Samantha James (12 page)

“Rubbish!” Alec declared before he could finish. “I am the eldest. How could you possibly recall such a thing if I do not?”

“Now see here, Alec,” Aidan began.

“Children, children! Must I remind you that you are well past the age of bickering?” Vivian’s
gaze then swung straight to her daughter. “And Annie, cease your snickering!”

Everyone laughed. Indeed, much more laughter and lighthearted banter followed when the group trooped into the drawing room.

Anne linked arms with Fionna. “So you are Aidan’s lady! I am so very, very pleased you are here tonight. He’s been remarkably closemouthed about you, you know.”

Fionna was flabbergasted. She hardly would have called herself Aidan’s lady, but to refute Anne’s assumption would have been…well, no less than rude.

Perhaps it was the dinner conversation with regard to curses…perhaps it was her gift to the duke…perhaps it was inevitable that the subject eventually turned to F.J. Sparrow and
Demon of Dartmoor.

“Miss Hawkes, have you read F.J. Sparrow? He authors
Demon of Dartmoor,
” piped the Dowager Countess of Hopewell. “Oh, but of course you have. How silly of me! I should imagine the entire city is beating down the door of your establishment vying to obtain his books.”

Once again Fionna had no chance to speak.

“Well, to the devil with the demon,” declared Vivian McBride stoutly. “It’s Raven and Rowan I want to know about.” She leaned forward, her delicate blue eyes all agleam. “Did everyone read last week’s chapter? The two of them kissing wildly on the tower? His hand on her…” She
gave a trill of delighted laughter. “I vow I nearly expired then and there—why, I hated for such a kiss to end! And I wonder…the two of them…do you think they will ever become lovers?”

The eyes of the three McBride children swung to their mother. Anne’s mouth fell open. “Mama!”

“Oh, come, dear,” Vivian said crisply. “I am your mother, after all. Do you think I do not know of such things? How on earth do you think you and Alec and Aidan came into this world?”

“Yes, Raven and Rowan have quite captured everyone’s fancy,” Alec finally interjected. “I suspect F.J. Sparrow will keep us guessing.”

A lively discussion ensued. Fionna lowered her eyes, a faint smile on her lips. It was vastly amusing. No, more than amusing that everyone was so convinced F.J. Sparrow was a man. At times like this, it was downright fun to keep such secrets, with no one the wiser. No one but her…and Mama.

Something inside her twisted. But she would not let it ruin the evening, which slipped away far too quickly. Almost before she knew it, Aidan was handing her into the carriage.

Aidan’s gaze settled on her. The warmth reflected there made her heart skip a beat.

“So,” he murmured as it lurched into motion. “What did you think? Did my family frighten you away?”

“Hardly.” Fionna had particularly liked Anne, who was outspoken and gay. She and Aidan were
among the last to leave, and Anne had thrown her arms around her.

“You must come see us before we return to Yorkshire! I should regret it forever if you do not. We are staying at Mama’s. Perhaps you and Caro and I could go shopping. Or—no, wait!—come to tea instead. We would all love it!”

Aidan was still gauging her reaction. “I had a lovely time, Aidan. Truly.”

“I’m glad.” His regard was steady on her face. “But your secret has been revealed.”

Fionna nearly choked.

“You’re trying to worm your way into the good graces of my brother, aren’t you?” He gave a low chuckle. “Aye, you’ve succeeded in winning him over. He shall worship you evermore for gifting him with a copy of
The Devil’s Way.
”

“It was the least I could do,” Fionna managed.

“I always thought I was possessed of a keen perceptiveness. That I could read others, through their actions, their movements. But you, Fionna…”

“What?”

“Do not be coy. I saw you tonight. Listening to those women gossip about F.J. Sparrow. Smiling, your head cocked slightly to the side, your expression…amused. I’m not sure what else to call it. And I wondered then what was in your mind. Indeed, I remember thinking that you looked like a child who’d hidden away some secret from all the world…”

His voice trailed away. Something flashed across his features.

Her smile faded. The intensity on his face made her uneasy.

The silence was never-ending. Filled with trepidation, she endured it as long as she could. “Aidan? Why—” her throat had gone bone-dry. Her heart was thudding wildly. That she was able to speak even a word was a miracle. “Why do you look at me so?”

He had yet to relieve her of that unnerving stare. “Good God,” he said slowly. And then again: “
Good God.
”

The carriage rolled to a halt.

Aidan did not move. His eyes bored into hers until she could have screamed. He leaned forward just a hair, and now the merest smile creased his lips.

“I know,” he said softly. “Fionna…
I know.
”

Fionna’s heart foundered, then began to thud madly. No, she thought vaguely. It couldn’t possibly be…

The carriage door swung wide.

Fionna waited no longer, but hurtled herself down the steps, nearly tripping over the footman in her haste to be away. At least, she tried
to get away. Aidan’s hand closed firmly about her elbow. Oh, the wretch. He was beside her, matching her, step for step, as if they marched in formation.

Her thoughts were scrambled so that she could barely think. She fumbled in the pretty little handbag she carried. The contents were few. A little coin purse—why ever had she brought it in the first place? A handkerchief embroidered by her mother. At last! Her fingers closed around the key and brought it up. She tried to thrust in the lock and missed; Aidan’s shadow blocked the light from the moon—on purpose, she was certain of it!

The key fell to the ground. Aidan scooped it up, neatly pushed the key in the lock, and opened the door.

Fuming, Fionna stepped into the entryway and spun around quickly…alas, not quickly enough. He’d already closed the portal.

Her chin tipped high. “Good night, my lord,” she said calmly, “and thank you for a most charming evening.”

He was having none of it. “Shall we continue our discussion upstairs?”

“I wasn’t aware we were having a discussion!”

“We are,” he said firmly. “Or at least we will be soon.”

Fionna stood her ground, her back to the stairway.

He gave a mock sigh. “Oh, come, Fionna. Aren’t you curious what I was going to say? Or could it be that you already know?”

She glared at him.

Aidan placed his hands at his waist and widened his stance. His stance managed to infuriate her even more.

“Oh, dear,” he said smoothly. “Forgive me for being so inconsiderate. The hour is late. You must surely be tired. Perhaps I should carry you instead.” His eyes were alight with a gleam most wicked. “I should quite enjoy that, I think.”

Fionna whirled and stalked up the stairs.

Once they were in her apartments, she faced him squarely. Oh, but his smile was so smug, his tone so mild.

“Your expression leads me to believe you’d like to deliver me a blow squarely in the belly. Or perhaps slap me soundly on the cheek.”

“I should like to do both,” Fionna said from between her teeth.

“I fear you’d inflict little damage, my love.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then I must remind you of the night we met, Aidan. The night you enlightened me as to the…vulnerable areas of a man’s anatomy. My memory is quite vivid,” she said sweetly. “The face, you said. The eyes, if one is able. The chest or belly or”—she emulated perfectly the swirl of his finger as he had done that night—“parts
thereunder. A knee, I believe you said, was particularly effective at bringing a man down. Yes, that was it—precisely.”

His grin was wiped clean. It was Fionna’s turn to smile smugly.

Fionna swung off her cloak and hung it from one of the hooks beside the door. Aidan then removed his greatcoat—he persisted in making himself quite at home!—and hung it next to hers.

She strode into the parlor and seated herself in the silk-striped damask chair adjacent to the sofa. There! If he chose to sit, he’d have to do it on the sofa.

Which was precisely what he did, at the very end nearest Fionna. But first he shrugged off his formal jacket and draped it on the dining room chair. As he seated himself, he casually arranged his legs so that mere inches separated their knees. His forearm lay placed on the armrest so that if he chose, he had only to lift a hand to touch her. A not particularly subtle strategy, she decided furiously.

As he had once before, despite his evening attire, he reminded her of a wild animal ready to strike. Beneath the brilliant white of his shirt she glimpsed the shadow of dark hair on his chest and belly. An odd thrill shot through her. Her fingers curled and uncurled. There looked to be…well, rather more than she expected. She wondered at its texture, how it might feel. Fleecy? Bristly?

She was appalled at the direction of her
thoughts. She wrenched her mind back to the matter at hand.

Which, unfortunately, was at the forefront of his as well.

“I find myself in a bit of a dilemma.”

“How so?” Her tone was prim, her fingertips perched lightly on her knees.

His long, slow scrutiny made her ill at ease, while he was totally at ease! It was maddening. Aidan, however, found himself enjoying the moment.

“I am at a loss as to your true name. I introduced you tonight as Miss Hawkes. But should it have been Miss Sparrow?”

Her chin tipped high. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Pray, let us dispense with the pretense. I’ve finally figured out that Fionna Hawkes and F.J. Sparrow are one and the same.”

She licked her lips. “You’re mistaken.”

He tapped his fingertips together. “Am I? If I should hazard a guess…What is your second name, Fionna? I am curious.”

Fionna glared.

He pressed on. “Your second name, love.”

She set her teeth again. “When will you desist in calling me that?”

“I won’t. Because you will be my love,” he stated with such certainty that she was rendered momentarily speechless. No, not just certainty—sheer arrogance!

Before she could argue, he raised his brows. “You avoid the question, Fionna. It is Fionna, is it not?”

“It is,” she said tightly.

“Fionna…?” He waited expectantly.

“Josephine,” she said even more tightly.

“Fionna…Josephine…Hawkes. F.J. Sparrow. The master of murder and monsters and mayhem is really the
mistress
of murder and monsters and mayhem.”

Oh, Lord, it was true. Her instincts had been right. She had been a fool to let him get so close to her! She stared down at her hands, flattened now against her silk-covered thighs.

“Was it so obvious then?” Her tone was very low.

“Heavens, no! I only just realized it tonight. I consider myself a bumbling idiot for failing to recognize it earlier.”

“How did you know then?” At least she raised her head.

Aidan paused.
“’I’m quite able to take care of myself
,
thank you very much,’”
he quoted. “Raven said it to Rowan in one of your books. An exact quote, I believe Alec said, why, the night we met. And you said it to me, Fionna, that very same night. And all of a sudden in the carriage…it simply came together, like pieces of a puzzle. Books are your livelihood, you told Alec tonight. The fact that you own a bookshop. The book you gave Alec,
The Devil’s Way,
a first edition that you
said was nigh impossible to find—a
signed
first edition. The names…Hawkes. Raven. Sparrow. All at once it just made perfect sense. All at once I suddenly
knew.
”

Fionna kept silent. She’d thought herself so clever. And to think how she and Mama and Papa had once laughed over it…

Her heart twisted. How much her life had changed since then. So much, yet in so little time.

“You are truly mistress of the dark. It’s why you walk at night, isn’t it?” he queried. “To think. To mull.”

“Yes.” A shiver went through her as she remembered the dead flowers that awaited her return the other night. Should she tell Aidan? No. It had been such a perfect evening, even though Aidan had discovered her secret. She wanted nothing to ruin it. Besides, in all truth, to this day, she had never actually seen anyone. Even the flowers—well, perhaps it was just a rather nasty joke. A prank. Perhaps they were meant for someone else.

Aidan had tipped his head to the side. “What is it?” He reached for her hand, barely stroking his fingertips across her knuckles, a gesture that somehow made a huge lump rise in her throat.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly.

His gaze narrowed. “Are you certain? Suddenly you looked as if you were hundreds of miles away.”

“Of course I’m certain.”

“Well”—a faint twinkle appeared in his eyes—“now that I know the truth, I concede that you are entitled to a few eccentricities.”

Fionna yanked her hand back, bristling. “I hope you’re aware that if I’d wanted you to know I was F.J. Sparrow, I would have told you.”

He arched one brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that you can’t tell anyone, Aidan.” He had learned she was F.J. Sparrow, yes. Now three of them knew—her, Aidan, and Mama. A pang shot through her. Perhaps Mama no longer even remembered. She ached inside, recalling how Mama had thought Fionna was her dead sister Essie.

No one beyond the three of them could ever know. And she couldn’t risk Aidan’s knowing the rest. She hated herself for telling him her mother was dead. She despised herself for such deceit. It was as if she’d betrayed not only him, but her mother. She hated that she must conceal it from everyone, even Aidan.
Especially
Aidan. Yet she could not gamble with something so vital. She couldn’t chance anyone finding out her mother was alive.

In an asylum for the insane.

She could accord no blame for her mother’s malady. But—she despised herself even more—there were times an abiding shame crept in. She despised herself for it. She wanted it not, yet there was no escaping it. And then it wasn’t about re
gret. It wasn’t about F.J. Sparrow, or finances; at times it wasn’t about protecting Mama, or anything of the like.

It was about her—Fionna Josephine Hawkes. Protecting herself. The burning shame hidden deep inside, that someone might discover and
know
that her mother was mad.

Insane.

Guilt, bitter and bittersweet, poured over her.

It seemed she wasn’t always so righteous as she pretended.

Yet no matter the reason, she had to save Mama. She had to save
both
of them.

She lifted her head, regarding Aidan. “You cannot tell anyone I am F.J. Sparrow,” she repeated. “Not your brother. Not your mother. Not friend nor foe nor any acquaint—”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “I quite grasp your point. You are quite famous, though, you realize. Didn’t you hear everyone at the party tonight? Everyone wants more of Raven and Rowan. More of demons and devils and—”

“It’s not just some grand joke. If anyone should find out—
anyone
,” she stressed, “it could mean the end of my career. The fact that no one is aware of F.J. Sparrow’s identity adds to the mystery. It adds to the fascination. Do you think I don’t know that? If people knew who he is—who
I
am—it would all be gone. Poof! And it’s my work, Aidan. It’s my life. I can’t jeopardize that.”

“I’m well aware of your reasons, Fionna.” His
tone held a faint censure, almost curt. He leaned forward, his gaze oddly penetrating. “This is why you won’t let anyone close, isn’t it? Why you won’t let
me
close? But something tells me there is more. Why is that, Fionna?”

She made no reply. Inside, Fionna cursed a silent oath, followed by another. This was no idle guess on his part. Aidan made no idle guesses. He was shrewd to the bone! She’d grown accustomed to hiding her feelings; she’d made a most stringent effort to do so, and she’d been convinced she’d been successful. So how the devil did he know her so well?

Her lips compressed. She would neither confirm nor deny it, by heaven. Tucking her feet beneath her, she prepared to rise.

He stopped her with a lift of his hand, a shake of his hand, already uncoiling his body. “No, sweet. Remain where you are. And know that your secret is safe with me.” He stood looking down at her.

“There is just one thing I would ask of you, Fionna.” He paused. “A small price, if you will.”

Fionna was astounded. The rogue! “What—what price?” she sputtered furiously. “How dare you hold this over me after all!”

She would have surged upright if not for the fact that he stood directly over her, her slippers aligned squarely between his booted feet.

“No,” he commanded. “Sit! Do not move! That, dearest Fionna, is the only price I ask.”

Warily Fionna watched as he made a half circle around her chair.

He was directly behind her. What the blazes was he about? She’d seen the faint laughter lurking in his eyes. The urge to twist around and confront him was overwhelming. Yet somehow she stopped herself.

“You become tedious, Aidan.” And she sounded almost petulant.

“And you are but more intriguing,” came his whisper. “Shall I tell you how much you intrigue me?”

Her mouth had gone utterly dry. Fionna gripped the arms of the chair. He planted his hands directly over hers, holding her in place. It dawned on her that she was trapped. Dragging in a breath, she tipped her head back to discover her eyes sighted directly on his mouth, tipped up at the corners in a glimmer of a smile.

His gaze trickled slowly down…to the hollow between her breasts, which were surely…well, amply displayed.

And avidly surveyed.

Fionna swallowed. Her nipples pricked high.

“Do I embarrass you, love?”

She nearly choked on her tongue. “You know very well that you do!”

His smile widened slightly. She knew then he was well aware of her body’s reaction to his riveting regard.

Time hung unending. He remained unmoving.
Behind her. Above her. And then…and then…

Angling his head just so, he kissed her—kissed her upside down.

Chaos raged inside her. He wound his fingers through hers, this time angling his head the other way.

It was strange being kissed like this, a sort of tender entrapment. Strange, yet incredibly provocative.

Still, a vague remembrance surfaced. “You said no kissing this time,” she admonished rather weakly. “Your rules, remember? Aidan’s Rules.”

“The rules have changed.” No apology. She was reminded of how he’d once referred to himself as a man of decisiveness. A man of action.

A long time later, he released her mouth, only to run his lips down the pulsing vein of her throat, dipping and swirling, tasting her with his tongue. She was aware of the slight roughness of his cheek against her own.

“Aidan.” His name was the merest wisp, her protest no protest at all. “Aidan, I can’t think when you—”

“Don’t think,” he uttered, his tone almost rough.