“She refuses to go anywhere,” Eugenia said to David as the couple viewed Aidan from the window while she sat in the gardens reading. “The most she’s done is post a letter to Westover’s aunt. Otherwise, she simply sits.”
“Can you blame her?” David inquired. “If it’s not the dread of hearing what the gossips are saying, it’s the fear of running into Westover. Either one is enough to make her burrow in.”
“What shall we do?” his wife asked, her concern evident.
“Give her time,” David replied. “It’s only been two days since her encounter with the quarrelsome lot at the Rothschilds’. If I know Aidan, she’ll bounce back in no time at all.”
Eugenia turned clouded eyes on David. “How can you be so certain?”
“Because Aidan is not a quitter. At the moment, she’s licking her wounds, but as she does so, she’s also steeling her courage. Before we know it, she’ll be in the thick of the social whirl, boldly challenging anyone who questions her rank or her dignity. With the title she holds, and the power it affords her, the talk will soon stop.”
“But her husband is not of the disposition to support her on this. Without his backing, her title means little.”
David chuckled. “It’s not Westover’s support that matters here. Those who continue to malign her will risk censure from our Queen.”
“Victoria knows of all that has transpired?” Eugenia asked incredulously, and watched as David nodded.
“In fact, my love, as I’ve heard tell, it was she who announced the duke and Aidan were married. Hence the fiasco at the Rothschilds’ the other evening.”
Laughter bubbled forth from Eugenia’s throat. “With the Queen on her side, Aidan can’t possibly lose.”
“I’d say the likelihood of her doing so is precisely zero,” David replied, smiling. “And since you need not worry over your friend any longer, how about showing some concern for your husband?”
Seeing his boyish pout, Eugenia smiled up at him. “I’d be most happy to,” she said, then pulled him toward her waiting lips.
Sunlight danced through the leaves of the ancient elm as a light breeze languidly lifted and settled the foliage like a thousand fans in as many maidens’ hands. Absentmindedly Aidan flicked a loose tendril of hair away from her cheek, then moved restlessly on the stone bench where she sat. Having stared at the same page for the last ten minutes and not knowing a word it said, she shut the small book with a snap. Her eyes refocused as she took in the profusion of color surrounding her in the garden, but its beauty did little to lift her flagging spirits.
There had to be a way to extract herself from this terrible dilemma. After experiencing the disastrous turn of events at the Rothschilds’, she knew she could never face anyone again. Oh, what she would give to be able to walk among them, her head held regally high, and to disdainfully stare down her nose at them all. But that was an impossibility and would remain so, until things were settled between her husband and herself. And the only way to arrange that was to meet him head-on. For the past several days, she realized she’d been hashing and rehashing that thought in her mind, never finding the courage to take action. Short of strangling her, what could he possibly do?
Aidan’s hand climbed to her throat, covering it protectively. Knowing Justin Warfield’s hot temper, she feared he just might follow through. Ridiculous! They were two adults who had found themselves in an unwanted marriage. Surely they could work together to find a way to dissolve the thing! Yet, she realized that telling herself as much and mustering the heart for an encounter with the man were two different things entirely. Sighing, Aidan had to admit, until she’d found the courage to face him, she’d have to remain content in keeping herself hidden.
Aunt Patti reread Aidan’s letter for the third time, primarily the passage which stated her niece had managed so far to evade Justin’s detection.
London is abuzz with the news of our marriage. How the whole came into the information, I have no idea. Since your nephew has not made his appearance, I can only assume he is unaware I am here, and not at Warfield Manor. But after last night, I fear he may show up, and soon. What shall I do then?
“Fall into his arms, you twit!” Aunt Patti railed to her bedroom walls. “Seduce him! Whatever it takes so I might look upon my great-grandnephew before I die!”
Deciding that talking to herself did little good, the dowager marchioness ambled over to her writing table, whereupon she withdrew a sheet of paper and took pen in hand. She dipped the point into the ink, then wrote: The chit has managed to escape! You might find her at Lord and Lady Manley’s, Portman Square, London.
With her falsely dated note sealed, she called for a servant. “Have this delivered to Westover House, and be quick about it!”
When the man had left, Aunt Patti settled into her rocking chair. With her nephew having sent word two days ago that he would be away from London for close to a week in search of a stud for his mares, she was convinced he would have no idea when he’d received her letter. And since her nephew’s aging butler was showing signs of senility, she was certain Pitkin wouldn’t remember when it had arrived either. Positive her part in the matter would remain hidden, at least for the time being, she smiled with satisfaction. “A little nudge in the right direction will undoubtedly bring about the appropriate results,” she said, thumping her cane for emphasis. “And you, nephew, had better comply!”
Persuaded she had done all she could do at present, the dowager marchioness picked up her needles and painfully set to finishing the mate to the small pair of bootees she was knitting.
At Portman Square, Aidan stood in her bedroom, carefully viewing herself in the mirror. All morning long, she’d sat in the walled garden behind Lord and Lady Manley’s, continually worrying over her predicament, until, like the rosebushes, she’d felt certain she was about to take root herself. Now, with Eugenia and David having gone out for the afternoon, she’d become bored with her self-imposed exile and decided it was time she stop playing the coward.
Settling a plain straw bonnet atop her head to hide her coppery tresses, which were pulled back and netted into a bun, Aidan tied the blue satin ribbons beneath her chin. She stepped back and ran her hand over her skirt, her eyes never leaving her image. Unadorned, the simple blue muslin gown provided her the appearance she’d hoped to achieve. To her own eyes, she looked no different from any other woman who traveled along the streets of London. And in no way did she resemble a member of the peerage—much less a duchess!—which pleased Aidan considerably.
Satisfied she wouldn’t be recognized, she snatched up her reticule, containing only a few shillings, draped a light shawl around her shoulders, and left the house. With determination in her step, she walked several blocks from the house, where she hailed a passing cabby.
Upon hearing her destination, the man arched a surprised brow. “Ye sure ye wants to go there, miss? Ye ain’t exactly escorted, and—”
“Sir, I’m quite certain of my destination. Escorted or not, I am paying you to take me there. Now, let’s be gone.”
Frowning, the man tipped his hat. “It be yer hide, missy,” he grumbled beneath his breath, but Aidan had caught the words.
“Indeed, sir, it is. And I’ll take full responsibility for it.” She settled into her seat and the driver shut the door. Within moments the hired cab was headed toward London’s East End.
Shod hooves clicked smartly against the cobblestone street, wheels rumbling along on a rhythmic drone. Inside the vehicle, Aidan gazed through the small window. As they neared her intended destination, she noticed how the buildings became shabbier-looking with each passing block, the smells more repugnant to the nose. Finally the hired conveyance stopped in front of a modest structure which stood behind a tall stone wall. The old place was greatly in need of repair.
Handing over her fare, Aidan walked up to the rusting iron gate, its latch broken. The small yard beyond was devoid of grass; no flowers bloomed in the unattended garden area, only weeds. Traveling the cracked stone walkway, she ascended three worn steps to knock on a scarred wooden door. As her violet eyes took in the sights around her, Aidan decided that feeling sorry for herself was extremely foolish, especially when there were those who were in far worse straits than herself.
The huge door squeaked on its abraded hinges and the face of a plump white-haired matron peeked around its edge. “Why, Miss Prescott,” the woman said, not knowing that Aidan was titled. A smile lit her tired face as she opened the door fully. “I didn’t expect to see you until the week after next. Apparently the good Lord saw our need and has sent us an angel.”
“An angel?” Aidan questioned, laughing. “I’m certain you’re mistaken, Mrs. Hampstead.”
“I’m not mistaken. Just this moment, I finished saying my prayers, and here you are.”
“Is there something wrong?” Aidan asked as she stepped through the doorway. Instantly the stench of sickness overwhelmed her. “The children, are—?”
“They’ve all come down with smallpox. The poor little things are in such sad shape, running a terribly high fever and vomiting too.”
“Where’s Dr. Brenner?” Aidan asked, quickly slipping from her shawl to hang it on a peg behind the door.
“He’s upstairs in the sick ward, tending to the worst of them.”
Aidan headed toward the stairs and ran their length, her skirts hiked above her knees. Reaching the second level, she noticed the odors were far stronger. She shuddered and swallowed hard as she traversed the gloomy hallway, its walls in great need of new plaster and a coat of paint. Stopping at a partially open door, she pushed against its wood. The action revealed cot upon cot of seriously ill children, some moaning deliriously, others retching violently.
A weary-looking man, whom Aidan knew to be barely thirty years old, but appearing nearly twice that age now, stood over a child’s sheet-draped body. Placing weights over the boy’s sightless eyes, he completely covered the once cherubic face that was now badly pockmarked.
Although she didn’t know the lad, for he was new to the fold, Aidan’s heart lurched painfully. These poor little souls had suffered more than their due already. Orphaned, cast out onto the streets to fend for themselves, living fist to mouth, they had found a savior in Dr. Brenner, who had searched them out, bringing them here, offering them some stability. Dear God! Why were they being made to suffer even further?
Giving some instructions to a nurse, the tall, slender man rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up. “Miss Prescott, you shouldn’t be in here!” he admonished, quickly striding toward her.
“But I want to be here,” she countered, fighting the hand that had settled at her elbow. “You obviously need help, Dr. Brenner, and I’ve come to offer mine.”
Despite Aidan’s attempts for him to do otherwise, Dr. Brenner moved her out into the hallway and closed the door behind them. “Smallpox is highly contagious, Miss Prescott, and unless you’ve had a case of it yourself—which I doubt, for there’s not a scar on your face—I won’t allow you to set foot in that room.”
“Considering the need, I’m willing to take the chance,” she stated firmly, placing her welfare behind her. “They’re little more than babies. They know me. I’ve read to them, played games with them, helped bathe and feed them. There must be something I can do to ease their suffering.”
Dr. Brenner sighed. His hand raked through his thick blond hair as his tired eyes settled on her. “You’ve done a great deal already. And for that I thank you. But I’m sorry, I can’t have you chance it.”
“But—”
“No, Miss Prescott!” he snapped in uncharacteristic anger. “And that’s final.”
Surprised by Dr. Brenner’s harshness, Aidan watched as he stepped several paces away from her, stopping at the window which stood at the end of the corridor. Shoulders slumped, he stared through the clouded pane, smudged with years of soot and grime. To Aidan, he seemed on the verge of physical and emotional collapse.
“Why does everything happen at once?” he whispered, as though he were speaking to no one in particular. “Oh, God, it’s all my fault.”
Aidan came up behind him. “What is your fault?”
His head pivoted toward her. “The boy who just died—I brought him here nearly three weeks ago. I’m certain he carried the pox with him.”
Aidan placed a comforting hand on his forearm. “Dr. Brenner, you couldn’t have known that at the time.”
“No, but had I been here the instant he’d taken ill, I would have quarantined him. Instead, I was off with some pompous duke’s business agent, trying to renegotiate the lease on this ancient relic”—his hand waved about him, denoting the shoddy building—”hoping to keep a leaky roof over their heads! It was a futile attempt, and by the time I’d returned, the others had been exposed. Now, besides fighting to keep them alive, we’ll all be on the streets in a week.”
“The owner is throwing you out?” she asked incredulously, then saw the doctor’s nod. “Surely there’s some way to gain a reprieve.”
“Since the man has seen fit to double our rent, I doubt there’s much anyone can do. I could barely meet the payments as it was.”
A sudden foreboding riddled through Aidan. “Who is this duke?” she asked with caution, praying it wasn’t her father. Or her husband! She doubted it was Alastair Prescott, for she knew his properties were kept in good repair. As for Justin, she could not say what he owned or what condition it was in. Even if this particular building belonged to her husband, were she to intervene on Dr. Brenner’s behalf, asking Justin to reduce the price of the lease, she was sure her pleas would instantly fall upon deaf ears. If Justin Warfield displayed such heartless contempt for a passel of needy orphans, then undeniably, he would show her no kindness at all. He’d never grant her any concessions, not when he abhorred her as he did!
A cynical laugh escaped him. “Do you hope to change this lofty personage’s mind?”
“I can always try.”
“Then his titled name is Westover.”
Aidan’s knees nearly buckled, for her worst fears had come true. Violet eyes narrowed, and she began to seethe inside. Not only was he a seducer of women, he was an abuser of small children as well!
The door flew open, and one of the nurses called out, “Dr. Brenner, we need you, quick.”
He started for the room, Aidan after him. “You can’t come in, Miss Prescott. If you feel such a strong need to help, you can search out this Westover fellow and persuade him to show some mercy. If accomplished, that in itself would be a miracle.”
Before Aidan could respond, the door closed firmly in her face. Following the hallway to the stairs, she descended them and left the house, her thoughts on the orphans. Miracle, indeed! she fumed, certain she’d get nowhere with Justin Warfield. Besides, she was afraid to approach him, fearing he’d send her straight back to Warfield Manor, Dr. Brenner and his wards no better off than they presently were.
If only she had the money, she thought, traveling the cracked walkway to the gate, exiting through it. There was very little left of what Aunt Patti had given her. Asking Eugenia and David for such a large sum was out of the question. And so was approaching her father. That meant she had to find the resources herself. All she had were her clothes and her …
“Jewels!” she exclaimed aloud, startling several poorly dressed individuals who were passing close by her.
“If ye be lookin’ fer baubles, girlie,” one woman commented with a sniff, “ye’d best be takin’ yer business where a man can afford to pay ye such, fer ye ain’t gonna find nothin’ like that around here.”
Realizing the woman viewed her as little more than a lowly but pretentious strumpet, Aidan stared after the departing figure as she waddled away. Finally Aidan snapped her mouth shut, which had dropped in astonishment. Quickly she picked up her stride, her mind turning to the one item she’d willingly sell without a second thought. After a short wait on the corner, she flagged down another cabby and was on her way back to Portman Square.
Fortunately, upon her return, Aidan discovered that Eugenia and David were still out. Going straight to her room and her jewel case, she opened its lid. The item she wanted was the most prominent piece of all—the large ruby. The eye of the devil, she thought, snatching the ring from its velvet bed, stuffing it into her reticule. Before she could change her mind, Aidan fled the house and climbed into the waiting conveyance.
A short time later, her reticule was fatter by far. Now all she need do was find out the name of Justin’s business agent. As she settled once again into the waiting vehicle, she wondered how she could possibly do it. White’s! she thought, knowing she might spot one of Justin’s acquaintances at the prestigious men’s club. But precisely who were his friends?
“Well, miss, are we gonna sit here all day?” the cabby asked.
“Take me to White’s.”
“They won’t let ye in, miss.”
“Just do as I say,” Aidan snapped, suddenly weary of being questioned at every turn.
Before she could draw another breath, the conveyance lurched forward, heading toward White’s. Deep in thought, Aidan reviewed the episode with the clerk inside the jewelry house. When she’d walked into the establishment, she’d been all set on selling the ring, but as she pulled the ruby-and-diamond circlet from her reticule, she heard Justin’s ominous voice: That trinket may very well be the only thing of value you ever receive from me.
As she gazed at the magnificent ring, she’d felt saddened. If there were feelings of affection between them, she would have gladly worn the beautiful token. But she’d realized that her husband cared nothing for her, and likewise, she cared nothing for him. Besides, the orphans needed the proceeds from its sale, she’d defended silently, insisting she was doing the right thing. Justin could buy himself a hundred such rings. This one mattered little.
But in the end, when she’d handed it to the clerk, the word “pawn” had passed through her lips, not “sell.” The clerk had examined it and offered her what he deemed to be his best price. Knowing it was worth twice the amount cited, Aidan had tried to barter him upward. The two haggled, until they finally compromised, Aidan promising to make a set monthly payment until the loan was paid in full and the ring was hers again.
While she presently thought about it, Aidan wondered why she hadn’t sold the thing outright. Not doing so, she now had to worry about making the payments. Oh, bother!
The hired vehicle stopped outside White’s, and Aidan instructed the driver to wait at the curb. She opted to remain inside, watching the sidewalk, praying she would soon recognize someone. Before long, a short, foppishly dressed man sauntered up the street, his walking cane tapping smartly alongside him. Aidan instantly remembered him from the night of the Rothschilds’ party, and she was certain he would recognize her. What was more important, he knew Justin, for the man had informed her as much while offering his best to her on their marriage. To Aidan, he seemed the type who knew something about everyone.
“Sir Percival,” she called, waving at him through the open window; blinking, he turned toward her voice. “Might I request a word with you.”
Sir Percival Filbert frowned, then slowly stepped to the conveyance. Finally placing who Aidan was, he bowed. “Your Grace.”
“Please forgive me, Sir Percival, but I was wondering if you could help me. I feel simply witless—”
“How may I be of service?”
“Well, my husband … His Grace asked that I drop some papers off at his business agent while I was out doing my regular errands, but I seem to have misplaced the man’s name and whereabouts. Would it be possible for you to tell me whom His Grace employs?”
“Certainly. His name is John Dawson. He’s located just off Pall Mall.” Sir Percival stated the street and number. “By the by, when is Westover due back in London?”
Aidan blinked. “He’s gone?” she asked incredulously, yet relieved to hear it. Instantly she realized her slip. “Uh, he’s been gone far too long already,” she corrected with a sigh. “I do miss him so.”
“Well, if someone were to ask me, I’d tell him. His Grace is a fool for leaving his lovely bride alone.”
“Thank you for your help, Sir Percival. And I agree. He is a fool.” With that she instructed the driver to take her to Mr. Dawson’s, and the vehicle rolled away.
By late that afternoon, Aidan was wearily but happily ensconced in the sitting room on Portman Square. She’d just sent word to Dr. Brenner that he’d been relieved of one his worries. Having presented herself as Miss Addison, she’d negotiated a six-month lease with Mr. Dawson on Dr. Brenner’s behalf, paying the full sum due with the proceeds from Justin’s ring. Now the orphans had a home until winter, and by then she hoped to have enough money of her own to extend the contract for another six months. Right now, she’d done all she could possibly do. Except pray for the swift recovery of all Dr. Brenner’s children.
The front door opened, and Eugenia and David swept inside, their laughter rising into the air as usual. Hearing it, Aidan again felt a fleeting pang of envy, but she quickly shoved it aside. After relaying their day to their guest, Eugenia and David proposed they all dine in this evening and have a round of charades afterward. Content to stay at home and relax, Aidan agreed wholeheartedly with the couple’s suggestion.
A furious Justin Warfield stormed through the door of Westover House, nearly knocking Pitkin down as he did so. Steadying the man, he handed over his hat, gloves, and walking cane, then marched to the table and retrieved a letter from the ever-present silver tray. Tearing open the seal, he read his aunt’s note.
“When did this arrive?” he asked cryptically.
“Today, I believe. Or was it yesterday?” the man questioned himself, scratching his head. “Or was it the day you left?” Pitkin looked around the huge entry. “Let’s see. I was coming from the back hallway—”
“Never mind,” Justin said, a hint of irritation in his voice. From the date inscribed at the top of his aunt’s letter, he decided it had arrived the day he’d left. If so, then why hadn’t it been on the tray when he’d returned this afternoon?
Knowing he’d get no logical answer from Pitkin, he let the issue drop. Although the man’s lapse of memory had become highly exasperating of late, Justin hadn’t the heart to dismiss him, especially when Pitkin had served three generations of Warfields. To put the man out to pasture would certainly cause his demise, he knew. And Justin didn’t wish that on his conscience. Besides, the word from his aunt wasn’t news to him at all.
Frustrated over not being able to find the right stallion for his mares, he’d returned to London earlier than expected. Deciding he needed to relax, he’d taken himself off to White’s, where he’d planned to engage in a game of cards. But when he’d entered the establishment, he’d found himself overrun by the lot who had instantly offered their congratulations, some in a ribald manner. At first he’d thought nothing of the round of congenial remarks, for he’d assumed the announcement of his marriage had come down from his Queen. Then he’d learned his wife was in town.
“We were wondering why you weren’t with your new bride at the Rothschilds’ the other evening,” one man had said, slapping Justin’s back. “Rather foolish of you to let her out of your sights so soon. I’d never have expected you’d be off somewhere trying to match your mares to a stallion when you had a lively little filly to take care of at home. In fact, it seems rather bizarre you’re here with us now.”
Shouts of laughter had met Justin’s ears, while some jovially chided: “Yes, Your Grace, what are you doing here?”
“Good question,” Justin had said, hiding his anger at discovering his wife was in London behind a false mask of cordiality. “It seems, gentlemen, I’ve been a bachelor for so long that I sometimes forget there are other matters which should claim my attention. If you’ll forgive me, I shall take my leave and attend to my new bride.” With that Justin had spun on his heel, heading for the door, several good-natured guffaws following him out into the night.
Portman Square, he thought, weighing his aunt’s note in his hand. He turned and retrieved the articles he’d handed Pitkin. “I’ll be late. Don’t wait up,” he said, opening the door. With a shout, he called for Potts to stop the carriage, which had rolled several yards down the street. In a long-legged lope, he caught up to it. “Portman Square,” he ordered with a sharp edge to his voice as he climbed inside. Then he settled into the seat, his black thoughts on a certain violet-eyed witch.
David, Eugenia, and Aidan had no more stepped from the sitting room, their laughter chiming gaily in the foyer as they teased one another over the round of charades they’d just finished, when the brass knocker on the front door fell under a heavy hand.
“Who could be calling at this late hour?” Eugenia asked, her eyes instantly turning toward her husband.
David nodded to Winston. “We’ll soon see.”
Frozen in her tracks, a fearful Aidan watched as the panel swung inward. Instantly a cold voice cut like a knife into her breast: “I have reason to believe my wife has taken refuge here. Inform Lord Manley I’ve come to claim her.”
Aidan immediately thought to flee, but her legs refused to cooperate. Then, as Justin crossed the threshold, her wide-eyed gaze clashed with that of her husband. Dark and foreboding, his cold stare beheld her a long, seemingly endless moment, and Aidan could tell his anger was held in tight restraint. Dread slithered down Aidan’s spine. Noting her reaction, Justin slowly turned his attention toward David.
“Forgive the intrusion, sir,” he said in clipped tones. “My stay shall be brief. Since my wife has taken it upon herself to burden you with her care, I’ve come to relieve you of such responsibility.” Justin slipped a leather wallet from his coat pocket and removed several large bills, whereupon he placed them on the small table beside him. “This should cover her expenses.”
Rebounding from the shock of seeing the duke on his doorstep, David finally found his voice. “Keep your money, sir,” he said, his tone implying he’d been insulted by the man’s actions. “I won’t accept it.”
“Nevertheless, you shall have it.” Justin returned his gaze to Aidan. “Madam,” he said, extending his arm toward her for the placement of her hand on his sleeve, “it is time we take our leave.”
Although she’d tried to prepare herself for the moment when she and Justin would finally meet, she realized she wasn’t ready for it at all. Frightened eyes shot back and forth between David and Eugenia, pleading for help. Noting her distress, Eugenia protectively stepped to Aidan’s side, while David opened his mouth in protest. But before his words could leave his lips, Justin spoke with cold authority: “I suggest, Lord Manley, you do not attempt to interfere in this matter. By law, I have every right to remove my wife from your home. She is to obey me without question. Only our Queen can absolve her from doing so, and I can promise you that won’t happen. Now, either she comes with me peacefully, or she comes by force. If the latter is chosen, I assure you what ensues will not be pleasant.”
Aidan noted the instant squaring of David’s shoulders and the narrowing of his eyes. Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to take Justin on! Belatedly she remembered David’s words on how the Duke of Westover could possibly strip both Eugenia and him of everything they had, except their titles, and realized she could never allow such a thing to happen to her friends. Quickly she stepped between the two men. “I shall go without issue,” she blurted, her anxious gaze switching from one man to the other, praying one of them would back down.
Justin retreated a step. “A wise choice, madam,” he said, a lazy smile splitting his previously stony face; the change made Aidan’s breath catch. Justin noticed her feminine reaction; his smile broadened knowingly.
Furious with herself for allowing his magnetic charm to draw a response from her, she returned his discerning look with a hostile stare. “I need to fetch a few things—”
“You will come as you are—now.”
Deciding he believed she might try to escape—a thought which had indeed crossed her mind—Aidan presented him with an overly sweet smile. “As you wish, Your Grace,” she said airily, trying valiantly to mask her feelings of contempt—contempt that had grown even darker the instant she’d discovered him to be the owner of the horrid building that housed the orphans.
Justin shrewdly realized her buoyant rejoinder was not meant for him, but for her friends. Not wishing to contribute to any further feelings of ill will, whereupon he might find himself in an actual battle of fists with Lord Manley, he offered Aidan one of his heartrending grins. “I do wish, madam,” he said most pleasantly, extending his arm again. “Shall we?”
Almost as though she feared a bed of hot coals lay beneath its innocent-looking surface, Aidan looked at his arm, then cautiously placed her hand on his sleeve. Fire instantly blazed through her fingertips and shot up her arm. Ridiculous, she thought, denying the hot sensation existed. The urgent need to remove her hand swept through her, yet she resisted doing so. Only solid flesh and hard bone lay beneath the black material, she knew. Nevertheless, her hand felt as though it were burning.
Justin’s hand slipped over hers, trapping it; Aidan’s gaze skittered to his face. “A bit of insurance so when we step through the door you won’t bolt,” he whispered for her ears alone. He tightly wrapped his fingers around hers, then looked at David and Eugenia. “Again, I apologize for the intrusion. Good night.”
With long strides, Justin began escorting his errant wife toward the door. Aidan’s feet scrambled wildly to keep up with him.
“Wait!” Eugenia cried, drawing the departing couple’s attention. “Aidan, are you certain this is what you truly want?”
“Yes,” Aidan lied freely. She could say little else or she’d risk harming her friends. How, she was unable to say, for she doubted Justin Warfield would resort to physical violence. But just the same, she didn’t wish to chance it. “Don’t fret, Eugenia. I’ll be all right.”
“Lady Manley,” Justin said, his tone conciliatory, “I assure you no harm shall come to Aidan. If you know anything of my reputation, you will realize I am quite the opposite of Lord Sedgewinn. Please understand that my wife and I have some urgent matters to settle. Once done, Aidan shall be allowed to communicate with you.” With his pledges made, Justin guided his wife through the door and into the darkness.
Surrounded by the cool night air, which was not half as chilly as Justin’s mood, Aidan stared blankly at the array of buildings along the route the carriage was taking toward St. James’s Square. With her arms crossed over her youthful bosom, her heart jumping fearfully beneath, her hands rubbed along her bare flesh near her elbows. Seeing the movement, Justin leaned forward in his seat, opposite Aidan’s, and removed his coat.
“Put this around your shoulders,” he said, stretching the thing toward her. “It will keep you warm.”
Aidan’s gaze centered itself on him. “Keep it. I’m fine just as I am.”
One dark eyebrow arched. “Put it on, I say, or I shall wrap you in it myself.” Aidan cast him a rebellious glare while declining to accept it. “Of course,” he continued, a frosty smile pulling at his lips, “should you take a chill and fall gravely ill, all my problems will be solved. But I doubt very much you will enjoy lying in the grave, for that’s precisely where you might find yourself if you refuse to listen. The choice is yours.”
Aidan hesitated a brief moment, assessing him. Undoubtedly he’d be as pleased as Punch should she catch her death. Not wanting him to be relieved of his misery in a way that would only add to her own, she snatched the coat from his outstretched hand and pulled it around her shoulders, a decided mistake.
Justin’s alluring masculine scent clung to the material and floated upward, instantly stimulating her senses. Visions of their coach ride to Gretna Green filled the field of her mind, as did the remembrance of his heated kiss. Stop it! she silently admonished herself. He was a rogue, a charlatan, and an abuser of children, who wanted naught to do with her—nor she, him! She pushed the coat downward, keeping her arms covered, then glanced at Justin. “Satisfied?” she asked waspishly.
“Not until I’ve found a way to be rid of you legally. Then, and only then, will I be satisfied.”
Aidan decided not to comment on his statement, yet she wondered if he’d considered other ways to free himself of her, besides those which were deemed within the law. Probably, she concluded, knowing she’d fleetingly thought of several ways to unburden herself of him. The problem was, how not to get caught. Yet, the way fortune had been frowning upon her of late, she feared half of London would stand at her trial to bear witness against her. Murder was obviously out of the question. But she wondered if Justin had considered similar methods himself.
His cool calculating manner, coupled with his sole determination to be free of her, told her it was highly possible. Realizing it, Aidan suddenly felt very apprehensive. “Why did you come for me?” she blurted in a strident voice.
“Right now, I’m wondering that myself,” Justin replied flatly. “Until less than two hours ago, I thought you were still safely tucked away at Warfield Manor. But I soon discovered differently. Tell me,” he said almost casually, while rolling his head on his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension which had settled there, “how did you manage to escape your guards?”
As Aidan watched the taut sinew flex beneath his white shirt, she could not deny that he was a fine male specimen. Strong, lean, and muscular, he was broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, not an ounce of undesirable flesh anywhere. Nor was he corseted, as was the custom these days for fashion’s sake.
His long fingers moved over his flat belly, massaging it; then they went to his throat, removing his cravat. The scrap of white material fell across his knee; then the studs were slipped from his shirt front, halfway down his chest, exposing a mat of dark hair. Instantly Aidan wondered if he planned to disrobe completely. Unconsciously, she pulled his coat more securely around herself.
Justin emitted a sigh. “Forgive me, but I’ve been trussed up long enough. Now, madam, how did you make your escape?”
“If I told you, I’d be sharing a secret that could very well be of use to me in the future,” she retorted haughtily, not wanting to say anything which might implicate his aunt. “You’ll just have to be satisfied with the knowledge your security measures were not all they might have been.”
Justin eyed her closely, then was certain he’d found a way to break her imposed silence. “I can only assume you bribed one of my men. But since you had no money, it would seem highly improbable—unless, madam, you offered him what you had no right to give.” He paused and waited.
“And what might that be?” she asked without thinking.
Justin smiled indifferently. “That which I alone hold claim to—your own sweet body.”
Insulted, Aidan sputtered with indignation. “Why, you … you … you braying ass! How dare you suggest—”
“Ah, we’ve arrived,” Justin cut in, trying to contain his laughter. The instant the carriage had stopped, he stood and stepped down. His cravat and shirt studs held in his right hand, he offered Aidan his left. She ignored it and swept from the carriage and up the steps, stopping at the entry to Westover House.
Justin noted her stiff form and smiled to himself. For some evil reason, he enjoyed nettling her. Perhaps, he admitted, it was because she’d been part of the conspiracy to trap him. If he could not find a way to escape his marriage, then he was going to make her suffer for her transgressions. And since she’d elected to come to London, against his express wishes, her heartaches were about to begin. Indeed, he needed to teach her a lesson in obedience. And until she learned who was master, she would be made to pay—dearly.
A frown marked his brow as he wondered what exactly he was to do with her. He could lock her in her room and discard the key. But then there would be talk and innuendo. The little that he’d suffered earlier in the evening at White’s had been more than enough for anyone’s comfort. He did not wish to be the brunt of their jokes again. Blast it all! The vixen was fast becoming a thorn in his side, one he wanted to remove, and quickly. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to go about it. Short of murder, that is.
As he stepped to her side and reached around her to open the door, Justin’s hand automatically settled at Aidan’s waist to guide her through. Strangely, the act seemed quite natural to him. Then his fingers drew themselves more firmly around her middle, trying to explore more of her feminine softness, but the cumbersome material of his coat blocked his way. Suddenly she broke free of his hold, as though his caress repulsed her, and stepped into the foyer. Perplexed by his odd feelings, he decided his unexplained desires had erupted merely because she was female and he was male—nothing more.
Aidan’s eyes scanned the entry. Westover House appeared to be a miniature replica of the house at Warfield Manor, pink-veined marble flowing outward and upward. Except where Warfield Manor had a central staircase leading up into the great hall, Westover House had dual staircases, a span of a dozen feet separating them. His and hers? she wondered, knowing, whichever one he used, she’d employ the exact opposite.
“They were designed to keep the flow of guests moving whenever there was a ball,” Justin said instinctively. “Not for the purpose you have in mind.”
“Nonetheless, I believe it best we stay as far apart as possible, lest one decide to trip the other in passing.”
Justin chuckled. “Ah, I see we have a lust for blood on our mind. Whose death do you prefer, yours or mine?”
“Neither,” Aidan stated sharply, stepping away from him.
“Well, let’s see if we can make at least one journey up them without some sort of mishap.”
Justin grabbed Aidan’s hand and pulled his reluctant wife toward the stairs, his coat falling to the floor as he did so. When she refused to lift her foot, Justin swept her up into his arms and bounded up the steps, pretending to lose his grip on her twice. Frightened by the action, Aidan looped her arms around his neck, tightening them like a vise, nearly choking Justin in the process. Once they’d reached the landing, he dropped her knees and she slid against him, her feet barely touching the floor.
Pressed together as they were, their gazes instantly locked and held. For an enduring moment, violet eyes studied those of liquid silver; then Aidan noted how Justin’s wicked smile faded slowly. The arm at her waist tightened for a brief moment, drawing her closer, then suddenly withdrew. Long fingers pulled her arms away from his neck, and he stepped back. Strangely, Aidan felt an emptiness invade her.
“We survived, madam,” he said in an oddly taut voice. “I no more want your death on my conscience than you do mine. If we are wise, we shall try to work through this in whatever way the law affords us.”
Recovering from the shock of his nearness, his silvery gaze searching hers intently, Aidan whispered, “Then you believe me when I say I had no knowledge of my father’s plans to marry us—”
“I haven’t decided on that yet,” he countered abrasively, for he suddenly realized his unsteady breathing had little to do with his fast trek up the stairs. The knowledge angered him. Taking her arm, he guided her toward a lighted room just across the hall. “I have, however, concluded we shall make whatever effort it takes to divest ourselves of one another. I do not wish to be married to you. Take it as fact.”
As he deposited her in a chair opposite the large mahogany desk in his study, Aidan wondered if he thought her such a vile creature that in no manner of speaking would he be able to tolerate her. Her pride rebelled, for she knew she was quite passable in looks, she bathed and groomed herself regularly, and dressed fashionably. She even had the best of manners when she put her mind to it. Why, then, did the man seem so repulsed by her?
Apparently Justin had read her mind. “Don’t take any of this personally, Aidan,” he said as he seated himself behind his desk, “but I was quite happy with my life the way it was before we married.”
“So was I,” she countered.
“Were you?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Then explain why you didn’t marry Sedgewinn like your father planned.”
Instantly she wondered if the man was a complete imbecile. Angered that he dared ask such a thing, she lashed back, “Perhaps I should have. At least then I wouldn’t have to be sitting here listening to you.”
“If you’d like, I can drop you off at Lord Sedgewinn’s now. If we hurry, I’ll be able to have you there within the quarter-hour.”
“No!” she cried, believing he just might do it. “I don’t ever want to see that odious man again.”
Justin viewed her for a long moment. “Then don’t ever say you’d rather be linked to him than to me. I assure you I’m far more understanding than he is.” Aidan didn’t respond and he reached for the container of brandy which sat on a tray atop the smooth surface of his desk. “May I offer you some?” he asked, raising the crystal decanter for her inspection.
“I’d prefer some wine.”
“Sorry, this is all I have at the moment.”
Realizing she needed something to steady her jumpy nerves, Aidan decided the brandy was better than nothing at all. “A small amount, please.”
Justin sloshed the liquid into their glasses and handed Aidan’s over the desk to her. “To your health,” he said in way of a toast.
“And to yours,” Aidan returned, wondering if he’d meant for it to be ill or well. Lowering the glass from her salute, she put it to her lips and swallowed a dram of the amber liquid. The brandy burned its way to her stomach. Instantly she made a sour-looking face. “How can you abide this?” she asked, shaking her head. “It’s disgusting.”
“Nonetheless, it shall keep you from fidgeting in your seat,” he said, reserving a smile. “Drink the rest.”
“Never.”
“Would you like for me to assist you?”
Eyeing him, Aidan realized he would pour it down her throat if she refused to do so herself. Raising her glass, she swallowed what was left, but amazingly she found she rather enjoyed it this time around. The liquor descended smoothly, and a sensation of warmth immediately overtook her, spreading through her limbs and to her brain. The tension that had coiled itself up inside her these past several days seemed to unwind, then drain from her body. Breathing deeply, she gave off a contented sigh.
Hearing it, Justin smiled. “That’s why I ‘abide it,’ as you say,” he commented with a chuckle. He swallowed the contents of his own glass and began to refill it; Aidan’s glass slid toward his. Frowning, Justin looked at it. “Are you certain you want more?”
“Very certain,” she said, smiling.
His brow rose and his lips twitched. “As you wish.” He set her full glass in front of her and watched as she sipped thirstily. “I suggest you go easy on that. If you’re not used to it, you’ll feel like you’ve been kicked by a horse in the morning.”
Twaddle! she thought in disagreement, unable to believe that anything which made a person feel this good could possibly do one harm. “Now, you wanted to discuss our options,” she said, a serious note to her voice. “Have you considered we might seek an annulment?”
“I have,” he replied as he watched her sip her brandy anew. “In fact, I’ve already had an audience with the Queen.”
“And?” Aidan asked, interrupting, then swallowed another gulp from her glass.
“And she has denied my request.”
“Why? For heaven’s sake, can’t she understand we loathe one another?”
“Loathe?” he questioned Aidan’s term, believing the word a bit overly strong. In truth, her confession briefly stung his ego. “Apparently she sees it differently; she was quite pleased to hear we were married. She believes—in her words—’we are well-suited.’”
Aidan again took a long sip from the glass, then said, “I really think, for some reason, Vi-hic—excuse me—Victoria holds a grudge against me. Sh-hic—excuse me again. She ordered me married, and now that it’s done, she won’t li-hic—listen to an appeal. Wh-hic—what do you pro … propose we do?”
Justin chuckled and shook his head. “I propose we put you to bed.”
“You, s-hic-ir—sir, are being too for … forward. I sh-hic—shall do s-so on my ow-own. Besides, I’m m-hic—mad at you,” she said, trying her best to glare at him, but his image refused to stay in one place. In fact, she could have sworn there were two of him!
A perplexed frown settled on Justin’s brow. “Why?”
“Why? I’ll t-hic—tell you why!” Suddenly Aidan realized she’d almost let it slip about the orphans and the ring. Fortunately she still retained enough sense to catch herself before she did. She frowned. “I forget why. But I’m still mad at you.” Then, draining her glass, she aimed it for the desk, but it fell from her hand about a foot short of its destination, landing on the carpet with a thud. “Goo … good night.”
Amazed, Justin watched as she weaved up out of her chair to smooth the skirt of her dress. With a toss of her head, she turned on her heel, then teetered wildly. “I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round,” she said, giggling. “Everything’s spinning.”
Jumping from his seat, Justin caught hold of her as she toppled toward his desk; then he gently eased her across its surface. With his hand plastered to the center of Aidan’s back so she wouldn’t slip to the floor, he worked his way around until he was beside her. “An experienced drinker, I see,” he said, lifting her into his arms. He strode toward the door. “Tomorrow, madam, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
“A lie you tell,” she said, smiling, her words slurred less than they were a moment ago. She lifted her hand to brush a dark lock of hair from Justin’s brow. “You have very nice hair,” she said, the brandy having loosened her tongue. Her fingers threaded through his thick tresses. “Clean and rich. And your lashes, they’re sooo long!” She giggled again. “Men shouldn’t have such long lashes. They make a woman envious, you know.”
“And are you envious?” Justin asked, chuckling at her.
“Of you? Never … well, perhaps just a little.”
His smile widened. “Why so?”
“Because you’re a man. Men get to do anything they want, whenever they want.”
Justin started up the stairs, heading toward the floor above and the bedrooms. “I seriously doubt that, madam.”
“If I had been a man, my father would never have ordered me to marry Sedgewinn … and I wouldn’t have had to ask George to marry me—I wonder what ever happened to him. I like George, you know. He was always a gentleman, just like you’re being now. But I doubt he’s as strong as you. He pads his shoulders, you know,” she whispered in confidence, then babbled on. “You have good shoulders—broad, muscular. I thought of joining a convent, then George happened along. I even thought of joining it after I proposed —no, he proposed—whichever,” she said, frowning, confused as to who asked whom. “But Eugenia said the good sisters would probably boot me out within a week—or was it a month? Anyway, she was certain they wouldn’t be able to tolerate me for very long.”
“Eugenia may have had a point,” he said, again chuckling.
“No one likes me,” she said, suddenly becoming quite melancholy. “Not my father, not the Queen, not even my husband. Indeed, if I’d been a man, you wouldn’t be married to someone you hated,” she concluded, petulantly.
Justin smiled at her. So, he thought, certain a drunk was less likely to lie, she did intend to marry Edmonds. Therefore, she was innocent of being party to the plot that had trapped him. “I don’t hate you, Aidan. I simply don’t wish to be married to you. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Am I that ugly?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
“No, sweet,” he said, taking pity on her, for he knew if she remembered any of this tomorrow, she’d be more than just a bit embarrassed by what she was saying. “Shocked” would be a better term, but he still thought the word too mild. “You are far from ugly.” He strode through his bedroom door, Pitkin having left a lamp burning within; then he set his heel to it, kicking it shut. None of the other rooms were made up, and he didn’t wish to rouse the house to do so. Carrying her to his bed, he sat her on its edge.
“Then what am I?” Aidan asked.
“You are a very beautiful woman,” he stated, his eyes grazing over her upturned face, his hand still steadying her. “In fact, you’re one of the most beautiful I’ve ever beheld.”
Aidan smiled. “And you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever beheld. Too handsome—and arrogant as well.”
“I agree on both points. Now, will you be able to take care of yourself?”
“Certainly. Why shouldn’t I?”
Justin released his hold, and Aidan immediately slid from the mattress with a plop. “That’s why,” he said, lifting her upward from the floor. “Never in my life have I seen anyone become so inebriated in such a short time.”
“I’m not inebri … inebri—whatever you said.”
“Try ‘tight.’”
“Tight,” she repeated. “I’m not tight. In fact, I feel very loose.” She lifted her arm, showing him how it dropped to her side. “See, it won’t stay up.”
“Obviously, neither will you.” He leaned her against the bedpost, angling his hips to hers to keep her there, and began unbuttoning her dress.
“You’re putting me to bed, just like the night at the inn,” she stated, her cheek stuck to the cool wood of the upright post, her arms dangling at her sides. “That’s so considerate of you.”
As Justin released the last button, he pulled Aidan back against him, then slipped her dress down her arms. “I had less trouble on the particular night in question, madam. Henceforth, you shall be limited to one glass of wine at supper.”
“I’m not inebri … tight,” she insisted.
“Sorry, love, but you are indeed that.”
“I am not. You’re simply getting rusty.”
“Rusty?” he questioned.
“Yes. You’ve forgotten how to remove a woman’s clothing.”
“And what gives you cause to think I make a habit of doing so on a regular basis?”
“Everyone knows you do,” she said, frowning at him over her shoulder. “They all talk about you, you know.”
“And what else do they have to say?” he questioned as he loosened her corset strings.
She smiled conspiratorially. “They say you are the best lover in all of England.”
Justin threw back his head and laughed. “They do, do they?”
“Yes. But I doubt there’s any substance to the rumors.”
He released the corset, then pulled it, her dress, and her numerous petticoats down her legs to the floor, leaving her in her chemise and drawers. Lifting her slight form into his arms, he kicked the garments aside. “What they say, Aidan, is mostly that—rumor. Don’t take any of it to heart,” he told her as he laid her on his bed, extracting the covers from under her. He quickly whisked them up to her neck, secreting her soft form from his eyes. “I’m not unfamiliar with a woman’s body, but at the same time, I’ve not explored the scores and scores the gossips like to imply. If I had, I’d most likely be dead,” he said, smiling. “No man could survive, I assure you.”
As Aidan’s head rested on the pillow where Justin had once imagined it to be, he noted her hair was still coiled in its intricate style. He wanted to release the coppery tresses and feel their silky texture, letting them glide through his hands. Lightly edging his hip onto the mattress, he pulled the pins free, then threaded his fingers through the lustrous strands and gently raked them outward, as though they were a brush.
His actions were quite soothing to Aidan, and she moaned contentedly. “That feels wonderful,” she whispered, and moved closer to his magical hands as they massaged her scalp.
The covers slipped down as she did so, and Justin’s gaze took in her beauty. Eyes closed, her lips softly parted, the tops of her youthful breasts exposed for his hungry gaze to devour at will, she appeared content to allow his touch. To his masculine eye, she seemed like a virginal sacrifice, offering herself freely.
Hot desire suddenly shot through him, and he fought to tame his raging passion. It would be so easy to take advantage of her, he knew, especially when the brandy had released her inhibitions, relaxed her guard. Rightfully she was his to do with as he wished, and a few softly spoken words of endearment, coupled with several heated kisses, would have her turning in his arms, pleading for more. Although his body desired her, wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting any woman before, he did not want to be chained to her emotionally.
Knowing it was so, Justin freed his hands from Aidan’s hair. “Get some sleep,” he said in a husky whisper, and Aidan’s eyes opened slowly to see him leaning over her. Rings of dark amethyst surrounded ebony pools, and Justin felt as though he were drowning in them. “If you should start to feel ill,” he said, almost certain she would, “I’ll be here in the corner the night through.”
Aidan’s hand lifted and her finger lightly traced over his lips. “Thank you,” she said dreamily. “I shall remember.” Then her hand slipped behind his head. “I imagine you would be a good lover,” she said, smiling, “but then, I shall never know. I’m merely your unwanted wife.” She drew his head down. “Good night,” she said, innocently offering her lips.
So intoxicating, Justin thought of her beauty, of her naiveté, and smiled. And so totally intoxicated. His gaze traveled to her inviting lips, and he remembered his harsh words, words said in extreme anger, telling her he’d never touch her mouth again. A foolish statement, he decided as he checked his masculine desires and briefly, tenderly pressed his mouth to hers. Then the tip of Aidan’s tongue trailed lightly over his lips and he felt his resolve to keep himself at bay tearing itself apart.
“Don’t, sweet,” he whispered as he tried to release her hand from his neck, but she held fast. “You have no idea what risk you’re taking … what could happen.”
“Kiss me,” she pleaded, her fingers threading upward through his hair. Had she not been under the influence of the brandy, Aidan would never have uttered those words, but as it was, her reserve had fled, and she wanted more of him. She cared not what the consequences might be. “Please?”
At the soft plea, Justin’s restraint snapped, and like a starving man, he emitted a famished groan, lowered his head, and ravenously partook of the bountiful feast before him.
As Justin’s mouth hungrily devoured hers, Aidan’s senses took flight. She felt as though she were suddenly drifting high above the bed, circling the room, like a wildly spinning kite caught on a draft of air, lifted upward, then pushed downward. Her heart soared beyond its bounds, dizzily, crazily, until it seemed to sweep her to the edge of oblivion.
In turn, as his eager lips traversed Aidan’s, Justin’s own senses were sailing free. But whereas she felt as though she were flying, he felt like he’d plunged into a turbulent sea. Great rolling waves of desire washed over him, pulling him downward into a roiling eddy, whirling him into a dangerous maelstrom of no return. His tongue plunged the depths of her mouth. Deeper and deeper he sank, drawing what life he could from her, needing it to replenish his own. Then he was certain he was drowning in her, and he dragged his mouth aside.
“Something’s happening, sweet,” he breathed on a rasp of air. “Something I can’t control.” Then, knowing he had to somehow stop this madness before it consumed them both, he drew back. His desire-filled gaze lightly raked over his wife’s tranquil features, and immediately he realized she had fallen asleep.
Inhaling deeply, he expelled a long arduous breath as he fought to master his wildly raging passion; then a derisive laugh escaped his lips. Whether she’d swooned from his kisses or had passed out from the drink, he’d never know. No doubt it had been a combination of both, he decided, shaking his head and tucking the covers around her. But, thankfully, she had done so when she had. Otherwise there was no telling what might have happened. He snorted at the thought, for he knew precisely what the end result would have been. But for a stroke of luck, he’d be doomed.
Rising from the bed, Justin strode to the chair which stood in the corner. He sank into it and stretched his long legs outward, his arms crossed over his chest. Surveying the gold-and-white decor of his room, then the small form nestled in his bed, he pondered the powerful emotions that had seized him only moments before. For hours he sat there, thinking on what it had all meant, never finding an answer—except that something inside him had tripped close to his heart, like a key turning in a rusty lock. And he feared what would pour forth if he gave her the chance to open the door completely.
Fool! he vehemently admonished himself. He needed no one, least of all the violet-eyed vixen who’d stolen her way into his life. But as he tried to reinforce that thought, a thousand arguments bursting forth in his mind to prove his case, he found only one that said he was wrong. And she lay in his bed, swaddled deep in its covers, like an innocently sleeping babe: his sweet, alluring, unwanted wife—Aidan.