by Cheryl Holt
“So you were merely instructing her?”
“Yes.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “I will be here for a fortnight or so. While I’m in residence, you will not quarrel with her.”
“I’m in complete agreement, and I’m making plans for her to move out.”
At the news, Aaron was taken aback. “Move her?”
“Mother says it’s not appropriate for her to be at the manor while you and Mr. Blair are on the premises.”
“But Miss Bernard is here too, as well as my housekeeper and a dozen housemaids.”
“Mother is worried about appearances. It’s very important that Miss Etherton establish herself in the community in just the right way.”
“It would damage her reputation to stay at Fox Run for a few weeks?”
Iggy had caught himself in a trap. If he said yes, he’d be insulting Aaron. If he said no, there was no reason for her to be moved.
Aaron couldn’t bear to imagine Miss Etherton living somewhere else. He would be at Fox Run for only a very short interval, then he had to head to London and the responsibilities awaiting him there. Namely his fast-approaching wedding.
In the meantime, he was at Fox Run, and Miss Etherton was too. He suffered an incredible amount of pleasure from knowing he could come down to breakfast and find her in his dining room.
The entire house was brighter and merrier because she was in it, and he wasn’t about to have her leave. Iggy and his mother be damned!
“Mother and I feel it would be best if she left.”
“No,” Aaron firmly stated.
“No?”
“She’ll remain at Fox Run.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“And I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think.”
Iggy gasped with offense. “Honestly, Cousin Aaron, there’s no need to be vulgar.”
“No, there’s not, so let me be clear. She’s staying. Don’t argue with me about it.”
Iggy was about to pitch a fit like the spoiled child he’d always been, but ultimately, he dipped his head in defeat. “All right.”
“While she’s here, she will be welcome to behave however she likes. She can sing or dance or drink wine or ride my horses or chat with neighbors of whom you disapprove. It will be none of your business how she acts.”
“I see,” Iggy grumbled.
“You will not chastise or scold her for any conduct she undertakes, most specifically those that I have asked her to perform.”
“I understand.”
“If you can’t mind your manners, you and your mother won’t be invited to Fox Run ever again. You can sit in the rectory and pout about how unfair I’m being.”
Two slashes of red marred Iggy’s cheeks. He leapt to his feet. “Will that be all, Cousin Aaron?”
“For now. But if you aggravate me in the future, you’ll definitely hear about it.”
Iggy spun to go, but Aaron stood and beat him to the door. He yanked it open, and as he’d suspected, Gertrude had been peeking through the keyhole. She stumbled into the room, struggling to muster her aplomb, to not look like a fool.
“Cousin Aaron,” she sputtered, “I was…about to knock.”
“Were you?”
“I was wondering if Iggy could return to the party. There are guests leaving and they want to say goodbye.”
Aaron simply glared at her until she shut up. Once she was quiet, he said, “My housekeeper informs me that you took it upon yourself to ensconce Miss Etherton at Fox Run.”
“Well…ah…I didn’t suppose you’d care. It is a big house, and you’ve always been so accommodating to me.”
“I do care—very much. Not that Miss Etherton is here, but that you felt free to extend the offer on my behalf. You will not presume again, Cousin Gertrude. I’ve instructed the housekeeper to check with me first from now on. She’s not to believe you on any topic.”
“Fine,” she fumed. “Be that way—if you must.”
She grabbed Iggy’s arm, and they stomped out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Aaron crept down the hall, feeling like a burglar in his own home.
The guests were gone, the servants in bed. He’d been downstairs having a brandy with Bryce, but it hadn’t calmed him or improved his mood. Their conversation kept meandering back to Miss Etherton, and he’d struggled mightily not to display too much interest.
Bryce was a gambler and ne’er-do-well, and in light of Aaron’s elevated position, it was odd that they were friends. But they’d attended school together as boys and had never lost their connection.
Bryce was the sort of fellow Aaron might have become if he hadn’t been his father’s heir. Aaron took his responsibilities seriously—to study, to learn the workings of their vast estates, to understand his role. Because of that burden, his life had been a tedious slog.
In many ways, Bryce was Aaron’s exact opposite. He’d been an orphan and charity case at school, his tuition paid by a kindly benefactor. He rarely mentioned his past and claimed not to remember his parents, though Aaron wasn’t sure if that was true.
Yet without the encumbrance of familial obligation, Bryce was free to live how he chose. There were no expectations to meet, no grumbling father to complain about his conduct. Bryce could gamble and carouse without worrying that anyone would notice or chastise.
He occasionally supplemented his income by performing on the stage. His plunge into theatrics was further evidence that Aaron should have cut ties long ago, but Bryce reminded Aaron of Lucas, and in Aaron’s stilted, boring world, he needed more people like Bryce in it, not less.
Bryce had surrounded himself with actors and other performers, so he’d been particularly delighted by Miss Etherton, and the more they’d talked about her, the more determined Aaron had grown.
He absolutely could not allow her to marry his cousin. The match was a grand folly in the making, and Aaron was desperate to quash it. He could imagine nothing more horrid than beautiful, charming Evangeline Etherton wed to Ignatius Bosworth. It seemed a crime against the natural order, and the universe was pushing Aaron to intervene.
He arrived at her door and, without pausing to reconsider, he knocked.
Was she still up? He hoped she was. After Iggy had scolded her in the garden, she’d hurried into the house and hadn’t reappeared. Clearly, Iggy’s behavior had upset her, so she’d be more inclined to listen to Aaron. She had to refuse the match or agree to delay until they could come up with a more viable plan.
“Miss Etherton?” he murmured. “Miss Etherton? Evangeline?”
He pressed his ear to the wood and was debating his next move, when she moaned as if she was in distress.
“No, no…” she was saying.
Without hesitating, he spun the knob and stepped in, terrified over what he might find, but she was asleep in a chair by the fire and in the throes of a nightmare.
“No, no…” she said again. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me with them!”
He walked over and knelt in front of her. He clasped her arm and shook it.
“Evangeline, wake up.”
“No!”
“Evangeline!”
She jumped to consciousness, lashing out with a fist at an unseen foe, so she nearly clocked Aaron on the jaw. He lurched back, and she barely missed him.
Gradually, her senses returned, her gaze focused, and she asked, “Lord…Run? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You were having a bad dream. I was passing by in the hall when I heard you cry out.”
She was distraught, her cheeks pale, her hands trembling. There was a bottle of brandy on a table in the corner, and he went over and poured her a glass.
“Have a sip,” he said. “It will calm you.”
“Thank you.”
He held it out, and she downed several swallows. Ultimately, she mumbled, “I hate that dream.”
“Do you have it often?” “Not often. When I’m stressed or weary, it comes to haunt me. The details are so real, I thin
k it’s probably an event that actually occurred, but I don’t recollect.”
He pulled up a chair and sat, positioning it closely enough that their knees were touching, their feet and legs tangled.
“What is it about?” he inquired.
“I’m very tiny, and I’m down at the docks. Maybe in London? I’m not certain where it is. There are some boys with me—they might be my brothers. We’re being separated. I have to go away with someone, and I don’t want to. I want to stay with them.”
“You don’t remember if you have brothers?”
“No.”
“How many are there?”
She thought and thought, then said, “Three? There’s always one for sure, and he’s the oldest, but there might be others. Sometimes they’re present and sometimes not. The oldest one claims I shouldn’t be afraid, that he’ll find me.”
“Then what happens?”
“Then…I wake up. I guess the ending must be so heart wrenching that I can’t bear to know what it is.”
“Or perhaps you know the ending. Perhaps he was a child and wasn’t able to come for you.”
“Oh, don’t say it! It would be too depressing.” She forced a smile. “It’s most likely just an orphan’s fantasy due to my desire to have a family.”
“Please don’t tell me you grew up in an orphanage.”
“No, in a boarding school.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
“Yes, my life has been all right—for all I don’t recall the beginning of it. In my first memories, I’m four or so, and I’m at school.”
“But safe and sound?”
“Yes, always safe and sound there.”
She drank down the rest of the liquor, and it visibly relaxed her. As she placed the glass on a nearby table, he studied her.
In the fading firelight, she looked young and pretty and very, very alone. From the moment they’d met she’d fascinated him and that fascination appeared to be increasing at an alarming rate.
She was exhibiting a brave front, but he suspected that if he hadn’t blustered in, she’d be weeping in anguish. Were her memories that ragged?
He wasn’t the sort of person who comforted others. If he’d been asked to describe himself, he’d have said aloof, detached, cold, and stern. But suddenly, he was anxious to comfort her.
Acting on instinct, he didn’t allow better sense to prevail. He drew her onto his lap, dragging her from her chair and onto his own. He spread his legs and balanced her on his thigh. She tried to push away, but he snuggled her down so she was nestled to his chest.
He caressed a soothing hand up and down her back, and he was surprised to discover that he liked it very much. Maybe he wasn’t such an ogre after all. Maybe, deep down, there was a glimmer of humanity lurking beneath the stuffy, pretentious façade he showed to the world.
He’d had his share of romantic entanglements, but he wasn’t a warm or cuddly fellow. He viewed his carnal relationships as commercial transactions: money paid for services rendered. There’d been no tender encounters, no quiet interludes in the dark of night, so he hadn’t realized that affection could be so pleasant. The interval was emotionally charged, but in a way he enjoyed very much.
Eventually, she straightened and gazed at him. Her lush, ruby lips were only an inch from his own, and he couldn’t help but kiss her. He just managed to touch his mouth to hers when she gave him a hard shove and jumped to her feet.
“No, no, no,” she scolded. “We’re not doing this. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
He grabbed her wrist, but she jerked away and stomped across the room. She pulled the door open and hovered next to it, as if—should he say or do the wrong thing—she would run out into the hall.
“What is it you want from me?” she inquired.
“I don’t know.”
“This is the second time you’ve come in here. I’m your guest. I should be safe in your home.”
“Safe—with me? You’re mad if you assume so.”
“If you can’t leave me alone, then I agree with Vicar Bosworth. I need to stay somewhere else until my wedding.”
“No.”
“I’m not a chattel, and I’m not a slave. We’re barely acquainted, and you have no authority over me. It’s none of your business if I depart.”
“And who does have authority? My cousin?”
“He would think so.”
“He’s an idiot.”
She didn’t respond to his insult. Obviously, she’d have liked to, but what would be the point? Unless or until the betrothal was severed, she was engaged to Iggy, and the notion aggravated Aaron beyond his limit.
“You can’t marry him,” Aaron insisted.
“Easy for you to say.”
“You can’t. I won’t let you.”
“You won’t let me?” She snorted with disgust. “Would you go? I appreciate your checking on me, but I can’t have you barging in.”
“It’s my bloody house,” he crudely snapped. “I can behave however I wish.”
“My betrothal is difficult enough for me. I can’t have you making it worse.”
“How am I making it worse?”
“You seem to want something from me, but whatever it is, I can’t give it to you.”
Did he want something? He thought he probably did. He was so happy when he was with her, so optimistic and hopeful, as if a remarkable future could transpire between them. But he wouldn’t tell her that. Such maudlin drivel was completely foreign to his character, and he wasn’t about to provide any hint of how deeply she affected him.
“Iggy is all wrong for you,” Aaron said.
“So? In my experience, husbands and wives are never compatible. I expect my marriage to him will be very typical.”
“Why would you agree to the match?”
“Because I didn’t have any choice! Why do you suppose? It’s not as if I have a hundred friends and family members lined up with other options. Should I have refused him? Would I be better off living in a ditch?”
“He claims you had a fine dowry. Why didn’t you use it to pick someone more suited to your personality?”
“It wasn’t up to me. I simply did as I was told.”
“Pardon me, but you don’t seem all that submissive. Why blithely consent?”
She scoffed and shook her head. “We’re not all rich and lucky like you. Some of us—me in particular—are just scrambling to get by.”
“Is that how you’ll view your marriage? As just getting by?”
“Yes. What else is there for a woman in my position?”
When he found her to be so magnificent, the prospect of her being abused by her spouse was extremely wrenching. He couldn’t bear to imagine her in a bad situation.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“How could you?”
That was a question for the ages, wasn’t it? What assistance was he prepared to bestow?
With his own wedding swiftly approaching, he couldn’t take her to London. Nor could he leave her at Fox Run. He and Priscilla were moving to Fox Run after the wedding was over. He could hardly arrive with Priscilla and have Miss Etherton greet them in the driveway. There would be no way to explain her presence to his wife.
Iggy had mentioned that she’d been a schoolteacher, and Aaron didn’t know why the post had ended. She could probably return to that dreary existence, but he couldn’t picture her toiling away at such a dull endeavor. She was like a brilliant comet streaking across the sky. She ought to be in London on the stage, but he’d cut off his tongue before he’d put that idea in her mind.
If she flitted off to London, she’d wind up like Florella, with an empty purse, loose morals, and every libertine in the city begging her for indecent favors.
He pushed himself to his feet and marched over to her. She watched him warily, as if he was a rabid dog that might bite. And, he had to admit, he wasn’t sure himself what he might do.
For months, he’d been raging and o
ut of sorts. He’d traveled to Fox Run to ease his stress, to come to grips with his engagement, but since he’d met her, he was more dissatisfied than ever.
He truly thought he’d meant to storm out, but once he was next to her, he couldn’t walk on by. He reached over and shut the door so they were sequestered again. She huffed out a frustrated breath.
“We can’t be in here like this,” she insisted.
“As I said, Evangeline, it’s my house. I can act how I please.”
“Well, I can’t! What if a servant saw us? What if he told the vicar and—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he swooped in and kissed her.
He slid an arm around her waist and held her close so the entire front of her delicious, voluptuous torso was crushed to his own. The sensation was so stirring that his knees nearly buckled.
For a brief second, she shoved at his chest, but he wasn’t about to release her. Ever since their fleeting kiss in the music room, he’d been dying to do it again, to do it more fully and completely so, hopefully, he would tamp down some of the lust she induced in him. But the embrace provided no indication that his ardor might be lessened. If anything, it was immediately pitched to a new and frightening level.
His hands roamed over her body, tracing her shoulders, her back. His fingers went to her spectacular blond hair, and he plucked out the combs, the blond mass falling down in an intoxicating wave. He riffled through it, the feel of the soft strands rattling him, goading him to take the kiss farther than it should ever go.
Ultimately, he began massaging her buttocks, pulling her loins to his own, and it was a limit she wouldn’t allow him to cross. She yanked away, murmuring, “No, no, I can’t.”
Her pleading tone stopped him, and they stood in silent misery, their foreheads pressed together, their breathing labored as if they’d run a long race.
He’d never been so titillated, and he yearned to pick her up, to carry her into the bedchamber and try things with her he’d never previously considered with a female. It was a wild and feral urge that was almost beyond his control, and—should he give it free rein—it would ignite a spark and incinerate them both.
He gazed down at her. She looked rumpled and adorable, and he was so smitten by her.