"No, I don't." he admitted, frustrated with himself and irritated
that Barrett was pressing the point. "Consuming a
massive amount of alcohol tends to pickle your brain, Barrett.
Some things get lost. Most of the time it's a mercy.
That's the attraction of being a drunk."
The clock struck the hour of three. Only when the notes
of the third chime faded away did Barrett quietly ask, "Did
she make you laugh?”
"Not intentionally;' Aiden supplied wearily, willing to
answer: for no other reason than to get the inquisition over
and done. "She was shy and rather serious."
"You know, we always wondered, Carden and I ... Why
didn't you ever bring Mary Alice around and introduce her
to us? To Seraphina?"
"Because ... " Oh, hell, there wasn't any point in lying
about it. And he was too exhausted to even make the attempt.
"I didn't think she could hold her own against you and Carden.
That she'd be flustered and uncomfortable and that
you'd think she was nothing more than a brainless bit of
fluff. And I knew that Seraphina would intimidate her. Not
intentionally, of course. Sera wouldn't do something like
that It's just that Mary Alice didn't have the self-confidence
that Sera does."
"Was she good in bed?"
Aiden groaned and leaned back in his chair to stare up at
the ceiling. Were the questions endless? Was there any purpose
to them at all?
"She's gone, John Aiden. There's no reputation to protect."
Christ, he knew that. He didn't need Barrett to point out
the obvious. "I have no idea," he admitted on a sigh, still
staring at the ceiling. "I never made love to her."
"Really," Barrett said dryly, the single word a voluminous
statement, an admission of a long-known fact. "Why not?"
"I wanted to marry her." It was a superficial answer and
he knew it. But he was suddenly tired of looking back, tired
of thinking, and especially tired of being uncomfortable with
what he saw when he did.
"So?" his friend pressed, his tone edged with just a hint
of sarcasm. "What does the one have to do with the other?
Most men want to make love to their wives, Aiden. And, in
the event that you haven't noticed, most of them don't wait
for the legal blessing. Why were you willing to?"
"She asked me to. I respected her wishes. I respected her."
"Why?"
"Jesus, Barrett," he groaned in exasperation. "I couldn't
take advantage of her. She was young and homesick and innocent
and fragile and-"
"She needed you," he supplied.
"Yes."
"So you took care of her," Barrett summarized. "She was
a damsel in distress and you happily stepped up to play her
knight in shining armor."
A tiny spark of indignation pulsed deep within him. He
brought his gaze down from the ceiling to meet Barrett's.
"That makes it sound shallow. It wasn't."
Barrett slowly came off the buffet to place his hands flat
on the table and lean down. "I beg to differ, John Aiden," he
said firmly, his brow cocked and his jaw hard. "I'm sorry to
be so blunt, but it's long past time you squared up to it. You
didn't love Mary Alice Randolph. Yes, you certainly liked
her. She was undoubtedly a good person.
"No," he said, holding up his hand to forestall the objection.
"You didn't love her. What you loved was being her
hero. That's why you looked down into those tearful blue
eyes of hers and promised you'd get her past the blockade
and home to Charleston. If you'd loved her, you never would
have considered it. You would have made her stay in England
where she was safe."
His heart felt like it was in his stomach and his stomach
was somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. It was hard to tell
gnats swirling at the outside edges of his vision. Nothing
was wrong with his memory, though. He could see his parents
standing in the parlor, the look of anguish on his
mother's face, the rage on his father's. And he could hear
every word, feel each one of them tearing through him.
"And I'm guessing," Barrett went on, his voice sounding
considerably kinder than the one coming from his memory,
''that your father said as much to you when he finally managed
to get you back to St. Kitts."
''That and a great deal more," he admitted, raking his fingers
through his hair.
"I'm also going to guess that somewhere in that conversation
the fog in your brain lifted and you had a flash of understanding
of exactly what you'd done and why. And rather than
face the guilt of having put being a hero before your responsibility
as a ship's captain, you threw yourself into the nearest
bottle and obliterated the world. God forbid that you gracefully
accept that you're human and did something stupid."
Aiden stared down at the table. Barrett had it spot-on. It
was as though he'd been standing there in the parlor, listening,
watching. As though he'd been able to open the top of his
head and look inside to see that hideous realization explode
through his awareness. He had climbed into a bottle to escape
it And, until this moment, he had managed to forget it all.
"John Aiden, trust me on this," Barrett said with a sigh.
"All twenty-four-year-old men do stupid things. It's the nature
of the beast."
It was a nice sentiment and clearly intended to make him
feel, if not better, then at least part of a very large club. "Did
you?" Aiden asked, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing
his hands over his face.
"Hell, yes," Barrett replied with a snort. "You're an absolute
amateur."
He couldn't say why in any specific way, but Barrett's
membership in that club-and apparently elevated status lifted
a horrendous weight off his shoulders. It felt so damn
good to have it gone that be couldn't keep from chuckling.
''Did you spend a year drinking your brain to mush?”
"No:' Barrett drawled, straightening with a chagrined
smile; ''I enlisted in the army hoping to leap in front of a bullet"
"You obviously failed."
His smile was weak and just a bit cynical. ''I assure you
that it Wasn't for a lack of trying. The only reason I'm still
alive is time, sheer luck, and the friendship of Carden
Reeves:'
And he'd managed in the process, Aiden knew, to come to
tends with whatever it was that had driven him to the edge
and the desire to throw himself over it. Aiden sighed and
looked back at those days and months of his own life. But not
in exhaustion this time. And not through a haze of overwhelming
regret or despair. Barrett was right. His father had
been just as right a full year ago. He hadn't loved and wanted
to be a husband as much as he'd wanted with all his heart to
be Mary Alice's dashing, daring hero. And he'd failed her
and his glorious illusions in a most spectacula
r way. It was a
fact, undeniable and irrevocable. It was also in the past.
''I can't undo what's been done, Barrett," he said as acceptance
wrapped around the memories and laid them into
silent rest. "I can regret it forever, but I can't undo it. The
only choice I have is to accept that and live or to lie down
and die. And I've discovered that living, even with regrets, is
preferable."
Barrett sagged and expelled a long, hard breath. 'Those of
us who manage to survive ourselves long enough usually get
around to understanding that," he said, smiling as he leaned
against the buffet again. "I'm glad to know that you've arrived
in one piece. How did you happen to finally do it?"
Aiden chuckled. ''Time, sheer luck, and the friendship of
Barrett Stanbridge. You forced me to live for a while. Thank
you."
“The only thing I did was agree to you; father's request
and get you sober. If you owe anyone a debt of gratitude, it's
Alexandra Radford. She's the one who made you want to
live again."
"Yes," Aiden countered as the center of his chest tightened
painfully, "but you're the one who set me up. You sent
me off with her knowing damn good and well that I'd notice
how beautiful she is and want to seduce her. You shamelessly
used her to salvage me."
"I'll admit it," he replied. "Not the least honorable, but
after four weeks of trying to talk some sense into you, I was
desperate. And you have to admit that, in the end, it's
worked out largely as I intended. Your head's, more or less,
back on your shoulders:"
Oh, yes, Aiden thought derisively. His head was moderately
centered again and because that had needed to happen,
he couldn't complain. But, unfortunately, the rest of him felt
twisted and battered and decidedly off-kilter. 'That's only
because you're looking at it all from the outside," he
groused, considering the brandy bottle and his original puzzle
again.
"Well, I didn’t count on you handing her your heart," Barrett
rejoined, sounding both a bit defensive and marginally
disgusted. "I really thought that you'd been burned recently
enough to scramble away from that."
“Apparently once a hero, always a hero," Aiden chuckled
wryly. “At least it turned out better this time than it did the
last." He snorted and added, "I'm going to have to get myself
a white horse. Maybe even have some business cards printed."
Barrett rubbed his jaw with his hand and heaved a sigh.
After a long moment, he shifted, crossed one ankle over the
other, and drawled, "Just out of idle curiosity ... Did Alex
make you laugh?"
His mind arrowed back with startling speed and clarity.
''All the time," he supplied, grinning. "Not that she tells jokes
or amusing stories, you understand. She has such a different,
unexpected way of looking at the world, at life. I can't explain
it any other way." He laughed softly. "It's just her. Alex
being delightfully Alex."
Barrett seemed to digest that for a moment, then hummed
and ventured, "What do you suppose it was that made her
special?"
"Everything," Aiden instantly replied. "She's independent
and strong but she also knows how and when to bend.
She's a survivor and ... " He stopped and shook his head,
then turned in the chair to square up to his friend. "No, that's
not quite right," he amended. "You see, Alex knows that
she's going to survive whatever comes her way so nothing
really frightens her. She accepts what is, adapts, and goes on
with such extraordinary grace and serenity.
"She's not passive, though," he hastened to add, not wanting
Barrett to have the wrong impression. "Alex is anything
but passive. Or coy. I've never known a woman who was so
honest, so unaffected. You can't imagine what a difference
that makes. Take flirting, for instance. You know how most
women do it. They bat their lashes and say something that
you can interpret as an invitation or not. They make you do
the hunting, take all the risk. But Alex ... Honest to God,
Barrett. She can smile-just smile-and it'll curl your toes.
You can forget about breathing. Not that you even care about
such things.':
Obviously working at containing a smile, Barrett nodded
and observed, "Sounds as though she was an interesting
lover."
"Oh, sweet Jesus;' he whispered, the memories, the inconceivably
wondrous feelings deluging him. How she
looked in the candlelight, the scent of her, the creamy satin
of her skin, the cascade of her hair, the unstinted measure of
her passion, and the joy that she so sweetly poured into his
soul. The extraordinary satisfaction, the rightness of joining
with her and surrendering himself to the unimaginable, indescribable
pleasure she gave him.
"God," he groaned, knowing that even if he lived for a
thousand years, he'd never meet another woman like Alex.
His beautiful, passionate, giving Alex.
"Do you know what makes Alex really special?" he murmured,
staring blindly at the carpet between his feet as realization
wormed slowly through his brain and his heart swelled
with aching.
"What?"
"She loves without condition. There are no strings, no
hidden traps. She gives everything-every bit of her heart
and soul-and asks for nothing in return. Absolutely nothing."
He looked up at his friend. "Do you have any idea of
how powerful that is?”
Barrett shook his head. "I've never been that incredibly
fortunate."
Aiden stared off into his future, knowing that every time
he lay with a woman he was going to close his eyes and pretend
she was Alex. He'd rise every morning, reaching out to
touch her, turning to talk to her. He'd retire to his bed every
night thinking he'd find her there. A thousand times a day
he'd listen for the sound of her voice, the sweetness of her
laughter, hope to see the delightfully wicked sparkle in her
eyes. And it would never be there. None of it. Alex was
gone. He'd let her go and walked away.
The emptiness of his heart overflowed and flooded his
soul, washing away all the pretenses, all the denials, all the
shoulds and oughts of his existence. And there, under it all,
stripped bare and obvious, was the solid bedrock of a stunning,
utterly indisputable truth.
Aiden again met his friend's somber gaze. "I love her,
Barrett. Her."
"I know," he said, barely nodding. "I've been watching
you for the last few weeks. I've been standing here listening
to you pour your heart out and hoping to hell that you'd finally
see it for yourself. There isn't a doubt in my mind that
you've found the great love of your life, John Aiden. The
question right now is what you're going to do about it."
Aiden stared off into the distance, listening to the rapid
hammering of his heart and knowing the decision
was already
made. The course was set.
Barrett picked up the bottle and filled the glass, then
shoved it closer, saying, "If you don't go after her, you might
as well climb back in because you are never again in your
life going to be as alive and happy as you were when you
were with Alex. No man is that lucky twice."
"Very true," he agreed, rising as he picked up the glass
and threw the contents down his throat in one smooth, quick
motion.
"Dammit, John Aiden," Barrett snarled. "Don't you
ever learn?"
"Only the hard way," he admitted, slamming down the
glass and heading for the door. "I'll talk to you later today,"
he called back over his shoulder. "Much later."
"Where the hell are you going?"
"To buy myself a big white horse," he called out, not
looking back, the liquor searing its way downward and
blessedly warming the dread churning in the pit of his stomach.
“That's going to be something of a bitch to get done in
the middle of the night."
Just ahead of him, the brandy bottle shattered against the
wall beside the front door. Aiden ignored it and kept going.
Chapter 21
Alex walked along the bustling wharf in the early morning
light, carrying her parasol and valise, and trying very hard
not to rain on everyone else's happiness. In the tradition of