“But he didn’t lose, Father,” Rosalinde complained after the last guest straggled away from Lady Chudderley’s party. “He’s getting exactly what he wants. Lord Stonemere knows we’d decline a direct invitation to his home. Anyone in Society would.”
“The girl’s right, Loromer,” Lady Chudderley chimed in. She gloried in browbeating Rosalinde’s father whenever she could. Heaven had blessed her with no sons of her own to reprove, so her only nephew had to do. “And now Lord Stonemere’s managed to trick you and the viscount and his poor cousin into a fortnight in his company.”
“And our families. Don’t forget that.” Mr. Burke’s face flushed red with irritation. “If you don’t like the gentleman, why in blazes did you invite him here in the first place?”
“That’s neither here nor there. Joining in a house party implies a far closer relationship than a chance invitation to attend a large rout.” Lady Chudderley pursed her lips as if she’d swallowed a bite of herring that had turned. “Besides, it’s never a question of whether one likes someone or not. Spending time in another’s company is first and foremost about whether the association is a proper one.”
“Then why invite him to your soiree if he’s not fit company?” Mr. Burke’s point was small, but it was the only one he had in the argument, so he worried it like a terrier after a rat.
Rosalinde knew perfectly well why her great-aunt had invited Aidan. He’d charmed her, as neatly as the serpent had deceived Eve in the garden. He’d charmed her great-aunt because it was what he did as easily as breathing.
But Rosalinde was determined not to succumb to that charm again.
“The fact is you’ve obligated this family to an unwholesome outing. For a fortnight, no less.” Her great-aunt shook a bony finger at her father. “And I’d like to know what you intend to do about it.”
“I intend,” Father said testily, “to shoot a brace of pheasant and catch a stringer of trout. And the two of you will accompany me and, damn it all, we’ll have a jolly time of it too, and that’s that.”
Lady Chudderley made a ‘tsking’ sound. “Mind your language, Loromer.”
“Bother my language.” He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Hang it all, I don’t see that there’s a way around it. We have to go. If a man has debts of honor, it’s incumbent on his creditors to allow him to make his markers good.”
“Debts of honor, eh? There’s a fanciful term for gambling losses,” Lady Chudderley said, one gray brow arched. “Well, at least you’ve turned the conversation to a subject with which you’re well acquainted.”
Rosalinde rolled her eyes heavenward and made good her escape. Once her father and great-aunt began wrangling about his gambling debts, the argument might continue for hours.
When she reached her chamber, she found her maid Katie nodding on a chair near the fireplace. The door latch clicked behind her and the girl roused with far more cheer than the late hour warranted.
“There y’are, miss.” Katie hopped up and skittered over to help Rosalinde out of the plum gown. “Was it a nice party? Did you have a loverly time, then? Me and Gus, we heard the music from downstairs and took a few turns of our own in the scullery. Right sprightly we was too. You wouldn’t think it to look on him, what with him being such a big strapping fellow, but my Gus is fair light on his feet.”
The restful thing about having Katie as her maid was that Rosalinde was rarely required to add anything to a conversation with her. Katie was perfectly capable of keeping up both sides with no apparent effort.
“Will you be wanting me to brush out your hair?” Katie asked after she stowed the gown in its place and helped Rosalinde out of her corset and petticoats and into her lacy nightshift. “My Gus loves to brush my hair.”
“No, I’ll manage,” Rosalinde said, before Katie could launch into a description of the other things her Gus loved. The little maid had married the tall, well-favored footman last March and to hear Katie talk, one would think marital bliss hadn’t been invented before they tied the knot. Rosalinde’s body was already achy and restless, already keyed up enough without a whispered recital of her maid’s bedtime activities. “Go on, Kate. I’ve kept you up late enough as it is.”
“Aren’t you kind?” Katie said, stifling a yawn as she shuffled to the door. “G’night then, miss.”
Rosalinde pulled out the pins holding her coiffure in place and shook her hair loose with one hand. Then she began brushing the long strands, working out the worst of the tangles with her fingers.
She glanced toward the window.
Since she was on the upper story of her great-aunt’s townhome, and her property backed onto St. James Park, it was unlikely anyone could see in to spy on her. But she turned down the gas lamp, just in case. She usually sneaked a bit of Shakespeare before bed, but after the way Aidan had stirred up her belly, she didn’t think she could bear any more
Romeo and Juliet
this night, lest the dull ache of emptiness never let her sleep.
“Leave your window open.”
She could almost hear Aidan’s voice in her mind.
As if she was fool enough to do that again. What sort of round-heeled ninny did he take her for?
She wandered to the window, still stroking her hair absently. The Season was nearly over and many families were preparing to leave the growing heat of London for the coolness of their country homes. Her bedchamber was certainly warm enough to justify opening the window a crack in hope of a breath of breeze. By day, London was becoming a sweltering miasma of unhealthy smells. When the stars came out, they seemed to chase away the worst of the stale fug.
“Just for a bit of cool night,” she murmured as she unlocked the casement and pushed up the sash. Besides, it was a good thirty feet to the garden below. No harm in opening the window a bit.
She leaned out and surveyed the neatly trimmed hedges and immaculate flowerbeds, awash in shades of gray. The patter of the garden fountain floated up to her. Rosalinde made out the cobbled footpath snaking through the small space, the vine-covered arbor and the settee near the roses. From this angle, no one could hide from her gaze.
Aidan was nowhere to be seen.
“What did you expect?” she grumbled to herself as she straightened and paced away from the window.
He had no intention of coming to her. Aidan might have shinnied up the exterior of the commissioner’s house, but her great-aunt’s smooth-walled townhome offered no finger-or toeholds to a midnight climber.
Was it a test of some sort? Was he watching from the deeper shadows somewhere simply to see if she’d open the window at his bidding?
She reached to close it, but as she did, a rope dropped from above and dangled before her. As she watched, open-mouthed, Aidan climbed down the rope, hand-over-hand, one leg hitched around the cord, until he was level with her sill. He cocked his head and shot her a wicked grin.
“Well, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’ll have to step back a bit if ye intend to invite me in.”
Chapter 4
Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
—S
HAKESPEARE
,
Romeo and Juliet
S
he planted her fists on the sill and leaned out till she was nearly nose-to-nose with him. “I’m not inviting you in.”
“D’ye think your reputation will be better served by me hanging outside your window where anyone might see me?” He turned a half circle, but stuck out his foot to stop the rotation so he remained facing her. The muscles in his upper arms strained the seams of his shirt with their rock-hard bulges.
“Since when are you concerned for my reputation?” she hissed.
“Everything about ye concerns me, lass.” He let go of the rope with one hand so he could tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Ye should know that by now.”
She caught herself leaning into his touch and jerked back with a snort, knocking her crown on the window sash. She rubbed her head with one hand and reached to close the window with the other. “Go away.”
Aidan grasped the sash, refusing to let her close it. “Not until we’ve had a chance to talk and I hardly think this is the place for it.”
“Really? Then might I suggest that civilized people send round their cards to announce their intent to visit and then come calling during their hostess’s ‘at home’ hours. It sounds like lunacy, I know, but people make it work.”
“I didn’t figure you for anything so dull, Rose,” he said. “Do you really want me to do that so we can sit in Lady Chudderley’s parlor and talk about the weather and you can serve me cucumbers on stale bread?”
“No, so I can arrange not to be at home when you come.”
“Are ye trying to tell me ye don’t want to see me?”
“Very good, Aidan,” she said dryly. “That wasn’t such a long walk, was it?”
Aidan shook his head. “Then why did ye open your window at all?”
She had no answer. Even to herself, the idea of washing the stuffiness of her room with the unwholesome air of London seemed thin.
“I’ll tell ye why.” He grasped the window sill more firmly and pulled himself close. “We’ve unfinished business, we two. And neither of us will rest until it’s settled. If ye don’t let me in this night, ye know I’ll only be back on the morrow.”
Rosalinde stepped away from the window, her heart thumping out a brisk tattoo. This wasn’t some magical night on an island. This was London. She’d be ruined, thoroughly and completely, if he was caught with her here, but she knew he’d give her no peace unless she allowed it. “Come in then, but for pity’s sake, be quiet.”
I’m going to hell
, she told herself as he swung his long legs through the opening. His trousers molded to his muscular thighs and his open-collared shirt revealed enough of his chest to make hers flutter.
Practically naked, so far as Polite Society was concerned. A gentleman never appeared before a lady in his shirtsleeves unless the lady was his wife. But then, except for an accident of birth, Aidan Danaher was not really a gentleman. No true gentleman sported such a well-muscled chest. Only a man who’d toiled and sweated in the baking sun developed such disturbing attributes, and a simple shirt did nothing to hide them.
Of course, she was in her nightshift, so Rosalinde supposed it might be argued she was no lady at the moment.
“Rose, sweetheart,” he whispered and started to draw her into an embrace, but she straight-armed him and skittered out of reach.
“You said you wanted to talk to me, so talk,” she said warily.
“I also said we had unfinished business.” His eyes glinted in the dimness, feral and unpredictable. “I’ve wanted ye from the moment I first clapped eyes on ye. Can ye deny ye want me, lass?”
“I want to keep my reputation more.”
She had to say that. It was the only way to keep from succumbing to him again. If she let him kiss her, let him touch her, she might burst into flames. She might do that yet if he didn’t stop shooting her such smoldering looks. It was time to change the subject.
“How did you come to be waiting on our roof?”
“Not your roof exactly. More like your garret. Your neighbors in the next townhouse have already left for Dover for the summer.”
He sat down and toed off his boots and Rosalinde almost chided him for it till she realized he’d travel across the hardwood more softly unshod. A shoe, more or less, did nothing to make their situation more acceptable.
“Did ye know all the homes on this block have a common attic?” he asked.
“I shudder to ask how
you
know it.”
“Well, prison does lend itself to low associations and a good bit of intelligence can be had for a price. Once I discovered the neighbor’s house was empty, it was a simple thing to jimmy the lock and slip in the back. When I reached the attic, I only had to count my steps till I figured I was over your townhome. There’s a garret window almost exactly above yours. I kept watch till I saw your window open and ye leaning out to have a look about.”
“And you were that sure I’d do it?”
“Ye can’t blame a man for hoping, can ye?” He smiled and shrugged. She would have loved to pummel the smug look off his face, except that he was so deucedly handsome, she couldn’t bring herself to raise a hand to him.
Lady Chudderley certainly wouldn’t show such restraint if she caught him here. She’d seen her great-aunt ruin an ivory fan drumming it on a man’s chest for far less an offense. For tuppence, Rosalinde was tempted to call for her.
Then Aidan’s smile faded and he eyed her with the intensity of a cat before a mouse hole.
“What’s so important you risked your neck and my reputation to speak to me about it?” Rosalinde asked.
“I want to know how much ye’ve heard about the crime I was convicted of,” he said.
“Almost nothing. Until this night, I didn’t know it was murder.”
Looking at him now, sitting in untamed stillness, she could believe him capable of it. This was far beyond simply being unacceptable in Polite Society. Aidan Danaher was
unsafe
.
He studied her hearth rug. “They say I killed a lass, an upstairs maid at Stonehaven. Folk say I met her in the grotto behind the manor house, throttled her and left her for dead. Her name was Peg Bass.”
Rosalinde swallowed hard. “Did you do it?”
“I confessed.”
A chill swept over her.
“While ye’re at Stonehaven, ye’ll hear more of it, I’m sure.” A sad smile tugged at his sensual mouth. “Londoners haven’t had the full sordid tale yet and it’s too dainty a dish for gossips to resist.”
“That’s assuming we’ll come to your house party.”
“Ye have to. The wager saw to that.” The smug grin was back. “It would be exceeding bad form for your da not to allow me to pay back my debt of honor.”
“Seems you have everything figured out.”
“All except you.” He rose, silent as a cat in his stocking feet, and walked toward her. “I’ve come to ask ye to trust me. Ye must believe me when I tell ye not everything is as it seems.”
She stifled a nervous laugh. Why hadn’t she let the fact that he was a convicted criminal matter to her before this? On the island, he was simply the fellow in the stable who made her insides squirm with pleasure each time she caught sight of him and her heart skip whenever he smiled at her.
“You want me to trust you,” she said. “It’s a little late for that.”
“I know. It seems a lot to ask after what happened, but by all that’s holy, I swear, I truly meant ye no lasting harm.”
There was nothing holy about it. A confessed murderer, right there in her bedchamber. If she screamed, would anyone come in time? “Is that what you told Peg Bass?”
He sighed. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“No, what you deserve is to finish out your sentence at Royal Dock.”
“Probably. Ye’re right about the heart of the matter. Justice has not been served to Peg Bass.” He paced toward the window as if he was about to leave, then he rounded on her. “Viscount Musgrave is all wrong for ye. Tell me ye don’t really intend to marry him.”
She blinked at him in surprise. Aidan confessed to murder, and then denigrated her choice of beaus. The man’s impudence knew no bounds.
“I can’t imagine why a girl wouldn’t want to marry the viscount,” she said. “He’s well-spoken, well-connected, has more than two coins to rub together and he’s not at all hard to look upon. There’s not a thing wrong with Edwin.”
“Oh, it’s Edwin, is it?”
“And so it should be. We’ve been friends for a while now and—oh, why am I explaining myself to you?”
“Mayhap ye’re trying to convince yerself?” He moved toward her.
“I wouldn’t take much convincing where Viscount Musgrave is concerned.” She stepped back a pace. “He’s a fine man, with an upright character and a sense of ‘oughtness’ and . . . well, he’s everything you’re not.”
“Aye, he’s a regular paragon, is Viscount Musgrave.” He caught up one of her hands and traced circles over the pulse point at her wrist while he was speaking. Pleasure sparked over her skin. She knew she should tug her hand free, but what he was doing to her felt so wickedly good, she couldn’t bring herself to move.
“Answer me this then,” Aidan said, his green eyes questioning. “Would you open your window for Edwin?”
“He’s too much a gentleman to ask.”
Aidan chuckled softly. “Or perhaps not man enough.”
She tugged her hand away to slap him, but Aidan stopped her with a tight grip on her wrist.
Rosalinde sucked a breath in over her teeth. Everything about the man was wrong, but her body didn’t seem to realize it. Her breasts ached, nipples tight, longing for him to hold them. Her skin was on high alert, waiting for his caress. His masculine scent flooded her nostrils. She was feeling so much, she couldn’t think clearly.
Aidan swung her around and pinned her against the wall with his body. His hardness against her belly made the low throb begin in earnest. He released her wrist and brushed her lips with his.
“Ah, lass, I want ye so much. More than me next breath,” Aidan whispered. “But I’ll not ask ye to give yourself to me. I’ve come to show ye I can be trusted.”
The roughness of his cheek scraped across hers, a pleasing burn. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“To pleasure ye without taking, to give without expecting ye to return aught.” His gaze held her in place even more surely than his hard strong body. “If ye allow it.”
He feathered kisses along her jaw. How did he imagine she could form a coherent thought, much less give consent, while he beguiled her senses so?
“ ’Tis what I meant to do on the island, but . . . I hardly know what happened that night.” His dark brows drew together and he looked genuinely puzzled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say ye witched me.”
“What a strange manner of courtship you have, Aidan Danaher. Most women resent being called a witch.”
“Only the ones who don’t have the power to bind a man with just a glance.” He kissed her temples and closed eyelids.
She shivered, but not from cold. The man’s heat radiated through her whole body. “And I’ve bound you?”
“I’m helpless before ye, Rose.” His hand found her breast and caressed her through the thin muslin. “But I’m glad ye own this for what it is—a courtship.”
“Not a very proper one,” she said breathlessly. He was doing such wicked things to her nipple with his thumb and forefinger, it was hard to draw a deep lungful.
“No, I’ll grant ye that. I wouldn’t know proper if it bit me on the arse.” His grin was sin incarnate. “Something I’d love to do to ye, by the by.”
Her bum tingled at the scandalous thought.
“But my aim is the same as the good viscount’s. I want ye, Rosalinde. I want ye to be mine entire. In that respect, Musgrave and I are alike.”
“No, you’re not at all the same,” she said, aware that he was pulling up her hem, but the ache between her legs wouldn’t let her complain of it. “Edwin is approaching me correctly, in full view of Society. And he’s offering an honorable union . . . well, my great-aunt assures me he will once he gets around to it. He’s giving all the right signals, she says. But all you’re offering is . . .”
His fingertips swept up her bare thigh and dallied in the curls between her legs. She was unable to finish her thought.
“Bliss?” he suggested.
“Sin,” she countered before her eyes rolled back. He’d found that blessed little spot that shot pleasure through her and started stroking it. Need made her legs tremble.