Samantha James (10 page)

She stared out into the night until her eyes began to blur. Visions of the Gypsy filled her mind. She shuddered, willing them away.

Beware the dark. Beware the night.

She should work. But she needed to walk, to gather her scrambled thoughts together in some semblance of order that she might.

But she couldn’t. Not tonight. Resentment rose like a tide inside her. She hated feeling so confined. Almost stifled.

Most of all she hated feeling as if…as if the night was no longer her own.

Beware the dark. Beware the night.

For it haunted her, that warning. Raven and Rowan would have to wait, she realized. Her shoulders slumped. She stepped away from the window.

And she did something she had never done before, not once in her life.

Throughout the night, she slept with the bedside lamp burning low.

At home once more, Aidan strode into his study. Sinking into the chair nearest the fire, he released the studs of his collar, unbuttoned his shirt, and stared at the play of the fire.

Christ, he was still burning inside, his veins blistering with desire.

Did the chit have any idea of the way she turned him completely upside down? And him! What a fool he was! What on earth had possessed him to think a mere kiss with the lady might satisfy him? A kiss!

He wanted more. Much more. He wanted Miss Fionna Hawkes beneath him, around him, above
him, her slim, naked limbs twined with his. He ached with the need to feel himself rooted deep and hard, all the way to her womb.

He would be satisfied with nothing less.

I want you, Fionna Hawkes. And by heaven, I will have you.

And now she knew it too.

Well, he thought with a self-derisive smile, so much for subtle finesse.

He had the feeling he’d rattled his little miss right down to the very tips of her toes.

He’d told himself she couldn’t be stormed.

But that was exactly how Aidan felt.

Did she have any idea of the way she tempted him? How much she stirred him? How she tasted like rain upon dry, parched earth—God, he could still taste her! What sweet, delicious torture it was to kiss her. To taste every sleek little hollow of her mouth, every damp, tiny crevice of her tongue, and touch her nowhere but her lips.

Yet he didn’t regret it. Not for an instant.

The reward was too great. Feeling her trapped against him, the sweet, hungry clinging of her lips no less than his, the surging rise of hot, innocent passion…

It was like dying and being reborn.

He’d convinced himself he knew the meaning of discipline, understood each and every boundary. He’d wanted her breathless and waiting and wanting. Yet when she had reached for him, stretched herself up to wind slender arms around
his neck, for one perilous instant, he didn’t think he could stop her.

His limits had nearly burst. The explosion of desire inside him nearly pushed him over the edge.

All that stopped him was tasting the truth of her desire in her lips—the truth of a desire that met and equaled his.

Unfortunately, the lady had already warned him he’d not find such welcome again! Her will was as strong as his. He disliked the possibility that she might choose to deny him again—even worse, that she probably would.

But that wasn’t the only thing on Aidan’s mind. Fionna’s reaction to the Gypsy bothered him. Though she tried to hide it, she had been frightened. Why? A woman’s reaction?

No. No. For one, Fionna wasn’t just any woman. She was certainly not a timid mouse to cry and weep at anything she might fear.

He sought to assure himself that such a warning might prey on anyone.

There was no question—oh, she’d tried to pretend otherwise, but Aidan was quite certain Fionna had been well and truly shaken.

He also disliked the fact that she walked alone at night. He’d stopped her for tonight, but she was right. Who was he to interfere with her life. She had every right to go where she wanted, wherever she wanted.

A faint bitterness crept inside him. Perhaps it was good that she was independent. He didn’t want anyone looking to him for guidance, for protection. Not anymore…

After all, he might well fail her, too…

But she was still very much on his mind later that evening when Alec strolled into his drawing room. On the side table, he dropped a satchel.

Aidan raised his brows curiously.

“My set of
Monthly Chronicles
,” Alec said. “The ones with
Demon of Dartmoor
by F.J. Sparrow.”

Aidan rolled his eyes. “You’ll hound me until I’ve read every damned one of his books, won’t you?”

Alec gave a low chuckle. “Whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

They settled in with cigars and whisky. There was a bit of small talk, then Alec suddenly frowned.

“You are preoccupied,” he stated bluntly.

Aidan stretched out a booted leg. “I simply have matters of concern on my mind.”

“Clearly.” Unsmiling, Alec reached for his glass. “What matters of concern?”

“Things you need not know about, Your Grace.”

Dark brows drew together. Alec scoured Aidan’s features. “Pride be damned, Aidan! I know your secrets and I don’t give a damn. You’re my brother. You did what had to be done. I simply
want to assure you that you should never hesitate if you feel the need to discuss—”

“Alec, I told you. It’s not that.”

“What then?” Alec leaned forward, studying Aidan, his glass suspended halfway to his lips. All at once he lowered it slowly.

“Dammit, tell me! What is the reason for this black mood?”

Aidan shot him a withering glance. “My mood is not black. I’m merely pondering.”

“Pondering what?”

“Lord, but you are a nag,” Aidan muttered.

“Retribution,” was all Alec would say.

“Very well then. There is a woman on my mind, if you must know.” Aidan twisted the glowing end of his cigar into his ashtray. “You do recall advising me that a pair of tender arms might offer contentment for my troubles.”

“And now this woman plagues you? Has she disdained you then?”

Aidan briefly lifted his eyes heavenward. “Am I a monster then? There are many who say I look like you, you know. And if I chose to take your advice, well, then, why do you look at me so? Is it so improbable that I should be interested in a woman?”

Alec released a laugh. “Interested? Interested hardly warrants such worry on your part. And you’re growling at me!” Leisurely Alec crossed his legs and studied his brother. Lean fingers curled with unstudied ease around the crystal
glass; the one that held the cigar rested lightly on his knee.

Aidan’s mouth compressed. “I am not growling!”

“Very well then. I will not debate the point.” Alec continued to regard his brother, a faint smile on his lips. All at once he broke into a laugh. “But since we’ve established that this has to do with a woman, well, if I had to guess, I should say that you are enamored.”

Aidan said nothing, merely raised his glass to his lips. “Sheer speculation,” he stated coolly.

Alec chuckled. “I’m worrying for nothing then. She is a coquette, eh?”

Aidan didn’t hide his annoyance. “She is definitely not a coquette. She is a lady, through and through.”

Alec grinned. “Ah, and therein lies the problem, methinks. The lady has disdained you, hasn’t she? She fails to return your ardor.”

Aidan glared. “Alec, have I ever told you that there are times you should keep your opinions to yourself?”

“Never,” Alec said smoothly. “And before you say that I should, let me say this: there are remedies when a woman proves reluctant, shall we say. And I happen to know an immensely charming, willing lady who specializes in, let us say…unburdening a man’s distress…”

“My, but you are the expert when it comes to the female sex, are you not?”

“Expert, connoisseur, yes, I claim them all.”

Alec blew a puff of smoke into the air. “Modest tonight, aren’t we?”

“Cease your complaining, Aidan. Now, as I said—”

“It’s not a mistress or a courtesan I need or want,” Aidan stated bluntly. “I already know a woman who could without doubt ease my distress. Now, please cease your prying, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace! Oh, my, Aidan, this is serious!” teased Alec. “And you fool no one, least of all me. I understand perfectly well the reason for your moodiness. I assure you, you’re hardly the first man to be rebuffed—”

“Alec, did you hear me say I had been rebuffed?”

“Ah, my apologies,” Alec said glibly. “Dare I presume then that the lady is proving herself a trifle…difficult?”

“Did I say she was difficult? I don’t believe I did,” Aidan returned gruffly. He mulled. “Though I admit that may well prove the case.”

Alec grinned. “Console yourself, then. There’s no fun to it when a woman falls plumb into your hand.”

Hardly a chance of that
, Aidan decided.

Alec, in the meantime, continued, “You’ve never been one to waste a moment of life, have you, Aidan? You’ve been home…what? A mere
three months? And already you’ve been captivated. Honestly, that truly surprises me. Will you at least tell me the identity of this woman who has taken your fancy?”

Aidan set aside his glass. “Alec, you are a gossip. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No one but you.” Alec grinned.

Aidan glowered. “You do this only to torment me.”

“I fear I cannot deny it,” Alec said lightly.

“Need I remind you that you are nearly three-and-thirty, and—as far as I know—have never even come close to choosing a bride.”

“What of it? I am of the belief that I will know I am ready when my future bride makes her appearance. Thus far in my life, she has not.”

“Well, I am glad you find this so very amusing. I only hope that one day this lady leads you a heartily merry chase, and then I shall be the one to laugh.”

“Oh, but you are cruel to wish me thus!” said Alec. “But you mistake my intent, Aidan. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“You?” Aidan snorted. “How?”

“Well, you will recall I am hosting a dinner party the end of next week.”

“A dinner party?” Aidan frowned, his expression blank.

Alec sighed. “I sent you the invitation several weeks ago, Aidan. But clearly you have other
things to occupy your mind—things other than an engagement with your brother, the rest of your family, and a few friends.”

Aidan glared. “You needn’t insinuate I am feebleminded.”

“Nothing of the sort, man. I’m simply curious as to the name of this woman.”

Aidan regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Her name is Fionna Hawkes. She has the bookshop across the street on the corner. Why?”

Alec’s smile widened. “You shall see soon enough, Aidan. You shall see.”

He and Alec enjoyed another whisky and cigar. By the time he saw Alec to the door, his moody demeanor was gone.

Whistling a little, he returned to the drawing room and his favorite chair. His gaze chanced to alight on the books he’d bought at Fionna’s shop—
Satan’s Path
and
Howls at Midnight
. He’d yet to read a single page.

He bent and picked up
Satan’s Path
. Weighing the leather-bound book in one hand, he fanned the pages with the other, then sighed and lowered himself onto the chair, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle.

Perhaps Alec was right, he decided. Perhaps it was time he became acquainted with F.J. Sparrow.

The following morning, a glance at the clock sent Fionna scampering down the stairs to open the shop. She was late, by nearly ten minutes, a rare occurrence. Usually she turned the sign to
OPEN
promptly at ten o’clock.

Five minutes later, she heard a knock. From behind the counter, she glanced up. What was this? Her patrons seldom knocked.

Her step light, she hurried across the floor. From the corner of her eye, she spied a glossy
black coach, the doors trimmed with bright blue and red. What the devil…?

The door squeaked as she opened it. On the threshold stood a blue-and-red-liveried footman.

“Miss Hawkes?”

Fionna nodded.

The man gave a bow. He held out a small silver tray; in the center was a small ivory envelope.

Dumbfounded, Fionna stared at it, glanced at the coach, then back at the tray.

The man bowed again. “For you, Miss Hawkes,” he said with a thick Scottish burr.

Fionna lifted it gingerly.

The footman grinned and tipped his hat. “Good day, miss.”

“Good day to you, too, sir.”

Fionna closed the door slowly, still staring at the envelope. The oddest notion fluttered through her mind.
No
, she thought vaguely. It couldn’t possibly be…She broke the seal and read:

The pleasure of your company

is requested at a dinner party

to be given by His Grace,

Duke of Gleneden,

at eight o’clock, 29 January 1852.

She was still rather stupefied when she finally lifted her head. A man was strolling directly across from the shop. She knew that carelessly fluid pace,
that jauntily perched top hat, the rhythmic swing of his walking stick.

Before she knew what she was about, she threw open the shop door and hailed him. “Aidan!
Aidan!
”

He came to a halt and glanced over. Too late Fionna saw Mrs. Chalmers coming down her steps, her wiry gray hair tucked beneath a frilly woolen bonnet, her rotund body hidden beneath a voluminous cloak. At her feet were her two little terriers, yapping shrilly and tugging madly at their leads—and tugging Mrs. Chalmers along with them.

But not before Fionna saw the woman’s little cherry mouth form a startled little “o.”

Fionna groaned. Wonderful. Now surely all the neighbors would know that she was on a familiar basis with Lord Aidan McBride. It spun through her mind that Mrs. Chalmers’s little creatures were as noisy as their mistress was nosy.

The woman gave a wave to Fionna and Aidan. She saw Aidan toss out a greeting to the woman. He stopped to chat a moment with her—no doubt the woman was all agog. But thankfully, it wasn’t long before Mrs. Chalmers turned, her dogs leading the way.

Aidan watched until she was around the corner, then ventured across the street toward the shop.

Fionna had ducked back inside. If she could have recanted her outburst, she would have. Now
she had no choice but to admit him entrance.

“Well,” Aidan teased as he stepped inside, “miracles do indeed occur. I am honored that you seek me out.”

Fionna waved the invitation madly. “This—this,” she sputtered, “is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Begging your pardon, Fionna, but I haven’t the foggiest notion what you mean.” He doffed his hat and laid it on the counter, along with the umbrella and gloves, then plucked the card from her hand and read. His brows shot high.

“So Alec has invited you to his dinner party.”

Fionna was still sputtering. “That’s all you have to say? How the devil does your brother even know that I exist?”

“I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that he visited last night. A pity Mrs. Chalmers was not out to see him call on me,” he added blithely.

Fionna merely glared at him heatedly.

His tone was as bland as his expression. “You’ll attend, won’t you?”

“I will not!”

“What, sweet? You’ve nothing to wear?” He took out his looking glass, appraising her from head to toe. Fionna went hot all over. “I should enjoy helping you choose a gown. Or if you like, I’m certain my cousin Caro or my sister Annie would be happy to assist you.”

“I am not a country bumpkin, Aidan McBride.
I’m perfectly aware of the proper attire and the proper behavior.”

His smile faded. “I do not imply that you would not,” he said quietly.

“Aidan! I simply cannot go!”

“Give me one reason why not, Fionna.”

“I…I…” She floundered. She, the woman who made her living as F.J. Sparrow, who had never lacked for words before, who prided herself for her eloquence! Why, then, did words elude her now?

The light was back in his eyes, eyes so blue they made her melt inside. “You cannot snub a duke, my lovely. It just isn’t done.”

Must he sound so cheerful? So sensible? And how did he always manage to make her feel like mush inside and out?

“Come,” he said softly.

His tone made her heart turn upside down. Their eyes held. Fionna swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his. She was trembling inside. This was madness. She had allowed him far too close already.

“Very well then. I
dare
you to attend. I
challenge
you to attend.”

“That is not fair!” Her protest could have been no more vehement. Damn him! He knew that she would not back down from a challenge.

“I will use whatever means are at my disposal in order to convince you,” he said with a shrug of
indolent ease. He paused, as if to consider. “Ah, I have it! Perhaps I should kidnap you, Fionna. Oh, but I fear that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? If I should spirit you away, neither of us would be able to attend Alec’s affair. If I should kidnap you, why, we would not be seen for many days and many nights.” His expression turned almost smoldering. “I admit, though, I find the prospect quite fascinating. I’d take you to Gleneden, I think, where we would be far, far away from everyone. Hmmm…Alec and my mother are here in London. We would be quite alone, you and I. Or perhaps we could go where no one would find us…”

Fionna caught her breath. The image conjured up by the mere suggestion of being totally alone with Aidan made heat fan wide in her belly, the points of her breasts swell and stab hard and tall into her chemise. She suppressed the urge to clamp her arms across her chest to banish the tingle of sensation that flashed like lightning.

“I can think of many things the two of us could do…alone, with no else watching. With no one else near. With no one else the wiser.”

“Aidan.” Shakily, she spoke his name.

“So, my sweet. What do you think? Is it off to Gleneden? Or off to Alec’s dinner party?” He paused, then went on. “Damn,” he said with a sigh, “but I suppose it must be Alec’s dinner party. Otherwise, we should cause quite the scandal. What do you say?”

Aidan’s voice seemed to come through a fog. Fionna was still imagining what it would be like to be alone with such a man. She’d never allowed herself to think what it might be like to be with a man in that manner. But now she did. To make love with Aidan, to lie naked and warm against him…all of him…oh, Lord, but this was getting quite out of hand!

“It’s a simple enough request, Fionna. Will you attend with me?”

“Aidan—” Helplessly she spoke his name.

His eyes darkened. “Please, Fionna,” he said in that tone that made her insides quiver and heat rush like a tide all through her body. “You will prick me sorely if you don’t.”

He caught at her hand. “It’s nothing terribly formal. My family. A few friends.”

As he spoke, he rubbed his thumb up and down the skin inside her wrist, back and forth, back and forth. He was wooing her. Soothing her with his voice. Seducing her with his touch. Swaying her with tenderness.

“If I go,” she heard herself whisper, “you must promise to be a gentleman.”

“It’s a dinner party,” he said with a faint laugh. “I can hardly ravish you in front of friends and family.”

Fionna bit her lip. “There! You see? You shouldn’t say such things as ravishing me or running off to Gleneden. You shouldn’t even think such things. You certainly shouldn’t say them!”

“I do not see the harm in it. There are only the two of us here. And I ask—when have I ever been anything but gentlemanly?”

Fionna blinked, then tugged her hand away. “And what of last night? You know what you did. Or have you forgotten so quickly?” She felt her cheeks go scalding, just thinking of it.

She should have known! Beneath his polished exterior lurked the heart of a rogue. His slow-growing smile was utterly wicked. “I forget nothing, my dear Fionna. In fact, quite the opposite. I know precisely what I did, what we did. We kissed. No more. Indeed, I believe you should be aware I exercised a great deal of restraint, for it was but a hint of all I long for—”

Fionna threw up both hands. “Stop! Cease! This is precisely what I mean! Aidan, if I agree to attend your brother’s dinner party…You must promise. You must promise your behavior will be impeccable.”

“Agreed. But I will exact a promise in return.”

The statement sent warning bells clanging through her breast. Her guard went up immediately.

“You must promise not to set your cap for Alec.” He laid his hand over his heart. “If you did, you would deal me a mortal wound.”

It appeared she worried for nothing. Releasing a sigh, she struggled to frown. Impossible! His seductive charm—that devilish smile that made
her heart pound and her senses swim—was irresistible.

“Is it a promise, sweet?”

“Y-es.”

He cocked a brow. “That didn’t sound particularly convincing.”

“Yes, then. Yes!”

His eyes sparked. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips once more.

“And I promise you a night you’ll never forget.
Adieu
, my love.”

Precisely at three o’clock, Fionna flipped the sign to
CLOSED
. Within minutes, she walked up the cobbled walkway that led to the asylum.

Inside, her mother sat where she usually sat—in the middle of the sofa.

“Hello, Mama!” Fionna spared no gaiety in her greeting to her mother. Her chest burned when Mama said nothing. Her eyes merely followed her as Fionna sat beside her.

She enfolded her mother’s hand tight within hers. Lord, but she was more feeble with each and every visit! Her skin was like parchment; so frail was she that Fionna feared that with the slightest pressure of her fingers, the bones of her mother’s hands might surely snap.

Despair dragged at her heart, heavy as the weight of the earth and all in it. Was there nothing they could do? She must speak with Dr. Colson—
again. Yet what was the use? Inwardly she raged. She was well aware of what he would say—that these things took time, sometimes months, before there was any sign of improvement.

She began to fear Time.

Fionna longed for just one sign—
any
sign—for then she might take hope. Then she might take heart.

As it was, she felt naught but helplessness. Hopelessness.

For Fionna, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

“Mama,” she cajoled. “Nurse says you barely eat. Can you try, dearest? For me?”

Her mother regarded her vaguely.

Fionna slipped a small tin from her bag. “Look, Mama. I’ve brought you some of those ginger biscuits you love. They’re your favorite, remember? You always said no one could bake better ginger biscuits than I.”

Her mother still stared at her, her features without expression.

Fionna tried again. “Please, Mama. Try just one.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Then you can tell me if I’ve lost my touch.”

Her mother turned her eyes aside. She tugged her hand free.

Fionna refused to give up. “I’m going to a party next week, Mama. At the Duke of Gleneden’s London town house. Can you imagine, a duke?” She laughed. “I haven’t met him yet—I won’t
until then—but his brother…you’d like Aidan, I think.”

Despite her mother’s silence, Fionna continued. “Do you remember the year we went to Sir Archibald’s party? You and Papa danced until you declared your feet would surely fall off.” Fionna smiled wistfully. “You so loved dancing and singing and music.”

Her mother stared at her with dull eyes. “Essie?” she whispered, her voice so paper-thin Fionna almost had to strain to hear.

Essie was her mother’s sister. Dead for at least ten years. Fionna wanted to cry aloud. Instead she pressed her mother’s hand against her cheek. “No, Mama, I’m not Essie. I’m Fionna. Your daughter, Mama. Your daughter Fionna.”

“You look so young, Essie. And I’m so old.” Her voice trailed away.

Fionna tried again. “Listen to me, Mama. I’m not Essie. Essie is not here—”

Her mother’s face crumpled. “Essie!” she cried. “You’re not Essie? Where is she? I want Essie! And where is William? He did not come to tea today. Only on Fridays. Otherwise, he forgets,” she fretted, “and I miss him so dreadfully! I’ve scolded him soundly, but it does no use. Still he does not come…” She began to cry. “Is he angry at me? Is everyone angry?”

“Mama, please do not cry! No one is angry. Look at me, Mama. I am here. I will always be here!”

But when at last Mama raised her head, Fionna knew then that she was gone. Her tears had dried, but she had retreated to that place so far, far away. That place where nothing or no one could reach her.

Not even her daughter.

And then it was Fionna who wept. She who felt so very, very lost and alone. She dashed the tears away so that no one would see as she left Mama’s room.

Several blocks away, she passed a group of well-dressed men and women standing in front of a hotel. They spoke among themselves. Even before Fionna passed by, she was aware of sharp disapproval, though they were not overly vociferous. They kept glancing over their shoulders.

Bits and pieces of their conversation drifted on the air. Fionna could not help but hear.

“We must speak to the clerk immediately, Bartholomew,” clucked a buxom woman. “I refuse to stay in this establishment another night. I did not come here to be exposed to this! Why, he is demented! Deranged!”

Fionna glanced up sharply. On the opposite corner stood a man. His clothing was torn and ragged. He wore neither coat nor hat. “It’s doomed we are! All of us, doomed!” he was crying. A gentleman strode by, stepping into the street to avoid him. “Can you not see them, the Romans with their swords and spears? We must hide, all of us. Everyone must hide!”