Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon

by Catherine Gayle

  “Have I amused you, sir?” she asked when she’d regained her wits—no small task.

  “Aidan,” he corrected. “And yes, you have.”

  “I’m so glad to know I can provide you with such a diversion.”

  “You couldn’t possibly be as glad of that fact as me.” He tugged her closer still—close enough it bordered on being scandalous. “It’s a relief, considering we’re soon to be married. I like the idea of having a wife who can keep me entertained.”

  The trio with Kingley took another turn and headed back in their direction. The baronet kept his focus firmly on Kingley as they traversed the course he’d devised for the day’s lesson. Such pure and honest joy lit Morgan’s face, one almost couldn’t even see her scars. Mr. Deering’s effusive praise for Kingley would be enough to cause one to blush, should it be directed at a person and not a dog.

  How would Aidan react if Emma were to grant him such praise? She flushed at her own silliness and tried not to think about it.

  Morgan’s reaction to their betrothal couldn’t have put things into perspective better than it had. The entire house party knew there was something between Emma and Aidan, but that something couldn’t possibly be more than lust. There was no love. There was no great affection.

  The other revelers had offered their congratulations, of course, but they all knew there would never be anything more between Emma and Aidan than what there already was. How could there be, especially with the pervasive heaviness that pressed upon her even now.

  Emma tried to put more of a respectable distance between her and Aidan, but it was no use. His hands were as hard as the chisel and hammer he so often wielded, and his arms were as solid as the marble. “I wouldn’t think it should matter how much I entertain you, sir. Since our marriage will only be in name—”

  “It doesn’t have to be only in name.”

  “It does!” This time, she spun on him. Only he didn’t release his arm, instead pulling her more fully into an embrace and securing the other arm behind her back, holding her in a manner that stole her breath and forced her pulse accelerate so drastically she thought she might expire on the spot. Emma pushed against the brick wall that was his chest. “It does have to be only in name, because Lord Burington will murder you—”

  “If I hurt you. I know.” He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual knowing smirk. It was more seductive, and even a bit disarming. “But if I don’t hurt you…”

  His charm was addictive. Intoxicating. She wanted, with every part of her being, to believe he could truly be this laughing, smiling man and not the brute he’d always been before. But one afternoon could not change the entirety of their past, despite the wobbling of her knees.

  “You will,” she said firmly. “You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

  Aidan’s blue eyes narrowed, and he stared at her for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said at long last. “I haven’t. And I don’t know how to change your mind on that score other than doing everything in my power to prove to you that I won’t hurt you.”

  Morgan’s laughter rang out over the lawn, and Emma tried to turn and see what had so amused her friend, but Aidan wouldn’t release his hold upon her.

  Instead, he grinned with sly intent. “I won’t hurt you, and we can have a true marriage…in every way sense of the word.”

  When he pulled away finally, she shivered from the sudden loss of his heat. He released her and took a step back, and the smirk had returned once again.

  She pursed her lips and turned to see Morgan and Sir Henry, only to have the baronet look away as though he’d been caught staring.

  Once more, Aidan wrapped one arm gently but possessively around her waist, then he bent down to whisper in her ear. “He might be the safe choice, Emma, but safe is overrated.” His breath warmed her ear and cheek. “And then there is the small matter of you having already accepted me.”

  “Did I?” Emma mused aloud. If memory served, she hadn’t agreed to anything. She had merely been told what would take place, as was so often the case when men were involved.

  “Whether you’ve agreed verbally or not, you know why you’re going to marry me.” Again, his warm breath brushed her ear and fanned over her cheek, leaving tingles in its wake. “Whether you like it or not, I stir something inside you. Something Sir Henry Irvine doesn’t come close to rousing within your soul. Something you want more of. Something you desperately need, though you can’t give it a name or reach out and grasp it.”

  Even as he spoke, a needy ache settled in her belly and her body felt aflame, as though his very words were enough to cause the sensations his hands and mouth had awakened on more than one occasion. When he trailed the callused fingertips of his free hand down the length of her arm, barely more than a tickle against the fabric of her sleeve, she couldn’t stop the shudders from coursing through her entire body.

  “I can give you that and more.”

  There was no denying that Aidan sparked her passions, something Sir Henry did anything but. It was not love, but it was at least something upon which to build. Wasn’t it? Could it be enough? For the first time, she allowed herself to feel a sense of hope at the prospect.

  “Have I missed anything exciting?” Miss Selwyn called out from behind them, startling Emma with her intrusion into such an alarmingly intimate. She trudged back out to where they were standing, a parasol in one hand and a blanket in the other.

  “Nothing at all,” Aidan replied, stepping away from Emma to take Miss Selwyn’s accoutrements from her.

  Emma’s gaze followed him and his eyes shot up to meet hers…his eyes that were filled with all the heat and promise he’d just roused within her.

  This was turning into everything she’d decided she didn’t want, and everything she’d promised herself she would avoid. And yet, for some reason, she couldn’t make herself care.

  She feared she might just be forming some form of attachment to the man. Not love. Not yet. But there was something more…

  After supper, Emma was finally able to pull both Serena and Morgan off to the side of the drawing room, just the three of them.

  “Thank heavens,” Serena said as she dropped onto a silk brocade covered armchair. The Pomona green muslin of her evening dress fluttered lightly before settling around her. “I’ve been desperate to talk to you, but I haven’t been able to get away from…”

  “From Lord Muldaire?” Emma put in for her. She kept her voice down, so no one could overhear. Granted, the only people nearby were a grouping of matrons with rather poor hearing, who were entrenched in a game of loo. They would never hear a word.

  “Indeed.” Serena gave a rueful smile, but her tone was enough that surely even Morgan could make out her expression.

  Morgan reached across and took Serena’s hand in hers. “Why did you accept him if you don’t wish to be married to him?”

  “Father didn’t give me a choice. They’d worked out the details of the marriage contract, and it was signed before I was even told of the matter.” With her free hand, Serena fidgeted with the lace flounce on her gown. “And since I haven’t yet reached my majority…”

  “You have to do what he wants you to do,” Emma deduced.

  Morgan chewed lightly on her lower lip, deep in thought. Then she frowned. “I suppose you’ll just have to make the best of it. There’s little I can imagine I’d enjoy less than spending my entire life married to a man I didn’t like.”

  “But I—” Serena cut herself off, but her eyes flitted across the room to where Lord Trenowyth stood. He crossed to stare out the window after passing a longing glance in Serena’s direction. Then she met Emma’s gaze and shook her head, pressing her lips together.

  So everything Emma had suspected was true. Serena was stuck in an engagement to a man she didn’t love…and the man she did love, the man who loved her in return, was one she couldn’t have.

  Emma gave her friend a consoling smile. “Morgan’s right,” she said. “You’ll just
have to make the best of it.” She cringed even as she said it, but what else could she tell Serena to do? There weren’t many options available.

  Was that what she would have to do with Aidan? Make the best of a less than ideal situation? This was not what she’d planned when she’d come in search of a husband.

  How very naïve she’d been, to think that what she really wanted was to marry a man she didn’t love. She wanted to love her husband…but she also wanted his love in return. She still didn’t know if she’d ever have it.

  Unlike Serena, Emma had reached her majority. She didn’t have to marry a man simply because her father told her she must. Yet it still felt like she was being forced to marry against her will.

  The next day, Aidan slipped off to his hermitage to work on the angel for a few hours, but only for a few hours. He had to force himself to ignore the fact that at this point in time, when he was so close to finishing the piece entirely, the artistic side of him desired to do nothing but work on it.

  Yet he was more than simply an artist. He had other needs, which couldn’t possibly be served at the moment by losing himself entirely in his work.

  Even he didn’t understand why he was so determined that he and Emma should have a true marriage and not the farce of a union that David and Niall seemed to think best. But the thought of spending his days in the dower house while his brother and sister protected his wife from him did not sit well. In fact, it left him seething.

  He had no doubt David would come to her rescue if needed, that he would do everything he could to defend her honor. And so that meant only one thing—if Aidan was going to have a normal marriage, he would have to convince Emma to love him.

  That had seemed like an easy enough proposition at first, except yesterday on the lawn, she had been so adamantly against the idea that Aidan was now experiencing doubt about his capability to succeed at the task.

  If he were to have any chance of making theirs into a true marriage, he would have to put in a valiant and sincere effort toward that end.

  And so he had decided to give up time working with his chisel in order to convince her how very much in love with him she would be. He could only hope she would, at least someday, recognize the degree of effort he put in to make this work.

  When he returned to the main house, once again, Emma and Morgan were out on the lawn with Kingley, but at least this time they were working without Sir Henry’s interference. Or aid. Whichever. Convincing Emma she loved him would be a decisively easier task if he didn’t have competition for her affections at every turn. The baronet was around altogether too often for Aidan’s comfort. Mr. Deering seemed to be around rather a lot, as well, but at least he seemed more interested in spending time with Kingley than he did with Emma. The affable barrister was not someone Aidan felt was a threat…not like Sir Henry could potentially be. Alas, there didn’t seem to be any real way to keep the baronet away from Emma until such time as the house party came to an end and the man returned to whatever part of the country he called home.

  After the house party, Aidan could deal with meeting Emma’s father and the details of the contract, and calling the banns, and all that other nonsense.

  In the meanwhile, he must convince her she loved him.

  When he came over the hill and Emma saw him, she reacted visibly. She stopped in mid-stride and nearly fell over, which led to Morgan laughing freely.

  “And who has startled you so?” his sister asked. “Kingley? Who is it?”

  She asked it as though the dog could actually give her an answer. That would be as likely to happen as fish growing legs and walking upon the land.

  Since Kingley couldn’t answer her, Aidan called out, “It’s me.”

  Morgan’s face lit with a smile. “Oh! But it’s still so early today. Shouldn’t you still be hard at work?”

  Emma said something beneath her breath, which, sadly, the wind neglected to carry to him. Whatever she said, it elicited a wry grin from his sister and a scowl from his betrothed. That left Aidan with no doubt that it was directed at him.

  “I thought I’d spend some time with Emma this afternoon,” he said, never slowing his gait. After a few more steps he stood directly beside the lady in question, where he could admire her scowl from a better angle.

  Indeed, with her lips which had always been rather too wide for the rest of her face, the scowl made quite the impression.

  Aidan bit back a grin. “Does this displease you?”

  “I’m sure you can see I’m busy with Morgan and Kingley.”

  “Actually,” Morgan cut in, “I believe Kingley and I are ready to attempt some lessons on our own. If you’ll excuse us.” She dipped into a brief curtsey and tugged on Kingley’s lead. They headed back toward the main house—leaving Aidan and Emma alone on the lawn.

  Emma had her hand up in the air and her mouth open, as though she were trying to call the two of them back to her rescue. Then her hand dropped to her side, her shoulders slumped, and she turned her scowl back on Aidan. “Did you and Morgan plan that, sir? Her excuse came far too readily.”

  “Aidan,” he corrected her again. “Since we are to marry, I would prefer for us to be less formal.”

  She ground her teeth together and her brown eyes flared in pique, but perhaps the most delightful thing he’d ever seen was the manner in which the end of her nose tugged slightly to the right. It only made him want to spark her temper far more often, which was probably the wrong reaction to have. He sincerely doubted she would be amused by such a thing, no matter how amused he might be.

  Still, he couldn’t help but think all of this would be so much simpler if she would just tell him what was on her mind. “What have I done now?”

  “It’s what you haven’t done. What none of you have done.” With that, Emma spun on her heel and stalked away from him toward the orangery.

  Aidan had no intention of allowing her to just walk away from him. He started after her, his long legs easily matching her stride. “And what, pray tell, might that be? I can’t very well make something right if I don’t know what I’ve made wrong.”

  She turned unexpectedly, leading them off the main trail toward the orangery down a path he hadn’t noticed before, though it did seem well worn. He had little choice but to go with her.

  “What you haven’t done—” her sarcasm, in this instance, knew no bounds— “is ask what I might prefer. You, along with Lord Trenowyth and Lord Burington, decided there was nothing to be done for it but for us to marry. They decided we should marry but have it be for propriety’s sake. You then informed me that our marriage would not be merely in name, but in earnest.” Emma touched the gnarled wood railing of a bridge that led over a creek, spinning around to lean her back against it. “No one asked me what I want. You haven’t even asked me to marry you—and yet it has already been announced to everyone in attendance.”

  “If you think I’m going to drop to my knee, take your hand in mine, and profess my undying love and devotion—”

  She tossed her hands into the air. “That’s precisely the problem! You don’t love me, and I am quite certain I don’t love you.” She blanched when the words left her lips, but she didn’t retract them.

  Aidan crossed his arms over his chest. This wasn’t quite what he’d expected, and he didn’t know how to proceed. “Do you love Irvine? Is that what this is all about? You love another man and feel like I’ve trapped you into something you don’t want.”

  “What?” Emma’s jaw dropped and her mouth formed a ring. “No. No, I don’t love Sir Henry.”

  A great whoosh of air left Aidan’s lungs at her denial. That, at least, was one less obstacle. It didn’t ease the ache that was building in his temple. It would be just his luck that it would only continue to grow. “Then what is the problem?”

  She nibbled on her lower lip, which was a definite distraction from the conversation at hand. Aidan had to force his thoughts to remain on her words and not on the decisive bulge forming within his trouse
rs from imagining other things she might nibble.

  After a long moment, she hefted a sigh. “We don’t love one another, Mr. Cardiff—”

  “Aidan.”

  Emma shot him a glare. “Aidan. We don’t love one another, and I thought that was what I wanted. For these last several years, I thought I wanted a gentleman to offer for me with whom I had at least a passing friendship—and only after we married did I want to love him. That way, if something should happen before we were to marry…”

  Several years. Aidan would stake his life on the fact that the several years she mentioned would mean the three years since Morgan attempted to drown in the river. “You don’t want to end up as heartsick as my sister was, if the gentleman in question should not follow through with his promise to you.”

  For the first time in his memory, Emma looked into his eyes whilst something of a mutual understanding passed between them—not lust, not anger or hatred.

  “You’ve sparked something within me,” she said, “and now I’m not so certain of my plan anymore.”

  “Why not?” It all appeared simple enough to him.

  “When Sir Henry kissed me—”

  Something snapped within Aidan, and he grasped her upper arms. “He kissed you?” Then he remembered himself and gentled his touch.

  “He did. Once, a few days ago.” Emma tugged, and he reluctantly released her. “When he did, I knew he was precisely what I’d convinced myself I was looking for: a man whom I could respect. A gentleman I held in great esteem. But his kisses didn’t elicit within me any of the passions that yours do. And I think…”

  She turned away from him and crossed the bridge, the heels of her half boots clicking along the wood. When she reached a honeysuckle trellis, she stopped and plucked a fragrant bud, holding it near her nose and mouth for a long moment.

  Aidan followed her, not rushing her along or drawing so close as to worry her, even though he felt an almost desperate need to touch her.

  Finally, she turned to him again. “I think I was wrong. I want more than that. I need more than that. I need to know the man I’m going to marry loves me, and not just hope that someday he will. I need to love him, too, and not just hold him in great esteem.”