Leaving the caterer’s, they made their way to the baker’s, then on to a quaint little shop in hopes of finding some attractive decorations. As they reached the entry, Eugenia suddenly wobbled on her legs; a soft cry escaped her lips. Reflexively Aidan caught hold of her friend before she fell.
“What’s wrong?” Aidan asked anxiously, her worried eyes searching Eugenia’s pale face. “Is it the heat?”
Dabbing her brow and upper lip with her handkerchief, Eugenia offered Aidan a weak smile. “Partially, I suppose. But I do this, of late, in the cool of the evening as well.”
She saw Aidan’s concerned frown. “I’m not seriously ill, my friend. I think I’m expecting.”
Excited by the news, Aidan hugged her. ‘Oh, Eugenia, I’m so happy for you. Does David know?”
“No … it was to be part of his birthday surprise. I plan on telling him after the party.” Another bout of lightheadedness claimed Eugenia. “I fear I can’t go on. Do you think you can find some way to get me home? I really must rest.”
It would be another hour before David arrived back at Madame Sophie’s, and Aidan found herself in a quandary over what she should do. Supporting Eugenia against her as she did, she couldn’t very well rush into the street to hail a passing cabby. Besides, there wasn’t one to be seen.
Anxious eyes caught sight of what Aidan thought was a familiar face. The man drove a sparkling new phaeton, which thankfully was headed in their direction. “Lord Edmonds! George!” she shouted, waving a frantic hand in the air; relief rushed through her as the vehicle quickly stopped beside the two women. “Lady Manley has suddenly taken ill,” she told the young viscount as he hopped from the phaeton. “We need to get her home.”
Without a word, George helped Eugenia into the vehicle, then handed Aidan up. Settling next to the pair, he whipped the reins and the horse trotted off. By the time they had arrived at Portman Square, Aidan was relieved to see Eugenia’s color had improved greatly. As Aidan and George assisted the countess up the stairs and into the house, Eugenia assured them she felt better and pleaded with them to stop fussing over her. Fortunately, David was not at home. Had he been, it might have ruined Eugenia’s surprise, but then Lady Manley became concerned.
“He had an appointment with his banker,” she said between sips of lemon water. “I suppose he’s still there. Most likely he plans on going directly to Madame Sophie’s. If he doesn’t find us, he’ll worry. Aidan, you know how strongly he reacts to the slightest things where I am concerned. Would you very much mind going back to Madame Sophie’s and explaining what has happened?”
Aidan quickly masked her frown. To honor Eugenia’s request, she’d have to rely on George to get her back to Madame Sophie’s, something she preferred not to do. Certainly, she could ask George to go back alone and relay the message himself to Lord Manley, but like Eugenia, Aidan feared that David might react foolishly. Aidan thought it best she meet David herself. Hopefully she’d be able to keep him calm.
‘I’ll go,” she said finally.
“Thank you,” Eugenia replied. “And remember, don’t say anything about… you know.”
“Your secret is safe,” Aidan promised.
Having left her friend in the care of a maid, Aidan nervously set off with her escort. As she sat next to a rather quiet Lord Edmonds, she wouldn’t permit herself to contemplate the outcome should Justin catch her with George. Instead, she fervently prayed he’d remain oblivious of the fact.
When Aidan and George arrived at the couturiere’s, Lord Manley’s carriage had already taken a stance outside the establishment. David, his back to the pair, struck a leisurely pose as he sat waiting for his absent wife; Aidan viewed him carefully while her mind selected her opening words. The instant George pulled the phaeton to a stop, she alighted, then walked the few steps to the carriage. “Hello, David,” she said in a cheery manner.
He turned toward her, a smile on his face, but it slowly faded. “Where’s Eugenia?”
Aidan retained her smile. “She’s at home. I—”
“Home! What’s happened to her?”
“Nothing. She was simply overcome by the heat and—”
“The baby, is … is it… ?”
Aidan blinked. “You know about the baby?”
“Certainly I know. Although I’m merely a man, I’m not a complete idiot where my wife’s concerned!”
“But she’d hoped to sur—” Aidan chopped off the end of the word. “David, please believe me, Eugenia is fine. She purposely sent me here to tell you not to worry. She’s—”
“My pardon, Aidan, but I must see for myself.” He turned to his driver and instructed, “Take me home!”
The carriage quickly sped off. “Wait!” she cried, but David apparently hadn’t heard her. Angered she’d been left behind, Aidan stamped her small foot.
“I’d be most happy to offer you a lift back to Lord and Lady Manley’s,” George said, coming up behind her. “Or I could drop you by Westover House. Whichever you choose.”
Debating whether she should accept his offer or not, Aidan gazed up at the viscount. Her eyes traveled over his curly blond locks, then downward, stopping at his soft brown eyes. What harm could it possibly pose? she wondered, ignoring the small voice within her warning her to decline his kind overture. As she saw it, she had two options: either she went it alone on foot, thereby leaving herself open to the possibility of being accosted by thugs, for again there were no cabbys in sight, or she could accept the viscount’s show of kindness. George, she insisted silently, was always the gentleman. Nothing untoward would happen to her while she remained under his protection. Her decision made, she smiled up at him.
“I accept your offer, George. You’ve been a godsend more than once today.” But as the viscount assisted her up into the phaeton, Justin’s dark countenance suddenly loomed before her mind’s eye; dread shivered through her as she thought of her husband’s reaction should he learn of her association with George, innocent as it might be. Surely he wouldn’t object once she’d explained the situation to him! Yet she decided that a shred of caution might be wise. Although they were several blocks closer to Westover House, she thought twice of George taking her there. “If it’s not out of your way, you may drop me by Lord and Lady Manley’s. I’d like to see how she’s faring.”
As George maneuvered the gelding out into the thoroughfare, joining his new phaeton in with the varied assortment of horse-drawn vehicles already claiming the roadway, Cynthia Danvers exited Madame Sophie’s shop. Her rounded hips swayed in their usual provocative motion as she walked to her awaiting coach. “Follow that phaeton,” Justin’s former lover said to her coachman, motioning at the retreating couple as they made their way toward Park Lane. With a vengeful smile on her face, she stepped inside the vehicle.
Justin sat in his study, watching the hand on the French clock which stood on the mantel. A chime struck the quarter-hour. Three-forty-five, and his wife was not home. The hand slowly crept upward toward the hour; then the chimes finally struck four times. Rising from his seat, he left the room.
“George, please believe me when I tell you how sorry I am that all this has happened,” Aidan repeated her apology for the umpteenth time, hoping to gain her freedom from the man’s insistent arms. For what seemed like an eternity, she’d been trying to convince the agitated viscount, who’d suddenly veered his phaeton off Park Lane and into Hyde Park, driving it across the grass and into a remote stand of trees, that she and Justin had been thrown together by her father’s treachery. “No one conspired against you, least of all Justin,” she said, struggling to keep the desperation and the fear within her from manifesting itself in her voice. Again he appeared not to hear her. “Justin and I had little control over the situation. My father’s men were holding loaded pistols on him. What else could he do but marry me? I swear to you, had he had any way of avoiding the situation, he’d have done so. He didn’t purposely break your trust.”
His hold on her tightened as Ge
orge pulled Aidan closer; she stiffened, but he seemed not to notice. “And what of you, Aidan, did you make known your desire not to wed him?” he asked, burning brown eyes searching her face.
“I did,” she answered truthfully, her slender arms wedged between them, hands trying to keep him at bay. “I even threatened to kill myself,” she blurted, hoping he’d let her go. She noted a strange glimmer in George’s eyes, flaring brighter and brighter. Lust! her mind screamed, suddenly recognizing the look he cast upon her. Instantly she feared he might do something terrible. Oh, God, why had she come with him! Loathing the thought of his touch, she cried, “Truly I shall kill myself!”
“No!” George stated sharply. “If anyone is to die, it will be Westover. I can’t lose you again, Aidan. I can’t.” Then his face slowly lowered toward hers.
Stormy gray eyes resembling a roiling thunderhead pinpointed themselves on the pavement as Justin piloted the charging phaeton down the street. Having gone to the couturiere’s, where he’d last seen his wife, he was told by Madame Sophie she’d not seen Aidan at all that day. A dour look had settled on his face as he headed straight to Lord and Lady Manley’s, whereupon their butler informed him, “Her Grace is not here.”
As Justin remembered it, his virulent curse had rung through the house, drawing the earl and his countess from the sitting room. One look at the Duke of Westover, and they’d both stopped in their tracks.
“Where the hell is she?” he’d questioned, hands balled into fists at his side.
“Sh-she went back to Madame Sophie’s to tell David I’d taken ill,” Eugenia had replied. “I had thought David had taken her home.”
“She’s not there. And she’s not at Madame Sophie’s, nor has she been at any time this day, madam!”
“David, you didn’t just leave her there on the sidewalk!” Eugenia had accused.
“I … I guess I did,” he’d said. “Viscount Edmonds was with her—” Hearing the name, Justin had slammed out of the house.
Swearing aloud, he whipped the reins against the lathered horse, driving the steed faster. When he found them, by God, they’d both suffer for their treachery. That much he promised.
Suddenly a coach veered from the curbing into his path; Justin hastily reined in, and the phaeton jolted to a wobbly halt. “Goddammit, Cynthia! Are you trying to kill us both!” he bellowed, fighting to control his horse. The steed reared, but a quick jerk on the reins brought him down. “What in blazes are you up to?”
“Hello, Justin,” the blond said, smiling at him through the coach window. “My, you seem to be in a bit of a hurry.” Stormy eyes raked over her. Undaunted by her former lover’s fierce stare, Cynthia cooed, “Could it be you’ve lost your precious little wife? If so, I believe I know where you might find her.”
Cynthia fell silent, and Justin’s hands tightened on the reins as though her neck were beneath them; the phaeton lurched backward. “Out with it, woman!” he commanded, glaring at her. “Or would you like for me to step inside the coach with you for a moment.”
Cynthia’s throaty laughter erupted. “A few months ago, Your Grace, I would have invited you to join me. But today, I fear your intentions may run along a different line than they once did.” She sighed. “Such a pity. We were so good together, too.” She noted his glare become even more virulent. “You might check for your errant bride inside the park. I believe she and Lord Edmonds are secreted away in some trees, right down there.”
Justin’s gaze followed the slant of Cynthia’s hand; he noted a flash of blue among the trees. It was the color of Aidan’s gown. Reining the horse backward so the phaeton could clear the coach, Justin set the small vehicle into a forward motion.
“George, don’t,” Aidan pleaded, struggling against his hold. But he ignored her, moving ever closer to her; Aidan tried to draw away. “Stop it!”
“Don’t fight me, dearest. You’re mine. Mine, I say. Come to me,” he coaxed softly, pressing himself upon her.
Fear leaping through her, Aidan desperately tried to escape him. With her hands trapped between them, her feet hit against the floor of the phaeton, her bottom sliding across the smooth leather. Suddenly she found herself caught against the corner. His weight crushed down on her as his slim body awkwardly covered her. “Please, don’t!” she cried ineffectually as he pressed her deeper into the seat.
A scream bubbled up into her throat, but just as Aidan thought to open her mouth and let it fly, thin lips instantly swooped down, catching hers in an inept kiss. Nausea filled her as her attacker’s slick tongue traced her tautly held mouth. Attempting to twist her face aside, Aidan discovered that she was unable to move. Oh, God, get him off me! she cried silently, a despondent whimper wrenching itself from her throat.
As if a thousand saints had heard her anxious plea, Aidan was instantly freed. Pulling herself up, she saw George lying on the ground; blood flowed from the unconscious man’s split lip, down across his bruised jaw. Elated violet eyes snared steely gray ones. “Oh, Justin, thank God you’re here!”
Joyously Aidan leapt at her savior, her arms flinging themselves around his sinewy neck. Strong hands jerked them down, then one clamped itself around her wrist, and with long, hard strides, Justin dragged her up the small incline, away from the shielding trees, to his awaiting phaeton. Tripping over her skirts, Aidan stared up at him.
Stony of face, Justin forcefully checked his roiling temper, but a tic pulsed along his clamped jaw, betraying the intensity of his anger. A different sort of fear suddenly riddled through Aidan’s tremulous body, and she hurriedly said a new round of prayers, asking that she be protected from the forbidding stranger beside her. Then, with a startled cry, she was suddenly lifted and tossed into the seat of the phaeton; Justin settled in next to her and snapped the reins.
“Justin,” Aidan said after a long moment, “will you allow me to explain? I—”
“Unless you wish for me to vent my fury on you at this precise moment,” he snarled at her, “I suggest you hold your tongue. Most men beat their wives behind closed doors. Say one word more, and you’ll take your punishment in the middle of a public street for all London to see.”
“You think to beat me!” she cried incredulously. “You’ll pay hell trying to do so, sir. I won’t allow it!”
On a slow pivot, Justin’s head turned toward her; the feral gleam in his eyes stunned Aidan. He’s truly after blood, she thought wildly.
“Won’t you, madam?” he questioned coldly. “Soon enough, we’ll see who ends up the victor. Don’t count on its being you.”
By the time they’d reached Westover House, Aidan was trembling through and through. Her legs would hardly support her, which made little difference, for Justin had virtually dragged her through the front door. To Aidan’s relief, they came face-to-face with Pitkin.
“The Queen’s messenger was just here. He left a letter for Your Grace,” he said to his master, pointing at the missive which lay on the silver tray.
“Leave it,” Justin snapped, his abrupt manner startling the man. Angling around his butler, Justin pulled Aidan toward the stairs. Her feet skidding across the marble floor, she refused to cooperate, and Justin turned on her. “By the gods, woman, you’re sorely testing my patience!”
“Let loose of me!” she commanded, struggling against his hurtful grip. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” she said, frantically trying to unwrap his steely fingers from her wrist. “If you’d only give me a chance to explain, I—” Her nails inadvertently slashed his flesh and blood oozed from the imprints.
Startled violet eyes climbed to Justin’s face; with a curse he grabbed hold of her, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and marched up the stairs.
“Pitkin!” she cried, her face bobbing against Justin’s lower back. “Call the constable! Get help! Please!”
“You move one foot, Pitkin,” Justin said over his shoulder, continuing his trek up the stairs, “and I shall come down there and step on you like I would a bug.”
<
br /> Pitkin swallowed convulsively. “Whatever Your Grace wishes. I’ll not move. Not an inch, sir. Anything else, sir?”
“Dammit, Pitkin!” Justin snarled, knowing the man would stand on the same spot until he dropped from exhaustion. “Go to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of tea. Should we need anything, I’ll ring you.”
Aidan kicked her feet while she pounded Justin’s back. “Pit—Ouch!” she cried as a firm hand swatted her backside.
“Be still,” Justin threatened, “or I’ll dump you down these stairs. With any luck, the fall will kill you, madam, saving me the trouble of doing the job myself.”
The Duke of Westover’s words rang down the stairway straight into his butler’s ears. A frown marked Pitkin’s aged brow; then he shook his head in disagreement. His master would never do such a thing, not to the duchess. Not when the duke loved her like he did. Shrugging, the man hobbled off into the kitchen intent on brewing himself some tea.
The door to their room was flung open with the force of Justin’s kick; then with a flick of his wrist the panel crashed back into a closed position. A half-dozen steps, and Aidan was tossed onto their bed, her skirts flying up over her head.
The sight of Edmonds’s long body covering Aidan’s smaller one, their lips pressed together, filled Justin’s head. “You’ve learned quickly how to strike a provocative pose, madam— much like that of a common whore displaying her wares,” he lashed out at her, his temper rising anew; Aidan tore the skirts of her blue silk dress away from her face. Violet eyes angrily clashed with gray. “Prepare yourself to be mounted,” Justin finished, his hand moving to release himself.
“You ass!” she hissed, attempting to bound from the bed, but he was on her in a trice. “Get off me! You have no right to—”
“Right? I have every right, madam,” he said, his heated breath searing her face. “By law, I can do whatever I want to you, whenever I desire to do so.” His hard body covered the length of hers fully, pressing her deeper into the mattress. Aidan endeavored to free herself, but Justin was far too powerful for her to throw him off. “Cease your struggles! This is all I’m after.” He growled, his hand swooping beneath her skirts to clamp itself between her legs; Aidan jerked. “Does my touch suddenly offend you?” he asked, his hand working seductively against her. “Or is it George Edmonds’s caresses you now prefer? Have you allowed him that luxury, Aidan? Has he already violated what is mine?”
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