Improper Gentlemen (23 page)

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Authors: Diane Whiteside,Maggie Robinson,Mia Marlowe

Tags: #Historical romance, #Fiction

BOOK: Improper Gentlemen
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“I think I know what you mean,” she said. “There’s something a bit wild about the Celts.
Fey
, I think Aidan would call it.”
A touch of magic. A force of nature. Sometimes if she half-closed her eyes, she thought she saw it draped over him like a gossamer mantle.
That otherworldly quality was one of the things that drew her to him. That and his natural good-humor.
Aidan was a convicted felon, but he laughed more than any man of her acquaintance. He’d worked with his hands without complaint, when all the time he was really a gentleman. When he was pardoned, she imagined he thought it a grand joke.
Back in Bermuda, when she watched him curry the horses with his big strong hands, all she could do was imagine what those work-rough palms would feel like smoothed over her skin.
“I consider myself his friend, you understand, but ‘wild’ is precisely the word I’d use for Aidan,” Edwin said as he covered one of her hands with his.
It happened so unexpectedly, she didn’t have time to evade his capture of her hand. His palm was cool and dry. Her great-aunt would be enraptured by this new development, but all it did for Rosalinde was make her fingers feel curiously clammy.
“I wish we all hadn’t fallen into that game of
poque
with Aidan at Lady Chudderley’s,” he said. “Then none of us would have to be here.”
“From someone who claims to be his friend, that doesn’t sound terribly friendly.”
“Perhaps because more than friendship sways me now. I hope you’ll be cautious around him, Rosalinde,” Edwin said. “I’d hate for you to be hurt.”
“Why would Aidan hurt me?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do it intentionally,” Edwin said. “He’s not the sort you’d think would harm a woman. In fact, I’m fully prepared to believe the whole sordid business with that maid was somehow accidental. But I also believe Aidan is dangerous. More so now than ever.”
“Why?”
“Because when a man has killed and gotten away with it, he has no boundaries. No ‘thus far and no farther,’ if you will,” Edwin said in a stolid upright tone that would have done credit to a Methodist preacher. “A man without limits is always dangerous.”
A shiver raked her spine.
Edwin brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on it. Her great-aunt would be in a near paroxysm of joy, but Rosalinde couldn’t raise so much as a flutter in her chest.
“I’d protect you from him,” Edwin said. “If you give me leave to do so.”
“And who will protect her from you?” came a voice from the shadows.
It sounded like Aidan, so Rosalinde turned, but his brother stepped into the full moonlight instead.
“Liam, what are you about, skulking there in the dark?” Edwin asked.
“I never skulk. Skulk means to hide and I wasn’t hiding. I’m just easy to overlook. You always said so, Edwin.”
The viscount made a low noise of irritation in the back of his throat. “What are you doing out here then?”
“I was lighting the lamp in the grotto,” Liam said. “I always light the lamp for Peg Bass. Someone has to. How else will she see to get home?”
“Why haven’t you joined the party?” Edwin demanded.
“I don’t like parlor games. I like orchids. I’ll go to the conservatory.” Liam started toward the house. “You should go in too. Before she comes.”
“Before who comes, Liam?” Rosalinde asked.
He turned and slanted her a quick look that seemed to suggest she was the daft one. “Peg Bass, o’ course. I’d go in now if I was you.” He walked on for a bit, then turned back, glancing in Rosalinde’s direction, but not meeting her gaze. “Sometimes when Peg comes, she’s angry. You wouldn’t like her then.”
Chapter 7
 
I am afeared,
Being in night, this is all but a dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
—S
HAESPEARE
,
Romeo and Juliet
 
 
 
 
 
 
T
he last door had been latched a good quarter of an hour earlier. Aidan waited until the house was so quiet he could hear the creak of the oak tree outside his window before he lifted the candle from the sconce that opened the secret panel in one wall of his suite. A narrow passageway yawned before him, but he didn’t hesitate. Rosalinde’s chamber waited at the end of the hidden corridor.
He wished he’d been able to warn her of his coming. There was always the chance that she’d be startled and scream when the wall opened to admit him to her room. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been any opportunity for private speech with her all evening.
As host, he’d had to circulate among all his guests. Each time he’d tried to snatch a moment with her, Viscount Musgrave or his cousin George hovered nearby.
He thought the evening would never end.
The passageway stopped and he peered through the thin slit in the wall. Her room was dark, so he saw nothing. A breath of air soughed through the crack and his candle flame wavered.
She must be abed.
If she’d been awake, he’d have tried speaking to her through the thin false wall to warn her of his presence, but now he’d simply have to chance it.
He pressed the release and a wall panel rolled back on hidden hinges, far enough for him to ease into the room. Fortunately, the mechanical system was in excellent repair and the operation silent as an owl’s flight. Aidan pinched off the candle flame and peered around.
Rosalinde wasn’t in bed. She was framed by the open window, gazing out over his garden. Moonlight silvered her and rendered her nightshift nearly transparent. Her unbound hair flowed to the middle of her back, but her long legs and tapered waist were silhouetted in a magical glow beneath the thin muslin.
His very own faery princess. She ought to have been winged. Even without them, the way she strained toward the open window convinced Aidan she half-believed she could fly if only she tried hard enough.
She sighed.
Please God, let that sigh be for me.
“Lass,” he whispered as he moved further into her room.
She made a little squeak and whirled to face him.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a half-voice. “ ’Tis only me.”
“Only me, he says,” she muttered as she took several steps toward him, her shoulders slumping with relief. Then she stopped herself and glared at him with cold fury. “How dare you risk my reputation by sneaking into my room like this? Anyone might have seen you in the hall.”
“No, they mightn’t,” he said, pointing to the gape in the wall. “I had you placed in this room especially because of the secret passage. No one knows I’ve come and no one will mark when I leave.”
“I’ll mark it right now,” she said archly. “I’m sorry, my lord, but you seem to have stumbled into the wrong chamber. Unless I’m mistaken, the viscount’s sister is across the hall.”
“What would I want with the viscount’s sister?”
“The same thing you wanted with me, I’ll wager. You were certainly doing your best to charm her all evening.”
Now that he was closer, he noticed that her cheeks glistened damply in the silver light. A stab of guilt lanced him. Surely she hadn’t been weeping. “I was simply tending to the needs of all my guests, Rose.”
“Lady Sophia seemed particularly receptive to your tending.”
Aidan shook his head. “I didn’t single her out for attention.”
The
Knack
was a blessing and curse sometimes. When he set himself to be appealing and agreeable to all, invariably there were a few mixed signals.
“Well, she was certainly hanging on your every word and draped herself over your arm every time I turned around.” She started to move away from him.
“Rose, don’t you understand the purpose of this house party at all?” He grasped her shoulders to make her stay with him.
“You’ve made it obvious. You invited me here to torment me while you woo another.” She balled one fist and pounded his chest a few times, gaining steam with each blow. “Even the viscount’s mother gave you several soft-headed looks this night. She’s still a handsome woman. No doubt, she’d be up for a romp should you wish to climb through
her
window.”
“Are ye daft? No, lass, ye’ve missed my plan entire.” He caught her hand to keep her from pummeling him, uncurled her fist and planted a kiss in the center of her palm. Her fingers remained scrunched for another heartbeat or two, but then she relaxed and gentled under his touch. He laced his fingers through hers to ensure that she wouldn’t run off or start beating him again.
“Do ye think I don’t know what folk say about me?” he asked. “This fortnight I hope to change Society’s opinion of me for good.”
“Rubbish. No one else’s opinion matters so to you.”
“Well, ye’ve the right of it there. Your opinion is the only one that really counts,” he said softly. “But I know what the world thinks matters to ye, so I would have them think better of me for your sake.”
“A most convenient philosophy. And original to boot.” She turned her face away. “A killer who cares what others think of him.”
He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Do ye believe me guilty?”
“Have you told me otherwise?”
He released her. She had him there, but the only reason he’d confessed in the first place was to protect someone else. What good would it do if he denied the confession later? The whole trouble might start up again.
“Search your feelings, lass,” he said. “What does your heart tell you on the matter?”
She met his eyes then, her soft gaze penetrating to the last wrinkle of his soul. He’d never been more tempted to
knack
someone in his entire life. One simple suggestion would do it and she’d believe him as spotless as the vicar’s sheets, no matter what anyone told her later.
But either she trusted him or she didn’t. He couldn’t use his gift this time. He didn’t dare breathe.
“My heart says it doesn’t know the whole story,” she finally said. “And I want to know, but I’m afraid to know at the same time.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you, Aidan Danaher,” she said, pulling away from him and flinging herself face down on the bed. Her shoulders shook with emotion. “God help me, but I do.”
Aidan moved to join her, stretching out full length beside her so he could stroke her back. Fierce joy made his chest ache. He could scarce believe his luck. Trust
and
love in one star-kissed night.
And without using the
Knack
at all.
Then he realized with dismay that she was weeping. “Easy, Rose. Ye don’t have to cry.”
“Yes, I do.” She continued to blubber into her pillow. “It’s the height of folly for a woman to declare herself first. You’ll despise me for being weak and soft-headed and—”
“Love is never weak or soft-headed. It lifts us out of the mud and puts us on the same footing as the angels. Loving you saved me, lass.”
“But I can’t seem to help it,” she went on as if she’d not heard him.
Alarm bells jangled along his nerves. Had he compelled her to love him without realizing it? “Why d’ye say that? D’ye feel at all odd?”
Sometimes the people he
knacked
complained of a slight, sudden headache at the time, a chill on their limbs and a memory lapse later.
“Odd doesn’t begin to describe it.” She sat up and glared at him accusingly. “I can’t even look at you without my heart threatening to leap out of my chest.”
He smiled. No one had ever complained of that after he
knacked
them. He ran his palm over her crown and smoothed down her rumpled hair. “Your head doesn’t hurt, then?”
“No,” she said with a little shiver.
“Are ye cold?” He traced a fingertip along the lacy neckline of her nightshift. Her mouth parted softly and her eyes went darker.
“No, if anything I’m far too warm,” she admitted with another shiver that he now recognized as delight in his touch. “Though most folk would say I’m definitely not thinking clearly.”
He leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth, right at the juncture of smooth skin and moist intimacy. “I like the way ye’re thinkin, lass.”
“Because it works to your purpose.”
He feathered a row of kisses along her cheekbone. “And what purpose would that be?”
Her face turned to follow his lips, tracking him like a sunflower tilts toward the sun. “You obviously mean to seduce me.”
He brushed her lips with his, a tease. “Is it working?”
“Um . . .” She caught his bottom lip and suckled it for a moment. “Yes,” she said in a long exhale, then sat up straight. “No. Wait. What was that you said about loving me?”
So she had heard him.
He cupped her cheeks in both his hands. “Aye, lass, I love ye. And it saved me, Rose, in ways ye can’t conceive.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “Prison takes more than the prime of a man’s years. It eats away at his soul. But even after ye left, when I thought I’d never see ye again in this life, I had something prison couldn’t touch. I had you.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. “Or at least, the memory of you.”
Her lips twitched in a smile.
“Sometimes one shining moment is all a man ever has, but I had a whole string of Rosalindes in me head. You on the back of that wicked Thoroughbred, putting him through his paces. Walking through Royal Docks with your arms full of flowers for the house.” His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and drew her forehead to touch his. “Lying beneath me, all gasping and spent after ye came so sweetly. Did ye not think of me after?”
Her lips turned upward in an impish smile. “From time to time.”
“Did ye, love?”
“Only every night.”
Then she leaned forward and kissed him. Hard.
 
If we only kiss, we’ve been a bit improper, but no worse than if we were alone in an alcove sneaking a kiss at a ball somewhere,
Rosalinde reasoned. Their kiss deepened, an undiscovered country, soft and wet as an autumn evening with the promise of a crackling fire later. His tongue invaded and she gave it a suckling welcome.
Aidan laid her back down and stretched out beside her on the bed, kicking off his boots and dropping them by her bedside.
Lying beside a man is improper
, she admitted to herself,
but it’s not as if he’s on top of . . .
He settled over her, his hard groin pressed on her belly. His iron-hard length rocked on her in a slow knock.
Well, at least we’re both still dressed.
He rose up and pulled his shirt off over his head. She couldn’t keep from smoothing her palms over his chest. His nipples hardened under her touch.
I suppose it’s less improper for him to be shirtless than if I were the one who’s undressed
, she decided.
Rosalinde continued to stroke his broad shoulders and down his arms. Muscles rippled under his smooth flesh and he cast off as much heat as a fire.
“I want to learn every inch of your skin by heart,” she said, planting a kiss at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.
“A pleasant prospect.” He chuckled and raised himself on his arms to peer down at her. “Why?”
“So I know where I am with you. So I can close my eyes”—she suited her actions to her words—“and say to myself, ‘Yes, that’s the little scar on his shoulder.’ ” She fingered the slightly raised weal of skin and then planted a kiss on the spot. Then her fingers drifted lower past his navel, slipping beneath his waistband which seemed unusually loose. “Or I can think ‘Oh, there. That’s his lovely flat belly and . . .’ ”
Her hand met his shaft, hard as granite encased in smooth warm skin. She grasped him at the base and her eyes flared open.
“Once again, that’s not me belly, love,” Aidan said with a laugh.
While her eyes had been closed, he must have undone the buttons at his hips and peeled back his trousers.
Most improper.
She ought to feel indignant at the liberties he’d taken, but the way she was running her hands over him, cupping and fondling his ballocks, she supposed she was taking a few herself.

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