Life and marriage had taught her differently. She might as well believe in fairies and ghosties as to believe in Love. They seemed more sensible and real.
Meanwhile, Tara was upstairs crying over it and the earl was riding the streets of Aberfeldy wooing it.
And Mr. Stephens? Who knew where he was? Or if he even considered love a worthy emotion. A man like him probably believed only in himself, in what he could touch, see and smell. A rationalist. A modern man without the need of tender emotions—although she knew he felt lust. She had seen it in his eye this afternoon. She’d felt it as well. He could be very obvious in his desires—
“Are you finished, my lady?” Simon asked respectfully.
Aileen looked up, suddenly brought back to the present. She’d been so lost in the direction of her thoughts that his question had startled her. She stared at him a moment before fully comprehending what he meant.
“Yes, I’m done. Thank you.” Dear Lord, she was almost ready for Bedlam. She must put all thoughts of Mr. Stephens from her mind.
Or at least always picture him standing dotingly by Tara, and not in the ways her overactive imagination was able to conjure him.
She rose from the table and lit a taper from the sideboard, placing the candle in a holder. “Thank you, Simon. That will be all for this evening.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Aileen walked out of the room, feeling herself at loose ends and not knowing why. This was her routine on Sundays. Her usual habit would be to return to her room and read a book until she fell asleep.
Except tonight the sameness of her days threatened to overwhelm her.
Chiding herself for low spirits, she decided to choose a new book from the library on a topic that would busy her thoughts. Of course, she’d already read all of them . . . but the time had come to reread them, an endeavor that failed to excite her—until she noticed the glow of light across the hall floor coming from the library.
It was unlikely Simon would keep a light burning. He usually longed to be done with his day and would have seen to all the nightly chores before supper.
Curious, she walked down the hall and stepped into the patch of candlelight. She was not surprised to discover Mr. Stephens sitting at the earl’s desk. He was tilted back in the chair, his booted heels on the desk’s polished surface. His hair appeared slightly mussed, and already the shadow of his beard was forming.
He held a glass of whisky in one hand. She glanced at the decanter on the liquor cabinet. It was almost empty.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, he said, “I assume there is more whisky to refill it?” He sounded sober, but there was a sharpness to his gaze, an anger that both warned her to be careful and beckoned her closer.
“There is always more whisky, sir.”
“Another assumption I made,” he murmured. He studied her a moment through lazy, half-veiled eyes. His gaze fell from her face to her breasts.
She should leave.
But she couldn’t, even as she felt her response to him. She had wanted his presence, and now she had him.
For the briefest moment she thought of Tara, but then he brought his feet to the ground, reclaiming her attention.
He stood, his movements slow, deliberate as he rose to his full height. His presence filled the room, reminding her once again of that impatient tiger.
“There is food in the dining room,” Aileen said, falling back into the safety of her duties as hostess. “Or I can have a tray brought in here—”
“I’m not hungry,” he interrupted her. He came around the desk, his empty glass in his hand.
“Whisky is best sipped on a full stomach . . . ,” Aileen advised, her words fading away as she realized he was moving toward her.
He had loosened the knot of his neck cloth. To date, she had never seen him looking anything but impeccable. She understood the desire to always be perfect. When she’d been going through the humiliation of her divorce, she’d always taken extra time with her appearance, not wanting anyone to find a flaw about her if it had been within her control. He had to feel that way as well. Perhaps he, too, knew that people whisper, that they judge, that some condemn.
And no matter how well he dressed, he’d never be accepted. Not completely.
Oh, yes, she knew he understood that as well.
He stopped with not even a foot of space between them.
He was tall, foreboding . . . mesmerizing.
“Kiss me,” he ordered.
For a second, she feared her ears played tricks. “I beg your pardon?” she said, even as her heartbeat kicked up a notch.
“Kiss me,” he repeated.
He stood over her, more attractive than any other male she’d ever known. Proud, independent, a tiger of a man. He lived life on his terms, a trait that appealed to that part of Aileen willing to rebel against the constraints of her circumstances.
And she might have done what he wished if he hadn’t sounded so matter-of-fact, so unemotional.
But before she could respond, he pivoted on his heel and walked away from her. “See? It isn’t that easy,” he said.
“I don’t ‘see’ anything,” she answered. “Was that a test of sorts?”
“Oh, yes, devised by your sister.” He had reached the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink, a very healthy one. “She holds hoops in the air and expects me to jump through them like I’m a lapdog. I don’t even like her,” he said into the glass he raised to his lips, speaking as if to himself.
“But you offered marriage,” Aileen reminded him, her tone carefully neutral. “And in fairness, Tara is not treating you any differently than she would another man.”
“Including the horse master?”
Aileen’s mind scrambled to frame a response.
His smile held no mirth as he said, “I see my accusation does not surprise you.”
“Oh no, I am not going to be dragged into this argument. What happens between you and Tara is not my concern.”
“But you knew,” he said, waving his glass as if it was an accusing finger.
“She ran from her wedding for a reason, Mr. Stephens. Did you not wonder why? Or did you believe her excuses of being overtaken by fear of marriage and all it entailed?”
“No, I didn’t believe her. But it doesn’t make a difference. I’m trapped. Damned either way I go.” He took a drink.
“And so you shall numb your brain with whisky?”
“Is there a better solution?” he asked before taking another swallow.
For the briefest of moments, the words formed in her mind—Yes, you could want me.
They were insane words that should never be spoken aloud.
She didn’t even know if they were true. They couldn’t be. They mustn’t be. He was not hers.
Aileen crossed her arms against her chest. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “My sister is upstairs, mourning the loss of what she can’t have, while you are down here, carrying on over what you can have. It’s almost laughable.”
“I fail to see the humor.”
“I can understand why. It’s hard to see anything when you are feeling sorry for yourself.”
If she had slapped him across the face, his reaction would not have been different. He slammed the glass down on the desk.
Aileen stood her ground, lowering her arms. “If you don’t want to marry my sister, then tell her instead of drinking yourself into becoming a man like my father.”
“That was unfair.”
“Honesty has nothing to do with fairness.” She took another step toward him, tempering her tone. “And you need to think clearly. If you don’t like Tara now, you may hate her after marriage, and she doesn’t deserve that.”
“Can you imagine the uproar if I jilted her? It would have been more acceptable for her to bolt on me, since the wagging tongues, abetted by my brothers, had always believed she’d made a grave error in accepting my offer. Had they known the truth, they would have cheered her on.”
&
nbsp; “And your reputation for being ‘the bastard’ would be enhanced all the more.”
His brows came together. “I take no pride in it.”
“Perhaps you should,” Aileen countered. “God knows I have made terrible mistakes in my life, but they have brought me to the woman I am today—and I rather like her. Yes, I do,” she repeated as she recognized the truth in her words. “I prefer her over the clueless but well-intentioned person I once was. If you had been born with the social standing and opportunities your brothers receive, would you be the man you are?”
“I wouldn’t have known any differently.”
“But you do know now. You’ve been tested and can stand upright and look any man in the eye. Your whole presence is one of a person with a great deal of self-knowledge, and can we ask for anything more in this life?”
“Peace and quiet?” he said, muttering the suggestion.
“It is too late for that,” she declared. “And you should know adversity makes us stronger. Our mistakes guide us toward being better people if we take the time to learn from them. For example, I now understand the price one pays for deceiving oneself. It is costly.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “This is a devil of a fix,” he mumbled to himself, then looked to Aileen. “Ever since I first learned who my sire was, I wanted to please him. Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“Or a natural inclination,” Aileen answered.
Mr. Stephens pushed the heavy inkstand on the desk over an inch before saying, “I was overjoyed to know that the man who is my father was not one of the sailors in the docks. God, I hated the tars. A foulmouthed, criminal lot. My mother was a whore with a taste for them. And the clergy. They paid her visits as well. She had bishops for lovers . . . until she lost her looks. Drink,” he added, nodding toward the whisky on the cabinet. “Gin was her demise. She claimed she loved too much and had to find solace when they left her, which they all did. I believe she just lost heart.”
“It must have been difficult for you as a child,” Aileen said.
He made an impatient sound. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I was too busy trying to survive to notice. She was not a doting parent. Penevey came into my life then and saw to my education. He changed everything about me, but he always keeps a distance. He watches from the back of the stage while I perform, but after a while, it isn’t enough.”
“Why is that?”
“Because,” he said, turning to sit on the edge of the desk, “I want more. There is that inside me that wants everything. My goal in life became proving to him that I was a worthy heir. I’m older than Arthur by six months. In a fair world, I would be the marquis.”
“In a fair world,” she agreed, fascinated by his story.
“And what of you?” he asked.
His changing the subject caught her off guard. “Me?”
“Were you and Peter Pollard lovers?”
For a second, she was speechless. Those closest to her had never questioned her, yet he did.
For a long moment, they looked at each other, and she realized he was more sober than she had suspected.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He placed his hands on the desk beside his hips and eyed her with disappointment. “Is this how it is? I answer your questions and you refuse mine?”
“I just don’t know why you should ask,” she answered.
“Curiosity?” he suggested. “Is that not reason enough? Or perhaps my reasons mirror your curiosity about me?”
There was a challenge there.
Aileen eyed the door, then faced him.
“Peter was found guilty,” she pointed out. “For most, there is no question.”
“Peter Pollard was a good man. I knew him, remember?”
She had forgotten. “And Geoff as well,” she reminded herself. She walked to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a nip. The whisky burned her throat. It felt good.
“Ah,” he replied, holding up his hand for emphasis. “Not a good man.”
“No, he was not.” Aileen looked to him. Golden candlelight cast a glow over his features. The circle of light created an intimacy between them, as if all the world had faded save this place and this moment.
“I could have fallen into Peter’s arms,” she confessed. “He was willing to do whatever he must to help me, but he was a gentleman. There was nothing between us save for a deep, abiding friendship. He knew what my life was like. He understood how Geoff could be, and when the accusations started flying, Peter did not deny them, so I didn’t either. Perhaps later, after everything was done, there would have been a chance for us . . . but it didn’t work that way. He just wanted to see me free. It was such a gift, and the sad irony is they both died in the same battle.” The pain of regret was sharp within her. “Peter paid a terrible price. He gave up his reputation and all because Geoff felt threatened. He was like that—uncaring unless someone wanted what he had.”
“And what of you?” he asked. “Did you not pay a price as well?”
She waved a distracted hand. “Who knows? If I had just managed the marriage a little longer, then I would be a widow.”
“Or you could be dead. Geoff never hesitated using force to gain his way.”
The suggestion startled Aileen. She thought of the last time Geoff had attacked when she’d run to Peter for help. “I could be dead,” she echoed in agreement. “I was never able to tell what mood he was in. For weeks he’d be pleasant and then go off into a rage.”
“And your father wouldn’t offer protection?”
She shot him a look that spoke volumes. “As far as the earl of Tay was concerned, I was Geoff’s property. I turned to the earl once. I’ll never look to him for help again.”
“Instead, you allow people to believe you are a fallen woman.”
“I’m a divorced woman,” she corrected. “There is a difference. Not much of one. It is subtle.”
He smiled at her note of irony. “You are right.”
They thought alike. Their reactions to their challenges were the same, and Aileen liked being here with him. She trusted him.
“Would you truly destroy Ruary Jamerson?” she asked, uncertain.
The comfortable air between them vanished.
He came to his feet, but she forged on. “You don’t want Tara. You’ve said as much. And you show little interest in her.”
“This is none of your concern—”
“She is my sister.”
“So you plead her case. What does she want?”
“I don’t know. I’m not certain if she knows. She’s young, Mr. Stephens, and spoiled. She’s a very pretty girl, and perhaps life has been too easy for her. I don’t believe the two of you would suit.”
He did not argue that last. Instead, he said, “Why press this?”
“Because someone should.”
He tapped the top of the desk with the fingers of one hand, an impatient gesture. “You have no idea how far I’ve come.”
“I do have an understanding,” she countered. “I know what is at stake. You understand the rules. You don’t want to be guilty of bad form. The price is twice for you as it would be for someone like your brother the marquis. But I beg you, sir, to be wise. Marriage is difficult without the added burden of two people who do not trust each other.”
He listened to her, his dark eyes somber. When she was done, he raked a hand through his hair, and she understood he was conflicted. “It is not easy being fodder for the gossips,” she said in empathy.
“Especially when I’m the one who will most certainly be painted black.”
“People will forget,” she promised.
“Until my children go out into life. It is not myself I worry for, my lady. I am well aware of what a burden it is to carry the sins of the father.”
She crossed to stand in front of him. “I can’t argue against your position. You are within your rights. But the days when I felt I had to measure up to everyone else’s opinion of me are past. Granted
, I’m not a duke’s son. But you see, even hours before my marriage to Geoff, I sensed that marrying him could be a mistake. He’d shown signs of his temper, usually when no one else had been watching. I wish I’d had the courage to cry off. My life would be different . . .” She let her voice trail off as she realized he was not paying attention.
Instead, his gaze had focused on her lips, and she realized how close she stood next to him. She’d been so anxious to convince him of her opinion that she had all but walked right into the tiger’s arms.
Time came to a halt.
He moved first. He reached up and placed his hand against her cheek, his fingers winding themselves into her loose curls. His palm was warm.
A frown formed between his eyes as if he, too, was a bit surprised by his actions. She knew she should take a step back, but she couldn’t.
This afternoon, it had felt good to be protected by his strength. She’d been wiser then. She’d known being close to him was dangerous.
But the hour was late and she had whisky in her veins . . . although she didn’t need the excuse of drink. His body heat was a more powerful draw than spirits.
And this time, she didn’t protest but leaned into him.
His lips met hers.
The spark between them became a flame. This kiss was not sane or wise. There would be a cost, but for right now, all Aileen knew was that from the moment they’d first met, she had seemed preordained to kiss this man.
And now that it was happening, well, she could not hold back. Not when kissing him seemed as natural to her as breathing—
Tara’s voice said from the doorway, “What is going on here?”
Chapter Twelve
Aileen jumped at the sound of her sister’s voice.
Blake was equally surprised, but his immediate reaction was to protect Aileen. He stepped forward, pulling her behind him.
Tara stood in the doorway, her eyes alive with the outrage of an avenging angel. “What were the two of you doing?” she demanded again, as if it hadn’t been obvious.
A good amount of whisky coursed through Blake’s veins, but he was very sober right now.
The Bride Says No Page 14
