by Laurel McKee
“Fine,” Aidan said. As far as familial errands went, inspecting a gambling club seemed a fine one, enjoyable even. Especially if the St. Claires were involved.
The duke gave a satisfied smile. “Very good, m’boy. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now, be sure and say hello to your mother before you leave. And not a word about any brandy.”
Aidan managed to quickly escape the stuffy confines of Huntington House after fending off his mother’s matchmaking hints and her attempts to lure him to a dinner party that night. He knew where he could find out more information on the St. Claires and their business concerns, and it wasn’t in Mayfair. He made his way to the jumbled, narrow lanes around the theater district where the merchants and cafes catered to the theatrical set and any gossip could be had for the right coin.
Aidan spent a great deal of his time there.
He left his curricle and proceeded on foot, as it was futile to try and drive through the jostling crowds that filled the narrow streets. Shouts and shrieks of laughter blended with the yaps of ladies’ lap dogs and the silvery ring of bells over shop doors. Aidan waved and smiled at the ladies’ effusive greetings and their enthusiastic kisses on his cheek. Even away from the clamor of the theater doors, drama was never far.
Aidan bowed and smiled at a fluffy little blonde who giggled behind her fan at him, and turned toward the cafe that was his destination.
“Aidan!” he heard someone call as he reached for the door, and he turned to see his friend Lord Frederic Bassington hurrying toward him. A red-haired lady in a bright pink tippet held on to his arm as he pushed his way through the bustling crowd.
“Freddy,” Aidan said, happy to see his friend and fellow theatergoer. “It’s good to see you again. You haven’t been in town much of late, I hear. But then neither have I.”
Freddy smiled, but there was a strange shadow on his expression. It was most puzzling in a man usually so lighthearted. “I fear I’ve been busy.”
“Care to go to the theater this week? I hear Mrs. Parker is appearing at Drury Lane, a few select performances only. She’s a favorite of yours, I think? I need to make up for my time away from England.”
“Quite so. I just haven’t—”
“Freddy,” the lady said, tugging impatiently at his arm.
“Oh, Aidan, I don’t believe you’ve met my sister, Lady Christabelle,” Freddy said. He looked surprised she was still there. “Christa, this is Lord Aidan Huntington, who is only recently back from the West Indies.”
Lady Christabelle batted her eyes at him from beneath her flower-laden bonnet. “The Duke of Carston’s son, of course. Freddy has told us an awful lot about you.”
Aidan gave her a polite bow. “All Banbury tales, I fear, Lady Christabelle.”
“Oh, no!” she protested. “He says only very good things, I assure you.”
“Christa,” Freddy said, “why don’t you run ahead to the carriage and meet Mama there? I need a quick word with Lord Aidan.”
She pouted, but left after another eye-bat and curtsy. Freddy, though, looked terribly solemn.
“I say, Aidan,” he whispered after looking to be sure his sister was really gone. “I need your help.”
“Of course, Freddy,” Aidan answered in concern. This wasn’t like his friend at all. “Anything. Do you need money?”
“No, no.” Freddy shook his head. Even his red hair seemed faded. “At least I don’t think so, not yet.”
“What do you mean? I can’t help you, my friend, if you don’t tell me the problem.”
Freddy bit his lip. “I… I can’t say here. Meet me at the coffeehouse next week? Christa and Mama will be gone to Brighton by then.”
“Of course. Just send me word of the time.”
“You are a true friend, Aidan,” Freddy said, looking a bit more relieved. He ran off after his sister, leaving Aidan alone. Freddy Bassington was one of his most lighthearted, uncomplicated friends, always good company, always ready to help him forget his own brooding. What trouble could he possibly be in?
Aidan turned back toward his errand, but his path was blocked by a woman just emerging from the music shop next door. A large, jostling, laughing group passed by and knocked against her. She tottered on the uneven cobblestones, her bonnet knocked askew over her eyes.
Aidan caught her before she could fall, his arms coming around her waist before he could even think. She landed against his chest, soft and warm.
“Oh!” she said, laughing. Her gloved hands curled into his waistcoat to hold herself steady. “I do beg your pardon, sir. So clumsy of me.”
“Not at all,” Aidan said. He was rather intrigued by the bundle that had so suddenly tumbled into his arms. He held on to her as she found her balance. She wasn’t very tall, her bonnet coming only to his shoulder, and her body felt slender and delicate under that softness. And she smelled like violets, as cool and sweet as a rainy spring day.
Intrigued by two women in one day—he was becoming a romantic.
But then she pushed her bonnet back into place and peeked up at him, and he saw it was only one woman after all. She was the same as his mystery lady in the window, and she had fallen right into his arms.
Her laughter faded away and her eyes, a sherry brown under thick black lashes, narrowed as she studied his face, and her brow furrowed a bit. A tiny dimple appeared in one pink-flushed cheek, and Aidan had the overwhelming urge to touch it. To kiss her just there and see if she tasted of sweet violets and an English springtime.
“It’s very crowded here today. Collisions seem inevitable,” he said near her ear. Dark ringlets curled there, soft against her skin.
“Indeed it is,” she said uncertainly. “I was fortunate you were there to catch me.”
“Not at all. The good fortune seems to be all mine today.”
Her frown deepened, and she let go of his coat quickly, as if she only just realized she held on to him. She took a step back, and Aidan felt cold where she had pressed against him.
He almost never felt this way about a woman, so very intrigued by just a glance, a touch. Who was she? What was it about her that drew him in like that? He couldn’t let her go, not yet.
“Please, let me make amends for nearly knocking you over,” he said.
Her frown flickered. “Amends?”
Aidan laughed, trying to put her at ease, making her stay with him. “Nothing too nefarious, I assure you. A cup of tea? This cafe is most respectable, I promise.”
She glanced back over her shoulder, and for a moment, Aidan was afraid she might run from him. But then she gave him a little smile. A mere ghost of a smile over her pretty pink lips, but for the moment it was enough.
“Perhaps if you add a scone to that tea, I might be persuaded,” she said.
“As many scones as you like,” Aidan answered, and held out his arm to her. “And maybe emeralds or pearls? A fine carriage? A castle?”
She laughed out loud, a silvery, sweet sound Aidan feared he would do anything to hear again. She slid her gloved hand into the crook of his arm.
“Just the tea for now,” she said as he led her into the cafe. “We’ll see about the castle later.”
Chapter Three
Lily settled herself at the tiny table in the corner and watched Aidan Huntington as he made his way to the counter to order. Aidan Huntington—she could hardly believe she was here with him after their long-ago encounter at the theater docks.
What was she thinking? She had vowed to harden her heart to him, to forget the memory of their kiss. She was just getting her life in order again; he was a distraction she did not need. He was a Huntington, for pity’s sake.
But when he smiled at her, flirted with her, when she felt the hard strength of his body under her hand—somehow she simply could not turn away from him. She wanted him to smile at her again.
She was not the only woman who felt that way. Lily watched the crowd as he threaded his way through it, and every lady between the ages of five and eighty turned t
o study him under their lashes. They all blushed and looked away, only to peek at him again.
Just as Lily feared she was doing herself.
She busied herself with taking off her gloves and smoothing her jacket, but her attention kept drifting to him. Aidan. The slightly exotic, Celtic-sounding name suited him. He was tall and lean like some ancient warrior, with strong shoulders and snakelike hips and—her eyes slid lower—a taut backside in close-fitting trousers above long legs. His rich, glossy brown hair gleamed in the dim light of the cafe, and he shook it back from his brow as he peered over at her. For an instant, his face looked dark and intent, taut as a hawk about to dive onto its prey. His blue eyes, the most unearthly color she had ever seen, narrowed, and she stiffened in her seat. Then he smiled, that charming, careless grin that could capture any woman’s complete attention, and something warm and melting touched Lily deep inside.
She didn’t like that feeling at all, that sense that her moorings to the real world would snap and she’d drift up into the sky.
She turned away to pretend to study a menu on the wall. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean his elbow on the high counter to order. He gave a smile to the waitress, and the girl giggled. Lily studied his profile, the sharply etched perfection of it, the way he casually brushed his hair back. She was accustomed to being around handsome men. The St. Claires were all very good-looking and garnered more than their share of female attention wherever they went. The actors they worked with were often the same. She hardly noticed such things now.
It was different with Aidan Huntington. She was all too aware of everything about him.
Don’t be silly, she told herself. She twisted her soft kid gloves in her hands and forced herself to stay still. Aidan was no danger to her. Not here in this crowded place. Not if she didn’t let him.
“You look very deep in thought,” she heard him say. She glanced up to see him setting a tray of tea and scones on the table. He smiled at her but it was a different smile, quizzical, questioning. “And not very pleasant thoughts, I would wager.”
Lily made herself smile in return and reached for the tea to pour. She welcomed the routine, the familiar motions, something to root her in the everyday. “I was just daydreaming, I fear. Organizing things in my mind.”
“What sort of things?” he asked, watching her closely.
She peered across the table at him and tried to gauge whether he was merely being polite. But his blue eyes were focused only on her, waiting for her answer.
She passed him the cup of tea, and his fingers drifted over hers as he took it from her. His touch lingered a little longer than necessary, and she sighed at the warm feeling of his skin on hers, the strength of those elegant fingers. They were slightly rougher than she would expect from a gentleman.
She glanced down as he slid away and noticed ink stains on his fingers. She remembered his confession on that long-ago night at the Majestic, that he wanted to write plays. She wondered if he still harbored that dream or if being a duke’s spoiled son took all of his time.
She wondered if he remembered that night at all.
She shook her head and tried to recall what he had asked her. “I am helping my brother with a new business venture,” she said.
“Sounds promising,” he answered. “What sort of business?”
Lily took a sip of her tea and studied him over the white rim of the cup. She almost answered him by name, before she recalled that they were supposed to be strangers. “I don’t even know your name,” she said.
He gave her that rakish grin again, and she saw the flash of a dimple low in his cheek. She had the strangest, strongest urge to press her fingertip there, to lean across the table and lick him, taste him, feel that tiny indentation on her tongue.
Lily sat back in her chair in shock. She never had such feelings about a man, such erotic urges. Not after seeing her mother’s life in the brothel, the girls she knew on the streets, seeing where such things always led. She wrapped her hands tightly around her cup and looked away from him.
“Easy enough to remedy,” he said. “I am Aidan Huntington, at your service. And you are…”
Lily touched the tip of her tongue to her suddenly dry lips and tried to ignore the way his gaze sharpened on that tiny gesture. “I am Lily Nichols.”
“Nichols?” A frown flickered over his brow. “Why is that—Ah.” He sat back in his chair and stared at her, studied her. As if this were the first time he saw her. “Juliet.”
Despite the confusing swirl of emotions inside of her, Lily had to laugh at his thunderstruck expression. “I did wonder if you would remember. It was so long ago.” And he had surely known so many women, so many intimate moments, between then and now.
“Not that long ago. I have been gone on family business to the West Indies since then.” He leaned his forearms on the small table; he was so close she could smell him. The light touch of some expensive cologne, the dark scent of his skin. His stare was so intent on her face.
“So you married your greengrocer,” he said quietly.
“Yes, I did. But he died last year.”
“And you never went back on the stage.”
Lily remembered too well the frozen terror of that night, humiliation that only burned away when he kissed her. “Never. Acting is not for me.”
“I looked for you,” he said. His hand slid over hers, a quick, soft gesture hidden under the folds of a napkin. “But the name in the program was a false one.”
“Thankfully. One less embarrassment if no one knows who I really am. My sister took over the role after that.”
“Isabel St. Claire is your sister? I have heard about her.”
Lily gave a wry laugh. Of course he knew of Issy—everyone who saw her onstage fell in love with her red-gold hair, green eyes, and sweet manner. Any interest Aidan Huntington had in Lily would surely flee now. “My adoptive sister, yes.”
She waited for him to ask her to introduce him to Issy, but he just frowned. His hand slid over hers again. His fingertip rubbed across the tiny band of skin where her wedding ring once rested.
“Lily,” he said softly, as if to himself.
“Aidan,” she whispered. She turned her hand palm up and let his fingers tangle with hers for the merest instant. She couldn’t seem to help herself. He had her caught in some spell.
“There is so much I want to ask you,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the crowded cafe. “But this doesn’t seem to be the place. When can I see you again?”
Lily stared at him in surprise. “You would like to see me again?”
A rueful half-smile drifted over his lips. “You can tell me to stay away, if that’s what you want. I can’t promise I will do it, but you can tell me to.”
And that was exactly what she should do. But it was not what she wanted to do. Lily was suddenly weary of doing what she should do. She wanted to cease to be cautious for a moment, to be mischievous and seize life as her siblings did. Even as she knew it would not end well.
“My brother and I are opening an exclusive new club in Mayfair in a fortnight,” she said. “If you will give me your direction, I can send you an invitation.”
Aidan laughed, and his hand fell away. “There’s no chance of anything a bit sooner, is there?”
Lily laughed, too, and shook her head. “I am too busy before then. It’s not a long time to open a new business.”
“I’ll take what I can get, then. For now.” His eyes held some hint of warning—he would not wait for very long.
Lily felt a shiver ripple over her skin at the threat and promise in his eyes. She didn’t know what this was between them. The power of it both drew her in, like a moth to the fatal flame, and made her want to run. To never see him again, even as the thought of that was painful.
“Thank you for the tea,” she said. “I should go now.”
“Do you have your carriage here?”
Lily shook her head. “I took a hansom.”
“Then l
et me drive you home.”
She considered refusing. His dashing yellow curricle was so small; she wasn’t sure how she would feel pressed close to him on the narrow seat. Her body against his.
But she found herself nodding. “Very well. Thank you. It’s not far.”
He took her arm in a light grasp as he led her out of the cafe and back onto the crowded street. He held her close, safe from the jostling, and drew her back toward the wider lanes outside the warren of shops and restaurants. He kept up a light stream of talk as they went, making her laugh at his jests, his observations of the people around them. She even found herself relaxing somewhat and let herself enjoy his touch on her arm, the protective closeness of his strong body.
But then they turned a corner, and she glimpsed a figure lounging against the brick wall across the street. A muscular figure with close-cropped black hair and clad in plaid trousers and leather coat and holding a stout, skull-headed walking stick.
Oh, Christ, that stick! It could not be.
Lily’s whole body went stiff with a rush of raw fear. He was dead. She had heard he was, that he had died in Australia, and even the old nightmares had started to fade as the years went on and she never saw him again. This had to be an illusion. She was probably overly tired from working on the plans for the club.
She peered past Aidan’s shoulder, back to the wall, but no one was there now.
Her skin still prickled with awareness, with the fear she had known all the time as a child, and she gave her head a hard shake. She had only imagined it. He was gone. He no longer had any power over her.
“Lily?” Aidan asked. “Are you well? You look so pale.”
Lily jerked her attention away from the wall and back to Aidan’s handsome face. He looked concerned, and his hand tightened on her arm. But the fear of the past, of that man, still held her in its cold, iron grip. She drew away from Aidan.