“I will keep your confidence, and I’m gratified to hear you want to rejoin the living. Be part of the family. I admit life has taken a swift move forward for all of us.”
“What has happened to the damned curse? To hear that Garrett—who believed in it more than any of us—has embraced love is hard to take in. And you, with Father and Grandfather following close behind.”
Riordan took a long draw on his scotch. “As I said to Garrett, love means taking a chance. At the end of the day, I could not bring myself to turn away from Sabrina. She means more to me than the curse. Garrett inevitably reached the same conclusion. Perhaps you will too, someday.”
Aidan snorted. “Not likely.”
“And what of Miss Cristyn Bevan?”
Aidan’s head snapped up and he glared at his brother. “Where in hell did you hear about her?”
“From Garrett, who heard it from Abbie. She observed the two of you exchanging yearning gazes—”
“Christ,” Aidan huffed, annoyed. Damned interfering woman. “Nothing remains private in this family, does it?”
“Easy. Garrett told only me. Do you care for this young lady?”
Yes, fuck it all, he cared. “I’ve said my goodbyes. I’ll never see her again.”
“Indeed?”
“Regardless of any feelings, and I will admit this only to you, she played a great part in my recovery. I’m not sure I would have made it if not for her. To answer your question: I care. Let us leave it at that.”
“Garrett says she’s quite lovely. Why not see where the attraction will lead? It’s mutual, is it not?”
Aidan set his wineglass on the table. “Yes. At least, I believe it is. Nevertheless, I’ve ended it before it began. She deserves better.”
“Well, all I know is fate often takes a hand, whether we want it to or not. Garrett will tell you all about that.”
Aidan scoffed, but deep inside, he had the distinct impression all was not over between him and Cristyn. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking. In any case, no matter how much he desired or admired her, or thought of her, he’d never act on it. There were too many scars, inside and out. He was too damaged, a complete and utter wreck, carting behind him a sordid past that would taint any woman who came in contact with it—or him.
The truth was he wouldn’t subject his angel to someone like him.
* * * *
Three days had passed since Aidan departed, and he’d hardly left Cristyn’s thoughts. She did not like that they had argued and sniped at one another. Thankfully, her father was sympathetic, and had not pressed her on details of her ill-fated infatuation. But she must talk to someone. Gathering her shawl, she decided during her afternoon off to head to the village proper, to her close friend Cynthia Doyle Tennant’s residence. They had not seen each other much of late. Since Cynthia’s marriage to the young vicar, Davidson Tennant, and Cristyn immersing herself in Aidan’s treatment, the weeks had flown. It was past time to correct the oversight.
She knocked on the door and the vicar opened it. He gave her a welcoming smile, and all at once Cristyn was reminded why Cyn had married the young man. No, he wasn’t handsome in the strictest sense. The vicar was of a medium height and build, and already his hairline was receding, but he possessed the most beautiful light brown eyes. They reflected a kindness and intelligence that never failed to impress her, and when he smiled, he took on a saintly beauty that fairly took her breath away—not to mention his soft, but slight, Scottish burr.
“Miss Bevan. It is very grand to see you. Do come in; Cyn will be thrilled.”
“Please, call me Cristyn.”
He stepped aside to allow her to enter. “Only if you call me Davidson.”
She returned his smile. “Of course.”
Davidson escorted her to the parlor, where the two women embraced. “I will order tea and leave you alone to catch up.”
Once the vicar departed, Cyn took Cristyn’s shawl and bade her to sit next to her on the settee. “Marriage agrees with you, Cyn. You’re positively glowing,” Cristyn marveled.
“Oh, it does agree with me,” she replied breathlessly. “Davidson is all I ever hoped he would be.” She smiled coyly. “Especially in the bedroom.”
Cristyn giggled. Her dear friend always spoke her mind and never failed to make her laugh. “Oh, Cyn, how I have missed you these past weeks. Please forgive me for not returning all of your kind invitations. I became caught up in…in—”
“Aidan Black? Last you were here in March, you spoke of nothing or no one else.” Cyn gave her a sympathetic look. Had she really gone on about Aidan? How pathetic. And here she sat in Cyn’s parlor about to discuss him again.
Why deny her feelings? “I did, didn’t I? I’m afraid the infatuation has grown by leaps and bounds since then. I have to talk to someone. Although Dad and I are close, there are things that one cannot discuss with a parent. Not in great detail.”
The housekeeper entered, setting down a tray with a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits. “Thank you, Mrs. Bell. Would you please take a cup to the vicar?”
“Already have done, Mrs. Tennant.” The housekeeper smiled. “If you need anything at all, call out.” She exited the parlor, closing the door behind her.
Cyn poured tea into the cups and passed one to her. “Now we are completely alone. What has happened?”
“I’m not sure where to start. My emotions are a tangled muddle. Separating and identifying them has become difficult.” Cristyn sighed wistfully. “Against all common sense, I believe I have fallen in love with him. Please, no looks of pity. I’m already feeling sorry for myself.”
“No pity from me, I promise. But it is wonderful—to fall in love.” Cyn gave her a smile of encouragement.
“I acted like an empty-headed ninny. Toward the end of his stay, I wore my heart on my sleeve. Blast it all! I threw it at him, and he kicked it away.” She sipped her tea. “Perhaps I was mistaken about those heated looks he gave me. I caught him more than once before he hid behind his impenetrable shield.”
Cyn passed her the plate of lemon biscuits and Cristyn took three. “Men are such contrary creatures. Many see such emotions as a weakness.”
“I had already seen him at his most vulnerable. I think that is when my intense emotions began to take root, for he’d arrived in dreadful condition.” Cristyn frowned. “Why would I fall in love with a thin, shivering man, covered in vomit and rat bites, going through opium withdrawal? It makes no sense.”
“He touched you,” Cyn whispered.
Cristyn nodded. “Yes. His vulnerability and sadness opened my heart in a way it had never opened before. I wanted nothing more than to hold him and protect him. Why him, and not another male patient? An intimate bond formed between us—surely I am not mistaken in that. Through sheer will, he recovered. I admire his courage, his strength, and, yes, as he grew stronger, I cannot deny that his dark, devilish looks also appealed.”
“Perhaps his disreputable past appeals as well? I mean, I assume he has one, considering the opium. I’ve heard from various quarters that there is nothing like reforming a rake. Once tamed, he makes for spectacular husband material. Think of all that naughty sexual experience.”
Cristyn laughed, and Cyn joined her. Oh, she needed that.
“Speaking of naughty, my cousin, Suzanne, wrote me about a particular piece of juicy gossip. Do you wish to hear it before we continue? It will make for a much-needed diversion, however temporary.”
“Your cousin from London?” Cyn nodded. Cristyn had met Suzanne on many occasions through the years, when she’d come to visit Cyn during the summer months. They were all about the same age. “Oh, go on. I could use a good dose of salacious scandal.” Anything to take her mind off her heartache, and Aidan, if only for a moment.
“Well, this concerns the heir to the Earl of Carnstone; she didn’t say in her letter w
hat the family name is or where they are from, and blast it if I know all the names of the peerage, but London had been chattering about this for the past several months. Apparently the heir attended one of those disgraceful parties aristocrats like to throw, with all manner of sin available for consumption.” Cyn’s eyes brightened as she relayed the sensational details. A vicar’s wife talking about immoral aristocrats. Only Cynthia Doyle Tennant would dare to do it.
Cristyn smiled at her dear friend. Yes, she had missed these conversations. “In other words, you’re speaking of an orgy.”
“You shouldn’t know of such things, and neither should I, but yes, exactly that.” Cyn frowned. “I can’t imagine it, all those tangled, sweaty bodies….”
Cristyn laughed once again, almost choking on her biscuit.
“Anyway, there was this auction,” Cyn continued. “And the heir, a sinfully handsome young man, according to all reports, was the prize. He went for hundreds and hundreds of pounds. He was sold to an ancient, licentious lord. Can you imagine?”
Actually, Cristyn could imagine it. She’d heard many similar stories in the years she had assisted her father in treating addiction. People would descend to unknown depths for a variety of reasons, and bored peers were always looking for a thrill, especially if it were illegal. “That is juicy gossip.”
“And it matters not to society, for I hear there are young ladies aplenty eager to make his acquaintance.”
Cristyn shook her head. “There’s no accounting for taste and discrimination.”
“But it proves my point about how rakes as husbands are in high demand.” Cyn reached for another biscuit. “And what the heir participated in is not only against the law, but against the rules of God. At least, that is what the church says. Davidson doesn’t hold with such strict rules. He doesn’t judge what people get up to privately.”
“Good for Davidson.”
“Now, back to the vulnerable, but devilishly handsome, Mr. Black. What will you do?”
A wave of sadness rolled through Cristyn. “He’s gone, Cyn. Three days ago. We parted on awkward terms, arguing and the like. But not before he stood close enough to nuzzle my neck.”
“Oh? Do tell.” Cyn winked.
“Oh, his passionate touch was all that I hoped it would be. He was aroused; I felt it. Yet he stepped away, claiming that it would never happen again.” Cristyn placed her empty cup on the tray. “He said, and I quote: ‘I am not a man to pin any hopes or dreams on. There will be no correspondence, no hope of more. I am not a nice man, Cristyn. I would use you, and toss you aside, as I have with many other women. You are too fine of a person to be subjected to the likes of me.’ Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”
Cyn whistled. “Goodness. Not only do you remember what he said word for word, but he has a low opinion of himself. What do you know of his past?”
“Next to nothing, except that his family is well off. They breed horses, live in Kent. That’s it.” Cristyn caught her dear friend’s gaze. “Here’s the astonishing thing: I don’t have a low opinion of him. I can’t explain it; perhaps I’ve been blinded. I will never see him again, and it blasted well hurts.”
Cyn laid a comforting hand on hers and squeezed. “Oh, my dear. I don’t know what to say to make it better. What will you do?”
“I’ve been thinking. Perhaps I need a change of venue. I thought I might travel to London and find a position at one of the hospitals.”
Cyn’s eyebrows shot up. “London? By yourself? Your father will never agree to it.”
“I’m twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four. Besides, I have acquired a vast knowledge of medicine. I want to put what I’ve learned toward a more general practice. Set broken bones, treat wounds and the like, above and beyond what I have been able to do at my father’s clinic.”
“Surely he could find you a position in a smaller clinic nearer to home. Talk to him about it before you make a rash decision. London is overwhelming, and can be a dangerous place.”
Cristyn had to admit: her friend made sense. Now that she had spoken of her plan aloud, it took on a fresh urgency. She did wish to ply her skills in a more varied setting, but more than anything she needed to escape. Everywhere she turned, she was reminded of Aidan. He haunted every nook and cranny of the sanatorium, and every part of her heart and soul.
The only way to banish him for good would be new surroundings. A new life. In time, her heart would heal—she could only hope.
Chapter 5
On the road to Wollstonecraft Hall, trepidation moved through Aidan once again. Reuniting with the rest of his family brought on old anxieties and new concerns. Once all this reunion business concluded, he could commence with getting on with his life. In his head he could hear Dr. Bevan advising him to take a deliberate and straightforward path. But Aidan had never been the cautious type, or one to follow directions or commands. Obviously. He had always charged full-steam ahead without any regard to consequences—and look where he had wound up.
Visiting with Riordan had helped ease the way for the next step, which consisted of facing his father. All his life Aidan had been a disappointment; he’d seen it clearly on his father’s face on numerous occasions. It started in childhood: misbehaving, tantrums, destruction of property (of which he was heartily ashamed; it was the reason he was sent to school before Riordan). Instead of trying to improve his behavior, he had purposely and stubbornly sought out more wickedness. Rather childish, when he reflected on it. It was well past time to grow up.
The trees took on a familiar look; he was close to the edge of the vast Wollstonecraft property. Aidan rode past the duck pond and was given quacking greetings from the feathered occupants. Every shrub and hedgerow was immaculately groomed. Wollstonecraft Hall and its grounds spoke of a more affluent age.
The hall itself was initially owned by a baronet in the medieval age, and once purchased by the seventeenth century Earl of Carnstone, renovations began immediately. He retained the use of the word “hall,” even though the current residence did not resemble the original timbered structure, except at the front entrance. Eclectic in look with its Georgian and Gothic wings, the rambling residence had seen its share of heartache.
With regards to a more affluent age, how prudent that his father and grandfather had seen the change approaching decades ago, and took steps to ensure that their family had not become complacent when it came to the economic shift of the country. Many peers were nearing complete ruin because they hadn’t kept up with the times or, more recently, had invested in dodgy railway schemes. His grandfather had invested the family’s money in solid industrious ventures, and because of it, they were wealthier than ever.
Someday, long into the future, this would all be his. In the past, the prospect had terrified him. Bloody hell, he didn’t ask to be born ten minutes before his fraternal twin. Riordan would have made a better heir; he was responsibility and sturdiness incarnate.
But fate had a sense of humor and laid the duty at his feet instead. Fingers crossed Riordan and Sabrina had a son, then there would be no need for Aidan to marry. His nephew could be the damned heir. How easy it would be to hand the responsibility off to someone else. His past self would have done it quick as a wink.
But Aidan wasn’t that man anymore. Surely not. He hadn’t come through opium hell only to slip into old habits. Besides, after all his father and grandfather had done to improve the family’s circumstances, it would be reprehensible of him to allow it to founder.
Turning onto the tree-lined circular drive, he felt like a soldier coming home from battle. At least, how he imagined one would feel. No doubt soldiers felt strange, elated, to be sure, but also apprehensive, with everything holding a type of unfettered unfamiliarity. Not that he was any kind of hero. Far from it. Hero was something he would never be.
With a deep breath, he pulled up on Nebula’s reins and halted before the front entrance. Sli
pping from the gelding, he patted his neck. Christ, his insides were churning. He grabbed the brass knocker, but before he could use it, the door opened. Martin, their venerable butler, opened the door. “My God, Master Aidan!” Martin quickly arranged his features into professional neutrality. “You were not expected, sir.”
Aidan had instructed the staff long ago not to bother with the courtesy ‘lord’ designation when addressing him. He must have arrived before the letter from Dr. Bevan. “Are my father and grandfather within?”
Martin stepped aside to allow him to enter the front hall. “The viscount is visiting at the Eaton residence, but the earl is presently in his study.”
“No need to announce me, I remember the way.”
“It is good to see you, sir.” Martin’s deep voice had a soft, affectionate tone, something he didn’t show often.
Aidan was genuinely touched. “And you, Martin. It is good to be…home.”
As he made his way through the long hallways, nodding to a few footmen, it was as he’d surmised. All was familiar, but also strangely removed from reality. A door burst open and a dog bolted past him, with a young girl following close behind, her red hair flowing to her shoulders. They had nearly knocked him off his feet.
“Laddie! Come back here!”
The dog woofed playfully and disappeared around the corner, as did the girl. Out of the same room barreled a young man who knocked Aidan off balance. He hit the tiled floor hard, and his shoulder ached from the impact.
“Oh. Sorry, sir.”
The man was huge, almost as tall as Garrett’s six and a half feet, and their collision had Aidan gasping for breath. All at once he was pulled upright, causing another blast of pain to shoot through his shoulder.
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 6