by Amy Jarecki
Smiling, Lady Saxonhurst patted her black curls. “Lord Seaforth will be undeniably delicious in a year or two. I do hope he continues to stay in London. I understand the winters are abominable in Ross-shire.”
“Most likely the same as Aberdeenshire—but we all manage, m’lady.”
The countess shuddered. “I could do quite nicely without winters.”
That must have been the first thing the woman had said that Maddie actually agreed with.
“Will you be heading back to the Highlands soon?” Saxonhurst asked with a subtle arch to her brow. “I can imagine you marrying one of those big, strapping clansmen I’ve heard so much about.”
Maddie shook her head and returned her attention to the sparring match—two well-built men shining with perspiration were difficult to ignore. “I suppose I’ll need to return home as soon as my father once again finds the queen’s favor. I am the benefactor of a hospital for women in Stonehaven.”
“You?” The countess cooled herself with quick flicks of her fan. “My, how philanthropic. I never would have thought.”
Maddie guessed that thinking wasn’t one of Lady Saxonhurst’s stronger suits. “I find imparting kindness makes each day a little brighter.”
“How droll.”
Grunting, Aiden leaped aside.
“Nicked you, did I?” growled Seaforth as he lunged.
Good Lord, Aiden’s arm streamed with blood.
Maddie stepped forward, clapping her hands over her mouth.
Lady Saxonhurst grabbed her wrist. “Stay away. You’re likely to be hurt.”
“But—”
With an upward swing and a bellow to wake the dead, Aiden clashed with Seaforth’s sword so hard, the weapon flew from the earl’s grasp. Casting his own sword aside, Aiden lunged, grasped the earl’s wrist, and bent it so far down, it looked about to snap. The younger man’s knees buckled with the downward twist of his wrist. As he wrestled Seaforth to his back, Aiden pinned the earl’s shoulder with his knee while his hand grasped the lad’s throat. “Quarter?”
Seaforth’s heels dug into the ground. “Och, I call quarter, ye bleeding bastard.”
Aiden stood and offered his hand. “You’re a worthy opponent.”
“And you’re a dragon.”
A devilish grin played upon Aiden’s lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“When does a man reach his prime?” asked Lady Saxonhurst, her hips swaying while she strode forward.
The earl stooped to retrieve his shirt. “Some say five and twenty.”
Giving the younger man an exaggerated once-over, the countess slipped her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “Then I daresay you’ll be besting the commander in no time.”
Seaforth smiled, standing a fair bit taller. “Och, but I do not intend to ever again allow Murray to gain the upper hand.”
“Well put,” said Lady Saxonhurst.
As the two strolled off, Maddie examined the open wound on Aiden’s arm. “This should be tended.”
“Nay, ’tis just a flesh wound—nothing a wee bit of salve will not fix.”
After purchasing a new suit of clothes befitting a duke’s son, Aiden hired a valet as he should have done in the first place. One of the prerequisites of being a courtier was dressing appropriately, especially when attending a formal event at which the queen was expected to be present. This eve he’d spared no expense, from ginger periwig to shirt of holland cloth topped with a lace cravat. He wore an ivory silk waistcoat and a navy doublet with gold trim that would also be useful for naval events, but he refused to don a pair of English breeches. Fortunately, there were a number of Scottish nobles of the same mind in London, and he’d ordered a new kilt of red, navy, and black. As was the Highland custom, Aiden wore it belted at his waist, the length pulled from the lower right opening of his doublet around his back and pinned at his left shoulder with a silver brooch bearing the Atholl arms. The valet had put forth a good effort to ensure there were neither wrinkles nor a hair out of place.
He regarded himself in the looking glass above the mantel in the drawing room, sliding one foot forward as he would do for a portrait. Not liking the image, he puffed out his chest and moved a hand to his lapel.
God’s bones, take me to sea where I can cast aside these frills.
He turned sideways.
I abhor this damned wig. A man could sweat to death swathed in so much horsehair.
But he was a victim of his times. At least he hadn’t been born in an era when he would have been expected to wear a coat of mail or plate armor. Turning his back to the looking glass, Aiden resorted to pacing and pulling out his pocket watch. The coach would arrive in five minutes, and Maddie hadn’t yet made an appearance.
At least a light glowed from beneath her door, indicating she was within. It cast a hazy glow in the otherwise dark passageway. After pacing around the chamber a half-dozen times, he again eyed his timepiece. Another minute had passed. Perhaps he should knock on the door—perhaps Maddie’s mantel clock had stopped and she was unaware of the time. Just as he started toward it, her door opened. A burst of light flooded the passageway, and with the tap of dainty footsteps, an angel emerged.
Aiden had known she’d purchased a new gown, but he hadn’t expected this. His mouth went dry and he suddenly needed to take in two stuttering breaths to steady the thumping of his heart.
Christ, men aren’t supposed to experience such heart hammering. Especially men bred for the sea. Damnation.
She smiled, and his goddamned knees wobbled. He should have taken a healthy tot while he was pacing in the drawing room.
Her golden gown rustled as she walked forward with a matching fan in her hand. She moved the fan to her waist… just below her breasts. Creamy skin Aiden knew to be softer than spun silk swelled above a dangerously plunging neckline. His mouth went completely dry. If Maddie’s serving maid had been anywhere but behind her lady, Aiden would have taken the lassie into his arms, pushed through his bedchamber door, and damned the recital.
“I hope I haven’t made us late.” Maddie batted her eyelashes as if she had no idea of the effect she had on his aching cods. “Miss Agnes spent ever so long curling my hair.”
Aiden’s tongue slipped over his bottom lip. “Your curls are exquisite. You are exquisite, m’lady.”
Agnes cleared her throat, coming up behind with a cloak over her arm. “You’d best say so, m’lord. It took the greater part of the afternoon to make those ringlets.”
Nay, there’d be no slipping into the bedchamber for a hasty sampling of those pearl-tipped bosoms.
“And how is your arm, m’lord? Has my salve done its magic?” Agnes asked.
“Can’t feel a thing, thank you.” Indeed, he felt nothing but his drumming heart.
Aiden glanced to his pocket watch—they still had a few minutes—and now that he knew Maddie was ready, there’d be no harm in making the coach wait for a minute or two. “Fine job, Miss Agnes,” he said with more sobriety than he felt. “I think you deserve a healthy tot of fine spirit for taking such sterling care of Her Ladyship.”
“Have we time?” asked Maddie.
Aiden led them into the drawing room and gestured to the settee. “A stolen moment will not set us behind overmuch.”
Agnes gave a firm shake of her head. “You needn’t make a fuss for the likes of me.”
“It is no fuss. You take good care of your lady, and for that I want to thank you.” Aiden poured three tots of sherry and offered each of the ladies a glass. “Shall we drink to Miss Agnes?”
Blinking, the woman drew a hand over her mouth, dipping her head and smiling broadly. “Heavens.”
“Aye, we should.” Maddie patted her lady’s maid’s knee and raised her glass. “To the woman who has seen me through one and twenty years of happiness. I have no idea what would have become of me if you hadn’t been by my side. Sometimes I’ve felt as if you’re the only person in all of Christendom who cares.”
Aiden’s gut
twisted. He cared a great deal, but it was inconceivable that Maddie had been made to feel like an outcast from such a young age. He drank thoughtfully, watching the two women as they sipped. Even their mannerisms had become similar. “Miss Agnes, how long have you been serving Lady Magdalen?”
The woman’s eyes glistened with pride. “Since the day she was born. The moment I held her in my arms I knew my purpose.”
Aiden glanced to Maddie and knitted his brows. “Did your mother pass in childbirth?”
Shaking her head, the lass bit her bottom lip. “Nay. My mother knew I would have a better life if she gave me to my father. Only…” Maddie looked away and took another sip.
“What?”
“The one caveat was that she could never set eyes on me again.”
Agnes took a deep breath, frowning. “It was a good situation for Her Ladyship until the earl decided to marry.”
“And that’s when you were forced out on your own?” Aiden asked.
Maddie smiled—a smile with eyes growing dark with deep-seated pain. “Alas, the countess didn’t want a bastard to remind her of my father’s unchaste bachelorhood.”
Grumbling under her breath, Agnes guzzled the remainder of her sherry. “We shan’t discuss the Countess Marischal any longer. It sets both of our hackles to standing on end.”
“Agreed.” Aiden set his glass on the mantel and offered Maddie his hand. “Shall we be off, m’lady? We do not want to miss the opening. I hear it will be most spectacular.”
Agnes stood and clasped her hands together. “I shall wait up. You are coming straight back, are you not?”
Maddie tapped the lady’s maid’s shoulder before they strolled toward the door. “I want you to take some time for yourself this night. Do something that will make you happy. You have nothing to worry about, my pet. I’ll be in Lord Aiden’s capable hands.”
When they arrived at Westminster, it suited Maddie just fine to be seated straightaway. “We couldn’t have timed it better.”
“Indeed, and all eyes are watching you,” Aiden whispered into her hair, making gooseflesh rise across her skin. “You are stunning, absolutely stunning this eve.” Aiden followed the usher down the aisle until he stopped and gestured to their seats.
Maddie’s eyes flashed wide. “In front?”
“I kent you’d enjoy it. You have more musical talent in one strand of hair than most of the people in attendance as a whole.”
She squeezed her fingers around his elbow and inclined her lips to his ear. “Thank you.”
“It gives me pleasure just to see you smile.”
Once they took their seats, Aiden opened their program. “It says here that after his debut at Westminster, Handel is leaving to be the Kapellmeister to Prince George of Hanover.”
She leaned in and read. “Oh my. Now I am even more excited to hear him. He must be very good.”
They didn’t have long to wait.
The nave of the abbey had been cordoned off and the guests sat in rows behind the enormous organ with pipes of all sizes extending upward to Westminster’s vaulted ceiling. Maddie had been to cathedrals before, but had never seen an organ with so many stops and keyboards, five rows of ivory in total. Truly only a magician could make such a complex instrument sing.
After the queen and Prince George were seated with the usual fanfare, George Frideric Handel was introduced as an emerging composer born in Halle in the Holy Roman Empire. The side door opened and in walked the young maestro, clad in black robes, gray periwig, and lace cravat. Of medium height, he was shockingly young for a man who had already composed two operas. He bowed to the polite applause of the audience and took his seat. Despite the five keyboards, man and his instrument were diminished by the size of the enormous pipes above them.
As soon as his fingers struck the keys, Maddie was rapt, taken on a tour of heaven as if floating. Handel played pieces from his operas, Almira and Nero, and Dixit Dominus. That a man could be so young and have composed so much music amazed her.
Aiden threaded his fingers through hers. “You’re playing along with him.”
She gave him a quizzical expression.
“Your fingers were plucking your harp.”
She chuckled to herself. But now that His Lordship had her attention, she realized she had been picturing the music in her mind’s eye. And Aiden had been watching her the entire time. Maddie liked his attention, liked how his lips had parted and his eyes had grown stunned when she’d stepped into the passageway earlier that night.
Aiden had an untethered sensuousness about him—raw passion coursed through his blood. Maddie had never met a man who, with a blink of his eyes, could send her insides into a maelstrom of desire. He expressed more with a shift of the eye than most men did launching into a half-hour oration.
Her fingers trembled in his hand. She was so aware of his nearness, yet wanted to be closer. By the time the maestro concluded the first selection, Maddie had forgotten about her love of music. Aiden’s touch, his glances, his warm breath on her neck when he’d lean to whisper a comment, combined to twist her insides into a sizzling vat of molten gold. She’d tasted pleasure and she wanted more—wanted him right then and there.
If only.
She snapped from her trance as the applause rose.
Aiden again leaned in, his lips but a hairbreadth from her ear—a mere fraction of an inch from kissing her there and making gooseflesh pebble down her neck. In fact, the gooseflesh had already risen. “I wish we were back at Whitehall.”
She met his gaze—moss green, heavy lidded, and filled with the same sensuous desire whirring through her breasts, her heart, her most sacred places.
And in a church.
Maddie should be ashamed of her newfound passion, unleashed and unbridled for only Aiden Murray to witness. But how could she focus on feelings of guilt? After years of hiding? After years of giving to others and denying herself? She wanted to be happy… to experience life. This one time she would cast all caution aside and follow her heart—wherever it led.
Chapter Fourteen
Naked, Aiden slipped between the bed linens and rested against the headboard. He closed his eyes while a long sigh slipped through his lips. Every night since the first had been like this, waiting for Maddie to steal into his chamber, his heart hammering, his imagination taking over. He liked the growing anticipation, knowing that she’d come, but never certain when.
This night had been special. He’d already known that Maddie had uncanny musical ability, but her enjoyment of the organ recital had been palpable. She’d plucked an imaginary harp as if dreaming up harmonies in her head throughout the performance.
Of course Lady Saxonhurst had been there. This time she was on the arm of a man Aiden didn’t know—someone of influence, no doubt. And at intermission he’d overheard the shameful gossip. It was almost as if the gentry wanted him to hear.
What is Lord Aiden doing entertaining a bastard?
’Tis an abomination. How dare that woman show her face in public when her father is locked in the Tower and accused of treason?
Lord Aiden’s reputation could be irrevocably tarnished. A commander can ill afford that. He’ll never advance to captain.
And he’s only a second son.
But mind you, he is next in line to inherit. The times are precarious and one must never tempt fate.
Aiden had thought about taking Maddie and leaving the recital, but that would have only served to make the snobbish nitwits think they were right. On top of all their foolishness, he had to admit that before he met Lady Magdalen Keith, he would have sided with the hypocrites. He’d been raised to a life of privilege, led to believe himself superior because of his birth and his family’s wealth. The son of a powerful peer, Aiden spent his childhood living in an enormous castle filled with servants. His exalted position had instilled in him the erroneous belief that he was above any commoner and far better than any bastard.
How quickly the beauty had realigned his mispla
ced priorities. Or was it that now he’d set out on his own and become a man it was time for him to form his own opinions? Should a man not observe the world around him and come into his own? Was that not why men were born with the ability to reason?
Lady Magdalen Keith was the most alluring human being he’d ever met. Possessing a quick wit, Maddie was far more entertaining than any of his relatives. Aye, Aiden’s brother, John, was a good man, but he didn’t possess a certain human quality—one that endeared Maddie to his heart. Her unfettered concern for everyone around her spoke volumes about her character.
After his leave was up, he wondered if they’d ever meet again—possibly in Scotland next.
But such a notion is utterly unlikely.
He could only thank the stars Maddie was willing to give him his first taste of passion.
It is said a man never forgets his first love.
His gut twisted into a knot. Aiden didn’t want to think about letting her go. How did other men do it? Fraser MacPherson found a woman at every port. He didn’t rue saying good-bye, didn’t pine—except possibly for a day or two; then he set his sights on the next adventure.
Dear Lord, why did Aiden’s chest burn so? And he’d wanted to slam his fist into the Earl of Seaforth’s jaw earlier that day when he’d seen the lout grasp Maddie’s arm.
He chuckled.
At least I taught the whelp a lesson.
Then he looked down at the bandage covering the gash in his arm.
But the lad’s only eighteen. Seaforth will be a force to reckon with; ’tis a good thing he’s a Scot—and a good man.
Such thoughts didn’t ease the tightening in Aiden’s chest. He never wanted to see any man touch Maddie again. The thought of their parting and going separate ways didn’t sit well in the least. Who would court her next?
Damnation, our parting cannot be helped, and I will stop dwelling on it this instant.
With the latch’s click, Aiden’s heart thrummed.
The object of his desire slipped inside his bedchamber. Devil’s bones, her smile could certainly melt away any wee pain in his chest.