A Heart So Innocent

by Charlene Cross

  Eugenia glanced over the crowd. “Which one? There are at least eighty men in this room.”

  “The one not twenty feet from us. He’s quite tall, with dark hair and silver eyes.”

  “Sorry, Aidan. I don’t see anyone who fits your description. The nearest man to us is Lord Grimes, and I’d hardly call him tall. He’s bald, as well.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Aidan chanced a quick peek. Eugenia was right. Portly and short, Lord Grimes stood where the stranger had only moments before. Her confused gaze swept the room. He was gone. A frown marred her smooth brow. Had she imagined him? If so, why did she feel like a fish out of water, her breaths coming in shallow gasps?

  “Is that he over there?” Eugenia asked, her closed fan pointing in the direction of the open French doors leading onto the balcony.

  Aidan’s gaze followed. “Yes,” she said, noting how his dark head bent toward a rather striking blond. He seemed to be listening intently to the woman’s every word. Suddenly he threw back his head. Deep-throated laughter rose into the air, shooting straight into Aidan’s ears; a warm feeling trickled down her spine. “Who is he?” she asked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she watched the coquettish blond tap his arm with her fan and flirtatiously smile up at him. For some unexplained reason, the woman’s attentiveness annoyed Aidan. Or was it his masculine response to it which actually chafed her?

  “Are you somewhere among the clouds?” Eugenia asked, snapping Aidan from her thoughts. “I’d suggest that if you’re entertaining any thoughts of exchanging him for Lord Sedgewinn, don’t. You’d be far worse off.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever heard tell of Justin Warfield, the notorious Duke of Westover?” Aidan nodded, her gaze still on the tall stranger. “Well, my naive little friend,” Eugenia said, “you’re looking at him.”

  Just then the Duke of Westover’s gaze captured Aidan’s. Holding it a long, measuring moment, he glanced away, the blond, once again, the target of his lazy regard. Aidan drew a steadying breath. What was wrong with her?

  “The woman with him is the Honorable Mrs. Farley Danvers—Cynthia, I believe. Yes, Cynthia. She’s the daughter of Sir John Stone. It’s said she is or was the duke’s mistress. No one seems to know which.”

  “And what does the Honorable Mr. Danvers say of their sordid behavior?” Aidan asked priggishly, passing lofty judgment on the couple and their blatant love affair, which normally was unlike her.

  “Not much, I suppose. He’s been dead nearly a year.”

  Aidan’s head snapped around, her eyes questioning.

  “Westover had nothing to do with it. Danvers died of typhoid. According to the gossips, the duke stays clear of married women and virgins. He prefers experienced, unattached females. You might meet the latter requirement, but certainly not the former. Although many a woman has tried to capture his heart, he chooses to remain single. Just look at how they all gape at him.” Eugenia indicated the legions of women, their yearning gazes turned on Justin Warfield. Aidan’s own gaze stopped momentarily on each one as Eugenia’s fan pointed them out. “Given the chance, he’d break all their hearts. Don’t tempt fate, Aidan.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.”

  “What won’t you do?” asked David as he balanced three glasses of champagne in his hands. “Sorry I’m late”—he handed his wife and Aidan their glasses—”but there was such a cram around the refreshment table, I thought to be injured in the press.” He flipped the tails of his coat aside and sat next to Eugenia, then sipped from his glass. “Now, Aidan, what is it you refuse to do?”

  “I refuse to say,” Aidan teased as the melodious strains from the orchestra suddenly filled the grand ballroom.

  “Oh, David, a waltz!” Eugenia cried. “Let’s dance.”

  “Dare we leave Aidan unattended?” he questioned, a puckish light entering his blue eyes. “Since His Grace could not be here, we promised we’d keep a watchful eye on his daughter the night through.”

  Aidan laughed. “I promise I shan’t disappear.”

  “We’d best disappear,” Eugenia commented. “The wolves are descending on the lamb.” She motioned toward a half-dozen of Aidan’s hopeful suitors who were bearing down on them, each from a different direction. “If we’re to be spared the nips and snarls as they fight over her, we’d best leave—now!”

  “Don’t go!” Aidan cried, but Eugenia had already pulled David into the crowd, leaving her to fend for herself.

  Like bees drawn to the sweet nectar of a flower, the eager swains swarmed around her, each requesting a dance. Annoyed, Aidan was tempted to swat the lot away. Where was George? she wondered. Was he having second thoughts, the same as she? Her eyes searched the doorway again, while she half-listened to the men’s wrangling chatter.

  “I asked first,” insisted the Honorable Mr. Orville White.

  “I beg to differ with you, sir,” countered Lord Jeremy Roberts, a lesser son of a marquess. The others joined in, bickering over who had invited her first; Aidan closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” a smooth, deep voice interrupted, and Aidan’s eyes opened to meet a lazy silver gaze; an odd warmth flooded her body. “I believe rank has its privilege. Lady Prescott, if you will?”

  Aidan stared at the outstretched hand. Strong, yet gentle, she thought, surveying the long fingers and the wide, deeply lined palm. “I … I …” she stammered, furious with herself that she couldn’t get her refusal past her lips.

  At the flash of indignation in her expressive violet eyes, Justin’s chiseled lips cracked into a knowing grin. “I’m honored, Lady Prescott, that you’ve chosen me as your partner.” Without a second’s hesitation, he lifted Aidan’s gloved hand from her lap, pulled her to her feet and into his arms, and swept her onto the dance floor, all in one swift move. With their mouths agape, the six would-be suitors stared after the pair.

  Aidan’s feet stumbled over themselves as she fought to break free of Justin’s embrace. “What do you think you’re doing? Release me!”

  “It would be a mistake if I did,” he countered with a chuckle, for he’d noted how her feet refused to keep step with his own. He winked, a teasing smile lighting his face; Aidan felt the effects of it to her toes. “You really should take lessons. Your partners’ insteps might suffer less, if you did.”

  Feeling threatened by his male charm, Aidan quickly hid behind her anger. A mutinous glare entered her eyes. How dare he intimate she was a horrid dancer? Especially when she hadn’t consented to be his partner in the first place! “Sir, unhand me!”

  “If you insist.” Justin dropped his arms, and Aidan floundered as her legs buckled. Instantly he grabbed her arm, pulling her against his solid length; his own arm encircled her waist. His familiar touch shocked Aidan; she stiffened. Feeling her resistance, Justin smiled to himself. An untried virgin, he thought, knowing one of his questions had been answered. The pressure of his arm eased, and he smiled. “Now, let’s try again, shall we?” Not waiting for Aidan’s assent, Justin began whirling her around the floor again. “One, two, three, one, two, three … that’s it. You do know how to dance.”

  Feeling the crowd’s curious stares upon them, Aidan glared up at the “notorious” Duke of Westover. “Sir, we have not been introduced,” she spouted primly. “It’s highly improper for us to be dancing like this. I insist—”

  “Justin Warfield, the Duke of Westover.” Laughter rumbled from his solid chest. “By the look in your eye, I’d say my reputation has preceded me.”

  Aidan blinked. What could she say? It most certainly has, Your Grace. By the way, is it all true—the women, I mean? Scores and scores, you say. Upon my word! You must be an exceedingly busy man. When do you find time to sleep? Instead she mumbled, “I’ve never heard of you.”

  Liar, he thought, then said, “But I’ve heard of you, Lady Prescott.” He noted her questioning gaze. “George has sent me.�
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  Aidan missed a step and Justin compensated, their rhythm never faltering. “George? Where is he?” she asked anxiously. “Has something happened to him?”

  “Not to him, personally. There’s been a fire at his father’s estate. He had to leave to attend to the repairs. He’s asked that I come in his place and make the necessary arrangements to get you safely to Gretna Green.”

  “You?”

  Justin laughed, drawing the attention of those nearest them. Seeing their raised eyebrows and condemning expressions, Aidan felt like slipping through a crack in the floor. If her father ever learned she’d been held in the Duke of Westover’s arms, he’d have her shipped off to a convent on the morrow. Worst yet, he’d probably drive Sedgewinn and herself straight to Gretna Green before the earl got wind of her scandalous behavior! Never mind, she’d done everything in her power to escape the rakish duke’s hold!

  His laughter subsided. “Then you have heard of me,” he said, his handsome lips retaining a roguish grin. He twirled her through the open doorway, onto the balcony, and pulled her to a quiet corner. Edging a hip onto the stone balustrade, he released her struggling hand and slipped George’s note from his inner pocket. “This will confirm my words,” he said, handing it to her.

  Breaking the wax seal, Aidan unfolded the note and angled it to catch the moon’s rays. “How do I know this is from George?” she asked, suddenly doubting the signature was authentic.

  “Who else knows of your plan to elope?” he countered, folding his arms over his broad chest.

  Aidan noted how his well-toned muscles swelled beneath the sleeves of his black coat, stretching the material. “N-no one,” she said, her gaze quickly climbing to his. It was a mistake.

  Lazy eyes assessed her, raking her from head to foot. “George said you were beautiful.” The crook of his finger met her chin while he examined her features in the moonlight. High, sculptured cheekbones, a classically straight nose, full trembling lips, huge violet eyes framed with long dark lashes, and flawless skin kissed by moonbeams satisfied his inquiring eyes. “Said he’d fallen in love with you the moment he first saw you. I didn’t believe him … not until I beheld you myself.”

  Aidan found herself caught up in his tantalizing words. His deep-toned voice mesmerized her as his magnetic gaze drew her. An odd twitter centered itself in the nether regions of her stomach. Then she felt the touch of his thumb, gliding softly across her parted lips; instantly she stepped back. “You, sir, are no friend of George’s.”

  “And you, Lady Prescott, are not in love with him.”

  “How dare—”

  “I dare because it is the truth. You are using George to save your own hide.”

  “You know nothing of my feelings for George. What’s in my heart is none of your business.”

  “Isn’t it?” Justin asked, coming to his feet, backing her against the balustrade. “I’ve known George since he was in swaddling clothes. Although we are not the closest of friends, I feel, in some ways, responsible for him. He’s had a tough go of it while growing up, and he sees his marriage to you as his one chance for true happiness. I’ll not let you destroy him for your own selfish reasons.”

  Aidan stared at the stranger who seemed bent on chiding her. A dark lock of hair curled over his wide forehead; carved cheekbones slashed upward to his temples, emphasizing the hollows beneath. Steely, long-lashed eyes, topped by dark brows, kneaded themselves into a censuring frown, nearly meeting above his straight nose. Sculptured nostrils flared as if in anger. Chiseled lips, the lower a bit more prominent than the upper, pulled themselves into a tight line above a cleft chin. His strong, firm jaw was set; a muscle worked along its angular lines. “You’re mistaken, sir,” Aidan defended herself, even though she knew he spoke the truth. “I hold great fondness—”

  “But you don’t love him.” He stepped closer to her, almost pressing his masculine length against her trapped form. Before Aidan had the chance to flee, he caught her arms, pulling her hard against him; his clean breath fanned over her face. “I promised George I’d deliver you into his loving embrace at Gretna Green. I will not go back on my word—despite my reservations. However, Lady Prescott, after your marriage, should I learn you’ve hurt George in any way, you will answer to me. Understood?”

  Wide, frightened eyes stared up into his; Aidan nodded.

  “Then be in the mews behind your home at midnight on the morrow. One traveling case is all you’ll need. And make it small.” He released her as though she’d singed his hands. “Until then, Lady Prescott, I bid you good night.”

  Her voice caught in her throat, Aidan stared after him as he strode into the brightly lit ballroom. Using the stone balustrade for support, she steadied herself; then, on tottering legs she followed. Dared she let this man escort her to Gretna Green? Why, of all men, had George chosen Justin Warfield? Anyone but him! she thought, her stomach suddenly flitting nervously as she paused near the French doors. She took a deep breath, hoping to regain her poise, then smoothed her satin skirt, propped her head high, and crossed the threshold.

  Instantly her eyes snagged the wickedly handsome Duke of Westover as he whirled the gorgeous Cynthia Danvers onto the dance floor. His strong arm held the blond improperly close as their feet kept perfect time. Laughter rang from his throat when the smiling blond, her blue eyes boldly flirting, whispered something to him. Its deep timbre ricocheted through Aidan; then, for a brief moment, his gaze met hers. Its silvery sparkle turned to cold hard steel, and Aidan felt she’d been rent in two by a frigid blade.

  Severing their gazes, she turned her head and shakily made her way toward her vacated chair, praying her legs would carry her that far. Moments later, Eugenia and David found Aidan seated, quivering and pale, and immediately whisked her from the party. Assessing silver eyes watched with masculine interest as she fled the room.

  3

  Aidan’s unbound hair flowed down her back; her ecru silk dressing gown brushed against her legs as she paced her bedroom floor, the sound of her barefoot tread losing itself in the thick wool carpet. Although the bright morning sunlight blazed through the lace curtains to bound off the cream-colored walls and set the giltwood furnishings aglitter, the cheery atmosphere did little to lighten Aidan’s troubled thoughts.

  How could she possibly go through with her elopement? she wondered, her hands twisting anxiously. Especially when she was to be accompanied to Gretna Green by the dark-and-brooding “notorious” Duke of Westover! She remembered how his steely gaze had sliced into her while his powerful masculine form had trapped her against the balustrade, the deep timbre of his cold voice threatening her with instant reprisal should she hurt George. Aidan felt the abrupt lurch of her heart. Suddenly she went weak.

  Certain her quaking legs would give way, she caught the bedpost and sank onto the down-filled mattress. What was she to do? she silently asked, possibly for the hundredth time in the past half-hour. Her bowed head shook in response to her indecision. Last night, when she’d fled the Quincys’ soiree, she’d been set on calling off her elopement with George. But when she’d returned to Atwood House, Eugenia and David at her heels, she’d come face-to-face with the Earl of Sedgewinn.

  “Ah, my dearest child,” he’d said, stepping away from her father’s side, making Aidan freeze in her tracks as she crossed the marble foyer. His lust-filled beady brown eyes had examined her from head to toe as he moved indecently close to her. “His Grace and I had hit upon a snag in our negotiations. But as I look upon your considerable beauty, I feel compelled to yield on the particular issue which has set us apart. I want nothing to delay our marriage.”

  Upon hearing his words, Aidan had felt the blood drain from her face; bitter bile surged into her throat as she’d stared at the galling man. He was large-boned and stocky; his ruddy complexion had stood in utter contrast to his thatch of white hair and bushy black eyebrows. His meaty hands grasped the silver knob of his walking cane as he’d leaned on it for support, relieving the pressure
on his gout-riddled right foot. He was overindulgent in all he did, and she’d imagined his lovemaking leaned toward brutality, his own lustful needs coming first. Why else had he already outlived two wives and now sought a third?

  Without a word, she’d yanked up a handful of skirt, brushed past the leering Earl of Sedgewinn, and fled across the foyer and up the white marble staircase, heading to her room, her father’s and Eugenia’s words climbing upward behind her.

  “Daughter, come back here this instant!”

  “Forgive her, Your Grace. Aidan suddenly took ill at the soiree. David and I brought her home as quickly as possible. She seeks her bed so she may rest. I’m certain she will be well on the morrow.”

  Before Aidan had turned the corner, however, she’d heard Sedgewinn’s statement, proclaiming he hoped she was a “healthy broody.” Eugenia’s shocked gasp and David’s harsh admonishment on using such crude language in front of his wife followed, whereupon the duke apologized to Eugenia and David, said good night to Sedgewinn, and had Elsworth show the lot out. Secured behind her locked door, Aidan had listened in mutinous silence as her father pronounced heatedly, “He’s to be your husband, so I suggest you show him some courtesy. It will go better for you if you do!”

  Having spent a sleepless night debating what she should do, Aidan found she was no closer to an answer than when she’d arrived home last evening. One thing was certain, though. She would not marry Sedgewinn! Even if it meant she’d have to sell all her clothing and jewels and use the proceeds to flee her homeland, no doubt to live a pauper’s life somewhere abroad, she’d do it! She’d do anything! So long as she could escape Sedgewinn’s odious clutches! She’d even be willing to endure Justin Warfield’s piercing stares and cutting remarks as the reproving duke ferried her overland to Gretna Green. Or would she?

  A picture of the arrogantly handsome duke painted itself in her mind, creating a vivid portrait. Devilishly sophisticated, suavely urbane, he had the distinct ability to bewitch the feminine gender with his blatant masculine appeal. Was she any different from the scores of women who threw themselves at his feet?