Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon

by Catherine Gayle

  That question was absolutely and unequivocally the wrong question for Niall to ask at the moment, though he couldn’t possibly have known such a thing.

  Aidan felt his lips twist against his will. He shook his head, as though the slight action could perhaps clear the ugly thoughts chasing through his mind. “She wished to return,” he muttered. “I couldn’t very well leave Morgan alone with Deering in the woods, could I?”

  “But it was acceptable for you to allow Miss Hathaway to find her way back all by herself?”

  Aidan lifted a brow, which earned him a scowl from his brother.

  “Burington is rather displeased with you, and I can’t say I blame him for it. You seem to have forgotten how to act like a gentleman in the last several years. Lord knows it would have to be an act…”

  That stung, coming from his brother. He winced. “What would you have me do?” Aidan asked. He couldn’t very well act on his own impulses, lest he end up kissing the chit. Yet another thing that would cast him in the light of a villain.

  Niall crossed an ankle over his knee and relaxed a bit. Apparently, he had no intention of leaving Aidan in peace any time in the near future. “Perhaps you could start by apologizing to Miss Hathaway.”

  Apologizing to her? The deuced chit had been the one who’d forced him to choose between protecting her and protecting his sister! He’d been placed in a position where he couldn’t possibly make the right decision—there’d been no right decision available to him, save tossing Miss Hathaway over his shoulder and dragging her along with them. Which, now that he thought about it, held rather more appeal than he’d care to admit.

  But no, if either of them ought to be apologizing for the situation, it was her. He started to tell his brother precisely that, but Niall cut him off.

  “I don’t want to hear any excuses, Aidan. You’re the gentleman. You’ve got to make her see reason if she places you in an awkward position.” He stood, straightening his coat, which had only been mussed slightly all morning. “Just imagine if it had been Morgan with some other chap, and he’d allowed her to walk off alone.”

  “No one would do that,” Aidan bit off. She was blind, for God’s sake. He couldn’t imagine anyone who’d allow her to separate herself from the group in the midst of a strange wood.

  Niall held up a hand. “But what if someone would? Miss Hathaway doesn’t have two older brothers with her, protecting her at every turn, you know. Burington is looking after her, but it’s hardly the same.” He headed for the door, but stopped just before going through. “You owe it to Morgan to look after her friend, if nothing else,” he said quietly, without turning his head.

  Then he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  You owe it to Morgan… Niall’s words hung heavy in the room, repeating in Aidan’s head over and over again, as though they were bouncing off the walls of his mind and creating an echo.

  He owed Morgan more than he could ever give her. But this might be asking too much.

  Emma sat on a sofa with Serena and Morgan on either side. Sir Henry stood beside them, his hands clasped behind his back and a kind smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Emma studied him, trying to catalogue each of his features and attributes and reason out why he would make an excellent match for her.

  Sir Henry was adequately handsome, though she was almost as tall as he was. Not that that should hinder her affections toward him. She couldn’t allow something so petty as physical appearance to cloud her judgment.

  He was a good man. Thoughtful. Affable. Congenial. And, perhaps more importantly than any of his other attributes, he seemed interested in her. That alone ought to be enough for Emma to set her sights upon him.

  Not to fall in love with him—but she had no intentions of falling in love with any man until she was well and truly married to him. Morgan’s heartache a few years ago was more than enough warning for Emma to decide she’d never allow any man such power over her own feelings, at least not until he was irrevocably the only man for whom she ought to have such feelings.

  Yet she couldn’t help but think of Mr. Cardiff again, and the tiny flutters he seemed to always engender in her stomach, and the way he made her heart race at the most inopportune moments. Those were precisely the sorts of reactions she ought to be avoiding with any gentleman.

  Thankfully, Sir Henry did not inspire any such flutters. The way he was smiling down at her at the moment made her think he might wish he did.

  “If you truly want a dog as a pet, Miss Hathaway, allow me to train a pup for you,” he said, laughing.

  She smiled up at him then. “A pup?” He wanted to train a pup for her. How utterly charming, despite the fact that she hadn’t truly considered having a dog for a pet. Yes, Kingley had chosen to follow her around quite a bit, but that didn’t mean she wanted a pet. Did she? “And where might we find this pup?”

  “I breed hounds, you know,” he continued as Mr. Deering and Lord Muldaire made their way over to join them. Deering clapped a hand on his shoulder, which caused Sir Henry to jump slightly. He recovered himself quickly. “For that matter, one of my bitches delivered a new litter a few weeks ago. You could come to Seton Court later this summer and make your choice, and then before the next Season I could have it trained and ready to go home with you.”

  Morgan gasped at her side, but tried to cover it by coughing delicately into her hand. Serena hurried to pick up a cup of tea and hand it to Morgan, her surprised eyes locking onto Emma in the process.

  He was inviting her to his home. Goodness, she hadn’t expected that. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Wasn’t that a bit forward?

  “Of course, that would all depend upon Lord and Lady Burington accompanying you,” he added after a moment’s hesitation. Sir Henry looked a bit flustered, shifting from one foot to the other. “I wouldn’t—”

  “He’s good with them,” Lord Muldaire put in, interrupting before Sir Henry could make a total cake of himself. He took a seat in the armchair directly across from them and set his glass of port down on the mahogany occasional table beside him. “I bought a pair from him a couple of years ago. Never had a problem with either one.”

  Bought. Well, that settled that, then. Emma hadn’t even the slightest inkling what Sir Henry might charge for the puppies he bred, particularly those he trained before selling, but her pin money would never allow for such an extravagance. Particularly not when she wasn’t even entirely certain she wanted a dog.

  Emma started to say that very thing, but Serena spoke before she could. “Might I join Miss Hathaway as well? I’m sure Father wouldn’t mind us making another trip this summer. He’ll have to return to his business at some point, but…”

  “Of course,” Sir Henry said, altogether too happily. “The more the merrier.”

  Lord Muldaire chuckled. “Sounds like you could have a house party of your own forming, if you’re not careful, and all over a pack of puppies.” He took a swallow of his port, and then gave a pointed look in Serena’s direction. “I might wish to join Miss Weston as well. Perhaps I might choose another to take home. They are good dogs.”

  Serena flushed and sat back against the sofa, as though she were trying to disappear into the background. Surely having the notice of Lord Muldaire would be a good thing. Why was she not delighted by the prospect?

  When Emma raised her eyebrows in question, Serena gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. She’d have to ask about it later.

  “Do you only train dogs when they’re puppies,” Morgan asked, “or have you ever trained an older dog, Sir Henry?”

  He moved over to take up the seat nearest Morgan, other than the empty seat beside her on the sofa, and leaned forward so as to give her his full attention. “It is much easier to train them from a young age, my lady, but I have taken on a few older dogs as well.”

  “And you’ve been successful?”

  Mr. Deering let out a bark of a laugh. “He’s the absolute best in all of England. I’ve tried my hand at
training a few dogs before, but he puts me to shame.”

  “I can’t imagine you get much practice, what with all the time you spend reading your law books,” Sir Henry responded.

  Lord Jacob came over and, without even introducing himself into the conversation, plopped down next to Morgan on the sofa with a scowl. “He’s a far better barrister than he is a dog trainer. He should remember where his skills truly lie.” Every word from his mouth came out as a grumble.

  Clearly, his surly mood had not improved in the slightest from that morning.

  The lighthearted air that had been amongst them seemed to evaporate into the ether just from his joining their grouping.

  Mr. Deering just inclined his head in his cousin’s direction and gave a slight smile. “Indeed.”

  A racket sounded, wood clopping against wood, across the room near the hearth. Emma jumped with a start. Her head shot up, and her eyes met with Mr. Cardiff’s. He righted the chair he’d knocked over somehow and then took a seat.

  The rest of the group surrounding her resumed their previous conversation about training dogs and the life of a barrister, but Emma could no longer concentrate on their discussion. Her thoughts were too distracted by the crawling sensation creeping over her skin and the odd fluttering in her belly caused by the way Mr. Cardiff watched her.

  And watch her he did. His eyes never left her person; they roved over her in a decidedly improper and disconcerting manner that caused her skin to flush all over her entire body. Where was her fan when she needed it?

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think him interested. But that couldn’t be.

  The only interest Mr. Cardiff had in her was to never see her again.

  After Aidan’s inexplicable desire to kiss Miss Hathaway while they’d argued in the woods that morning, and then Niall’s insistence that he find some way to repent for his behavior or at least apologize to her for it, Aidan could do nothing but brood over the fact that he couldn’t keep his mind anywhere but on the vexing woman.

  Indeed, he’d spent the rest of the day with little else on his mind but the impertinent girl who seemingly had no regard for his sister’s safety. Even now, as he sat by himself near the hearth after supper, nursing the glass of port which he’d brought with him from the dining room, he was bewildered to find himself watching her.

  Perhaps more befuddling was the fact that she, likewise, was watching him. Yes, he’d made an arse of himself when he’d arrived in the drawing room by tripping over the chair upon which he was now sitting. He’d only done it because, for whatever reason, he couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t focus on where his feet were moving. Couldn’t think of anything but how perplexing it was that he was suddenly so fascinated by her: the intensity of her gaze, the plumpness of her lips. And the flush that was delightfully creeping over her skin. That flush made him think all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

  At least he hadn’t spilled his port when he’d tripped.

  She sat well across the room from him, her blue gown the precise shade the morning sky had been when they’d gone off on their promenade through the woods. Morgan sat on one side of her and Miss Weston on the other, and the three of them were surrounded by gentlemen—a thought which left Aidan with very muddled thoughts. Miss Hathaway was turned at a slight degree so that her attention remained squarely on Sir Henry Irvine. Her legs were angled and bent, crossed at the ankles, and the slightest hint of her slippers peeked out beneath the hem.

  His unfocused thoughts moved along with his eyes, which trailed over those long, ungainly legs. He thought about how she always seemed on the verge of falling down, as though her legs would not cooperate with her mind and do as she wished them to do…and then he started thinking about those legs wrapped around his waist while he drove himself inside her repeatedly.

  That line of thought absolutely wouldn’t do.

  So then he forced both his eyes and his thoughts elsewhere, only to discover himself looking at her lips that were too wide for her face, and which were far from society’s idea of beauty. Her eyes flickered away from Aidan for a moment and she smiled up at Sir Henry, stretching those lips wide. But then Aidan’s mind turned to thoughts about the feel of them suckling against his earlobe or stretching over his cock—and the cock in question hardened to the point of pain in his breeches.

  This time, he repositioned his body, facing the opposite side of the drawing room and doing his best to hide his erection from view until he could gain better control over himself. Good God. What was wrong with him? It was Miss Hathaway, for Christ’s sake, not some piece of Haymarket ware or opera singer. He didn’t find her attractive in the least. Did he?

  A grouping of gentlemen that included both David and Niall was situated in his line of sight now, blocking his view of Miss Hathaway and her lush lips and delectable legs. Much better.

  How had one entirely inappropriate thought about one very inappropriate kiss with a thoroughly inappropriate lady turned to this madness?

  Until today, every thought he had of Miss Hathaway that involved an image of her had been linked to somehow punishing her for the slights he’d perceived. Now the images coursing through his mind were punishing him instead, almost begging him to take out his pastels and vellum.

  Niall caught Aidan’s eye and worked his way through the room to join him. Blast, but he didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not while he had a mind filled with lustful images that he was trying, unsuccessfully, to banish…not to mention the proof of those lustful thoughts pressing against the flap of his breeches. He tried to cross his legs and somehow hide the evidence, but managed only to draw his attention more fully to the growing problem. The dog. He should think of the dog and all the fleas. But that thought only led him back to thoughts of Miss Hathaway.

  There was no stopping his brother when he set his mind to something. Aidan had never met a more single-minded person in all of his life, nor one more driven to set things right. Or at least right as he perceived right to be.

  They didn’t always see eye to eye on that score.

  Nevertheless, there would be no stopping Niall from joining him. After stopping briefly to discuss something with Lord Roxburghe in a far more civilized manner than Aidan would have managed, Niall finished crossing the room. “Have you apologized to Miss Hathaway yet? I can’t help but notice you’ve hardly taken your eyes from her the whole evening.”

  “I’ve been watching Morgan,” Aidan lied.

  “And I’ve been dining with Alexander the Great. You’ve never looked at Morgan that way before, and the very instant you start, I’ll send for someone to cart you off to Bedlam.”

  He ought to have come up with a better lie. Looking at their sister with lust in his eyes? Christ, he ought to voluntarily commit himself to Bedlam just for making the suggestion, but now was not the time for such an endeavor. He grunted for his brother’s sake. At least it could be considered some sort of response.

  “So you haven’t made your apologies yet, then.” A statement, not a question. His brother had always been too readily able to discern the truth from Aidan, even when he had no inclination to divulge it. A damned annoying trait.

  “When would I have had time to do that?” he bit off. It was damned near miraculous he could say even that much while he was so otherwise occupied.

  “I won’t march you over there holding you by the ear and watch over you while you do it,” Niall bit off. “Not even Mother would do something like that anymore. You’re a grown man. Act like it. I’ll trust you to do what is right.”

  What is right. Such a perplexing concept, yet one that Niall spoke of as though it were the simplest thing in the world. He always saw things in strict black and white, never a shade of gray.

  Aidan was not so lucky as that. In his world, not only were there infinite combinations of grays, but every other color under the sun as well. Waters were much murkier in his head than in his brother’s—always had been. Some days, he wished he could see things as plainly as Nia
ll did.

  Those days were rather rare, of late.

  Lucky for him, Niall didn’t wait around for a response. He turned and made his way to a table where Mr. Weston sat with several other gentlemen playing whist, and took up a chair…leaving Aidan alone again. Blissfully, blessedly alone.

  The conversation with Niall had served one purpose. The raging lust that had previously been coursing through his veins had cooled, at least a small degree. He thought, perhaps, he could yet again turn around without his erection making itself known to all and sundry.

  When he did, Miss Hathaway’s warm, brown eyes immediately found his. She looked away, staring out the window, and Aidan couldn’t miss the hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks.

  Why would she be flustered? He knew why he was—it was a damned nuisance to be physically attracted to a woman upon whom he’d harbored such hatred for so many years. But why would Miss Hathaway join him thus?

  He’d given her no cause whatsoever in all the time of their acquaintance to even be able to stand the sight of him. She clearly had no desire to be in his presence. Why would she flush from being caught staring at him? Indeed, why would she be looking at him at all?

  There seemed to be no end to the complexity of their fledgling, ill-fated relationship. He ought to do them both a favor and banish her from his mind. Ignoring her would serve far more purpose than either entertaining his lustful thoughts or those of vengeance.

  But…

  For all his best intentions, Aidan could not remove his eyes from her if he tried.

  Every now and again, she’d turn back to the group surrounding her, laughing with Morgan and Miss Weston, or answering Sir Henry or Lord Muldaire with a smile that could warm even the coldest of hearts such as his own. Her eyes might flicker over to Aidan again before she hastily returned her gaze to the window—the great bay window overlooking the estuary.

  He wondered what she thought of when she looked out that window…when she saw the riverbed where their lives had altered so drastically. Well, his had been drastically altered, at least. He could only imagine that Miss Hathaway’s life had been changed in some manner as well. Those few minutes when Morgan was drowning—five minutes perhaps, or maybe seven—had been the worst of his life.