden glacial look in her eye. “Yes,” he said, a sportive grin splitting his face. “I’ve never taken a virgin as my mistress before. I—”
“Mistress”, Aidan screeched, shoving at his chest, trying to dislodge his arm from her shoulder. “You pompous boor!”
Surprised by the vehemence in her voice, Justin frowned. “What else, little one? I thought you understood. I offered you my protection, not marriage. Wedlock is for fools,” he stated emphatically. His parents’ marriage attested to that!
Narrowed eyes spewed purple fire as Aidan’s lip curled contemptuously. Whatever had made her think the rogue would condescend to taking her as his bride! And why she would have considered such a ludicrous proposal in the first place, she was unable to say. He was a dangerous scoundrel, a womanizer who lacked scruples. Eugenia had warned her as much. Yet, stupidly, like so many of her gender, she’d found herself falling under his spell.
Angered that she’d almost become one of his willing victims, Aidan instantly sought revenge. As Justin had predicted, her arm raised to swing in an arc, but quick reflexes allowed him to catch her wrist before her hand connected with his face. “You arrogant ass!” she hissed, venom lacing each word as she struggled to free herself from his grip. “I’d no more lie with you than I would a … a goat!”
Hard gray eyes assessed her as Justin fought the heated urge to drag her back into his arms and prove her wrong. His lips broke into a cold smile. “You may live to regret your decision, little one. George might be willing to share his name, but he’ll be able to share little else. I, on the other hand, would have given you all your heart could have possibly desired—all, that is, except my name.”
A murderous glare lit Aidan’s eyes, and she would have pronounced her acidic retort, but the coach suddenly lurched as the horses were whipped into a full gallop. The abrupt motion threw her off-balance, and she swallowed her words.
“Highwaymen!” Potts yelled from above as he snapped the whip in quick succession, driving the team onward.
Justin released the fuming Aidan to quickly shift into the opposite seat. His fist hit the coach wall, and a hidden panel sprang free, revealing a set of matched pistols. “Get down,” he ordered as he grabbed one and poured powder down its barrel, then rammed the lead ball home. Aidan obeyed without hesitation and curled herself up like a cat, her cheek hugging the rich leather seat as she held on for dear life.
The coach pitched wildly as Justin tried to prime the weapon. Fine powder spilled across his hand onto the floor. A vibrant expletive escaped him as he cursed his luck. His grip on the weapon tightened, and the job was completed in short order. The cocked pistol was slipped beneath his sinewy thigh, its barrel pointed toward the door.
While Justin worked furiously to load the second pistol, thundering hooves drew alongside the careening coach. “Halt!” a masculine voice shouted, but Potts paid him no mind. “Stop, I says,” the man commanded, “or I’ll blow yer bloomin’ head off!”
The coach swayed crazily, then jolted to a sudden stop, tossing Justin sideways. The cocked pistol slid from the seat and hit the floor. Powder flashed as the weapon exploded. Another curse erupted from Justin’s lips as Aidan simultaneously cried out in fright. Both were drowned out by a screech of pain, while as it sheared through the night air, just beyond the coach window.
The ball rammed into the second pistol, Justin flipped it around to pour the priming powder. Forthwith, the door flew wide, a bevy of weapons aimed at his head. Assessing the group, several lit torches held high among them, Justin decided there was little chance he could bluff his way out of his predicament. Slowly he lowered his own pistol, setting it aside.
“Let me at him,” one of the men snarled, fighting his way toward the forefront of the pack. “The coward! He put a hole in me, he did!”
“Shut up,” the man closest to the door said, his pistol now leveled at Justin’s heart. “Quit yer complainin’. Ye’r only scratched.”
His senses attuned to every sound, every move, Justin smiled. “You’ve caught me low on funds, gentlemen.” He slipped a gold ring from the little finger on his right hand. The large ruby, surrounded by diamonds, winked in the dim light. “Perhaps this ornament will suffice.” He held it out to the man who appeared to be the group’s leader.
“We ain’t after yer money or yer jewelry, mister. So keep that bauble on yer pinky.”
An odd feeling settled over Justin; his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then if you aren’t intent on robbery, do you mind explaining why you’ve detained my coach?”
The man jerked his head. “It’s her we’re after.”
All eyes turned toward Aidan, who now huddled in her corner. “Me! Why me?”
“Ye’r the Duke of Atwood’s daughter, ain’t ye?” the man asked, and Aidan quickly turned anxious eyes toward Justin. “Well, yea or nay, girlie?”
“Sir,” Justin intervened, his gaze scanning the field of men. Not seeing Aidan’s father among them, he edged forward in his seat, his body making a partial barrier between Aidan and the man in the doorway. The man’s lax pistol swung to attention. “There’s no need to be so jittery. I’m unarmed and outnumbered.” Justin’s hand rose slowly, the tip of his finger gently easing the barrel aside. He relaxed when the man allowed it to remain in its new position. “The lady is whom you say,” Justin continued. “You seem like a man who understands the ways of love. Without regard for her health or safety, this young woman’s father plans to force her into a marriage she does not want. The man to whom she is to be betrothed is depraved, perverse—a wife beater. Instead of subjecting herself to such cruelty—a life of unending torture—she travels to Gretna Green with me. Certainly you understand our haste. We are—”
“In desperate need of a marriage agent, I’d say,” a cold voice interrupted.
“Father!” Aidan cried incredulously. Her heart tripped wildly as Alastair Prescott stepped into view, his stern gaze first raking over his daughter, then settling on Justin. Disbelief written on her face, she croaked, “How did you—?”
“In your haste to leave, daughter, you forgot to close the kitchen door behind you,” he answered, his hard gaze riveted to Justin’s. Two sets of narrowed eyes, one blue, one gray, carefully assessed the other, each pair refusing to look away. “You caused quite a stir, Aidan. We’d thought a thief had stolen you away. But Eugenia managed to set our fears to rest.”
“Eugenia! How? She knew nothing of my plans.”
Alastair finally turned his attention to his daughter. “She knew enough to set me in the right direction!” he snapped, his gaze shifting back to Justin’s. “Your Grace,” he said on a sarcastic note. “Might I join you inside the coach? The night air grows chilly.”
Justin’s lips split into a cool smile. “Please accept my invitation to do so, Your Grace.” The lofty form of address was stressed with equal sarcasm as he waved the older man inside. “You must forgive me for not asking you sooner. My excuse being: at the moment, I was given cause to forget my manners. I do hope you’ll understand.”
Inclining his head, Alastair returned the cool smile. “I do, sir.” When he’d seated himself next to Justin, he turned his attention to the man in the doorway. “Mr. Thompson, please join us, if you will.” The man seemed startled by the invitation; then he turned to hand his weapon to one of his companions. “I’ll have need of your pistol as well,” Alastair stated, and Thompson pulled his girth through the doorway, weapon in hand.
“Miss,” he said with a nod as he sat next to Aidan. His gaze turned itself on his employer. “There be a problem, Yer Grace? I thought everythin’ were settled—ye all bein’ so civil to one another and the like.”
Alastair chuckled. “All’s well, Thompson. You’re simply my insurance it stays that way.”
Upon hearing her father’s words, Aidan suddenly feared some harm might come to Justin. So far, she’d remained virtually silent, first from fear, then from confusion, but she quickly found her voice. “Father, I must explain. The Duke of Westover—”
“There’s no reason to explain, Aidan,” he said, waving her off. “Everything is quite apparent. His Grace has already admitted the two of you were on your way to Gretna Green. I’m just making certain your elopement proceeds as planned.”
Aidan breathed easier. But had she seen the contented look in her father’s eye, closely resembling that of a fat cat after it had just ingested a small bird, she’d have realized she’d misinterpreted his words. “Then you know about George?”
“George?” Alastair questioned, pretending ignorance as a frown marked his brow. “Ah, the best man. Since he’s not here, we’ll have to proceed without him.”
Aidan blinked. “Best man! Father, he’s—”
“Not important, daughter. Your marriage to Westover, here, will simply have to go unattended.”
“Marriage! But, Father, he’s not the man …”
Frozen into a human statue, Justin sat silently, listening to the exchange between father and daughter, cold eyes appraising both. From the moment the man called Thompson had mentioned Atwood’s name, Justin had suspected he was doomed. When Alastair Prescott had stepped forward, he knew it.
Not seeing the man initially, he’d thought the band of men had been sent toward Gretna Green with instructions to stop all coaches in hopes of catching the errant Lady Prescott, her father having remained in London. Foolishly, he’d tried to enlist the leader’s sympathy, but he now realized his words had served only to trap him. Or had they? Perhaps he’d been the intended bridegroom all along!
As he thought on it, Justin was certain, from the moment he’d declined Atwood’s proposed alliance between Aidan and himself, the man had become instrumental in maneuvering all the players to their present end, like actors in a play.
No doubt poor destitute George had been paid a tidy sum to portray the part of anxious bridegroom, moving on- and offstage just quickly enough to say his lines and be gone. The ruse he’d used to excuse himself now seemed a bit contrived. What legitimate bridegroom would actually leave his ladylove in the hands of another while he rushed off to patch up an old house? None that Justin knew of.
Aidan Prescott, on the other hand, had undoubtedly rehearsed her part to perfection. She’d certainly fooled him with her instant show of dislike, her immediate defense of George and their forthcoming marriage, and her feigned swoon in the coach. Angered that he’d been duped, Justin conveniently disregarded the memory of how ill she’d been afterward.
Then, he thought, there was her softly whispered “Good night, Papa,” which had instantly tugged at his heart and gained his sympathy, causing him a sleepless night. Her sudden bout of tears and quick surrender into his arms—too quick, he realized, as he looked back on it—were all a ploy to throw him off-guard. Undoubtedly, though, when he’d mentioned the word “mistress,” her reaction had been genuine. From the start, marriage had been her game, and she’d been unwilling to settle for less.
“Say something!” Aidan demanded of Justin, breaking through his dark thoughts, hoping, praying he could somehow persuade her father this was all a terrible mistake.
Steely eyes turned on her. “What is it you want me to say? That I refuse to marry you? I think not, sweet Aidan. The cards are stacked against me. Should I balk, Thompson will blow my head off.” Hard eyes snagged Aidan’s father’s. “Right, Your Grace?”
“Very perceptive of you,” her father replied.
Gray eyes pivoted toward the daughter. “So you see, Aidan, it seems I have little recourse but to marry you.”
Her eyes round with disbelief, Aidan stared at Justin; then her slackened jaw instantly snapped shut. Her fiery stare singed the Duke of Westover from head to toe, making known her discontent. How could he take this so calmly? Anger filled her, for he’d refused to put up a fight and had simply lain down like a whipped dog. Quickly she thought to grab the pistol and fire at him herself. Coward! she silently railed, then immediately turned on her father. “I’ll not marry this … this miscreant, no matter what you say or do! I’d prefer death, any day!” Without warning, she seized the pistol barrel, aiming it directly at her heart. “Shoot, I say!”
Alastair’s own heart seemed to pop into his throat, while Thompson’s eyes bulged from his head. Fortunately the man was steady of hand or there would have been certain disaster. “Here, girlie, take yer hand away.”
“No! Shoot me!”
“Aidan!” Alastair commanded. “Do as you’re told!”
Abrupt laughter filled the coach, startling the two Pres-cotts, plus the duke’s hired man. All eyes slowly turned toward Justin. “Bravo!” he piped, applauding. “Nice touch! You nearly had me convinced.” Astounded, Aidan relaxed her hold, and Justin watched as the weapon was quickly lowered. “There’s no need for theatrics, Aidan,” Justin stated, his sarcasm evident. “I know my fate is sealed.”
Slapped with the realization that Justin somehow thought she was involved in her father’s plot to bind them as man and wife, she fell back against her seat; her eyes searched his face. “Surely you don’t think—”
“I do, sweet Aidan.” His sharp gaze sliced into her like honed steel. “Now, enough has been said on the subject.”
Certain she’d been rent in two by his cutting stare, Aidan realized nothing she could say or do would change his mind. He’d pronounced her guilty without benefit of trial. Slowly her gaze fell from his. Admittedly, both their fates had been sealed.
Alastair had watched the exchange between his daughter and Westover with interest. When he and his men had first come upon the coach, he’d been ready to pull the blackguard he’d found inside through the door and trounce the man soundly. But when his eyes had caught sight of Westover’s ducal crest, he’d instantly thought better of it.
Lying back, he had waited, making certain it was indeed Justin Warfield within. When the man’s voice had confirmed it, Alastair could hardly contain his glee. What a stroke of luck! To think that his first choice in the way of a suitable husband for his daughter—the only man he knew could control her, tame her wild nature, and produce a horde of physically and mentally sound offspring for Alastair to indulge—would fall so easily into his hands! Fate had surely smiled upon him. But now he wondered if he’d perhaps erred in his judgment.
No, he decided as his gaze ran over his daughter, then Westover. The two were a perfect match. Though neither of them realized it now, they would—eventually. Alastair was certain of it. “Thompson,” he ordered abruptly, “have one of your men take the reins. Tell the others to stay close behind. Within a short time we’ll all be on our way home.”
The coach was backed from the shallow ditch, where it had landed, and was soon set into motion. The stern mode of silence which cloaked the foursome inside the rolling vehicle, heading ever closer to Scotland, seemed to Aidan like a shroud of death. Her death, she thought, knowing her carefree life and the freedom she’d once enjoyed would soon lie buried. As she peered at Justin, bathed in dimmoonlight, she was certain her body would soon follow. A lust for blood seethed from his gaze, sending an instant chill down her spine. May God help her when they were finally alone!
All too soon, the coach stopped in front of a small whitewashed cottage topped by a thatched roof. The sign hanging above the front door indicated that nuptials were performed inside. With the marriage agent quickly routed from his bed, the unhappy couple was escorted through the door, the Duke of Atwood and several pistol-bearing men playing the part of attendants.
When the agent nervously asked if Justin had a ring to give his bride, Justin quickly slipped the ruby ring from his little finger and shoved it onto the third finger of Aidan’s left Hand. Their vows exchanged—Justin’s in clipped tones, Aidan’s barely choked through her lips—the agent then informed Justin he could kiss the bride. A quick peck settled itself on her forehead.
“Satisfied?” Justin asked of his new father-in-law as he stepped away from Aidan’s side.
“Completely,” Alastair answered with a cool smile. “Just remember, my son, she is to be cared for in the manner to which she is accustomed. Also, her health has never suffered in the past. I don’t expect it to now.”
The duke’s message received, Justin inclined his head. “She will be taken under my protection. No harm will come to her, I assure you.”
“Then I see no reason why the happy couple can’t be on their way,” Alastair said at large, and his men lowered their pistols. He stepped to Aidan, folding her into his embrace. Immediately he felt her stiffen.
“How could you?” she whispered accusingly.
“He’s far better than Sedgewinn, daughter. With time, you’ll understand why I did what I did.”
“Never”, she countered, her hurt evident, and pushed from his arms.
Ignoring her new husband completely, Aidan marched toward the door, feeling in desperate need of some fresh air. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she fought to control them. Yet, despite her determination, several spilled over when she heard one of the men say, “Ain’t never seen a bride who wore black to her own weddin’ afore.”
Certain she was about to flood the cottage, she quickly slipped outside into the night. A bride in mourning, she thought as she brushed her tears aside, breathing deeply. And she’d married a man who’d acted more like a pallbearer than a groom. His elegant silk shirt, tight-fitting trousers, and fine leather boots, all the same shade as midnight, had fitted the occasion perfectly. She was doomed! Trapped in a void where she was certain no love would ever shine. And she’d never forgive her father for striking the final nail into her coffin by marrying her off to a blackguard like Justin Warfield, the “notorious” Duke of Westover! With an angry scuff of her shoe, she decided she hated them both!
Moonlight suddenly reflected off the center stone of the ring gracing her left hand, flashing like fire in her eye. In a fit of temper, she pulled the gold circle from her finger, intending to toss it into the woods, beyond the road. Instantly a strong hand clamped over hers, startling her.
“That ring, sweet wife, is probably worth more than your dowry and three others combined.”
“What dowry?” Aidan snapped, hoping he’d think her destitute.
“Precisely. So I suggest you reconsider your deed. That trinket may very well be the only thing of value you ever receive from me.”
Aidan shoved it into his hand. “Keep it. I have no use for it.” She turned on her heel, intent on heading for the coach.
Infuriated by Aidan’s shrewish tone, mainly because he was now trapped in an unwanted marriage, Justin took off after her. His hand snagged her arm, spinning her around. Her wrist trapped in his long fingers, he pushed the ring back onto her finger. “Never take it off again. You’re mine now, Aidan, and all the world shall know it. Consider it a token of my love.”
The sarcasm that dripped from his words angered her further. “You insolent buffoon!” she berated him, fighting against his hold and her tears. “You wouldn’t know what love was, not even if it were to slap you in the face.”
Thinking she intended to retaliate, as she had tried to do in the coach, Justin quickly caught hold of her other wrist and jerked her against him. “A bride can hardly leave the wedding chapel without the proper signature of marriage. Can she, sweet?”
Justin let loose her wrists, and before Aidan could react, his arm slipped round her waist, molding her snugly against his hard length; his mouth covered hers in one fell swoop. Momentarily, she stood stunned. His harsh lips became more insistent, his hard, angry tongue forcing its way between her lips, and she began to fight against his strong hold and the wild emotion which had suddenly rocked through her entire body.
In desperation, the heels of Aidan’s palms shoved against Justin’s shoulders, only to slide off the silk-clad sinew beneath them. His hold tightened as his fingers splayed across the back of her head, forcing her to be still. His lips opened more fully, his deepening kiss branding her, burning her, consuming her. Then, when Aidan thought herself all used up, Justin suddenly released her. “Consider that another token of my undying love. One that will not be repeated.” Without warning, he swept her up into his arms, deposited her inside the coach, and slammed the door.
As Alastair Prescott watched the entire episode from the doorway of the small cottage, the couple’s words lost to him, he thought better of allowing Justin Warfield to take immediate leave with Aidan, alone. Acute anger emanated from the young duke. One misstated word, one false step, and the man’s weak hold on himself was bound to snap its restraints. Once unleashed, his fury would, no doubt, erupt with a ferocity that would rival any beast’s. Alastair hoped Westover’s tenuous hold on his temper would stabilize with time. And the older man meant to stay close at hand until he was certain it had. Then, to his surprise, he watched as Justin climbed atop the coach to settle next to the driver.
“My men and I will follow along with you back to London,” Alastair informed Justin upon reaching the coach.
“The road is open to all who wish to travel it,” Justin replied coolly. “However, Aidan and I are headed only as far as my estate. You’ll be on your own from there.” With that, Justin snatched up the reins and, by way of a quick flick of his wrists, set the coach in motion.
Alastair surveyed the vehicle, dust kicking up from the road in its wake, and he wished he’d been much less impetuous and a good deal more prudent in his original assessment of things. Perhaps Justin Warfield was the wrong choice for his daughter, after all. With a frown marking his brow, Alastair quickly mounted his horse, then followed, never falling far behind.