Cates, Kimberly (20 page)

The
idea of Cass badgering Norah was more than Aidan could endure. Hadn't he made
enough of a mess of the afternoon without a nosy fifteen-year-old digging
around the whole incident with that single-minded determination of her sex?

"Hellfire
and damnation, Cass, let it be!" he roared. "The woman is under my
roof, isn't she? I took her to the goddamn fair, didn't I? What the devil did
you expect? That the instant she stepped out of the coach we would fall into
each other's arms in abject devotion?"

His
daughter's eyes sparkled with an aura far more ominous than storm clouds edging
the rim of the sea. "It seems to me that you could make a bit more of an
effort. If you would only—"

"Take
your infernal little nose out of my courtship, blast it!"

"Your...
courtship?" Cass's eyes sparkled, triumph emanating from her in waves.

"Don't
make more of it than there is, Cass. Just because I've decided to tolerate the
woman doesn't mean you should begin to call her 'Mama.' She may very well
decide that we don't suit."

"But
you
do
suit. Perfectly! You don't think I would have gone to the trouble
of finding a bride for you without giving the candidates serious consideration,
do you?"

"Candidates?
Plural?" Aidan said with a sinking heart. "Don't tell me there are a
dozen other women floating about who are privy to my entire life story a la
Cassandra."

"Well,
actually, Miss Linton
was
the only one who answered the advertisement,
but she was so wonderful I was certain it was fate."

"Fate."
Do you believe in fate, Miss Linton?
The words reverberated in Aidan's
mind.
I
see two people who need each other. Badly....

"Oh,
Papa! Don't you see, I'm certain I can help—"

"I've
had all the help from you I can stomach, thank you very much.
No more
meddling!
Do we understand each other? I want your word on it, Cassandra
Victorine."

She
batted her lashes, thrusting her hands behind her back. "I swear, Papa!
From this very instant, I will not—"

"Not
interfere," he prompted in steely accents.

"I'll
try my very, very hardest, but—"

"No
'buts.' Now let's not keep Miss Linton waiting any longer."

"Wonderful,
Papa! I just have to dodge back to the kitchen to make certain all is well. I
helped Cook stir up your favorite dish tonight, Papa! A most delightful
chocolate cake, with raspberries atop it."

He
didn't even have the energy to fall into one of their favorite teasing games
regarding Cass's culinary disasters of the past as he watched his daughter dart
out of the room shining with optimism. Optimism Aidan was certain he would one
day destroy.

His
tread was decidedly slower as he exited the study door. He paused before a gilt
looking glass long enough to make an attempt to straighten his cravat, but the
limp folds were mangled beyond repair. Aidan's features twisted in disgust. Not
that it would matter what he looked like. After what had transpired by the
castle ruins, he doubted Miss Linton would be impressed if he turned up in full
court dress.

He
sucked in a deep breath as he approached the dining room, hoping to hear Cass's
chirrupy voice emanating from the room, a buffer in the first awkward moments
when he and Norah were forced to confront one another. But there was only
silence.

He
heaved a weary sigh. Of course Cass would be contrary enough to be absent when
he would actually have been grateful for a little of her
"interference."

But
perhaps it would be better if he and Norah got this first uncomfortable meeting
over with, minus the all-too-keen scrutiny of his daughter.

By
force of will, Aidan attempted to drain the tension from his features, then
stepped into the room. He'd thought himself prepared to see the woman again,
having pictured the countless feminine facets of behavior one could anticipate
after the type of scene that had taken place at the castle ruins. But Norah
Linton was neither defiant nor petulant, scornful nor wounded, teary eyed nor
stonily silent.

She
stood before the window overlooking Rathcannon's hills, one delicate hand
pressed against the mullioned panes. Her slender body was veiled by muslin the
color of a dove's breast, devoid of any ornament save a single amber ribbon
that tied at her throat. The gown would have seemed stark on any other woman,
and yet it provided the perfect foil for Norah, not overpowering the purity of
her profile, but picking out elusive streaks of dark gold that threaded through
hair that glistened unexpectedly lustrous in the candlelight.

At
the sound of footsteps, she raised her gaze to his, and Aidan was stunned to
see—not censure, not loathing, not disgust, but a soft apology, an
understanding that made him want to take her by the arms and shake her, remind
her how badly he had treated her, and warn her not to trust his motives even
now.

The
only thing that betrayed her nervousness was the smudge of pink upon her
cheekbones and the smile she gave him, tremulous and uncertain. Was it possible
she had decided to forgive him?

"I
can't accustom myself to how green everything is here," she said.
"After the dullness of the city, it makes one so thirsty to drink it
in."

"Sometimes
when I'm away too long it is like a hunger inside me, that yearning to drink in
the greenness. It's as if I can't truly breathe anyplace else." He felt
like a fool—a raw lad who had bungled his first kiss and come, penitent, to beg
pardon. The sensation irritated him, and he brushed it away, impatient with his
own odd vulnerability.

With
long strides, he crossed to where she stood and grasped her hand, raising it
softly to his lips. "I feel honored that you've chosen to dine with us
tonight. Honored, and... somewhat surprised."

Lashes
astonishingly thick swept down over her dark eyes, not coquettishly but with
regret. "It seemed to mean so much to Cassandra that I..." She
stopped, her gaze flicking up to his for a heartbeat. "She is going to be
so disappointed when..."

She
didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. Norah Linton had endings
written all over her innocent eyes.

Aidan
was stunned at the wrenching sensation in his chest. It was time for him to
charm her, beguile her, the way he knew so well how to. It was time for soft
pleas and honeyed promises. Instead, his fingers tightened on those slender
fingers, so cold, so small in his own. "You're leaving us, then?"

"The
sooner the better—for Cassandra's sake. It wouldn't do for her to get her heart
any more set on things that are impossible."

He
nodded, uncertain why those quiet words made him feel so bereft. "I don't
suppose there is anything I can say that would make you reconsider?"

Her
gaze fluttered up to his, and there were no lies in his eyes as he peered down
at her.

"Norah,
I know we've not begun right. And this afternoon..."

Her
cheeks went scarlet, the hue making an almost startling change in that face
that had been far too solemn and pale.

"Please!
It's already forgotten," she protested, so hastily Aidan was certain she
had relived that kiss in the ensuing hours as many excruciating times as he
had.

His
lips curved into a wry smile. "I'm not certain whether to feel shriven of
my sins or bruised in the ego, milady."

"I—I'm
sure it would have been a very lovely kiss. I mean, as kisses go, I've not had
a great deal of experience. But had circumstances been different, I..."
She raised a hand to her cheek as if to cool it. "Please. I just wish to
get through this dinner and then go in peace."

Peace.
Had Aidan ever known what that was? He wanted to plead with her, rail at her,
coerce her into staying. He wanted to kiss her again, to melt his mouth into
the pliant warmth of hers.

But
he only reached out to squeeze her hand.

At
that moment a hurricane in hair ribbons came bounding out the servants' door.
Norah jerked away from his clasp, but not before Cassandra's bright eyes had
caught a glimpse of their joined fingers. Pure elation shone in her gaze, and
Aidan knew—in a sudden, aching instant—just how crestfallen the girl would be
when Norah Linton went away.

"Come
to the table," Cassandra enthused. "Everything is
perfect,
despite
the fact that
some
people were inexcusably late." Aidan tucked
Norah's hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her to the seat beside him
that had been empty for so long.

He'd
thought the endless ride home from Caislean Alainn had been abysmal, the hours
in his study interminably long. But this supper so carefully planned by
Cassandra, this eternity of looking into his daughter's hopeful face, was by
far the worst punishment he could endure. Unless, of course, it was his
agonizing awareness of the woman picking at the food upon her plate as Cass
shamelessly grilled her about her life in London.

"Miss
Linton, did you ever have a London season?" Cassandra asked, her eyes shining
expectantly.

"Yes.
I had one."

"Was
it magical?" Cass asked, taking a bite of Cornish hen. "Did you go to
breakfasts and balls, and Almack's, and dance and dance with the most handsome
men?"

"Actually
I spent most of my time hiding behind pillars, wishing heartily that whatever
entertainment I was attending was over," Norah said, sipping at her wine.
"And as for my dancing partners, they were..."

Aidan
was amazed to see a dimple appear in one cheek.

"They
were not exactly the sort to inspire flutterings in feminine hearts."

"You
mean they were oafish? Did they—did they attempt to lure you into the gardens
and steal a kiss?" the girl asked with an eloquent sigh.

"Cassandra!"
Aidan snapped, all too aware what the fate of a young woman like Norah must
have been upon the marriage mart. "For God's sake, let poor Miss Linton
eat her dinner in peace!"

"I
don't mind. Really."

"You
see, Papa? She is most amenable! Didn't I tell you that she was the most
perfect—"

"Cass!"

The
girl desisted, but Aidan's gut twisted as she charged into an even more
unwelcome subject. "My mama had bushels and bushels of suitors, Mrs.
Brindle says. She was the belle of the season, she was so beautiful and witty,
and—did you ever meet her? Miss Cordelia March?"

"No.
I'm certain even if we had been out at the same time, I would hardly have moved
in the same circles as an acclaimed belle." Norah said it so gently Aidan
felt guilt gnaw him afresh.

"Oh."
A flush spread onto Cassandra's cheeks, and Aidan was certain she had just
realized how she'd blundered into a subject that must be painful for the woman
she so desperately wanted to please. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—to...
Papa's forever telling me I shouldn't go poking about other people's business,
but I just can't seem to help it. He says I am terminally curious and is
constantly barraging me with hopeless cliches about cats being killed and such
like."

Norah
blessed the girl with a smile of pure understanding. "Don't distress
yourself. I've long since gotten over any disappointment I felt. In fact, I
have actually succeeded in regarding the entire affair somewhat in the light of
a diverting farce."

"A
farce?" Aidan repeated, trying to conceal the hollow sensation he suffered
at the knowledge that Cassandra's dreams of such a season were slipping from
his fingers forever, to be lost the instant the coach wheels carried Norah
Linton away. "I cannot think of a better analogy for the madness that
possesses London society at such times."

"Papa,
you just don't understand how wonderful it seems. I am quite certain I would
adore—" Cassandra bit off the sentence, casting an apologetic glance at
Norah. "But maybe I am mistaken. From what you say, Miss Linton, it must
have been terrible."

Norah
laughed, a subtle, musical sound that sank into Aidan's very bones. "I
cannot imagine you hiding behind pillars as I did. Even if you tried, I'd
imagine that enterprising gentlemen would come to roust you out." She had
meant to comfort the child, Aidan knew, but the instant Norah recalled what he
had confided to her regarding the bleakness of his daughter's prospects, he
could see the unease ripple to life in her eyes.

Oblivious
to the undercurrents between the adults, Cass rushed on. "Surely you must
have had
some
gentlemen attend you. Your eyes are lovely. Especially
when you smile. You're
so
comfortable to be with, and you have the most
cunning sense of humor."

Aidan
winced at the reminder of his own callous estimation of Norah's appearance the
night before, the flash of pain he had seen in those expressive eyes.
"Cass, what a thing to say!"

"You
can't fault the child for telling the truth, can you, Sir Aidan?" Norah
asked, looking at him in a forthright manner that made him tug at the
disreputable folds of his neckcloth.