A Heart So Innocent

by Charlene Cross

  Apollo’s hoofbeats echoed through the clear night as Justin guided him down the side streets and through the dark mews and vacant stableyards, keeping their movements as secretive as possible. Slowly he headed them toward Westover House, where his coach awaited them, ready to roll the moment they arrived. As Justin held her in his unyielding embrace, he noted how Aidan’s soft hip fitted itself snugly against his groin and how her full breasts innocently brushed his arm. The light scent of lavender wafted upward from her fragrant tresses, which shone like copper in the moonlight, to fill his nostrils, and he fought the hot arousal that suddenly scorched his loins.

  Devious and virginal, he reminded himself cynically. And she belongs to another, he silently added, fighting the temptation to set his heels into Apollo’s flanks and propel the stallion into a full gallop to end his own agony. They were barely two blocks from his home. If he could only last. Doubting he would, Justin slowly eased back and away from Aidan’s soft, appealing form; instantly Apollo halted in his tracks.

  Copper curls slashed against Justin’s face as Aidan’s head spun round. “Why have we stopped?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

  In reply, a short derisive laugh escaped Justin’s throat. What was he to say: Because, milady, in order to escape your luscious, provocative little body, I inadvertently commanded Apollo to do so? Hardly. Dammit all! If he could only be rid of her! His arm tightening unmercifully, Justin slid hard against Aidan and heeled Apollo’s sides. The stallion bounded forward, almost unseating his charge, but Justin held her fast. As she bounced between his thighs, he found his agony had increased tenfold, and he gritted his teeth in consternation.

  At full speed, they vaulted into the stableyard behind Westover House, where Justin reined Apollo to a jarring stop and dismounted. Grabbing the case from her hand, he dropped it and pulled Aidan from the saddle. “Cool him down,” he ordered over his shoulder to the yawning, sleepy-eyed stableboy as he led a scurrying Aidan to the awaiting coach. Silently scoffing at himself, Justin wondered if he’d been referring to Apollo or himself.

  Her feet scrambling to keep up with Justin’s hard, angry strides, Aidan glared her discontent and opened her mouth to express it, when her foot snagged the hem of her gown. Stumbling, she almost landed on her knees, but Justin quickly righted her. “Why such haste?” she asked, brushing at her dress, then straightening her cloak with a jerk. “The way you’ve been burning up the earth, one would think someone had set your seat afire.” Staring at her a moment, Justin twitched his lips, then let fly his full-throated laughter; Aidan blinked. “I see nothing humorous in the way you’ve been treating me. A gentleman would never—”

  Aidan’s words stalled in her throat as Justin scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the coach. “Woman, you’re pressing your luck,” he said close to her ear. “We’ve already decided, once, I’m not a gentleman and you are not a lady.” With a flick of his wrist, the door opened and he dumped her onto the leather seat. “My expediency is merely fueled by the knowledge that the sooner I get you to Gretna Green, the sooner I’ll be rid of you.”

  The door slammed shut, and a surprised Aidan watched as the Duke of Westover strode back for her case. Having secured it in the boot, he swung inside the conveyance and dropped the heavy curtains over the windows. With a rap of his fist, Justin signaled his driver, and the coach was set into motion.

  In the blackened void, Aidan’s remaining senses heightened. Although she couldn’t see her nemesis, she heard his indrawn breath and its steady release, smelled his clean, manly scent, felt his overpowering presence. His very being seemed to envelop her in a hard, crushing embrace. The stifling heat in the airless coach suddenly closed in on her. Certain she was about to suffocate, Aidan gasped and reached for the lowered curtain.

  “Leave it!” Justin commanded sharply.

  Startled, Aidan gazed across the murky cavity at his obscure form. Ignoring Justin’s command, she lifted the curtain from the open window to inhale the refreshing night air deep into her aching lungs.

  Instantly Justin lurched from his seat. Whiplike, his hand snapped over her wrist. “I said leave it,” he ordered barely inches from her ear as he pulled her hand away from the flap.

  Aidan struggled to escape his harsh grip. “Let loose of me!” He’s too close, her mind screamed, her free hand pushing against the solid wall of his chest. “Let go!”

  As her pleasing woman’s scent rose to fill his nostrils, her ineffectual struggles provoked him, and a sudden wave of masculine lust surged through him. By the gods! Had he gone insane? Certain he had, Justin abruptly released Aidan’s wrist and fell back into his seat. “I apologize if I hurt you,” he said, his voice strangely tight. “When we’ve reached the outskirts of London, you may raise the curtains—not before.”

  Fighting the memory of his nearness, Aidan rubbed her wrist. “What ludicrous reason could you possibly have to keep them closed? By the time we’ve come upon Islington, we’ll be baked alive.”

  “Secrecy.”

  “Secrecy! Why, it’s as black as pitch in here. No one can possibly see us. Not even with the curtains up.”

  “Your lovely features, Lady Prescott, might reflect themselves in the moonlight, the gaslights, or the coach lamps—all three, for that matter. To ensure that no one recognizes you, they shall remain closed.”

  “But I’m suffocating in this unbearable heat.”

  “Then I suggest you close your mouth and stop adding to the already burdensome atmosphere.”

  Her jaw clamped shut, and she glared her intense dislike at the shadowy man across from her. Barbarous beast! she thought, wishing there were some way she could make him suffer equally as much as she was, if not more so. Not having a clue as to what manner of torture she could foist on him, she threatened in a mutinous tone, “If I don’t get some air this instant, I shall faint!”

  A much-used feminine ploy, Justin thought, and chuckled. “Then I suggest you keep your smelling salts close at hand. Or better yet, perhaps you should lie upon the seat so you won’t fall and injure yourself.”

  Each word that escaped Justin’s mouth had sounded to Aidan like it was drifting away from her, instead of toward her. The heat—was it really affecting her? An odd sibilant noise, resembling that of an ocean wave, started in the depths of her ears, to suddenly fill her entire head. At the same time, an unexpected sensation of lightheadedness overtook her; nausea instantly claimed her.

  “I … I …” She swallowed hard and shook her head, hoping to clear it. “Your Grace,” she said weakly, feeling herself slipping deeper into the chasm which had suddenly opened up before her eyes. “I feel very … strange.”

  With a whispered curse, Justin came up off his seat and shouted, “Potts! Stop the coach!” Scooping Aidan’s limp form into his arms, he kicked open the door, splintering the wood, and ducked through it into the cool air. A soft moan drifted to his ears as he bent to one knee, his charge resting languorously across his lap. Her shoulders encased in one arm, his free hand lightly smoothed along her damp forehead. “Rest easy, little one,” he soothed gently; then, hearing his driver’s feet hit the cobblestones, he ordered over his shoulder, “Find some cool water and a cloth. Be quick about it.”

  As Potts scurried off, Justin turned his attention back to Aidan. Huge violet eyes stared sightlessly up at him and he cursed himself for not taking her at her word. “Forgive me, little one, but I thought—” A groan erupted from Aidan’s throat; she stirred and blinked. “Take a deep breath. Another. That’s right.”

  Aidan’s eyes focused and she found herself staring up into a splendid pair of silver eyes. Their tender regard caused a contented sigh to escape her throat; a small smile curved her lips. Then her gaze surveyed the face encasing them; she stiffened. “What … where … ?” She jerked upright and instantly wished she hadn’t. “Ooh … I’m going to be sick!”

  Swiftly rising, Justin set Aidan to her feet and led her to the gutter, where he gently supported her. A
fter what seemed an eternity, Aidan finally straightened and accepted a cool, damp cloth from Justin’s hand and shakily blotted her face. “Better?” he asked, then took the tin dipper from the plump tavern maid who hovered near Potts’s side. “Here, little one, rinse your mouth, then drink some.”

  Aidan took the dipper and followed Justin’s bidding. “Thank you,” she whispered, handing the empty dipper back to the woman. “I feel much better.”

  “Ye still look a bit pale, mum,” the woman said. “Are ye certain ye be all right?” She turned to Justin. “Ye best see to your missus, sir. And take good care of her. When I was early on, I got the pukes all the time. Wore me out, it did.”

  Early on? Aidan questioned silently, then suddenly realized the woman thought Justin and she were husband and wife and that Aidan carried his child. “I’m not married,” she blurted, thinking to set things straight.

  “Oh?” the woman questioned, her brow rising loftily. Her gaze first raked disdainfully over Justin, then Aidan. She dropped the dipper back into the pitcher, sniffed loudly, and set a course for the tavern several yards away. The door opened and a shout of laughter erupted from the merrymakers inside; then the panel banged shut and all was quiet.

  Her eyes wide, Aidan remarked, “A bit snobbish of her, passing judgment on us like that. Who does she think she is?”

  “A good Christian woman, I suppose,” he stated, lips twitching. “Apparently we’ve given her the wrong impression.”

  “She should never have spoken out like that in the first place,” Aidan snapped, annoyed because the maid had ridiculously paired Aidan with the man next to her. “Wrong impression, indeed!”

  Justin chuckled. “Obviously she had no idea we were her so-called superiors. One wouldn’t think to find members of the peerage dressed so plainly, milady. Nor would one think to find a duke’s daughter relieving the contents of her stomach into the gutter. Nor another duke assisting the lady as she did so.”

  Aidan fused red. Why did he have to remind her of the indelicate spectacle she’d made of herself? Embarrassed beyond words, she picked up her skirts and marched back to the coach. But when her eyes met the yawning black hole centered before her, she abruptly stopped. A film of perspiration suddenly overlaid her brow. Her hands felt cold, clammy. She gasped for air.

  Justin came up behind her, his brow wrinkling in concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hands settling on her shoulders.

  “I … c-can’t go back in there,” Aidan replied as a violent shudder racked her rigid body. “It … it’s like a … a tomb.”

  Feeling her fear, Justin again cursed himself for having made her ride in the dark, claustral coach. He had been deliberately cruel, he knew, for he remembered how he’d barely been able to breathe himself. Why had he been so bent on punishing her? Simply because she wished to marry a man of her own choosing, and not her father’s? What business was it of his anyway? None, he conceded. Except that he’d unwisely gotten himself involved in this unseemly situation.

  A vibrating rumble caught his ear and Justin realized it was the sound of coach wheels rapidly rolling toward them. Without hesitation he lifted Aidan into his arms and ducked inside his own vehicle. His backside hit the leather seat, his struggling charge still held tightly in his embrace. As the second conveyance came to a halt beside his, his arm snaked out, catching the splintered door, jerking it shut.

  Instantly Aidan felt the oppressive atmosphere close in on her again. Palpable anxiety consumed her, destroying all logical thought. “Let loose of me!” she demanded, fighting her jailer, fearing she’d suffocate. “I’ll scream if you don’t!” Justin’s hand compressed over her mouth just as a feminine voice called his name.

  “Justin—Your Grace, are you in there?”

  Cynthia! he thought while resisting Aidan’s attempts to free herself. Dash it all! Of all streets, she had to come down this one. He clamped his jaw and swallowed an expletive as Aidan’s sharp teeth sank into the meaty flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

  Certain she was about to faint anew, Aidan furiously kicked her legs; her feet thumped madly against the side of the coach. His injured hand still covering her mouth, her trapped protests expelled themselves as softened groans. As Justin fought to tame the wildcat in his arms, the coach was set to rocking on its springs.

  “Justin!” Cynthia’s screech shattered the air. “Who’s in there with you? Who is she?” his mistress demanded angrily as the coach continued its wild, rhythmic lurch. “Why, you … you snake! Cheat! In the middle of a public street—have you no shame at all?”

  Cursing all womanhood, Justin hit his booted heel against the floor. “Potts! Go!” he yelled, and the coach bounded forward as thunderous hooves struck the pavement, nearly dumping its occupants onto the floor. As soon as he was certain they’d gained enough yardage between Cynthia’s coach and his own, Justin heaved the clawing, biting tigress in his arms upward and tossed her into the seat opposite his.

  Aidan gasped. But instead of letting loose her tirade as Justin had expected, she jerked the curtain aside and gulped air into her lungs. Renewed, she turned shimmering eyes on the Duke of Westover. “You, sir, are an insidious repugnant creature,” she stated, trying to keep her angry tears at bay.

  “I disagree with your depiction of my character,” he said, fighting down his own anger. Examining his hand, he gingerly flexed it. Amazingly, she hadn’t drawn blood, but it was nevertheless bruised. “Considering the fact that our little scheme was almost exposed by your childish conduct, I had little choice but to restrain you as I did.”

  Molten silver eyes met flashing violet through the darkness. He was right, of course, but Aidan refused to admit it. At least, not to him. She thought of defending her actions by saying she’d been overcome by the airlessness of the coach, which was partially true. But, more so, it had been Justin himself who had caused her to behave like she had.

  Encased in his strong arms, pressed close to his unyielding chest, she’d felt the force of his masculinity. Frightened by it, she’d forgotten their urgent need for secrecy. Oh, God, she thought, knowing the man affected her in ways that no other ever had. Why had she agreed to come with him?

  Bolstering her anger, she hid behind the one emotion she was certain would protect her. “Childish!” she returned, determined he’d never know the truth. “Had you not brutally forced me—”

  “Yes, childish!” he snapped, his patience close to shattering. He jerked the curtains aside, securing them, for they were almost to Islington; Aidan cringed as his hands cinched the panels on the window nearest her. She relaxed when he fell back into his seat. “Had Cynthia seen us, within the hour all of London would have known I was with Lady Aidan Prescott, the Duke of Atwood’s precocious but nonetheless virginal daughter! As it is, she has no idea what particular female it was who set my coach to rocking, subsequently making her think something improper was taking place inside and ‘in the middle of a public street.’”

  Aidan’s eyes widened; a red stain bled across her face as Cynthia Danvers’ accusing words replayed themselves in her mind, painting a vivid picture of how the woman and the outside world must have viewed the scene, and the erroneous conclusion that was drawn: The Duke of Westover and some unknown female had been making love! “In a coach?” she asked incredulously, not realizing she’d voiced her thought aloud.

  A snort of laughter erupted from Justin. “Yes, my naive little innocent—in a coach. And Cynthia, being an experienced woman, understands as much,” he said without reverence for her sensibilities, and watched as Aidan’s blush deepened. He chuckled. “For a young woman who is about to marry, you know little of a man’s passions.” He viewed her at length, then, sensing the truth, teased, “I suppose poor unsuspecting George will be made to spend his wedding night alone.”

  Aidan instantly thought to deny the verity of his statement, but couldn’t. She wondered what manner of man he was, then decided he possessed no decorum at all. “What transpires between George
and myself is none of your affair!” she retorted, then watched as Justin’s teeth flashed white in the dim light.

  Perceptive eyes perused her a long, timeless moment. His knowing smile faded. “As I had suspected, Lady Prescott. You’d never really intended to be a wife to George—a genuine mate—had you?” He noted how her eyes turned toward the window, away from his own penetrating gaze. Perhaps she had a conscience after all. “What is he to be?” he continued his attack. “A mere prop? A piece of scenery to be shoved in and out of your life for theatrical effect?” She didn’t answer. “I pity your future husband. And I pity you.”

  Still no response came forth, and as Justin viewed her perfect profile, bathed in soft moonlight, he indeed pitied her. Stubborn, spoiled, impudent, audacious, she definitely was not the woman for George. Weak, oppressed, insecure, cowardly, George decidedly could not control her. She needed someone who could tame her without breaking her spirit. His harsh rebuke had been meant to chide her into changing her mind about marrying George. Belatedly he realized his words might have done the opposite. Indeed, they might just spur her into becoming “the genuine mate” he’d spoken of, simply to prove him wrong.

  Certain George was as untried as she was, Justin feared the man’s clumsiness might ruin their naive attempts at lovemaking. He’d cause her pain, pain that could make her unresponsive for all time, and Justin felt his heart cry out: Little one, you should be loved by a man who can show you what pure pleasure really is. At least once … on your first awakening.