How on earth was he supposed to be able to give her such a thing? He’d moved on from loathing her very existence, and he was no longer attempting to devise the means of her death in his artwork. But with this revelation, she might be asking too much of him. “You might as well ask me to fetch the moon and the stars from the sky, put them in a little box, and then tie a ribbon around it for you.”
“I can assure you, I recognize the impossibility of what I’m asking. Nevertheless, it is what I need.”
“Is it not enough to know there is something more—something exciting and fiery and perhaps a bit dangerous—between the two of us?” he asked. “I can only imagine there was none of that when Sir Henry kissed you, or else why would we be having this conversation?”
This time, Emma frowned and very nearly rolled her eyes. “If it was enough, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”
“Touché.” Aidan paced, grinding the slightly damp grass into the earth with the soles of his Hessians. How in the blazes was he supposed to concentrate on making her fall in love with him when all he wanted to do was convince her to let him take up where they’d left off when Niall interrupted them? “So what do you suggest is our next step? What am I to do to convince you that you’re head over ears in love with me, Emma? Do you require poetry? Serenades in the moonlight? Grand, public displays of my eternal devotion?” None of which sounded even remotely appealing to Aidan, but he’d do them all if it would help him find a way to get her into his bed.
She didn’t answer.
Finally, he spun around to face her again. She simply shook her head with a downcast expression.
“You don’t understand,” Emma finally said. “I don’t want words. I don’t want you to simply tell me you’re madly in love with me; I want you to be madly in love with me. And I don’t want you to convince me I love you if it isn’t the truth.”
“You ask for the impossible.”
“Does it have to be impossible?” Without waiting for a response, Emma crossed the bridge and headed toward the main house.
He should let her go. There was no way—absolutely, unequivocally no way—he could give her what she wanted. A man couldn’t go from hating a woman with every fiber of his being one week to becoming a besotted fool for her the next. The world didn’t work that way. Life didn’t work that way, and anyone who said differently—well, no one would say differently, so it didn’t matter.
What did matter was that, like it or not, he had to marry her. If he didn’t, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind David would call him out. The thought that one of them might hurt or kill the other, all over Emma Hathaway—the maddeningly entrancing, impossibly giving woman that she was—well, it was unthinkable. Aidan couldn’t allow his thoughts to go there, or he’d end up in a far worse state than Morgan was in not so very long ago.
If he had to marry Emma, it apparently meant he was going to have to convince her she loved him and he loved her, whether it was the truth or not.
He sprinted after her, catching her before she reached the lawn. “So how do we go about it?” he asked, trying to regain his breath. “How do we fall in love with one another?”
“I—” She shook her head, questioning him with her eyes. “Well, I suppose we might start with spending time with one another—doing those things that the other enjoys.”
Aidan nodded. That didn’t sound too horrible, despite the potential for his lustful urges to intensify painfully. “Very well. When do we begin?”
Bloody hell. What had he just agreed to?
It was such an odd sensation, this whole falling in love with one another thing they were attempting to do. Aidan wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all, and yet he’d promised Emma he would try—so try he would. Likewise, she had promised to do the same.
Because of her dedication to the idea that they must truly love one another, and because of his discomfort with the notion of having a marriage with her in name only (and his complete dedication to getting her in his bed), Aidan vowed to avoid his hermitage and his art, making a point of being with Emma every moment he could.
And so it was that he had gone out on the lawn today, helping Emma to work with Morgan, Mr. Deering, and Kingley. Sir Henry had also been present, damn his eyes. Aidan would have preferred to ignore that fact, but had found it increasingly difficult to do with the baronet issuing decided glares in his general direction at every opportunity.
Perhaps tomorrow, when they repeated the process, he might find it an easier proposition. Or mayhap Sir Henry would suffer some ailment or another, causing him to miss the morning session.
I can hope.
But at the moment, he stood with Emma in the library even though most of the rest of the house was out on the lawn for an afternoon of archery. This had to be as sure a sign as any that he was devoted to falling in love with her, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a book for pleasure…or the last time he’d allowed the opportunity to practice his skill with a bow and arrow to pass him by. He’d never quite had the knack for shooting with a pistol, but the string of a bow required a certain finesse he likened to painting with oils. Every curve and angle could change the entire thing, making the painting something else entirely, or sending the arrow in the wrong direction.
She walked along the far wall, nearest the window, drawing her hand along the spines of the books she passed, whispering the names of the authors. “Chaucer. Shakespeare. Milton.” Her voice had taken on a lilting quality once they’d arrived in the library. It seemed to flounce through the air, almost in the same manner as the blue silk of her day dress flounced as she walked. In here, in this room, she seemed as light as a cloud in a clear summer sky.
When her hand settled on a singular title and she pulled a monstrously large tome from the shelf, it reminded Aidan that he, too, was supposed to be selecting a book to read. That was how they’d chosen to pass the time this afternoon, the way they were to share themselves with one another. He wasn’t entirely certain how, exactly, they were supposed to get to know each other better if they spent all of their time with their noses buried in books, but it would make her happy. At the moment, that was more important for his aim than just about anything—keeping Emma happy. If she was happy, then she was far more likely to believe herself in love. And if she believed she was in love, perhaps she might also believe he was—whether either of them was or not.
Alas, it was much more entertaining for him to watch the sway of her hips beneath the silk fabric of her gown than it was to select reading material.
“Have you settled on something?” she asked a moment later as she hauled the heavy thing she’d selected over to a striped satin armchair near the hearth. Her eyes didn’t come up from the page she’d already opened to—not really surprising, given what he remembered of her from their last visit to Heathcote Park three years ago. Thus occupied, she nearly took a tumble over a matching ottoman.
Aidan reached out to stop her fall, but she managed to straighten herself without his help. He put both arms back by his side, but she’d seen his attempt to rescue her.
She flushed with a shy smile. “I’m afraid I’ll never be very graceful.”
“I don’t believe I’d know what to do with you if you were.”
A single brow arched above her eye. “Touché.” Then she sat, her skirts falling into lines that perfectly outlined her legs. The heavy volume fell to her lap with a thud. “I thought I’d read Pope. I haven’t read any of his works before.” She opened the cover and flipped to the first page.
“Pope?” Aidan repeated, having great difficulty taking his eyes from the curve of her knee.
“Yes, Pope. Alexander Pope?” When he didn’t respond, she lifted her head. A dark curl pulled free from her knot and fell to drape over her shoulder, just at the base of her neck. “The Rape of the Lock?”
“Ah. Yes.” He remembered one of his tutors going on about it once, but those memories were long since suppressed. At present, h
e couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly choose to read such a treatise, particularly when he could otherwise think about her legs and how they might feel holding tight to his waist.
“And what will you read?” she asked him again.
Damn, but he didn’t want to read anything. Aidan turned to the nearest shelf and reached for the first book he found. “I’ll read the ‘General View of the Agriculture and Minerals of Derbyshire; with Observations on the Means of their Improvement’.” Good God. He wouldn’t be able to get through that no matter how hard he tried. He’d likely be asleep before he finished the second page.
Emma snickered. “I never imagined you were one for such dry choices in reading material.”
“Nor did I,” he muttered beneath his breath. Nevertheless, he took his book to the chair across from her and flipped it open. Even the first sentence had him wishing he could simply nod off instead of attempting to get through such drivel. After he’d finished the first page, he chanced a glance up to see if Emma was yet absorbed in her selection.
She was staring straight at him with a cheeky grin plastered firmly upon her face. “Bored senseless yet?”
“I do not understand how you can possibly find enjoyment from reading—”
“I sincerely doubt there are many people in the entire country who would find enjoyment reading something like that.”
“Then why was it written, if not for someone’s enjoyment?” Aidan slammed the book closed and set it on the occasional table beside him.
The corners of her lips quirked upward. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe for edification instead of enjoyment?” Her sarcasm was almost enough to make him smile.
“But we were supposed to be spending time together doing something you enjoy this afternoon.”
“I do love reading,” Emma said, “but no matter how much I enjoy it, I’d never be able to sit down and read something like that. I like reading novels. Plays. That sort of thing.”
Aidan nearly grimaced at the thought. “I haven’t touched a novel since I left school. Even then, I only read the things because they made me do it.”
“You might be surprised. If you choose a book because you want to read it instead of having it forced upon you, you might just discover you like reading better than you thought you would.”
It took great pains and sincere effort for him to avoid scoffing at her suggestion. He put the effort in, however, because he doubted she would react well to him openly reacting in such a manner. “Is that so?”
Emma closed her book and set it on the same table. “It is.” Then she stood and returned to the shelves near the window. “Hmm. Let me see.” After a few moments, she pulled out a brown leather-bound book and tossed it in his direction.
“Robinson Crusoe?”
“Have you read it?” she asked tartly.
Aidan scowled but didn’t reply. He flipped open the cover and thumbed through the pages. At least it wasn’t as massive as the Pope tome Emma intended to read.
“I thought you might enjoy it better, to start with, than one of Jane Austen’s novels, though I do think someday you could come to appreciate her work.”
“I’m not reading a novel written by some chit.”
“She’s not some chit,” Emma retorted.
There was such vehemence in her tone, Aidan’s gaze shot up from his book. Her eyes blazed, and yet again the end of her nose tugged to the right. The sight was so fascinating he experienced sincere difficulty in convincing himself he shouldn’t intentionally goad her temper more often.
That would be counter-productive in terms of his overall goal, so he fought the urge to give one more little jab. Now was not the time. Once they were married, then he could incite her to pique as often as he liked.
“Quite so,” he finally conceded. “Shall we read?”
Emma pursed her lips and gave a tight nod.
Aidan inclined his head, and then they each returned their focus to the books in their hands. The thought of being married to Emma Hathaway grew more appealing by the moment.
Maddeningly, the smirk on Aidan’s face remained ever present. Emma hadn’t discovered a means for removing it, but at least occasionally it changed in tone.
So often in her experience, it came across as meaning I’m higher in the instep than you and I know it or possibly Everyone in this room is a crashing bore and I wish to escape at the first opportunity. But throughout all of yesterday afternoon, when she’d looked up in the library and caught him smirking across the top of his book at her, it had said something different.
Emma wasn’t entirely sure yet what it said. Maybe I am actually enjoying reading a book but I don’t wish to let anyone know it. That seemed altogether more likely than the other thought that had crossed her mind—the one which said it might mean I like spending time with you, despite myself. While such a sentiment may come eventually, now was too soon for such a change to have occurred. Wasn’t it?
When the sun had started to wane and they could no longer read without straining their eyes in the candlelight, she’d been amazed to discover he didn’t immediately rush off to do something else. She’d held every expectation that he would dash off at the first opportunity, desperate to escape her and the humdrum pastime she preferred—but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d sat with her in the library, discussing what they’d read.
It had turned into a rather rousing discussion, as Aidan had vehemently agreed with Robinson Crusoe’s attempts to become the master of all around him. They debated the finer merits of his reading to that point for well over an hour. All the while, Aidan refused to concede that one could not simply declare oneself a master and have it be so. Likewise, Emma refused to believe a man such as Aidan could believe such a thing, considering the fact that he had likely decided he was the master of all around him (as only seemed logical, given his temperament) and yet his sister had taken her fate into her own hands—an act which, undoubtedly, as the master of all around him, he would not have allowed.
It was only after their discussion had grown so heated that David poked his head into the library to see if he should come to Emma’s aid, which garnered yet another smirk from Aidan, that it became clear to her.
Aidan wasn’t arguing with her because he believed the point he was so desperately trying to beat into her head. He was arguing with her because he found some sort of perverse pleasure in the act of arguing.
Emma wasn’t entirely certain whether this propensity for discord spread so far that Aidan would enjoy arguing with anyone at all, or if he merely took pleasure in arguing with her, but it didn’t particularly matter. Once she’d discovered the reason for his belligerence, she’d stopped trying to prove her point.
One could not convince a donkey to do what a donkey did not want to do, after all. Why bother trying?
Except, she had enjoyed herself in debating with him. A bit too much, actually. While most gentlemen would only speak civilly, making certain never to rouse a lady’s ire, he seemed to take great pleasure in piquing her temper. It was exhilarating to be able to speak her mind and not have it instantly dismissed as being mere drivel, simply because it came from the mind of a woman.
The pleasure they each took from their argument didn’t mean they were falling in love with one another, but at least they were finding some common ground.
After they’d ended their time in the library, they’d gone about the remainder of the evening with the other houseguests. Aidan had sat with her to play whist, and if she was not mistaken, he even flirted with her a time or two. It was slightly difficult to tell for more than one reason. Of course, there was his ever-present smirk, which masked whatever lay beneath. But there was also the fact that Emma had so rarely been flirted with, so she wasn’t entirely certain she’d recognize such behavior if she saw it.
Then this morning, he’d come out to help with Morgan and Kingley’s lessons. Sir Henry had begged off, claiming a headache, but Mr. Deering had gladly taken over anything the baronet would have done.
He focused so much on his interactions with the dog, however, that it almost felt as though it was just the three of them working—Emma, Morgan, and Aidan. Emma had found herself more than just a little charmed by the manner in which Aidan so willingly helped his sister whenever he could. His desire to be at her service was almost problematic, as he wanted to do things for her which clearly, she and Kingley could manage without Aidan’s interference. Yet, over the course of their lessons, he began to relax and allow his sister to prove how capable she was.
It would take time—for all of them. Morgan and Kingley must learn how to work together, but Aidan and Lord Trenowyth must learn to trust them.
After they’d completed the day’s lessons and were making their way across the lawn to the house again, Emma received her greatest surprise yet.
Her hand was upon Aidan’s arm, and Morgan and Kingley were several paces ahead of them. Aidan slowed, allowing his sister to put more distance between them. After Morgan took several more steps, he spoke. “I’d hoped we might try artwork today.”
“Artwork?” If she’d had a drink, Emma was certain she would have spit it out from shock. “I can assure you, I’m a dreadful artist. No governess my parents hired could bear to look at the atrocities I created.”
“You can’t possibly be as bad as all that.”
She was certain it was amusement she heard ringing through his tone.
“I can assure you, it is even worse than you can imagine.”
“While that may be,” he said slowly, allowing a chuckle to come through, “perhaps you simply haven’t had the right teacher. Or maybe you haven’t tried using the right medium.”
“Father hired six governesses and a painting master. Not one of them could find any use for me. We tried watercolors, pastels, coal—even embroidery.”
At that, he stopped and stared at her with disbelief. “You can’t even embroider?”
Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon Page 22
