the sea and all the world had been full of hope and promise.
Aiden sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. With a
hard breath, he willed his awareness on the moonlight
spilling in through the windows of his room and the world
slumbering around him. It took a long time, longer than it
ever had before, but eventually the harshness of his breathing
eased and the desperate cadence of his heartbeat slowed.
He needed a drink. The darker and more potent, the better .
Not much, he promised himself as he raked his fingers
through his hair. Just enough to dull his mind so that he could
sleep without being haunted. Maybe Alex kept something
suitable in the parlor, he thought, quickly pulling on his
trousers. Brandy, perhaps, for when she entertained. Most
likely it would be in the chest, the one with the statue. Probably
the bottom drawer. He snagged his shirt as he climbed off
the pallet and onto his feet. He wouldn't have much of it. But
even if he did, he'd replace it for her tomorrow.
A flutter of white at the edge of her vision told Alex he
was there just before she heard him: gasp in surprise. She
glanced down past her open book to be sure she was adequately
covered, stroked a kitten once to calm herself, and
then looked up to smile at him. "I see that you can't sleep,
either."
For a second he looked panicked and his gaze darted to
the chest against the far wall. Then he expelled a hard breath
and moistened his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.
"Would you mind some company?"
She should say that she was just planning to try to retire
again. She really should get up and let him have the salon to
himself. And she most certainly shouldn't be noticing the
bare chest clearly visible between the open edges of his
shirtfront. And neither should she be so keenly aware of the
roguish tilt of the waistband around his narrow hips. But,
dear God, it was such a fine expanse of flesh and well defined
muscle and she was only human. What harm was
there in looking? As long as she didn't act on her baser impulses,
there wouldn't be any at all.
"I'd love to share your company," she assured him, closing
her book and laying it on the floor beside her. "Please
come in and be comfortable. I can loan you a kitten if you'd
like one."
His conscience told him that he was going to be sorry if
he didn't make some excuse, turn around and leave. Another
voice, a far more strident one, countered that one more
regret on the heap wouldn't matter one whit to either his
happiness or the destination of his soul.
And, the hedonistic voice went on, peeking out from under
'the hem of that caramel-colored dressing gown was a
bare, delicately curved foot and a wisp of cinnamon gossamer
silk. All curled up on her side in the pillows as she
was, her hair unbound and fanning around her shoulders,
kittens nestled into the curve beneath her breasts. the flickering
light of the fire, of the candles ... He wasn't dead. Not
by a long shot. In fact, at that particular moment, he was
truly glad to be alive. His conscience could just be damned
for the next little while. As long as Alex didn't curl into him,
purr, and ask to be petted, everything could be kept quite under
control, quite circumspect.
Alex tilted her head, hoping to give the impression that
she was deeply engaged in deciding which kitten to offer
him. The truth, however, was that she didn't want to be
caught openly watching him move toward her. But there was
no way to keep from doing so altogether. He was positively
magnificent, a true feast for a wanton appreciation of sensuous
form and grace. No wonder he'd had his choice of London's
women. The wonder was that any of them had ever let
him go.
Not that they'd been given any choice in the matter, she
reminded herself as he settled into the nest of pillows beside
her. Like all big cats, Aiden Terrell enjoyed the hunt too
well to keep that bit of reality in the forefront of her awareness.
And she'd be equally well served if she could manage
to keep both her gaze genuinely fixed on the kittens and their
conversation lively and light.
"It occurs to me," she ventured, trailing a fingertip along
a fuzzy little spine, "that you know considerably more about
me than I do about you."
"So tell me about yourself, Aiden Terrell?" he supplied,
cradling his head in his hand and mercifully allowing the
front of his shirt to drape over his chest.
"Yes, please." She risked meeting his gaze to add, "Graphic
details aren't necessary, of course."
His smile was instant and as wicked as the devil dancing
in his eyes. "Well, if I leave out the more sordid and debauched
parts, there's really not all that much left to tell. I'm
the oldest of twelve children."
"Twelve?" she repeated, tearing her gaze away, a little
embarrassed by how easily he could make her heart race.
He knew his limits and watching Alex stroke the kittens
was well beyond them. He rolled onto his back, cradling his
head in his hands and pinning his gaze safely on the ceiling.
"Six sisters, five brothers," he supplied. "My parents believe
in order and careful planning. I was educated by the best private
tutors money could buy and with an eye always on the
fact that I would someday take the helm of the family business.
I'm excessively educated, actually. And truth be told, I
hated every minute in the schoolroom. I figure-if I'm truly
fortunate-I'll be disinherited someday soon. I've certainly
been working on it anyway. Quite diligently as a matter of
fact."
She settled more comfortably into the pillows, saying,
"Your family ... Do they live in London?"
"No. St. Kitts. In the Leeward Islands."
"The Caribbean Ocean? That's as far west of here as India
is east. How on earth did you end up in London.?"
"The family business is shipping. Mostly in the Atlantic.
A few years ago my father brought the entire family here so
that I and my three next youngest siblings could accept delivery
of four ships he'd commissioned. One was delayed in
the yards and I stayed behind to wait for it. While idling
away my days and nights, I met Carden and Barrett."
"Are you still waiting for the ship to be finished?"
If only. "I accepted delivery just over two years ago," he
answered, "and sailed it home like a good and dutiful son."
"So you're not just a sailor, you're a ship's captain."
"Part owner, too."
"I'm sure Mohan would love to see your ship sometime."
It was more question than statement. A request for what
she obviously considered a large favor. "Well, that would be
rather difficult," he admitted ruefully. "I managed to very effectively
sink it a year and a half ago."
"Oh." Disappointment. Hope
bloomed again as she
asked, ''And are you back in London now to take delivery of
another vessel?"
All he had to do was say yes and they'd move on to another
subject. It would be a lie but she'd never know it. He
didn't have to be honest with her. And Lord knew that the
truth wasn't at all flattering. "I'm in London because it was
as far as I could stumble before I fell flat on my face."
"You don't strike me as the sort of man who stumbles
very often, Aiden."
He chuckled darkly. "But when I do, it's done in a grand
way."
"What happened? Was it the loss of the ship?" she
pressed gently. "Is that why your father's angry at you?"
Angry? He rolled his eyes. "Livid might be more accurate."
"Surely, if he's been in the shipping business for any
length of time, he knows that sometimes accidents happen,
that ships are lost through no fault of the captain or the
crew."
"And sometimes," he added, "they're lost because the
captain does something unforgivably stupid."
"What did you do?"
So soft, so caring. If he changed the subject, she wouldn't
protest. If he handed her a lie, she'd realize it, but accept it
because it would be the kindest thing to do. "As you've no
doubt heard, the Americans have been having a bloody setto
between themselves for the last few years. The northern
states have thrown a naval blockade around the southern
ones. I tried to run it."
"For any particular reason?"
"In hindsight it wasn't a good one."
She was searching his face, he could feel the tender caress
of her gaze. He decided that he had no choice except to
tell her everything. He'd come this far and she deserved to
know the rest. "Her name was Mary Alice Randolph. Of the
South Carolina Randolphs. She'd been in London since the
start of their war and wanted to go home to Charleston. And
I wanted her to marry me, so I promised to get her there." He
had to swallow and take a deep breath before he could force
the final truth of it out. "She was killed in the first barrage we
took. She was gone by the time I could get to her. I didn't get
to say good-bye."
Alex felt her heart tear. "Oh, Aiden," she whispered,
fighting back tears as she touched his arm, hoping to comfort
him in some small way. "I'm so very sorry. How deeply
you must hurt. And how horrible your regrets must be."
He rolled onto his side and met her gaze squarely. His
brows knitted as an unsettling mix of sadness and wonder
darkened his eyes. "You're the only person who's ever said
that to me, Alex. The only one." Then he leaned forward to
graze her forehead with a kiss as he murmured, ''Thank
you."
She didn't know what to say, what to do. Which was, she
realized as he settled back on his side, how she usually felt
when around Aiden. Always at something of a loss, always
off kilter and uncertain. And yet, in the oddest way, it wasn't
a disconcerting feeling. Under the confusion was an unshakable
sense that he wouldn't let her flounder or make a fool of
herself.
"Anyway," he went on, a reassuring degree of buoyancy
back in his voice, "I managed-largely through miserable
luck-to survive the assault and the sinking. Those of us left
were pulled out of the water, thrown into a hold, hauled to
New York, and processed as foreign enemy combatants. It
took six months and cost my father a fortune to ransom us
out of the Union prison."
"But I'm sure your parents were relieved to have you
home again, safe and sound," she offered, hoping to take his
memory down a happier path.
His laugh was dry and mirthless. ''The joyful family reunion
lasted all of fifteen seconds. Somewhere in the midst
of the roaring lecture that followed, I walked out the door
and haven't looked back."
She wasn't doing this at all well, but she felt an obligation
to keep trying, to keep hoping that she could make him feel
better. "What made you decide to come back to London? To
be with your friends?" .
This time there was, blessedly, a hint of real amusement
in his chuckle. "I honestly don't know. I can't tell you how I
got here, either. The last four weeks have been the longest
stretch of time since that day that I've been sober. I can only
guess that at some point I decided to get as far away from
my father as I could and headed this way. And as I said, I got
this far before I fell down and didn't care enough to get up
and keep moving."
"The favor you owe Barrett Stanbridge ... The one that
led you to accept the task of protecting Mohan ... Is it for
his insistence that you stop drinking?"
"He said that a year was long enough for any man to soak
in misery. That's one of the very few things he's said to me
in recent weeks that I can repeat in the presence of a lady. I
wasn't inclined to think of him as a friend for a while, but
I'm beginning to see that perhaps he's right."
"I'm glad he intervened to bring you up short. If he hadn't,
I'd be at the mercy of those two men right now."
"If I hadn't been here," he said solemnly, "you'd be dead
right now, Alex."
''Then I'm especially appreciative of your newfound sobriety."
He should be gallant. Self-effacing. Actually, he really
should get up and leave. But he couldn't. In the soft flickering
light she was so exotic, so deliciously tempting. Her
dark hair framed a face that wasn't as English fair as it was
softly kissed by a distant, foreign sun. Her eyes were dark;
not blue, not green, not gray. They were sultry shadows,
inviting him to search for answers to ancient mysteries, to
discover treasures beyond compare. No, he wasn't about to
leave her. Common sense could be damned, right along with
his conscience.
He grinned roguishly, knowing full good and well that
she always melted in the face of it. "Just how appreciative
are you?"
Oh, the master was truly at his best. Alex quickly considered
her choices and daringly discarded all but one of them.
Two could play the game and while she certainly didn't have
the worldly experience he did, she did have the element of
surprise to her advantage. It was a reckless gambit, to be
sure, but somehow that didn't matter to her nearly as much
as the chance to gently rattle his cool composure.
Studiously avoiding his gaze, she reached out, slowly
trailing her fingertips along his shirt collar before moving
down ever so slightly and taking the open edge of the front
gently but firmly in hand. Deliberately drawing him toward
her, she leaned forward and lifted her gaze to his lips.
He swallowed. Or rather tried to. His breath came shallow
and quick, from between slightly parted lips. And then,
just before she touched his lips with hers, he stopped breathing
altogether. She lingered purely for the pleasure of it;
fully savoring the softness of his lips and the sweet taste of
his absolute acceptance. Only when he murmured her name
and slipped his hand up the length of her arm did she stop
and draw away.
''Thank you, Aiden," she whispered, releasing him, her
pulse racing and her senses overfilled. "For being here."
Aiden knew it was the moment, the quality of the light. It
wasn't real. And he didn't care. He was consumed by a
hunger, a desire so compelling that it took his breath away
and left him quaking with need. His conscience prickled, reminding
him of how he'd vowed just that morning that he'd
be a gentleman and close the door with Alex. Now ... It was
irrational. Unjustifiable and indefensible. Nevertheless, he
had to know if there was a chance. Even the slimmest one
would be enough. He could be patient if he had to be.
"May I ask you a very personal question, Alex?"
"You may ask anything you like as long as you understand
that I reserve the right to refuse to answer."
"Do you see yourself ever marrying?" he asked without
further prelude.
"Honestly? No." She shrugged a slim shoulder and gave
him a shy smile. "Oh, from time to time, I dream about being
swept away by a handsome prince on a white charger.
But I know that it's never going to happen."
"It could."
With a soft laugh she replied, "On the very remote chance
that it does, he'll promptly drop me. I don't have the temperament
to be a good wife, Aiden. I'm stubborn, opinionated,