From the moment Justin had renewed the idea of having the ball, Aidan had been amazed by his willingness to help. Whenever she approached him on a matter concerning the plans, he would stop whatever it was he was doing, allowing her his undivided attention. His suggestions were, she discovered, most useful and always given with the understanding that she had the final choice on the matter.
What also surprised her was the way his money flowed freely. No matter what it took to make this lavish undertaking work, he seemed willing to pay it. Yet, Aidan remained cautious, picking and choosing carefully, protecting her husband’s purse as she did so, keeping it safe from those who thought to weigh down their pockets with a few more shillings here and there. If she found a merchant to be disreputable, she would quickly discontinue all dealings with the person. Such devious actions were sternly frowned upon by the Duchess of Westover, and all London soon realized it.
Like his money, Justin’s laughter began to flow freely. One day, while she sat cleaning a silver bowl, he chuckled jovially, teasing her about the dark smudge on her nose. “You look like a street urchin,” he commented, merriment dancing in his silvery gaze. When his laughter calmed, to her amazement and that of those close by, he rolled up his sleeves and set to cleaning the candelabra, which was next on her list of things to do.
Seeing the Duke of Westover polishing the silver at first startled his staff, but then the group decided his desire to be near his lovely young duchess had precipitated the action. After all, she was laboring as hard as any of them, never complaining, and her husband undoubtedly felt left out. After a private discussion in the kitchen, the servants all agreed to work more strenuously, hoping to give the newlyweds greater freedom, which they were certain their master would welcome with glee.
Always a gentleman, Justin treated Aidan with the utmost show of kindness and respect. Yet at the most unexpected moments, she would catch his lazy silvery eyes upon her, assessing her in a vitally masculine way. When that happened, a rush of excitement raced along Aidan’s veins, leaving her breathless. Never did he make an improper move, yet strangely Aidan felt as though she were somehow being seduced. Oddly, in a womanly way, the thought appealed to her; slowly her guard began to drop.
Had Justin known as much, he’d have been ecstatic. As the days had passed, he found an odd thing happening to him. Admittedly, he was most intrigued by Aidan. Her beauty drew him, certainly, but it was her wit and personality that attracted him most. Bright, charming, giving, she’d set his heart to tripping wildly with the softest of smiles aimed his way. Whenever he looked at her, he remembered her at the orphanage, bestowing happiness on a ragged-looking bunch of waifs, smiles lighting their pale, scarred faces, his lovely young Aidan the center of their attention. And, strangely, he felt very much the same way, for he’d found himself enthralled by her. Suddenly his lost freedom no longer mattered to him as it once had. In fact, as ludicrous as it may have seemed, any thought of his revered bachelorhood became extremely unappealing to him. Without Aidan’s companionship, he would be lost.
One afternoon as she sat at the desk in Justin’s study, the room having been set aside for her use, Aidan quickly ran through her checklist. New livery had been ordered for the servants, with the promise it would be delivered the day prior to the ball, as had the new table linens. The floral arrangements had been selected; the crystal washed; the silver polished; the china, displaying the Westover ducal crest, unpacked; the guest list decided upon; and the great house was on its way to being cleaned from top to bottom. Everything seemed to be going smoothly.
“You’ve looked over that list at least two dozen times,” Justin said, surprising Aidan. He smiled down at her as he slid a hip onto the desk near her. “I’ve brought a present for you.”
Aidan watched as he withdrew a card from his coat pocket. “The invitation!” she cried, her violet eyes showing their excitement as she took it from his hand. “Oh, Justin, it’s beautiful!” Her finger lightly touched the ducal crest gracing the top of the invitation, then traced the gold lettering, which read: “The Most Noble Duke and Duchess of Westover request your presence …”
“They’re being delivered by messenger at this very moment.”
“D-do you think anyone will come?” she asked, suddenly fearful all her work would be for naught.
“Undoubtedly we shall be turning them away at the door.” He saw her questioning look. “The house may not hold them all.”
“Did we invite too many?”
“Perhaps we didn’t invite enough.”
“Surely we haven’t forgotten someone.”
“Yes, madam, we have. Your father.”
A disjointed laugh erupted from Aidan. “Are you serious? After what he’s done to you—to us—one would think you’d never wish to see him again.”
“He is your father, Aidan, and we cannot continue to ignore him.” She appeared unconvinced by his words. “I think we should invite him. Otherwise, our guests will wonder why he’s not here.”
Aidan doubted the wisdom of inviting her father to the ball. It would be her first time seeing him since she’d been forced to marry, and it was bound to spell disaster. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally, realizing Justin was awaiting her answer.
His brow arched as he looked down at her, but he held his tongue on the matter. “Have you finished checking your list?” he chided, retrieving it from the desk where it lay. “It seems everything has been … Wait! You’ve forgotten something.”
“I have?” She snatched the paper from his hand and rechecked it. “I can’t see a thing I could have possibly missed. It’s all been checked off—twice.”
“What you have forgotten isn’t on the list, madam.” He caught hold of her hand and urged her from the chair. “We shall go see about correcting the error now.” He guided her toward the door, then down the stairs.
A frown settled on Aidan’s forehead as she followed his lead. “Where are we going?”
“Out.”
“But I’m not properly dressed! My gloves and bonnet!” she protested as he swept her out the front door to the awaiting carriage. Suddenly her heels dug into the pavement. “I’ll not go another step until you’ve told me where we’re headed.”
Justin chuckled and lifted her into his arms, then playfully tossed her into the seat. “You will go … and it is a surprise.”
While the carriage rolled toward their destination, Aidan raised a delicate eyebrow in haughty speculation as she stared across the span separating Justin and herself. “And we were getting along so nicely, too,” she accused finally.
“Bear with me, sweet. Once you’ve discovered where we are going, I’m certain you’ll be more than happy to renew our friendship.”
When the carriage stopped outside Madame Bouchard’s, the most famous couturiere in all London, Aidan gasped. Madame catered only to a select clientele, she knew, and it was purported that Madame herself chose which individual would wear her latest creation, and no amount of money could change her policy. To wear a Bouchard gown was to be envied by all.
“We are here,” Justin said, smiling at her round-eyed expression, then stepped from the carriage. “Madam.”
Aidan absentmindedly slipped her hand into Justin’s. She felt his gentle squeeze; then he helped her alight. “I … I don’t understand,” she said, still awestruck.
He chuckled as he led her toward the door. “You will, madam,” he said, opening the wood-and-glass panel; a bell sounded as he did so.
“Ah, Your Grace,” an attractive redhead, whom Aidan thought to be in her mid-thirties, said in a sultry French accent, curtsying. “As always, you are on time.” She turned her attention to Aidan and smiled. “And this must be your lovely young bride.”
Something akin to jealousy streaked through Aidan, for the woman had sounded as though she knew Justin personally. Quickly Aidan denied its name and squared her shoulders.
“Madame Bouchard,” Justin returned, bowing slightly. “May I presen
t Her Grace, the Duchess of Westover.”
Aidan inclined her head. “Madame.”
“I am happy you have chosen my establishment for your needs,” the woman said, then turned and clapped her hands. “Bridget, come!”
A shapely brunette appeared from nowhere; the young beauty’s admiring gaze raked over the handsome duke as a coy smile teased her full lips. If Aidan hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that she’d stepped into the middle of a French brothel and not the exclusive fashion house that Madame Bouchard’s was purported to be. Indeed, the two women seemed more than willing to please Justin Warfield, in whatever way possible.
“Your Grace,” Madame Bouchard addressed Justin, “please have a seat. I shall attend to your wife in a moment.” The woman moved away toward the back of the shop.
Justin folded his long body into a dainty giltwood armchair, then gazed up at Aidan to find her staring down at him.
“Perhaps it is time you tell me why we are here,” she snapped ungraciously.
“If you do not know by now, sweet, I’ll not try to explain.”
Narrowed eyes scanned his face; then Aidan blurted, “Madame acts as though she knows you quite well.”
Justin let loose a knowing chuckle. “That is because Madame does know me quite well.”
Again jealousy flamed within Aidan, but this time she could not deny it. Drawing a breath, she was about to ask if the word “know” was meant in the biblical sense, when suddenly Madame reappeared. “Come,” the woman said, “we are ready.”
As Aidan followed the Frenchwoman into the dressing area, she was thankful the couturiere had interrupted her retort. Never would she let the man think she felt anything for him but contempt!
While Bridget assisted a stiff Aidan from her blue silk day dress, Madame Bouchard regarded the violet-eyed beauty at length. “He said you were exceptionally beautiful, with eyes the color of a Scottish moor when the heather was in bloom. As always, he is right.”
“And what else did he say?” Aidan queried sarcastically, suddenly resentful her husband would discuss her with this woman, never mind his words had been extremely complimentary.
A sultry whisper of a laugh escaped Madame Bouchard’s throat. “Not much—except he wished to have the most striking woman in all London at his side the night of the ball.” She turned and called through the curtain, “Yvette, bring it!”
Aidan watched as a slender young woman backed herself through the draperies. When the girl turned around, Aidan gasped with pleasure, for in Yvette’s arms was the loveliest satin ball gown Aidan had ever seen.
Deep orchid in color, the dress appeared bathed in twilight; Aidan discovered she was eager to try it on. With Bridget’s and Yvette’s help, she found herself encased in the beautiful creation in moments. “You may go,” Madame Bouchard said, waving off her assistants, then set to fastening the last dozen satin-covered buttons, which ran up the back. With a quick tug, Madame pulled the puffed sleeves down, exposing Aidan’s creamy white shoulders. “There,” she said, satisfied. “What do you think of it?”
“It’s gorgeous,” Aidan whispered, then blushed as she eyed the indecently low décolletage through the mirror, for her young breasts were exposed more than she thought proper. Her hands climbed to each shoulder to adjust the sleeves, and with them her décolletage, but Madame stopped her.
“No, no! You must leave it to attract the eye of your husband,” she admonished, pulling the small sleeves down again. “He will be pleased with your beauty.” Madame saw Aidan’s skeptical look. “It is true. He chose this style himself—the color as well. Ah, he has done well. Never before has he purchased a gown from me. There was no one he cared to dress so beautifully—not until you.”
Aidan’s questioning eyes met Madame Bouchard’s in the mirror, and Madame smiled knowingly. “You thought perhaps he brought his lovers here?” Madame asked, and Aidan’s gaze dropped away from the older woman’s. “He has never brought anyone here, except you.”
Hearing the words, Aidan again assumed that Justin and Madame Bouchard had been … intimate. Why else would he know her?
“You are wrong, chérie,” the redhead said, and Aidan’s eyes met Madame’s again. “It is not your husband who has shared my bed, but his father.”
“His father?”
“Oui. Ten years ago, when his father died, I thought I would be cast out of my little shop, which Malcolm had purchased for me. I was wrong. At eighteen, Justin was quite mature. Instead of tossing me out, he proposed we continue with a business relationship. We are partners, and my shop is what it is today because of him.”
Aidan believed the woman. “I apologize,” she said in a small voice, “for making such a presumption. But I… I—”
“With a man as virile and as handsome as your husband, the mistake is understandable. Any woman would wish to have him in her bed.” She laughed throatily. “The bedroom, chérie, is where it counts. You can be as proper a lady as you wish in public, but once you have closed that door, always remember to play the part of the femme fatale. You must be a paramour for your husband. As long as you continue to please him, you will not lose him.” Seeing Aidan’s wide-eyed look, Madame shrugged. “But then, I may be wrong. He has never gazed at a woman as he does you. I know, for I have seen him with many. He may love you no matter what happens in his bed.” Madame fluffed the sleeves again. “Now, are you ready to show him how truly beautiful you are?”
He may love you… The words rolled through Aidan’s head over and over again. Ridiculous! she thought. But then, he did seem different: kinder, more attentive—more affectionate? No! She was imagining it. He wanted to be free. Their divorce was imminent. Yet, for some reason, the knowledge saddened Aidan. Could it be she was falling in love with him? The thought frightened her, for she discovered she was no longer able to state a definite no to the question.
“Chérie?” Madame inquired. “Do you wish to show His Grace your beautiful gown?”
“No!” Aidan said forcefully, then realized it was not Madame’s query to which she responded, but her own. Liar! a piece of her heart protested, but Aidan ignored it. “I mean,” she said more gently, “I’d like to surprise him.”
Madame smiled. “A wonderful idea, chérie. You shall dazzle him.”
“How, Madame Bouchard, did you know my size?” Aidan asked, suddenly curious as to how the gown managed to be a perfect fit.
“His Grace brought me one of your old gowns—an ivory satin with black lace. I took your measurement from it.”
“Oh.” Then, as Aidan slipped from her new gown to don her day dress, she again thought about what Madame Bouchard had said, but refused to believe there was any truth to the couturiere’s words. Justin could never love her.
As the couple made their way back to Westover House, Aidan sat next to Justin, deep in thought. Shortly she felt Justin’s silvery gaze upon her and turned questioning eyes toward him.
“You seem unhappy,” he said after a long searching moment. He slipped his arm behind her, resting it along the top of the seat, his hand only inches from her head. Forcefully he fought the urge to touch the silken mass of hair. “Has my surprise disappointed you?”
“No, not at all.”
“Well, I was disappointed.”
“Why ever should you be disappointed?”
“The gown, madam. I did not have the chance to see you in it.”
“You will, sir, the night of the ball.”
“Ho!” Justin cried, pretending to sulk. “After all the trouble I’ve gone through, you plan to make me wait until then?”
“I do,” she answered saucily. “But remember, the excitement is in the anticipation, not the actual event.”
Justin threw back his head and laughed. “Aidan, love,” he said as his hand rose from his lap. His knuckles brushed lightly across her cheek, while his dancing eyes beamed down at her. “You are a woman unlike any I have ever known.”
As her smiling gaze locked with his, Aidan fel
t a delicious warmth spread through her, all the way to her toes. Handsomely charming, she thought, the last of the barriers she’d erected cracking, to slowly slip away. She was caught in his spell, and Aidan suddenly realized she cared little that she was.
True to her promise, Aunt Pattie marched through the front door of Westover House precisely one week before the ball. Her sharp orders rang upward to echo through the great house as she directed her footmen on the placement of her luggage, her cane pointing to the exact spot each piece should go. Upon hearing the commotion, Aidan smiled and sailed from Justin’s study, down the stairs. “Aunt Patti!” she cried, rushing to the woman’s side.
The dowager marchioness offered her cheek for Aidan’s kiss, then patted the younger woman’s hand. Inspecting her niece’s lovely features, she looked for that certain telltale glow, then was instantly disappointed to find it was not there. Anxious to hear what was happening, Aunt Patti asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “How goes it?”
The pair moved toward the stairs to slowly climb upward. “Wonderfully well,” Aidan replied, a smile lighting her face. “The plans are all set for the ball and everything seems to be running smoothly.”
“Not the ball,” the dowager marchioness snapped impatiently. “How goes it with Westover? Does he suspect my part in your escape?”
“You’re safe, Aunt Patti. He knows nothing of our duplicity. At least, he’s shown nothing which says he does. As for Justin and myself, we are managing quite nicely. We are no longer arguing at every turn, but are working together toward a common end. Since the Queen has denied our request for an annulment, we’ve decided to petition for a divorce.”
Startled, Aunt Patti instantly stopped her upward movement. The word “annulment” jolted her, but she’d been quite pleased to hear that Victoria had refused the request. Upon hearing the word “divorce,” however, she’d nearly toppled back down the steps. “Have the two of you lost your minds? The scandal will ruin both of you!”
Seeing the woman’s stern look, Aidan bit her lip. “I know what you’re saying is true … but Justin wants our marriage dissolved. He’s willing to do anything to see it at an end.”
A Heart So Innocent Page 23
