One Sinful Night (3 page)

Or must she now refer to him by his lofty title, the Earl of Whitlock? He seemed so self-important and remote tonight. Powerful, reserved, cool. Quite different from the earnest, caring boy she once loved with all her heart.

He had devastated her. Shattered her heart into tiny pieces and swept them away with his carelessness. He had left her hollow and alone, hurting beyond belief by his lack of faith in her love.

But she had learned her lesson from Aidan Kavanaugh quite well. The weeks and months of tears and recriminations, as well as the shame and humiliation that followed in his wake, had hardened her resolve and her character. No longer a naïve and trusting girl, Vivienne had grown wiser and stronger from her loneliness and pain. Ten years ago she vowed to herself never to allow anyone to hurt her that way again.

It was even more important to protect her heart now that Aidan had entered her world once more.

The next afternoon Aidan woke up with his stomach queasy, his throat parched, and his head throbbing. Still wearing his evening clothes, he noticed wearily that the room reeked of stale whiskey and, judging from the crushing, nauseating pain in his head, he had consumed more than quite a lot of it.

Finley, his steadfast valet, stood over him with a wicked grin, for it wasn't often his master was in such dire straits. From the look on his face, Finley took great delight in the consequences of Aidan's overindulgence the night before.

“What happened to you last night? It's not like you to get foxed.”

Aidan groaned and made the monumental effort to sit up in bed.

“Shall I open the curtains?” Finley tormented him. “It's a lovely day and the sun is shining brightly.”

Aidan shook his head, only to place both hands to his temples, wanting to strangle his irreverent valet.

“Water,” he mumbled thickly. His tongue felt wrapped in cotton gauze.

Finley poured a cool glass of water from a china pitcher on the sideboard and handed it to Aidan, who gulped it down greedily.

“Where the hell am I?” Aidan asked when he had drained the last of the water, looking at the unfamiliar but very elegant room in which he found himself.

“The Duke and Duchess of Bingham's. Remember the little house party you are attending this week? We arrived here last night. I've got some coffee and toast for you and have ordered a bath. I think you could use one, by the smell of you. I thought I'd let you sleep it off for a while longer, but Mr. Grayson is here to see you. And you might want to hurry. He's waiting in the duke's private library.”

“Tell him I've died,” Aidan moaned and lay gently back into the pillows, although the smell of coffee was mildly tempting. His head throbbed relentlessly. What in bloody hell had he done last night? He clearly remembered arriving at Bingham Hall and talking to Richard and Jane Havilland, the Duke and Duchess of Bingham. He had greeted his mother, who was angry with him for being late. Then Gregory Cardwell grabbed him and…
Good God!

It all came rushing back to him in a sickening wave. Now he remembered why he drank like the very devil.

Vivienne Montgomery.

That beautiful Irish witch would drive any man to drink.

“What brought all this on?” Finley inquired calmly while laying out clean clothes for Aidan.

“You don't want to know,” Aidan muttered crossly.

“I daresay I know already.” He raised a brow and looked in Aidan's direction. “A certain Irish lady?”

Finley knew the entire Vivienne Montgomery saga, having lived through it with him years ago. Aidan was not surprised that Finley already knew Vivienne Montgomery was here, since Finley somehow managed to know everything about everyone. He prided himself on it.

“I don't want to discuss her,” Aidan mumbled.

“Fine. Have it your way for now. I'll hear it all from you eventually.” Finley smiled with satisfaction. “Anyway, I believe Mr. Grayson has some concrete information about the warehouse fire.”

“Why didn't you say that in the first place?” Aidan grumbled in annoyance.

Finley knew very well that such news would rouse Aidan; he had simply been irritating him for sport. He had been with Aidan's family for years. When Aidan inherited the title Earl of Whitlock from his great uncle, Finley came with Aidan from Galway and officially became his valet. He and Aidan had developed a good friendship over the years.

“Oh, and your mother has demanded to see you right away,” Finley said gleefully.

An anguished groan erupted from the depths of the feather pillows.

Three quarters of an hour later, Aidan was freshly shaved, dressed, and nursing a terrible hangover as he sat in the luxuriously appointed library of the Duke of Bingham, who had kindly lent the room to Aidan for this meeting. The Duke's library, outfitted with mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling and stocked with books of every type and description, had a massive oak table in the center of the room surrounded by comfortable leather armchairs and framed by a picture window commanding a stunning view of the glistening lake in the distance.

Aidan's assistant, Daniel Grayson, sat across the table from him. The thin, wiry man delivered his words with quiet efficiency. “It was as you suspected, my lord. Arson. The fire was deliberately set. They found a tin of kerosene in the front office, where it started. No one had been in the office that afternoon and there was no possible reason for a fire to ignite that room. Unless it was set on purpose.”

“That's because it
was
set on purpose. And I have my suspicions of who set it.”

His assistant questioned astutely, “The same person who caused you to lose the cotton shipment?”

Grayson had been Aidan's right-hand man since he began his shipping company five years earlier. Aidan had trusted his advice on many matters in the early stages of the business and Grayson's keen knowledge of the industry paid off profitably for both of them, for Kavanaugh Enterprises had grown steadily from his wise counsel. Aidan trusted the man implicitly. Today, however, Grayson only had bad news to share, which did not improve Aidan's wretched condition or dismal mood.

“Yes, I believe so. Can you look into the matter quietly, Grayson? I don't want to show our hand until we have absolute proof.” Aidan rubbed his throbbing temples with the pads of his fingers. It was foolish of him to drink to excess last night, but seeing Vivienne brought back so many painful memories he needed to drown them to block them out of his head.

“Of course, my lord.”

“I'm stuck here in the country until this hellish week is over. Then I'll be back in London. It's actually fortunate that I'm out of town. He won't believe that I suspect him if I'm here.”

“He's here as well, my lord.” Grayson offered the news calmly.

Aidan frowned in surprise. “Jackson Harlow is here at Bingham Hall?”

“He arrived just before I did this morning. Another guest of the Duchess of Bingham.”

“I thought Jane Havilland had more discriminating taste than that.” Aidan closed his eyes briefly in silence and opened them again. “Actually it may just be a fortunate bit of luck that Harlow is here. Now I can keep an eye on him myself, and perhaps attain some information from him. Meanwhile you can continue the investigation of his affairs in London and keep watch over those hired thugs of his.”

“Yes, my lord.” Grayson paused, then questioned hesitantly, “If you don't mind my asking, are you quite well? You don't look very good.”

“Just a little too much to drink last night, and I'm paying for it dearly today,” Aidan admitted wearily.

Grayson smiled sympathetically, but raised his eyebrows. “That's not like you, my lord. I trust all is well?”

“Yes. It's fine,” he answered dismissively. “I shall return to London on Monday. Hopefully you will have discovered some evidence before then. Please send a messenger the minute you learn anything new.”

“Be careful of Harlow. He's a rough character,” Grayson warned.

“So are those thugs of his in London. Watch your back as well, Grayson.” Aidan rose to his feet and escorted him from the library.

Once his assistant was in a carriage on his way back to London, Aidan still had another task to accomplish. He would have preferred to go back to bed and recover in peace from last night's debacle, but a meeting with his mother was unavoidable. As much as he did not want to, especially in his present condition, he had to see her. Aidan walked through the grand house, one of the largest estates in the country, in search of Susana Kavanaugh, and he had a fair idea of where he could locate her.

As expected, he found her playing cards in the ladies' drawing room. It was a light and airy room, bearing the distinctive flair of the Duchess of Bingham's decorative touch. And there sat Lady Susana Kavanaugh, the Countess of Whitlock, in her usual regal pose, her head held high, her back ramrod straight, playing cards with Lady Downey.

His mother looked up as he entered, her keen eyes missing nothing. He could tell by the look on her face that she was not in the least bit happy with him.

Aidan greeted the two women. “Good afternoon, Mother. Lady Downey. How are you ladies this fine day?”

Lady Downey smiled warmly at him. “It's always nice to see you, Aidan, dear. It seems your mother has beaten me yet again. But if you will excuse me, I think I shall take a little nap before supper. And I expect you to sit beside me this evening, Aidan.” The sweet elderly woman had the audacity to wink at him. “It's not every day that I get to spend time with the most eligible and handsomest bachelor in London!”

“Oh, really, Margaret!” Lady Whitlock rolled her eyes at her friend.

“It would be my honor to escort you to supper, Lady Downey.” Aidan gallantly kissed her hand while she batted her lashes at him. Might as well give the old bird a little thrill.

As Lady Downey shuffled with dainty steps from the room, Aidan sat on the opposite side of the mahogany card table from Susana. He grinned at her as he idly picked up the deck of cards. “You always win, don't you, Mother?”

“Yes,” she said definitively in her clipped voice. “You look terrible.” Her lips formed a tight line of disapproval and eyes flashed with hardness and accusation. “I expected to see you at breakfast, Aidan.”

Most people were slightly in awe of his mother's imperious manner and haughty disposition and thought her cold and unfeeling. Aidan had to admit that his mother possessed a prickly and irritable side, but in her own fashion she loved Aidan dearly. He was probably the only person she had ever loved in her life, for she certainly had not loved his father. It seemed to him that she devoted her life to making things perfect for her only son, even if that sometimes conflicted with Aidan's own wishes.

“I had certain business to attend to first.”

She gave him a contemptuous look that left no doubt what she thought of his business matters. “You should have been out riding with Helene this morning.”

“I was not aware of such an arrangement with her.” He continued to shuffle the cards with skilled ease.

Susana retorted sharply, “Well, you would have been had you come to breakfast instead of laying abed all morning while she went out riding with Lord Gardner.”

Aidan could say nothing to refute that. He
had
been in bed until after noon, and he continued to pay the painful price for his heavy drinking last night. His head still throbbed, although less so than it had been. He was angry at his loss of self-control, for he rarely overindulged. “Harry Gardner is a fine gentleman.”

His mother raised an eyebrow and continued, “You had better propose to her soon. The Winston family is one of the finest in England and her father is the Earl of Hartshorne! Helene is perfect for you. You could speak to her father this evening. In fact, he's expecting it. If you don't make your move soon, you'll lose her to another. A girl like Helene won't wait around for you forever, Aidan.”

He responded with quiet determination. “We have been through this before, Mother. I'll ask for her hand, or the hand of someone equally suitable, when I'm ready, but not before.”

There was a moment of silence, but her eyes flashed with obvious displeasure. Though Susana was a domineering woman, she had met her match in her only son. He loved her, to be sure, but he did not let her control him as she did everyone else around her. However much Aidan respected his mother, and at times gave in to her inexplicable demands or whims, he stood his ground with her when it was important to him.

He could be stubborn if the circumstances warranted it. He had been determined to begin his shipping business when his mother had been completely against the idea of him being in trade. And he was being quite obstinate about not proposing. Yet, to be fair, Aidan did not know why he felt so apathetic about Helene. As much as he hated to admit it, his mother's assessment was correct. Helene would make a perfect countess for him. Well-bred, accomplished, and refined, she possessed an agreeable disposition, he found her attractive, and he enjoyed her company. By far, she was the most preferable candidate to be his wife. Yet somehow he could not bring himself to ask for her hand in marriage.

Susana suddenly leaned in closer to him across the card table and spoke in a furious whisper. “I saw you dancing with that dreadful girl last night.”

Aidan stopped shuffling the cards. He knew exactly to whom she referred. His mother had no love lost for Vivienne Montgomery and Vivienne had always been a bitter source of contention between them. Interestingly enough, his mother had won that battle in the end, although through no skill of her own.

He asked with a careless look, “Yes, what of it?”

“What of it?” she echoed him in stunned disbelief. “I must say you're taking this rather lightly. I for one was astonished to see her here, of all places, in the home of such a distinguished family. One would think that such a renowned man as the Duke of Bingham would know better than to invite some Irish peasant into his home. But then I learned that she is actually the niece of Lord and Lady Cardwell, and therefore related to the Duke and Duchess! Were you aware of that?” Her icy gray eyes, the same shade as her tightly coiled hair, peered intensely at him.

“I only learned of it myself last night.” He had been as surprised as his mother by the fact that Vivienne was related to the Cardwells. Once he thought he knew everything there was to know about Vivienne but, as he learned once before, he actually knew very little about her.

“What on earth is she doing here in England?” The blue veins on his mother's forehead throbbed as she spoke. “And what were you thinking, dancing with her? Everyone saw you!”

“Her cousin Gregory cut in while I was dancing with Helene. I could hardly be rude.”