A Heart So Innocent

by Charlene Cross

  “Let’s get on with it, Sedgewinn, and see if we can iron out the few remaining wrinkles in the contract.” He cast a bright smile on the man. “Since Aidan is so eager to please us both, I’m certain it won’t take long.”

  “Quite. As you well know, Your Grace, I’m genuinely anxious to bed my new bride. The sooner we’re married, the better,” he said with a raspy laugh. Then he turned his leering gaze on his intended. “Good night, Aidan, my lovely little dove.”

  It took every ounce of strength she possessed, but Aidan finally managed to breathe, “Good night, Lord Sedgewinn. It’s been a pleasure.” Then, as she watched, the duke motioned for Sedgewinn to proceed to the library. Allowing the man to go before him, Alastair followed the earl out of the room.

  Cold blue eyes pierced the center of the earl’s back, pricking at the man like a sharp dagger, but Aidan had no way of seeing the murderous look in her father’s eye. If she had, she’d have realized her soft, pleading words hadn’t fallen on deaf ears like she had thought. As it was, though, she felt certain she’d gone down to defeat. Obviously her father cared nothing for her—felt no love at all.

  Rising from her chair, Aidan slowly made her way upstairs, where behind a locked door she pulled a small case from the recesses of the oversize clothes press which stood against the far wall of her bedroom. Next, she caught the fine material of her favorite dress: a soft creation made of silk, off-white in color, a multitude of seed pearls beading the entire bodice and edging the hem and elbow-length sleeves. Despite her misgivings, her uncertainties—despite everything!—she planned to be a beautiful bride. George’s bride. She’d be a devoted wife to him as well, she vowed silently. Even if she didn’t love him.

  A feeling of guilt surged through her, but she quickly tamped it down. Regardless of what Justin Warfield might think, she would never consciously hurt George. Never! It made no difference if she had to hide behind a false mask of devotion, concealing her true feelings from her husband—from all of England as well—she’d do it! He deserved no less.

  No less? a deep baritone voice mocked her, Justin’s harsh, chastising laughter bursting forth inside her head. He deserves far more, you conniving little bitch! I’d say you’ve already betrayed him with your deceitful manipulations. All to save your own hide. As promised, you’ll now answer to me!

  Aidan quickly shook her head to clear it; her wide eyes darted from corner to corner, making certain the Duke of Westover hadn’t, somehow, slipped into her room unseen. Realizing her mind had been playing tricks on her, no doubt resulting from her guilty conscience, she breathed easier. Yet her nerves were still taut, for she dreaded the night ahead. Dreaded seeing Justin Warfield again!

  Having packed her small case and changed into a dress she’d filched from her maid Penny, Aidan extinguished the lamp beside her bed, then settled into a chair, waiting in the darkness until the house quieted for the night. With any luck, she’d escape with no one the wiser. Please, God, for once answer my prayers. Please!

  Downstairs, a frustrated Alastair Prescott leaned back in his chair and wiped his hand over his face. He felt like a man nearly twice his age. With a sudden jerk, he sat upright, slipped the stopper from the crystal decanter on his desk, and poured himself a second healthy glass of brandy. Settling back, he swallowed a good portion of it and prayed the fiery liquid would soothe his nerves and cool his temper.

  When he and Sedgewinn had entered the library over two hours ago, the duke had had his mind set. The problem was how he could make Sedgewinn bolt and, at the same time, preserve his honor. In his haste to marry his rebellious daughter off to the first man who would have her, he’d impetuously jumped into negotiations with Sedgewinn without any forethought. Granted, it was a terrible blunder on his part. Yet, once done, he’d misguidedly felt he couldn’t withdraw. But, as the three of them had sat in the dining room, Sedgewinn stuffing his flatulent face, Alastair had heard the soft pleading quality of Aidan’s voice and the underlying message she’d been trying so desperately to convey, and his hardened heart had melted. Sedgewinn be damned!

  At first, the duke had tried to break off their negotiations by placing small obstacles in the earl’s path. But the man seemed willing to agree to anything, so Alastair had quickly switched tactics. His demands had become more outrageous as the minutes passed, even to the point of asking Sedgewinn for an annual allowance, to be paid directly to the duke. Then he’d stated a ludicrous sum that not even the Queen could afford! Hesitant at first, Sedgewinn tried to arrange a considerably lesser amount, reminding the duke of all the sturdy grandchildren he’d provide for Atwood’s enjoyment. When the duke had remained steadfast, certain Sedgewinn would balk, the man amazingly conceded. Like a drooling, rapacious hound, he’d practically forfeited his entire fortune. It was obvious that the earl’s acute desire to sink his long fangs into the tender succulent meat which had been dangled before him had overridden any common sense the man might have possessed!

  Finally, unable to withstand another moment of Sedgewinn’s vile presence, the duke had bounded from his chair and thumped his desk with his balled fist. “You lascivious bastard!” he’d growled, glaring his distaste at the man. “If you think I’d ever give you permission to use my daughter to satiate your satyric lusts, you’re sadly mistaken. Get your overblown backside off my furniture and out of my house! And I suggest you move with haste, sir, before I boot you through the door myself.”

  Taken aback, the earl had opened his beady eyes in shock; his turgid mouth worked itself like that of a fish. “But … but, Your Grace,” he’d blubbered, “I’ve gladly conceded everything!”

  “You’ve conceded nothing,” Alastair had snapped back, “except that you’re a pompous fool! Now, filth, withdraw from my presence and never approach me or my daughter again.” Sedgewinn had pulled his considerable girth from the chair, and Alastair could have sworn he’d heard the leather cushion emit a sigh of relief. “And Sedgewinn,” the duke had said in afterthought, his thumb gingerly testing the pointed tip of the small bejeweled dagger, an ancestral keepsake that was now used as a letter opener, “should some unfortunate young woman consent to marry you and I hear you have abused her, like you did your previous wives, I’ll make certain you never mistreat another woman again—in any way.” He nodded toward Sedgewinn’s crotch. “Understood?”

  The earl visibly blanched, then gulped. “Y-yes … quite.”

  “Good. Now, get out!”

  Remembering the look on Sedgewinn’s face, the duke chuckled, then tossed down the remainder of his brandy. He glanced at the gilded bronze French clock gracing the mantel. Ten minutes to twelve. Rising, he extinguished the lamp and headed for the stairs and his bedchamber. As he passed down the upstairs hallway, he came to Aidan’s door, where he stopped and listened. No sound came from within. Undoubtedly she was asleep. And if she weren’t? Either way, his news could wait until tomorrow. Another worrisome night might make her even more submissive and less willing to challenge his every word. A smile crossed his face. He was looking forward to having an obedient daughter. It would be a pleasant change, he decided gleefully. A damned pleasant change, indeed!

  Aidan’s ear pressed itself to the wooden panel, her breath held tightly in her lungs. It had been five minutes—or was it only five seconds?—since her father’s footsteps had stopped outside her door. The house seemed quiet enough. Dared she chance her escape now? In far away tones, she heard the clock in the library begin to chime. Midnight! She had no choice. If she didn’t go now, Justin Warfield was certain to leave her behind.

  Quietly she turned the key; the lock released, sounding like a cannon’s fire in the silent house. Nervously she twisted the handle, and again, to Aidan’s sensitive ears, the noise was loud enough to wake the dead. Yet, thankfully, no one stirred. With her case in hand, a lightweight cloak draped over her shoulders, she scurried down the hallway on silent feet to the back stairs. Once down them, she peered around the corner, checking the kitchen area, making certain
no one was about.

  For once, it seemed good fortune was with her. Yanking up a length of black skirt, she fled the house and, like a stealthy feline, bounded down the garden path toward the carriage house. An iron gate stood at the corner of the stone wall, rusting from disuse. Cautiously she lifted the pitted latch and prayed the thing wasn’t frozen on its corroded hinges. After several hard pulls, her door to freedom gave way, almost toppling her onto her backside as it did so. With case in hand, she crept down the musty-smelling tunnel, created by the carriage house bordering their own, and stepped through yet another gate and into the blackened, eerie stillness of the mews.

  The Duke of Westover’s coach was nowhere to be seen. Gazing into the wide cobbled yard, which led from the mews out onto the street, she hoped to see it turning the corner any moment. After what seemed an eternity, Aidan’s hopes sank. She’d been only a few minutes late, but apparently he’d left without her. That was, if he’d come at all. Her shoulders drooping, she started to turn.

  Suddenly Aidan felt certain she wasn’t alone. A dark shadow loomed up only a few feet from her. Its owner stepped from behind the open gate leading back into the tunnel. Aidan’s heart leapt to her throat. Garbed in black, the hulking male figure moved toward her, and a scream bubbled to her lips. Instantly a large hand sliced through the air, smothering her cries as he jerked her against his solid form.

  “You’re lucky I waited, Lady Prescott,” Justin Warfield said, his low voice grating along her already trembling nerves. “But more’s the pity for you that I did.”

  4

  A heavy cloud stripped itself away from the moon to reveal the Duke of Westover’s dark features. Aidan stared up at his shadow-cut face, his brows knit into a heavy frown. Shoving his hand from her face, she quickly pulled from his grasp. “You’ve managed to take ten years off my life!” she lashed out sharply. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

  “By journey’s end, let’s hope I haven’t snatched several more.” Aidan noted the sanguine tone of his voice and stepped back a pace; Justin chuckled wickedly. “Having second thoughts, are we?”

  “No,” she stated with much more aplomb than she’d actually felt. “I’m simply debating the wisdom of having you as my traveling companion. But then, I tell myself you are just a man, like any other.”

  “Am I?” Justin asked, stepping closer to her, his white teeth catching and reflecting the moonbeams as his lips curled into an immoral grin. “Don’t fool yourself into believing I am, Lady Prescott. I might consider it a challenge and need to prove otherwise.”

  Aidan’s eye’s widened perceptibly. “You, sir, lack the manners of a true gentleman.”

  “And the term lady is a misnomer where you’re concerned. You may have inherited the title at birth, but you certainly haven’t earned the right to be called such.”

  Incensed, Aidan sputtered furiously, “Why, you … you …”

  “Bastard?” he questioned, his deep rumble of laughter echoing through the silent air. He noticed the shocked look in her wide eyes. No doubt she’d thought to call him such, but like her pretentious sisters within the peerage, would never have voiced it openly. “My lineage is as pure as the driven snows, Lady Prescott.” Again deep laughter pealed from his lips. “I assure you I’m not a woods colt; however, I might be considered a miscreant, a rogue, or a scoundrel. The choice is yours.”

  All three! she thought, glaring up at him, fighting off the odd feelings he evoked in her. “You neglected to include knave, reprobate, and blackguard.”

  His devilish smile grew wider. “So I did. Thank you for reminding me. Now, since you harbor no illusions about my character, and I hold none about yours, shall we proceed as planned?”

  And I hold none about yours… The words echoed through Aidan’s mind, and as she viewed his mocking features, she wondered how he perceived her. Manipulative, exploitative, selfish, a cunning she-devil? Or did he possibly believe her a close relative to the legendary vampire, certain she was the sort of woman who would drain the last drop of blood from a man’s body in order to ensure her own survival?

  How dare he think of her in those terms! Especially when it was he who held title to being a seducer of women. Woe to all the unsuspecting females who had the misfortune to cross his path, Aidan thought, herself included. No doubt he carefully measured his prey, then, when least expected, quickly pounced, devouring their flesh for his own carnal satisfaction! Certain it was so, Aidan shored up her defenses.

  “Yes,” she answered finally, her eyes flashing her distrust.

  Unveiled, her anger fomented in her huge violet eyes, making Justin take pause. Would he reach Gretna Green alive? he wondered, certain the sentiment he’d read in her scintillating gaze was closely akin to murder. At eight-and-twenty, he found the prospect of being lowered into a gaping black hole extremely unappealing. Puzzled, he thought her animosity would be far more understandable if he’d lain siege to her virginity and had taken it, not because he’d consented to help her. Cannily, he decided he’d best protect his back at all times.

  Suddenly irritated that he’d agreed to this foolish undertaking in the first place, he snatched the case from Aidan’s hand, cupped her elbow, and forcefully escorted her down the mews.

  Aidan dug her heels into the cobblestones, fighting against Justin’s crushing grip. Not only was he hurting her, they were going in the opposite direction from the street. “Where are you taking me?” He didn’t answer. “I demand to know where we’re going!”

  He rounded a carriage house, which jutted out into the alleyway, and stopped. “To my horse.”

  “Horse!”

  “Yes,” he replied in a harsh whisper, pulling her snug against his side. “And keep your voice down, lest you wake the entire neighborhood.”

  Aidan gazed up at the huge black stallion and blinked. “Surely you don’t expect me to … to ride with you?”

  “Unless you’d prefer walking.”

  “A conveyance would have been—”

  “Too noisy. I wasn’t about to have my coach driven down these mews, my ducal crest emblazoned on the door for all to see, just to pluck you from the night and whisk your ladyship away in comfort. Now, do you ride? Or do you walk?”

  Mutinously she gazed up at his handsome face, her lips pressed into a tight line. The arrogant jackanapes! she fumed, while simultaneously wishing he wasn’t so close. The heat radiating from his powerful masculine form transfused her clothing and seared her flesh wherever their bodies touched. It frightened her, yet intrigued her as well.

  Hastily Aidan separated herself from his hard length, her eyes again sparking her aversion; again Justin caught their unfriendly message and chuckled. “You should learn to mask your thoughts, Lady Prescott,” he said, smiling, “before they lead you into trouble.”

  Like flint hitting steel, they easily struck sparks off the other. Aidan felt threatened. “My thoughts are my own,” she snapped, quickly using her anger as a shield.

  But his thick-lashed silvery gaze instantly penetrated her defenses as he whispered, “Not when your beautiful, expressive eyes speak them so clearly, little one. They say much more than you know. A man can hardly refuse what they promise.”

  The deep, throbbing timbre of his voice shook Aidan to her core. His metamorphosis from disdainful persecutor to gentle persuader, practically in the same breath, nearly undid her. No wonder the majority of her gender groveled at his feet. He was equally capable of evoking both hatred and desire, challenging the feminine heart to tame him or inflame him, whichever it dared. Was she any different from the rest of them? No!

  Maddened by the truth, Aidan again pulled her cloak of anger around her and hid behind it. Breaking free of his grip, she hiked her skirts and placed her small hand on the pommel; her foot slipped into the stirrup. As she struggled to lift herself from the ground, the big stallion shied and pranced sideways; his hostile whinny sliced through the still air.

  A virulent curse escaped Justin as he grabb
ed the reins and, with a hard jerk, yanked the stallion’s combative head down, silencing him. Before Aidan could protest, his large hands spanned her tiny waist and hoisted her, dumping her sideways on the saddle. In one fluid motion, he settled in behind her. “Hold this,” he said, stuffing the case into her hands; then his sinewy arm slipped around her waist, pulling her snugly against him, trapping her between his outstretched thighs. Aidan stiffened at his familiarity and fought to free herself from his taut hold. Again the horse shied. “Be still or we’ll both be sprawled on the cobblestones. Like me, Apollo doesn’t trust you.”

  Trust me! she thought, knowing she was literally in the clutches of the most notorious rogue in all of England. Yet, she swallowed her protests. “Apollo? I’d hardly have named him after the god of sunlight when he’s as black as midnight.”

  “Apollo is also the god of prophecy. From his reaction to you, I’d say my stallion was warning me against any further involvement in this tomfoolery. Had I any sense, I’d deposit you back at the gate.”

  Had she any sense, she’d tell him to do so! “George shall be awaiting us,” she reminded. “You’ve given your word.”

  “So I have, Lady Prescott,” he bit out, wishing to hell he hadn’t, for the nearness of her soft form provoked his desire. Turning Apollo, he set the stallion into a steady walk. “But I didn’t promise George your trip would be a pleasant one. Such an allowance is entirely up to you. Let it be known, here and now, your actions will dictate the mood of our journey.”

  The warning vibrated through Aidan like a great bell sounding a death knell, and as they approached the gate, leading back into the gardens, she eyed it at length. Should she keep to the course she was presently on, her nemesis baiting her every inch of the way? Or should she slip from the saddle and fly to the sanctuary of her home?

  Guessing her thoughts, Justin reined Apollo in next to the gate. “Last chance, little one. What choice do you make?” He watched as she viewed the iron portal, and was certain her body leaned itself toward it. He smiled to himself, then started to kick his foot from the stirrup and help her down. Abruptly she faced forward; her back stiffened perceptibly. With her head held high, its crown level with Justin’s chin, she clutched her case against her, unwilling to budge. “Then a bride you shall be,” he said, urging Apollo forward again. “Congratulations, Lady Prescott… or is it best wishes?” he asked, badgering her anew. “I sincerely hope you never regret your decision.”