Abruptly she was jerked free of him. “Here, what do ye think ye’r doin’?” the head guard asked, his meaty hand bruising her arm. “Who do ye think ye are?”
“This, gentlemen,” Justin said coldly, “is my deceased wife. Apparently her conscience has gotten the better of her, for she seems to have suddenly arisen from the dead.”
Startled by the iciness of his words, Aidan stared up at her husband. Her troubled gaze traveled his stoic face; then she heard her father’s words as they rebounded through the tunnel.
“Release that man!” Alastair commanded. “There will be no execution. He is innocent of the deed.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” the guard said, taking the keys from his belt.
As the manacles were released from his wrists, her husband’s steely gaze attached itself to Aidan; a cold shiver ran the length of her body. “Justin, I—”
“Don’t say a word, madam,” he ordered in a frigid tone, his hands breaking free of their bonds. He turned and walked the few steps to his aunt, who was being attended by Eugenia. “Aunt Patti,” he whispered almost painfully as he squatted beside her. She moaned, and he gently lifted her into his arms. “Lead me from this hellhole!” he ordered of his jailer.
“What’s happened to her?” Aidan asked with an anxious cry when she noticed the blood. Justin remained impassive. “Aunt Patti?” she inquired of the unconscious woman; then her gaze rose to her husband. “Will she be all right?”
Forcefully, wordlessly, Justin brushed past Aidan, knocking her aside, his hard gaze centered on the guard who was leading him from the depths of the prison.
Dread filled Aidan’s soul. “Justin, wait!”
“You’ve managed to create enough havoc to last him through eternity,” Cynthia Danvers stated in a condemning voice. “The kindest thing you could possibly do now is to leave him in peace.”
A wealth of tears flooded Aidan’s eyes as she watched the blond rush off after Justin. They disappeared around the corner, and Aidan fell back against the wall. “Oh, God, will he ever forgive me?” Slowly she sank to the cold stone floor, her tormented sobs echoing upward through the unfeeling passageways of Newgate. Although his life had been spared, Aidan knew Justin’s love was lost to her forever.
17
“Do you wish for one of us to come with you?” Eugenia asked as the carriage came to a stop. Her concerned gaze searched Aidan’s pale face. “Perhaps if David and I were to speak to him—”
“No,” Aidan cut in, troubled violet eyes viewing the elegant exterior of Westover House. Suddenly the place seemed cold and foreboding. “I must do this alone,” she said, offering a weak smile. “Hopefully he will listen to me.”
“We will wait for you here.” A smile of encouragement crossed Eugenia’s lips, letting Aidan know that they would not desert her. “I shall say a prayer that all goes well.”
“Say more than one, Eugenia. I have a feeling the entire prayer book will be needed.” Aidan stepped from the carriage, smoothed the skirt of the rough linen dress she still wore, then walked up the steps and set the knocker to the door.
As she waited in the small sitting room off the foyer, Aidan started to tremble. Less than an hour ago, she’d been ecstatic to see her husband, alive and well. Now she feared coming face-to-face with him and being the recipient of an impersonal look, cast upon her by his hard gray eyes—that was, if he consented to see her at all.
The events at Newgate seemed a blur to Aidan. One moment Justin had appeared overjoyed to see her; the next, he’d turned frigid, his glacial stare freezing her to the spot where she’d stood. Emotionlessly, indifferently, he’d rejected her. Yet she felt compelled to come here, so she might somehow explain, somehow beg his forgiveness, somehow make things right between them.
She felt a strange chill shiver along her spine. She turned to discover Justin in the doorway. His wintry gaze inspected her from head to foot. He seemed to be repelled by the sight of her.
“Why are you here?” he asked finally, his voice toneless.
Aidan drew a shaky breath. “Aunt Patti—is she…?”
“She’ll recover. The physician is with her now. Tell me, why are you here?”
“This is my home, and you are my husband. Where else should I be but with you?” she questioned with more bravado than she felt. On unsteady legs she moved closer to him. Please don’t reject me! her heart cried. He remained silent, aloof. “Justin, I feel I must explain. I—” Oh, God, how she wanted to throw herself at him, have his familiar arms surround her, hold her close, and to feel his masterful lips devour hers once more! “I’m sorry for the pain, the torment I’ve caused you. I—”
A cold laugh erupted from his throat, silencing her. “Pain? Torment? You nearly caused my death!”
“I know that!” she cried, fearing he’d turn on his heel and leave her before she had the chance to explain. “I was wrong to run off like I did, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to ask about the letter. I read it and I—”
“What goddamned letter!” he exploded.
“The one from Victoria—the one that said you’d receive your reward once you’d become intimate with me. I thought you only made love to me for your own personal gain. I know now, by running away, I was overly impetuous. The good sisters taught me—”
Sisters? The word rebounded through his head. “where the hell were you?”
“I was at a convent near Lincoln.”
Justin digested the word. “A convent!” he shouted in disbelief, his hard gaze boring into her; Aidan felt as though she’d been speared straight through the heart. “I should have known,” he said, just now remembering her shared thoughts about joining one on the night he’d carried her up the stairs, her tongue loosened by the drink. “No wonder you had managed to evade everyone who searched for you.” His hand raked through his hair. “Damn you!” he denounced vehemently. Again he experienced the feelings of dread that had claimed him: fearing she might be dead, certain she wasn’t, but unable to prove it. He thought of the trial, the accusations, the charges laid upon his head by her father, the Duke of Atwood, that he, Justin Warfield, the sixth Duke of Westover, was his own father’s seed—a cold-blooded murderer! Then Justin remembered the sentence that had been imposed upon him all because of her impetuousness.
His head spun as he relived the fears he’d felt; his mind’s eye envisioned the noose tightening around his throat, his feet dropping into endless space, and his neck cracking as the hemp jerked taut against it. Suddenly his ire rose to choke him. “Damn you!” he spat at her anew.
Aidan felt the force of his anger, and she instantly stepped back. “Justin, please listen to me. This is all my fault, I know. The letter … the mention of a reward …Oh, God! I love—”
“Silence.” The word hissed through his clenched teeth. “No more of your lies!” His cold gaze pinpointed her; he steeled himself against the emotional pain etched on her face. “All this because of a letter. Had you stayed around to ask me what the word ‘reward’ meant, I would have told you our Queen referred to our forthcoming children! Since Victoria is ecstatic over the near-arrival of her first issue, I suppose she believes everyone should be filled with jubilation over the prospect of having one of his own! But no, you had to run off!”
Justin moved toward her; although frightened, Aidan held her ground. Hard eyes glaring, he stopped within inches of her.
“Your little escapade has convinced me, dear wife, that this marriage is nothing more than a farce—has been from the onset. Because of your impetuosity, your immaturity, our private lives have been put on public display for all to see. I was nearly gibbeted because of your irresponsible behavior. And my aunt lies injured because of your callousness. Had I any way to rid myself of you, I would. But as it stands, I’ve no way out. Except, madam, to get you as far away from me as possible. Tomorrow, Potts will take you to Warfield Manor, where you’ll henceforth remain. Now, get out of my sight!”
He turned on his heel, and Aidan rushed afte
r him, her hand pulled at his arm. “Justin, please! I didn’t mean—” With a harsh curse, Justin shook her free; she stumbled and nearly fell.
“Pitkin!” he ordered, once he’d hit the hall. “See Her Grace to the door!”
Afflicted violet eyes watched as Justin disappeared up the stairs, his strides firm, unrelenting; a scream of protest rose to Aidan’s throat, where it quickly died. Sadly she realized his ears were eternally closed to her, along with his heart. Her vision blurred by a heavy film of tears, Aidan slowly left Westover House, forever banished from its walls by her husband.
A bright mid-October sun washed over Aidan as she sat on a long stone bench, her violet eyes staring lifelessly at the withering gardens behind Warfield Manor, where she’d been exiled. But the soft golden rays of sunshine gave her no warmth. Condemned to spend her life away from the man she loved, she felt dead inside, as dead as the falling leaves that swirled around her on a light autumn breeze.
Justin, she thought, the pain of his loss compressing her heart. A single tear slipped from her eye to drop onto the open letter which lay on her lap. Slowly her gaze fell to it, and she stared at Eugenia’s neat handwriting, then read the missive again.
I’m sorry, dear friend, but he refuses to listen to anything anyone says. One mention of your name, and his eyes turn as cold as a gray winter’s day. I understand he plans to stay in London, instead of retreating to the country, like most of us do this time of year. He’s lost weight and his features have frozen themselves into a stoic mask. I’ve yet to see him smile, but others have; however, I’ve been told there’s no light in his eyes when he does so. From all reports, he seems bent on his own destruction. Late nights and too much brandy seem to be the course he’s set for himself of late. Although I hesitate to do so, I suppose I must tell you that he’s been seen quite frequently in the company of Cynthia Danvers. Why, dearest Aidan, he refuses to forgive you or to even hear your explanation, I cannot say. But I feel what troubles him goes much, much deeper than either of us really knows. I shall pray for you both. One day, I’m certain, he’ll see the error of his ways. Until then, don’t give up hope. Remember you must have faith.
Hope? Faith? An impossibility, Aidan thought dejectedly, remembering Justin’s cold dismissal of her. He hated her, she was certain.
“If you sit there much longer, undoubtedly a pigeon will take to roosting in your hair.”
Aidan spun around. “Aunt Patti!” she cried, coming to her feet, hugging the woman. “When did you arrive?”
“Nearly ten minutes ago. Most of that time I’ve been watching you.” She noted how Aidan’s hopeful gaze had centered itself on the house. “I came alone, dear,” she said, gently patting her niece’s hand. “Now, tell me how you are.”
“I’m fine,” Aidan lied, her gaze refusing to meet that of the dowager marchioness. “But what of you? Is your injury healed? Should you be moving about?”
“Quit popping off so many questions at me,” Aunt Patti reproved, “and sit down.” She motioned to the bench with her cane. “Ah, that’s better,” she said, once they were seated. She turned her eyes on Aidan. “Now, in answer to your inquiries, I’m in excellent condition. It will take more than a mere bump on the head to see me to my end. Had I spent another day lying about Westover House, as my nephew insisted I do, I’d have gone completely mad! Yes, I most surely should be up and moving about!”
Aidan’s gaze traveled out over the gardens. “How is Justin?” she asked in a small voice.
“Temperamental, brooding—he’s acting like a child of three, which unfortunately is a typical Warfield trait reserved mainly for the males in the family. I could no longer stand to be near him, so I escaped to the countryside to find some peace.” Aunt Patti’s gaze lowered to the letter lying on the ground. “What’s this?” she asked, moving it toward her with her cane.
She stooped from the waist, intending to retrieve it, but Aidan’s hand snatched it up. “A letter from Eugenia,” Aidan said, folding it over.
“And?”
“She sent me word on what’s been happening in London.”
“I suppose she’s told you about Cynthia Danvers as well.”
“She has,” Aidan admitted as her concentration dropped to her hands and the letter they held. “Lady Manley has said that Justin has taken up with her again.”
“Rubbish! The chit has tried to foist herself off on him. He uses her as an ornament to hang on his arm.”
“I’m certain there’s more to it than that, Aunt Patti. She was his mistress before I met him. No doubt she’s his mistress again.”
Pattina’s blue eyes snapped with fire as she inspected her downtrodden niece. “For the sake of argument, let’s say they are involved again. Are you willing to let some showy trollop like Cynthia Danvers win over your husband’s affections without the slightest whimper of protest?”
“H-he doesn’t want me,” Aidan defended. “He’s said so himself.”
“Nonsense!” she retorted, her tone censuring. “You heard his pride talking, not his heart. But if you continue to sit here licking your wounds as you have been doing this past month, I’ve no doubt you’ll lose him. He’s a man, with a man’s needs. So, dear niece, if you don’t want him crawling back into that blond slattern’s bed, where he’ll bestow upon her the pleasures he once gave you, I suggest you make a stand! And it had best be done quickly!”
“I … I don’t think I can do it,” Aidan whispered, fearing Justin’s rejection anew. “He was most adamant about never seeing me again.”
Aunt Patti rose with a thump of her cane. “I thought you had more spunk than that, girl. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe you’re like all the other simpering little creatures my nephew has been trying to escape since he was of a marriageable age. I do know one thing, though,” she said, her shoulders squaring, “if he were my husband, I’d be in London right now, fighting tooth and nail for him! Whatever it took, whether it be acting the obedient wife or playing the whore in his bed, I’d do it just so long as I won him back! Think on it, Aidan. You can either sit here the rest of your life, withering away like some old spinster, or you can get off your backside and go after him! You’ve nothing to lose by trying.”
Aidan looked to Justin’s aunt. She had nothing to lose—except her pride, she thought. Damn her pride! That was how she’d lost Justin in the first place. “You’re right, Aunt Patti. I’ll do it!” she said, coming to her feet, a smile lighting her face, the first in weeks. “I can’t give him up without a fight.”
“Clever girl,” Aunt Pattina commented. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”
“That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
“I came to Warfield Manor to find some peace and quiet, not to be depressed by your overly morose mood. By the same token, I had to escape Westover House for the same reason. The two of you would make a perfect set of corpses,” she said of Justin and Aidan. “Now, let’s go into the house and have some tea.”
The pair walked arm in arm up the path to the great house, Aidan’s mood far lighter than it had been in days. As they had their tea and cakes, Aunt Patti suggested several possible ways of throwing the couple together again.
“You’re really quite the matchmaker,” Aidan said, laughing at the woman’s last scenario. “I can see it now,” Aidan said. “He’ll come home and slip into his bed to find me lying there naked. If I know his temper, he’ll probably toss me through the window.”
“Or he may instantly succumb to your womanly beauty, dear. Despite what you might think, I’m certain he’s not had carnal contact with a woman since you left him. As virile as my nephew is, I imagine he’s feeling quite like a parched field that is suffering under hot sun and an extended drought. One look at your loveliness and his thirst will have to be slaked.”
Aidan blushed. Most women Aunt Patti’s age would die rather than speak of such things. She was quite then enigma, Aidan thought. One moment she was extremely concerned with propriety; the next, she was speaking
her mind in whatever terms she chose. “I’ll think about it,” she said of the dowager marchioness’s idea.
“Well, while you’re doing that, I shall take myself off for a rest.” She rose slowly, then headed for the doorway. “I’ll see you at supper.”
The young duchess watched from the sitting-room door as the older woman ambled up the stairs. When Aunt Patti had disappeared, Aidan turned and made her way back out into the gardens. Strolling the paths, she felt the sunshine warm her, rejuvenate her, and she breathed in the fresh clean air, happy to be alive.
Her movements eventually took her beyond the gardens and into a small copse, then out into a field, its long grasses gently waving in the breeze. Deep in thought on how she could possibly reclaim her husband, she discounted several pretentious schemes which Aunt Patti had suggested, then settled on what she thought was the best and most viable way to approach the problem—honesty. She would go back to London and ask Justin for a moment of his time, then maturely discuss their difficulties, confessing her love for him. If that didn’t work, she’d do as Aunt Patti had proposed. Whatever it took, she had to get him back.
Suddenly Aidan heard movement behind her. She spun around; a relieved sigh escaped her lips. “Heavens, you gave me a start! What are you doing here?” No reply came forth as a hand clamped itself around her wrist and pulled her toward the awaiting horse. “Let go of me!” she cried, struggling against the force of the grip. “Let me loose or I shall scream!”
Aidan opened her mouth to liberate her shriek, when suddenly a hard fist clipped her on the jaw. Pain shot upward into her temples as her world spun wildly. Fighting for consciousness, she gave it up; blackness overtook her.
Justin lowered the missive which had just arrived by special messenger from his aunt. “Missing, huh? Another one of her tricks, no doubt.”
“Did you say something, sir?” Pitkin inquired.
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