“No!” she cried, fighting against him anew. “Justin, please. I gave him nothing that was yours. I want nothing from him.”
“Then why where you hidden in the trees, locked in his arms, love? Why was his knee caught between your thighs, your moans of pleasure filling the air around you?”
“They weren’t!” she cried. “Dear God, Justin, he forced himself on me. He offered to take me home from Madame Sophie’s. He—”
“And somehow you ended up in the park, which, madam, is in the opposite direction from where you live.”
“I asked him to take me to Eugenia’s. I thought if you saw us together—”
“I’d what? Kill you both?” Grating laughter escaped his throat. Just like his mother, he thought, remembering her lies, her wheedling voice, trying to explain to his father where she’d been half the night through. “So right you were. I should have finished the bastard off when I had the chance,” he said of George. “But first, Aidan, I shall deal with you.”
Her breath caught as his hand made its way from under her skirts, up over her quaking belly, then past her quivering breasts to caress her throat. Did he mean to kill her? Dear God, no! she cried silently as she thought she felt his fingers tighten. Tears suddenly filled her eyes as her head rolled on the pillow. “Please believe me,” she whimpered. “Nothing happened. Nothing was meant to happen. I didn’t do anything. I swear.”
Justin’s gaze caught sight of the lone tear that slashed from the corner of her eye into her hair. Something inside him begged him to listen to her, but his anger overrode the plea. He released her and drew himself on his knees. “Sit up,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Eyeing him carefully, Aidan complied. “Turn around,” he ordered, and when she did so, the buttons on her gown flew in all directions, his hands tearing through the silk.
“No!” Aidan cried as he tore at the corset strings.
“Yes, madam,” he said, pulling her gown down over her arms, to her waist. Then he ripped his shirt wide, baring his chest. “You’ll make ready for your punishment.”
Perhaps she was too frightened or perhaps she no longer cared, but Aidan discovered she was unable to fight his dominance. Within moments she was stripped of her clothing. “Don’t defile something that was beautiful between us, Justin,” she said as she tried to cover herself with her arms. “Please, I beg you not to ruin what we had.”
Whether he’d heard her or not, Aidan couldn’t say. But there was no response from him. His burning eyes raked the length of her, and the intensity of his hot gaze seemed to set her skin ablaze. A small cry escaped her as he suddenly pulled her against him and lowered her to the bed, pressing her into the mattress. The hair-roughened flesh on his hard, expansive chest scraped against her exposed breasts as his fully clothed body moved over her; a linen-clad knee spread her quivering thighs apart. Then he reached to free himself, and Aidan’s heart wrenched in her breast. “Justin, no! I didn’t betray you. Please, I …” Positioned, he hesitated, then suddenly drove himself into her; she jerked. “… love you,” she cried on a sob.
Pained silver eyes absorbed the hurt look on her face; a knife seemed to slash into Justin’s chest, her confession of love tearing deep into him. He’d wanted to punish her, but instead, he’d punished himself. God, would she ever forgive him? As he gazed at her lovely features, unshed tears glistening in her huge violet eyes, her soft lips trembled, wanting to be soothed. God in heaven, he loved her! Too late, he understood not all women were like his mother. Yet he’d acted the part of persecutor, just as his father had before him. Why wouldn’t he listen to her? Why had he felt compelled to castigate her for something he knew all along she hadn’t done? Then the question tore itself from his lips. “Why, Aidan? Why, love? Oh, sweet, I …”
To Aidan, Justin’s words seemed ripped from his heart. She had no time to discover the rest of his unspoken request, for his mouth claimed hers in a purging kiss. He drew from her, begged her response, begged her forgiveness. Wanting to prove her love to him, she found she couldn’t deny him. Their searching tongues touched, then surrendered. She heard his groan of pleasure; then slowly he moved, expertly seducing that delicious warm flow from within her, his mouth never leaving hers. The rough material of his clothed hips chafed against her soft thighs, yet Aidan cared not, for it was a gratifying sensation. She envisioned herself the seductress, captivating him, luring him with her nude, vitally willing body as it played a siren’s song of love.
Eagerly her legs locked around him, her hips rising to meet his every thrust, and Justin drove deeper and deeper into her, trying to lose himself in her soft alluring body, her naked limbs urging him onward. He felt like the master, then the slave, then master to her again. Greedily they clung to each other, tongues, lips, bodies joining in a dance of desire. Then suddenly, just as that familiar spinning sensation overtook Aidan, her spasms erupting with rapturous delight, Justin’s cry of exaltation sounded above her, his hard body jerked uncontrollably, and he spilled his hot fluid deep inside her.
Slowly they spun back to the here and now; Justin, feeling the sting of its harsh reality, rolled to his side. He felt his wife’s soft violet eyes upon him, but he was unable to look at her. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said in a broken whisper, needing time to sort through all his emotions.
Pulling the cover from the edge of the bed, he draped it over Aidan, then held her close against him. For an eternity he stared up at the bed’s canopy, hating himself for his cruelty, his brutality, praying she would somehow forgive him, until finally his eyelids drooped. He slept deeply.
For a long, long time Aidan listened to Justin’s soft slumberous sounds, her gaze roving over his handsome face. In sleep, with all his anger falling somewhere behind, he resembled a young boy. Yet, she remembered him only a short time ago, his face filled with fury, his tormented gaze raking over her while deaf ears refused to believe her truthful cries of protest. He’d used his body to punish her, but after that one quick chastising thrust, he’d relented, she knew, and he’d made love to her with a furious passion as he’d tried to purge himself of his guilt, his worshiping yet demanding body begging her forgiveness.
Something had been driving him—something beyond what had happened today. Of that she was certain. But what it could be, she had no idea. Tomorrow they would talk. Perhaps then she would learn the truth.
Yet, Aidan realized, although their bodies communicated in the sweetest of melodies, she and Justin seemed incapable of expressing themselves with the simplest of words. That constant disharmony would destroy them, she knew. Hopefully they would be able to find a mutual accord, allowing them to live together in complete unity.
“I love you, Justin,” she whispered, permitting herself to speak freely of the wondrous emotion she felt. No longer would she hold back the utterance of that feeling. She loved him—always would. Knowing it, Aidan slowly closed her eyes, and her mind immersed itself in an oddly gentle sleep.
15
Aidan awakened the next morning and found herself alone in the huge bed. Deciding against calling Penny, she bathed and groomed herself, then donned a soft lavender silk dress. Retrieving from the floor the torn blue silk gown she’d worn yesterday, she placed it in the wardrobe with hopes it could be repaired. With one last check in the mirror, she set off to find Justin.
Meeting Pitkin on the stairs, she was informed that the duke had gone out for a short while, so she breakfasted alone, then walked out into the gardens to enjoy the morning sunshine. As she sat on a low stone bench, inhaling the rose-scented air, she heard a sudden rustle in the bushes; a shrill, piteous cry erupted.
Aidan bounded from the bench as a cat abruptly loped off across the grass, scampering up the stone wall, disappearing over the barrier. Searching through the thorn-laden rosebushes, her eyes caught sight of a small rabbit, its flesh lacerated, its back leg badly mangled. Carefully she stretched an arm through the thick stalks and reached for the injured creature while she tried to evade the bite of the t
reacherous thorns. Like razors, the pointed barbs sliced into her arm and tore at her bodice, yet Aidan persisted until she gently drew the quivering rabbit from within its spiny den.
“Poor thing,” she said, holding it close to her breast, petting it lightly with soft, tender strokes, knowing it would not survive. After a few minutes the furry thing’s rapid breathing slowed; then, with a great racking shudder, the life drained from its small body, and the light in its tiny eyes snuffed out.
Aidan carried the rabbit to a secluded spot in the garden. Using her hands, she scooped out a small grave in the soft, rich earth and placed the rabbit’s limp body inside. With the dirt mounded over it, she felt a single tear drop from her eye. Life, she thought, was so precious, so delicate; in a twinkling it could be gone.
As she stood, she noted the bloodstains on her torn bodice and headed for the house. Upstairs, she washed her hands and changed her gown, then dropped the newly ruined dress into a basket which was reserved for sweepings and waste. Afterward she decided to see if Justin had returned, and made her way to his study.
Inside the room, she inhaled deeply; her head filled itself with the smells of oiled wood, a hint of cigar smoke, and a lingering manly fragrance, exclusively Justin’s. Unfortunately he was not there.
Since her husband spent much of his time in the study, she decided to leave him a note, which she hoped he would find immediately upon his return. Doing so would save her the bother of searching for him the morning through. As she rounded his desk in search for paper and a pen, she noted an open letter lying on the smooth wood surface. It was signed by their Queen!
Remembering Pitkin’s announcement yesterday that the missive had arrived, and Justin’s curt order to leave it, she quickly scanned the note’s contents. Instantly she stiffened, and as though she’d been caught beneath a tumbling wall of stone, she crumpled into the chair, her hopes and dreams crushed by a slash of a pen.
The bastard! she thought, her eyes sparking purple fire as she hid behind her anger. He’d bedded her, not because he desired her, wanted her for herself, but for personal gain! So there would be no mistake, her frenzied eyes searched the letter for the passage that would confirm her silent accusation.
Since you wisely agreed with my edict of a month past that no divorce will take place, I applaud you. I would hate to see you cast into ruin. As I said, once you’ve become intimate with your new duchess, your reward shall be forthcoming. I promise it shall be substantial and ever-enduring.
Her fury rose anew when she realized Victoria’s and Justin’s discussion had taken place on the day he’d sauntered into the great house telling her he’d changed his mind about giving the ball. His attentiveness, his kindness, his gently persuasive manner were all ploys in order to seduce her! And stupidly she’d allowed him to do it!
What precisely had he been promised? Lands? Money? A new title? What could better being a duke, she couldn’t say! But something apparently had won his interest. For he’d lost no time in seeing that he’d become intimate with his new duchess! Where was he now? Out reporting the personal details of their lovemaking to their Queen so he could quickly collect his reward? Angered by the thought that she’d been used, Aidan bounded from the chair, marched to the door of the study, and headed toward the stairs. Had she had any sense in the first place, she’d have taken her own counsel and joined a nunnery!
Instantly she stopped her climb up the steps. Turning, she strode down their entire length to the foyer, stopping only long enough to retrieve her reticule, which she’d dropped last night and which now lay atop the table by the ever-present silver tray. The door opened, then banged shut behind her.
Justin strode in from the back of the house, the gift he’d purchased for his wife clutched in his hand. Not finding her in the gardens, where Pitkin reported last seeing her, he bounded up the stairs. “Aidan!” he called. “Where are you, love?”
Unable to find his wife, Justin went into his study. Folding himself into his chair, he set his gift on top of the open missive from the Queen. Lifting the lid to the velvet box, he again felt pleased with his selection and found he could hardly wait until Aidan returned to present it to her.
Where had she taken herself off to? he wondered, his heart skipping like that of an untried schoolboy enamored of his first love. Each time he thought of her, he was overwhelmed by the same delirious feeling, and Justin found he could no longer deny it. All these years, in which he’d fought to keep his heart secured, fearing someone would tear it to shreds, like his mother had his father’s, were for naught. He’d masqueraded as a rogue and a womanizer, allowing people to believe he was shallow and a cheat, simply to build his barriers higher. He’d even denied the possibility of his ever permitting himself to feel anything for a woman by repeatedly telling himself that love was a wasted emotion and marriage a thing for fools, whereupon he vowed to keep himself apart.
Welcome to the masses, Justin thought, shaking his head, a derisive smile spreading across his lips. Cupid’s arrow had finally found its mark, a violet-eyed vixen having strung the bow. Slowly, unknowingly, she’d chipped away at the sturdy wall he’d erected around his heart, until it had fallen with a resounding crash. No, he could no longer deny it. Aidan was his first love, his only love. Yet the feeling was so new to him, Justin wanted to savor the emotion, experience its growth. Were he to say the word aloud, he feared the sentiment might somehow vanish.
Anxious to see Aidan’s beautiful face again, needing to speak with her about last night and beg her forgiveness for his bestial wounding of her mind and body, Justin waited and waited, until dusk had settled outside his window. Still his wife had not returned. Consumed with worry, he sent Potts out to make the rounds of Aidan’s friends, subtly inquiring if they’d seen or heard from her. When the man returned, shaking his head in a negative response, Potts then told him a quick probe of the local authorities had turned up nothing either. As Justin heard the words, a strange coldness enveloped his recently trusting heart, freezing it solid.
Dismissing his man, he slowly rose. Icy gray eyes riveted themselves to the amethyst earrings he’d purchased that morning. Snapping the lid shut, he tossed the velvet case, along with the letter from the Queen, into a drawer, then closed and locked it.
If need be, he would tear London apart to find her. And he would start with George Edmonds. With long, hard strides, the Duke of Westover quit the room.
Alastair Prescott walked into the library. “Elsworth said it was imperative you see me, Penny. Has something happened?”
Penny gave a quick curtsy. “Oh, Your Grace, it’s the young duchess, sir. She didn’t come home last night.”
“Why are you giving me this information, and not her husband?” Alastair asked. “She answers to him now.”
“But, sir, I think somethin’ bad has happened to her. And he’s the one who did it to her!” She pulled the lavender silk day dress from an overly large cloth bag she carried. “I found this in the refuse bin. It’s the duchess’s. Look! There’s blood all over the bodice.” Alastair grabbed the dress from Penny’s hands, his eyes inspecting it carefully. “I’m afraid he mighta done her in, just like he’s threatened.”
“What do you mean ‘like he’s threatened’? Has Westover made threats against her life?”
“Yes, sir. At least, I think so, sir. Once, when I thought she was comin’ down with somethin’, I told her His Grace wouldn’t like it very much if she was to up and die on him. My mistress said she thought he’d be real happy if she did. Then, the night afore last, Pitkin—he’s the butler there at Westover House—said somethin’ about Her Grace wantin’ him to fetch her a constable. Said that the duke was gonna kill her. Threatened to break her neck for somethin’ she’d done. I found the dress this mornin’ when I was dumpin’ the bins. She ain’t been home, and no one’s seen her since early yesterday mornin’.”
“Thank you, Penny,” the duke said. “I’ll keep the dress in a safe place. If Westover has had anything to do wit
h my daughter’s disappearance, we’ll need it as evidence. Until I get to the bottom of all this, I want you to stay at the duke’s home and keep your ears open. If you hear anything … even the slightest whisper about what may have happened to Aidan, I want you to report it to me.”
“I will, sir,” she said with more bravado than she felt. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Good day to you, sir.” Penny curtsied and quickly left the room.
Perplexed, Alastair shook his head. When he’d last seen his daughter, she’d seemed extremely happy. Westover appeared quite content as well. Now Aidan’s maid had brought him a tale, virtually accusing the Duke of Westover of murdering his wife. Yet, what Penny had offered in way of proof was very little: a few threats and a bloodstained dress. The dress, however, created a convincing case. But the threats? Admittedly, when he’d reached the end of his own endurance with his daughter, he’d threatened several times to strangle her himself! However, he would not easily dismiss the charges that Penny had made. Aidan was missing, and if she didn’t appear soon, he would take the information to the authorities. Right now, he planned to investigate the matter on his own.
“By God, man!” Alastair bellowed, his fist pounding the table, causing several dishes to jump into the air, “since you claim you had nothing to do with her disappearance, then I suggest you produce my daughter this instant! Or I’ll see you charged with her murder!”
A Heart So Innocent Page 29