“Why shouldn’t I? It’s a fine day.”
“It is rather dreary really and will most likely rain,” she countered with a more honest observation of the weather.
“Perhaps then I am merely smiling at the sight of you,” he answered. “Smiles have been a rare thing for me of last. I enjoy them when I can.”
Fiona briefly glanced up at him again. Words again but she realized that he was looking happier recently than he had when she first came to London, though she doubted she had anything to do with it, despite his words. The bracketed lines she had noticed around his mouth at the Onslow ball had softened some, his lips relaxed though the corner of his mouth jerked up a bit in his amusement. He looked more like the carefree marquis she had once known. That smile just as devastating as it had ever been. It wouldn’t do at all to follow the same path she had once before and fall victim to its power once again.
“What do you want, my lord?”
“You’re out shopping alone, Lady Fiona. Shouldn’t I offer my company and protection?” he queried smoothly.
“Is yours any better than that of those you think you are protecting me against?” she shot back. “Besides, I’m not alone. I have my maid with me.”
Fiona gestured with her parasol down the street where her maid was still flirting madly. “It seems that Glynna is far more taken by the sights in London than I. But that is not what propelled you from the haberdashers to my side. What do you really want, my lord?”
Nothing was ever easy with her. Still he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. “Nothing more than to see you. I couldn’t help myself when I saw you here.”
Halting in the middle of the walk, she swung the parasol before catching it in her gloved hand. Gloves of ivory leather with a corded and scalloped edge. Aylesbury studied them curiously until she spoke.
“That’s a fine piece of flummery if I’ve ever heard one. Couldn’t help yourself? Ha! You needn’t worry, Lord Aylesbury. I meant what I said.”
“You’ve said quite a lot recently. Would you care to clarify?”
“That you needn’t fear that seeing you again will evoke any of the besotted antics I besieged you with before,” Fiona said, searching for her maid once again, though the girl had managed to disappear. “In fact, seeing you again has been rather therapeutic really. I’m all but purged of your charms,” she lied blithely.
“While my experience is quite to the contrary,” he admitted. “Seeing you again has been a kick in the gut.”
“Nauseating and uncomfortable? How complimentary,” Fiona replied sardonically. “I can see now why you’ve been hanging about. The appeal of such a thrill must be undeniable.”
The laughter that bubbled within him could not be denied, and Aylesbury laughed aloud at her dry humor. That satirical wit had been one of the first things he adored about her. Tucking her free hand into the crook of his arm, he propelled Fiona into a more intimate stroll down the cobbled walk.
“Let me amend that. Seeing you again has been a disconcerting reminder of what I left behind these past couple of years. My life halted when I left Edinburgh.”
“I doubt I had anything to do with it.”
“Not solely, but more than you might think. For too long, I’ve had nothing to look forward to, nothing to live for,” he admitted. “I want to move on and live again, Fiona. And I want to do that wi–”
His head turned, Aylesbury’s gaze riveted not on Fiona any longer, but farther beyond, over her shoulder. As his face grew taut, she turned curiously to follow his gaze but could see only others shopping the bustling Regent Street shops.
“I must go.”
Just like that, he was gone, running—yes, running—with unlordly haste across the busy street, dodging one carriage after another and nearly becoming trampled beneath the hooves of a spirited high-stepper before reaching the other side.
He disappeared briefly only to appear again catching the arm of a modestly dressed woman with an expression of high anticipation lighting his handsome features.
One wouldn’t have thought a man might apologize for something only to repeat the same offense on their next meeting. Feelings stung, Fiona turned away and looked about for Glynna without success. With a sigh, she headed to the west, hoping to spot her maid or her carriage along the way. The sunshine gone from her day, taking with it the antagonism that had served as her defense to the charm Aylesbury still managed to wield so compellingly.
He looked so handsome today in a well-tailored, grey morning suit that made the best showing of his broad shoulders. The jeweled chain of his watch fob draped across the front of his blue and grey pencil-striped waistcoat, accenting his flat stomach where on so many it would exaggerate even the slightest paunch. The blue brought out the color of his eyes, making them shine even on such a bleak day.
And that smile! So hard to brace herself against the power it held over her. Almost as much as his kiss. Fiona nearly stumbled at the invasion of the memory she had tried so hard to put aside. What a failure that effort had been, for she could hardly stop replaying it in her mind! Every brush of his lips, each caress of his fingertips a painful salute to years past.
She was more a fool than she had thought.
“Damn.”
Chapter 14
Oscar Wilde once wrote, “I can resist everything except temptation.” I did not understand what that meant at the time but think I have it now.
~From the journal of the Marquis of Aylesbury—Mar 1893
A wet splash plopped heavily against her cheek and Fiona wiped it away, refusing to give into tears. But another followed the first, then another on her nose. Puzzled, Fiona lifted her head only to realize that the sunshine had disappeared not only figuratively, but literally. Gray clouds filled the sky with drops falling far faster than tears.
“Damn, indeed,” she muttered to herself as she noticed pedestrians scattering from the suddenly saturated streets. Where was Glynna? And their carriage? Fiona looked around trying to spot either or both before the rain decided to make a bigger impression.
She had gone one street and then another. The rain was ruining her parasol, and her ivory leather half-boots weren’t fairing much better. She was a sodden mess and near tears when a hansom cab pulled to a halt beside her.
“Offer ye a ride, mum?” the Cockney driver asked, tugging his cap low over his brow as he secured the reins and leapt down from his perch to open the cab door.
He was a rather disreputable looking fellow, Fiona thought. Dodgy, young Laurie would have called him. Even for a cabby. Especially one with a cabriolet as fine looking as the one the cabby drove. “No, thank you,” she said primly, continuing on. “I have my own carriage just ahead.”
“Ain’t nobody waiting ’ere any more with the rain, mum. Look for yerself. Come now. I’ll gi’ ye a ride wherever ye want to go.” He held out a gloved hand and flexed his fingers in a gesture that beseeched her to come along. Not spying her own carriage anywhere down the street, Fiona looked from the hand to the dark interior of the hansom—the warm, invitingly dry interior—before her gaze moved back to the hand and up to the man’s face which was flat, brutish and not at all as inviting as the inside of his conveyance.
“My carriage would not have left without one of the footmen giving notice,” she said aloud, only making the realization as she spoke.
“I can gi’ ye a ride, in any case,” he insisted stubbornly. “Now step up, yer gettin’ wet, ye are.”
With a sigh of surrender, she took a step forward. She did so want to be out of the rain.
“Fiona!”
Hearing her name, she looked back to find Aylesbury in an elegant Victoria carriage that pulled up behind the hansom, not an enclosed conveyance like the hansom but partially open. “Allow me give you a ride home.”
Ha, Fiona thought inwardly. As if I’d get in a carriage with him after he abandoned me on the street for another woman! She wasn’t going anywhere with him.
“I’ve got ’er, govn
ur. Needn’t bother yerself,” the cabby said.
“I will compensate you for the lost fare, chap. Never fear,” Aylesbury assured him, reaching inside his breast pocket for his purse.
The cabby stepped in front of Fiona, blocking Aylesbury from view. “I’ll be taking my fare, gov.”
A moment later, she felt his beefy hand around her arm, pulling her insistently toward the hackney and turned startled, panicked eyes toward Aylesbury who was already jumping down from his carriage, as was his liveried driver. Yes, she would rather go with Aylesbury instead. What was it they said? Better the devil you know?
She tried to shake off the cabby’s grasp but he held on quite rudely. “Release me!” she commanded, raising the wilted remains of her parasol to beat him off.
“I say there,” Aylesbury said, narrowing his gaze on the cabby as well. “Remove your hands from her at once!”
“Come along, mum,” the driver tugged once more on her arm, but when the marquis and his driver got within a dozen steps of them, muttered, “Ta hell wi’ it,” before releasing her and leaping into the hansom and whipping the horse into action.
“Are you all right?” he asked, running his hands down her arms as if to assure himself of the answer before she even spoke.
“I am.” She laughed unsteadily. “He was rather insistent, wasn’t he? Poor man must be in desperate need of funds.”
“It did appear so.” He looked down at her with a frown. “You’re nearly soaked through and your poor parasol! No longer a favorite, I believe. Come, get in my carriage.”
As shaken as she was, she would have gone with him willingly enough after that spot of humor if he hadn’t added that last bit as well. The lordly command overrode her softer side in need of comfort he could provide and harkened the return of her still simmering irritation for his repeated desertion. If he hadn’t left her in the first place, none of this would have happened at all.
“I couldn’t possibly, Lord Aylesbury!” she declared sweetly. “How rude it would be of me to have you abandon another lady in favor of my company.”
“Your sarcasm is unneeded,” he ground out as he practically lifted her into his carriage. “I did ask you to allow me to explain, did I not?”
“Explain as to why you are forever leaving me to chase after other women?” she asked tartly, lifting her skirts to wring out the wet hem. Her ivory leather boots were turning brown, she noticed.
Aylesbury gave instructions to his driver and sat back, eyeing her boots and embroidered silk stockings with some speculation. Ha, Fiona thought, flipping her skirts back down. Interest was unlikely. Indeed, he eagerly covered her with a carriage blanket and tucked it around her legs to prove the point. The rain was pelleting the ground now, thudding dully against the soft leather of the folding top over their heads and on the floorboards at their feet.
“I was not abandoning you, per se,” he said as he completed his task. “I thought it was…that it might be…”
Fiona’s curiosity to learn the identity of the mysterious she got the best of her. “Who?”
“My sister.”
She blinked. That was not at all what she expected. “Your sister?”
“Piper. Phillipa,” he said, his voice heavy with sadness.
“I didn’t know you had a sister.” The words were unwittingly soft, encouraging a response.
And he gave it to her. “She’s my half-sister. My father remarried after my mother died. His second marriage was not at all like the first but he did at least manage something good from it. Piper. She disappeared more than two years ago now. Since that spring when I was in Edinburgh.”
Though it did not explain everything to her, it explained much. “That is why you left like you did.”
Aylesbury nodded shortly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “She disappeared just after the new year, though my stepmother did not notify me until the spring. I had wondered why my letters were not being returned. Piper and I always kept up a lively correspondence. That’s what I was saying just then…before. My days have been filled searching for her. My nights consumed with worry. I haven’t fully lived since she’s been missing. I’d like to change that. I am changing that.”
Fiona’s heart turned wretchedly. She had thought he’d been referring to her before when in fact he had been talking about his sister. Upsetting for her yet so sad for him. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to lose a loved one to the unknown. To not know their fate. “You’ve been searching for her all this while?”
“There’s never been any evidence of her, though I’ve searched myself and had Scotland Yard on the case as well. They’ve given up but I cannot. She couldn’t have simply vanished without a trace, could she?” He sighed. “That is why I am here in London now, why I stay here. I’ve searched the country over, but Piper always wanted to come to London. I frequent balls and parties hoping to overhear some gossip, something that might lead me to her.”
“Like Miss Langston,” Fiona said. “You think she knows where your sister is?”
“Perhaps,” he allowed with a shrug. “If not that, then something. She was Piper’s closest friend.”
“I can’t imagine. Harry, I’m so sorry.” And she was. As much as he had earned every ounce of resentment she rained on his head, such a loss did lift it enough to be truly remorseful and compassionate. “Have you ever considered…?”
Aylesbury was shaking his head in denial before she could even finish the thought. “No! I cannot. Nor can I dwell on where she might otherwise be. This—meeting you again—has brought me the greatest measure of pleasure I’ve had in all that time. Brought a smile to my face once more and reminded me that I am alive. That I’ve done all I can but it might be time to move on.”
His fingers skimmed lightly over her cheek, tweaking her chin affectionately before his hand dropped to his side. He leaned forward to point out the Glenrothes townhouse to his driver as they neared, depriving Fiona the opportunity to respond. Which was just as well.
She didn’t know what she would have said. All this time, she had thought he’d left Edinburgh to get away from her. To relieve himself of her constant ‘pestering,’ as he called it.
To discover that he’d had a valid reason for his departure…
To know that the sorrow that clung to him was grounded in such despair…
To find out that the she who held his heart was not a lover but a sister…
Aylesbury tucked the lap rug more snugly about her hips before he sat back once again, wrapping an arm around her wet shoulders and drawing her into his embrace, sharing his body heat with her as he chafed her arms for good measure.
Fiona was incredibly conscious of his body pressed scandalously against hers. Their thighs touching, her shoulder tucked snugly under his arm. Her cheek against his shoulder and the wet, spicy scent of him assailing her. The damp chill of her wet clothes against her skin transmuted to steamy warmth, clinging humidly instead.
Something brushed against the hair at her temple and Fiona wondered if it were his lips. Why would he kiss her with such tenderness that it was hardly there? Why would he be comforting her with such concern? Why now?
Why was she letting him? It would do her no good to soften her heart toward him. No good to savor the warmth of him next to her. Oh, why had she asked him about his sister? She didn’t want to care about him, worry for him.
Bloody hell, she didn’t want him! Not anymore!
That was when Fiona realized that beneath the wrath she had harbored for him for so long, time had done nothing to heal a broken heart, to dull the hurt of rejection. Anger and resentment had been nothing more than a comforting bandage, a salve to suppress the sting of an open wound. Rip off the bandage and the pain was still there and just as raw as it had been two years before.
That anger was all she had now, her only defense against the heartache. Every bit of curiosity she felt for him, every care she had picked away at it. Threatened to strip away that ire and leave her emotion
s bared before him. Without it, there would be only a thin layer of pride between her and humiliation.
That was utterly unacceptable.
* * *
Aylesbury felt Fiona stiffen next to him and knew that the moment of warm, simmering desire was gone.
But it had been there.
If even for just a moment.
If it could happen once, it could happen again. Then again.
He sighed. After being unwaveringly pleasant to her for days on end without even the slightest smile of encouragement from her, he was beginning to accept that Fiona might never deign to forgive him or shed what remained of her stubborn denial of the attraction that blossomed between them
That simply would not do.
He wasn’t certain he had patience enough to let her come around on her own, though he knew from experience pressing her would only serve to push her further away.
Straightening, Aylesbury eased his arm from around her, allowing for some space between them. Fiona wouldn’t meet his eyes and he knew her well enough to know that she was most likely preparing some witty rejoinder meant to reinsert more than a physical gap between them, or a sharp riposte to dismiss whatever he might say, be it a teasing comment on the tender moment or an observation on the weather. He did hate to disappoint by making it too easy for her.
“Do you really intend to marry the Earl of Carron?” He almost laughed aloud at the stupefied expression on her face. Whatever she had been expecting from him, that wasn’t it. Given the randomness of the topic, it did take her a moment longer than usual to produce the sarcastic retort he was expecting.
All You Could Ask For Page 130
