Improper Gentlemen

by Diane Whiteside

  “Are you truly bound before me?” She managed to force the words out. Her insides coiled as his fingers continued to stroke her most sensitive spot.

  “Aye, lassie, I stay or go at your bidding.” He dropped to his knees before her and pressed open-mouthed kisses on her sex.

  The whole world went soft and liquid. Her legs turned rubbery. She remained upright only by pressing herself against the wall and, by dumb luck, reaching over head to catch hold of the gas sconce.

  She’d thought his hand was an instrument of vice. What he was doing with his tongue should be outlawed. No woman could ever gainsay a man who enslaved her with this brand of bliss.

  This went beyond ruination. He’d own her, body and soul, after this.

  Without being aware of it, she was softly chanting his name.

  “Aye, lass, ye’ve the right of it. Call my name and I’ll always come to ye. Awake or dreaming, I’ll climb through your window and bear ye away. Ye’re mine.”

  “No,” she whispered. She belonged to herself. He’d already claimed her maidenhead. She couldn’t give this piece of her soul to a man she couldn’t trust, who tricked and beguiled her at every step. “No, Aidan.”

  He stopped.

  Her body screamed for him to continue, but in the brief respite, sanity rushed back into her head. She looked down at him, past the damp spots on her nightshift where her breasts showed through the material as if it were fine gauze, past the crumpled hem, to his dark, tousled head. He met her gaze.

  “I can’t . . . let you . . .” she said between gasps.

  She couldn’t bear the sight of his wickedly handsome face, his lips wet with her moisture, for another moment. She covered her eyes with both hands.

  “Go away, Aidan. Please go away.”

  The only sound in the room was his rough breathing. She was holding hers. If he didn’t obey her, she’d never have the strength to say it again. She would let this man ravage her and she would wallow in it, knowing herself for a weakling and him for a womanizing cur who preyed on such weaklings.

  Then a minor miracle occurred.

  Her hem dropped and the nightshift billowed around her bare ankles.

  When she removed her hands and opened her eyes, Aidan was standing before her, his face unreadable.

  “At your word,” he said simply and kissed her. Even though it was as chaste as kiss as she could imagine, she tasted herself, all musk and salt, on his lips. Then he turned and strode to the chair where he’d abandoned his boots. Mouth set in a hard line, he tugged them on. Then he went to the window, pausing to look back at her.

  “I want ye so bad, I—” He stopped himself and drew a deep breath. “But I want your trust more. The only reason I go now is so ye’ll know ye can rely on me, Rose. Will ye remember it in the days to come?”

  She nodded. She would never forget it. He’d kept his word. Her body still clamored for his touch, but her heart hoped for so much more.

  “I’ll remember.”

  A wry smile twitched his lips. “Then I guess ye’ll open your window to me again some night.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He groaned. “When a lass says ‘no’ or ‘aye,’ at least a man knows where he stands. ‘Perhaps’ fills a man with hope and dashes it at once. Sure and you’re trying to kill me, Rose.”

  Then he slipped out the window and climbed up the rope. Rosalinde waited until he pulled the line up after him before she lowered the sash very gently.

  “No, Aidan. I’m trying not to love you,” she said softly. “But I’m afraid I do.”

  Chapter 5

  All that glisters is not gold.

  —SHAKESPEARE, The Merchant of Venice

  “B’gad, look at the size of the place!” Rosalinde’s father leaned out the coach window to get a better view of Stonehaven. They’d taken the train as far as Swindon, where they were met by the baron’s factor, who ushered them into a sumptuous brougham.

  “ ’Is Lordship wasn’t expecting guests to bring servants,” the man had said gruffly.

  “If he’s unable to accommodate a few domestics, perhaps we ought not presume upon Lord Stonemere’s hospitality,” Lady Chudderley said with a sniff.

  “No, no, I expect it’ll be all right,” he allowed, and let Gus help him load their baggage into the boot. Then Katie and Gus had squeezed onto the driver’s seat with him.

  Lady Chudderley complained of the ruts and potholes as they wound through the White Horse country till the sun cast long shadows over the green meadows. Rosalinde found the journey full of rustic charm.

  Stonehaven, however, was anything but rustic. They caught their first glimpse of the manor from a distance on the tree-lined drive, a shining stone edifice surrounded by rolling hills. Little white dots—“Sheep,” her father said—kept the grounds neatly trimmed. Standing an impressive four stories high, the pale marble façade was painted rose by the fading light, its architecture pure Georgian, graced with dentils and Palladian windows.

  “No wonder the English Stonemeres were so keen to keep it in their side of the family,” Lady Chudderley said. “I’ve seen poorer-looking marquisates.”

  “Don’t let the outside fool you,” her father said. “Lots of fellows with titles are land-rich, but cash-poor. The baron may not have a pot to piss in.”

  “Loromer!”

  “Ahem! My apologies. That’s what comes of spending too much time with military types,” Rosalinde’s father said.

  She rolled her eyes. His speech had always been salty, long before he took the position at Royal Dock.

  “What I mean to say is, Lord Stonemere may be a good deal lighter in the pockets than he appears,” he said.

  “Perhaps you should ask him,” Rosalinde said as they pulled up to the entry. “Unless I’m mistaken, here he comes.”

  Streaking across the sea of green, a man on a bay horse loped toward them, scattering a flock of sheep in their path. As they neared a gate, instead of stopping to open it, the horse and rider gathered themselves and sailed over the top of it, landing without breaking stride.

  Rosalinde’s breath caught at the perfect union of man and horse. It took her back to the first time she’d seen Aidan astride. His mastery in the saddle was the first thing that made her see him as a man, not just the convict who worked in the stable.

  “Excellent seat,” Lady Chudderley said approvingly. “The man’s a veritable centaur. He may not be respectable, but Lord Stonemere does possess a few admirable qualities.”

  More than a few, Rosalinde amended silently. He’d shown himself trustworthy.

  Aidan reined the gelding to a stop near their carriage, but didn’t dismount. The horse tossed its head, restive and eager for another run. A butler in formal attire and a housekeeper in a starched white apron appeared on the doorstep to receive the new arrivals.

  “Greetings. Welcome to Stonehaven,” Aidan said from atop his steed as his servant handed Rosalinde and her great-aunt from the carriage.

  Gus hopped down and saw to their baggage. Katie half-whispered urgent commands on how best to accomplish the task, as if her lumbering husband were incapable of unloading a boot without her supervision.

  “The rest of the party has already arrived. Phipps will see ye to your chambers. I believe Mrs. Fitzgerald makes it her mission in life to show guests over the place. She’s proud enough of it, ye’d think she built it with her own capable hands.” He tossed the sturdy housekeeper a teasing wink. “But if ye’d care to refresh yourselves first, be sure to let her know ye’ll take her tour later.”

  Her father and great-aunt thanked their host and headed for the tall double doors, but Rosalinde pulled off one of her gloves to stroke the gelding’s velvety nose. Ears perked forward, the horse whickered softly.

  What she really wanted was to be invited up to sit on the crupper behind Aidan and fly hell-for-leather across the heath on the back of this fine beast. Her arms ached to wrap around Aidan, her breasts pressed against his back. And if her skirts rod
e up as they flew across the ground, so be it.

  A hot flush burned her cheeks when she met Aidan’s quizzical gaze.

  What was it about him that always brought out the most improper urges?

  “We’re about to lose the light now. Would ye be wanting to ride tomorrow before breakfast?” Aidan asked. “I’ve a Thoroughbred mare that would do well for ye, I’m thinking.”

  “Only if she can give this big devil a merry chase,” Rosalinde said with a laugh.

  “I suspect she can, lass,” Aidan said. “We’ll give it a go on the morrow then. See you at supper.”

  He turned the gelding’s head aside and nudged him into a trot, then a canter and lastly a full-out gallop over the grassy heath. Rosalinde watched until they disappeared into a fold of the rolling land, then she followed her father and great-aunt into the expansive manor.

  Despite her complaints over the discomforts of their journey, Lady Chudderley was too curious about Stonehaven Manor to retire meekly to her room without a tour, so Mrs. Fitzgerald showed them over the grand house. They followed the stout Scotswoman through rooms filled with Flemish tapestries and suits of armor, past long gilt-framed portraits of barons and baronesses gone by. The barony was an old one, the first Baron Stonemere being created shortly after William the Conqueror swept over the land and changed it forever.

  Of course, this manor house was much newer, only fifty or so years old, but there was a ruin of the old tower at the far end of the garden beyond the row of trees.

  “Should any of ye wish to chance a ramble through the briars, that is,” Mrs. Fitzgerald cautioned.

  “There’s a maze and a grotto too, I’m told,” Mr. Burke said.

  The housekeeper’s lips pursed in censure and she shot Rosalinde’s father a chilly glance. “Aye, the curious among ye will be wanting to see that, no doubt. ’Tis where that poor girl was found. His Lordship has ordered that all his guests be given free rein over the estate, so none can stop ye, if ye wish to go there. And to your left, sir, would be the conservatory.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald ushered them into an immense glass and wrought-iron space, filled with exotic plants and more orchids than Rosalinde had even seen. The air was heavy with the moist breath of green growing things. She closed her eyes and inhaled the heady floral scent. Her great-aunt’s Palm Room was but a pale, tame imitation of balmier climes. This wild profusion of life transported Rosalinde back to Bermuda with its abundance of hibiscus and rhododendron.

  Back to the madness of her first dalliance with Aidan.

  When she opened her eyes, there he was, standing by a gardener’s shelf in the far corner, pottering with an orchid.

  “I thought Aid—Lord Stonemere—was riding,” Rosalinde said. He’d changed into a shoddy pair of trousers and donned a work smock. “How did he get here so quickly?”

  Then when the man turned and looked at them full on, she realized it wasn’t Aidan, though the resemblance was striking.

  “That’s His Lordship’s brother, Liam,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said in a half-whisper, then raised her voice. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Master Liam. These are some of the baron’s guests.”

  “Then they are my guests too,” he said slowly, walking toward them. “Do they like orchids?”

  “Yes, very much,” Rosalinde said. Aidan had never mentioned having a brother. Now that he was closer, she realized the similarity between Aidan and his brother ended with their coloring and bone structure. Liam’s darting gaze never met hers and she knew without being told that there was something a bit off about him.

  “They aren’t really flowers, you know. They look like flowers, but it’s only a disguise,” Liam said, his voice strangely flat. “Orchids are parasites. That means they kill their hosts.”

  Her lips twitched in a nervous smile. “They’re very beautiful all the same.”

  “Yes,” he said, studying the tips of his own boots. “But they aren’t good, are they? Not really, I mean, if they kill what helps them. Still, I like orchids.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald introduced Rosalinde and her family to Liam and then tried to shepherd them out the door.

  “Don’t think I won’t remember you,” Liam said. “I remember everyone I meet.”

  “That’s good,” Rosalinde said as she trailed the others out. “I’ll remember you too, Mr. Danaher.”

  “Miss Burke.”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “Yes?”

  “Will you call me Liam?” His dark brows rose hopefully as he worried a corner of his smock, wringing it in his big hands.

  She hadn’t honored the same request from the viscount, but Edwin hadn’t seemed to need her to use his Christian name as much as Liam obviously did. “If you call me Rosalinde.”

  His face split in a wide grin and he cast her a quick shy glance. “Rosalinde,” he repeated.

  “Good day, Liam.”

  “Oh,” he called after her. “Just so you know. Whatever you hear, I’m not an orchid.”

  A shiver swept over her as she rejoined her family. Not an orchid. It was an odd thing to say, but odd didn’t begin to describe Aidan’s brother.

  “Ah, here’s Mr. Phipps come to collect ye, now,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said.

  The butler escorted them to their rooms. Lady Chudderley and Rosalinde’s father were given chambers on the first floor, one curving staircase up from ground level. Contrary to her father’s assertion, it appeared Aidan wasn’t the least light in the pockets. The rooms were furnished with an eye to both opulence and comfort.

  Rosalinde’s room was on the second floor. When Phipps opened the door for her, she found Katie already there finishing the last of the unpacking.

  “Now this is a proper turnout,” Katie said after Phipps bowed and left. She arranged Rosalinde’s gowns in the spacious wardrobe to make certain they wouldn’t wrinkle. “A room fit for a duchess, and no mistake.”

  The chamber was very fine, even more sumptuous than the ones given to her father and great-aunt, but Rosalinde feared, being so high in the house, there was no chance Aidan would climb in her window any time soon.

  As if a lady would even think such an improper thing, she lectured herself.

  “What about you and Gus?” Rosalinde asked. “Have you been given suitable quarters?”

  “If you call the room of a dead girl suitable,” Katie said with a shrug. “They put us up in that Peg Bass’s old chamber. Won’t no one else sleep there. Nice enough, I suppose, for the likes of us, but I tell ye, miss, I’d not sleep a wink there either without my big Gus by my side.”

  “Peg Bass, the girl who was murdered.”

  “Aye, that’s the one,” Katie said as she pummeled the bed pillows into the desired fluffiness. “That be some dark doings there. Her neck wrung like a chicken, they say.”

  Rosalinde’s insides squirmed. Aidan couldn’t have done such a thing.

  Could he?

  She ran a fingertip along the carved post of her bed. “How do the servants here feel about serving the man who confessed to killing her?”

  Katie frowned. “That’s just the perplexing thing, miss. They don’t seem to mind a bit. Nary a one had aught to say against His Lordship. In fact, I got the strangest feeling they’re actually proud to serve him.”

  Rosalinde smiled at that. The staff of Stonehaven was too well-trained to be as familiar with the family as Rosalinde allowed Katie to be, but servants knew everything that went on in a great house. Rosalinde was sure they talked amongst themselves about the family they served. Who was a better judge of a man’s character than the ones who cared for his daily needs?

  “All of ’em seem happy to be here except the new upstairs maid,” Katie added, tilting her nose into the air and giving her head a shake. “Lily Wade. She’s a puzzlement, that one. Claims to come from Cheapside, but acts like she’s too good to empty a chamber pot. Hasn’t been here long, though. Maybe a week. She’s not much of a maid, the bootblack boy says, but she’s a looker and no mistake.”

 
“Peg Bass was the upstairs maid too, wasn’t she?”

  “Aye, and by all accounts, a fair piece of muslin she was. Quite fetching, they say.” Katie straightened the counterpane and smoothed the elegant damask. “Just like Lily Wade. Cook says Lily’s far too free with the time she spends in the Master’s chamber for her tastes. She says Lily stays a lot longer than it takes to turn down a bed of an evening, if ye take my meaning.”

  Rosalinde’s belly spiraled downward. It was an open secret that men of privilege sometimes dallied with their help, but she hadn’t expected it of Aidan. Not even after the lurid tale of Peg Bass. “That’s enough, Katie.”

  “Oh, right. Begging your pardon, miss. Gossip is a prayer to the devil, me old mam used to say. Pay it no heed. If that’ll be all, miss, I’d best see to Lady Chudderley.” Katie headed to the door, stopped and turned back. “It may not be my place to say so, but if I may be so bold, I hope ye’ll turn your eye toward Viscount Musgrave while we bide here. Lord Stonemere is quite a takin’ fellow, very handsome to be sure, but the viscount—he’s quality, he is. Through and through.”

  “That’ll be all, Katie,” Rosalinde said through clenched teeth.

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and left.

  Rosalinde sank down on the foot of the bed.

  Aidan wanted her to trust him. Part of her wanted to, but now that Katie had raised the specter of it, a darker part of her heart imagined him tangled up with the good-looking upstairs maid, Lily Wade.

  Not everything is as it seems, he’d said. But that wasn’t exactly a repudiation of his guilt, was it? Everything she knew about Aidan was shadowed with half-truths and conjecture. She couldn’t look at him without being swamped by a fluttering pulse and shortness of breath. How could she think clearly while her body ran riot?

  She pulled her precious book of Shakespeare from her small satchel and thumbed through the dog-eared pages. Everything was so much simpler in his plays. It was easy to mark the villains and cheer the heroes when you knew immediately who they were.

  Truth was so evident in a playhouse.