Samantha James (6 page)

“You admit it then!”

“I admit nothing of the sort. I’ve given you my explanation. I have yet to receive yours, Fionna. Why were you out again at such an hour? Why were you out
alone
?”

“It may have escaped your notice, but I live alone.”

“Pray do not patronize me, Fionna. Something frightened you, Fionna.”

“Yes.
You
did.”

“I’m not talking about just tonight,” he said grimly. “The other night as well. Why, you’re still shaking.”

“I’m shaking because it’s wretchedly cold out there!”

At the sideboard, Aidan studied her from the corner of his eye. Once again, she proved herself an abominably poor liar. Furthermore, she was the most stubborn woman he knew—even more stubborn than his sister Annie.

He poured two glasses of brandy, returned to the settee, and handed one to her.

She nearly snatched it out of his hands and downed it.

Aidan lowered himself to the cushion next to her, positioning himself where he could see her. “Another assignation with your gentleman?” he asked coolly. “Is he married perhaps? Is that the reason for your stealth?”

“For pity’s sake, there was certainly no assignation, no stealth, and there is certainly no gentleman, married or otherwise. Even if there were, what business is it of yours?”

He’d set her to fuming again. It appeared he was rather good at that.

Upstairs, a clock chimed midnight.

“Nonetheless, I should like to know what woman walks about London at this hour of the night.”

“And I should like to know what man follows a woman about this hour of the night!”

He made an impatient sound. “I thought we’d established that I was—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Returning from your brother’s. So you say. But perhaps it’s just a ruse. Perhaps you wish it spread about that you are brother to the duke of Gleneden. Mrs. Chalmers, you know, has never seen the duke call on you here, else we should all know it! So perhaps it’s just a ploy.”

Aidan began to laugh. “You’ve a vivid imagination, Fionna.”

It appeared she hadn’t heard. “Or perhaps I
am
that vampire you thought I was not, and
I
am merely in disguise.” She set her glass aside and flung her arms out grandly, sending her fur-trimmed mantle flying upward, so that she did rather resemble that winged creature of which she spoke, and in the very midst of flight…

It fleetingly crossed his mind that the brandy was going to her head.

“And,” she pronounced, “you’ve yet to see me in the sunlight, if you recall.”

“I saw you inside your bookshop,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but never
outside.
In the sunlight.”

Aidan said nothing, merely studied her through narrowed eyes. “You’ve a habit of prowling about at midnight, haven’t you?”

Now, it appeared, she had little to say. Her
gaze skipped away, then back. Only this time she didn’t quite meet his gaze.

He was deliberately nonchalant. “How often, Fionna?”

“Not very,” she said quickly.

Too
quickly, Aidan decided.

“Very seldom, actually.”

Liar,
he almost drawled. “You must stop, Fionna.”

She looked at him then, her gaze—her very being—sizzling. “Must I remind you it’s none of your affair?”

“I’m making it my affair.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She glared at him outright. “I…it calms me. It’s my way of…of ending the day.”

“By God, I do believe you’re mad.”

Aidan’s mouth compressed. He saw her eyes flare in pure fury, but just now he didn’t care. He was determined to query her further, but suddenly she dropped her head into her hands. With her fingertips she rubbed the spot squarely between her brows.

He frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” There was a hint of a catch in the words; she was on the verge of tears, he suspected. “I just have a monstrous headache all of a sudden. And I’m tired. So tired.”

No wonder, given the hours she kept! But he decided against voicing this particular censure,
for something unexpectedly twisted in his chest at the sight of her holding her head in her hands thus. It struck him that she looked…rather lonely. Even a little forlorn.

And he knew with every certainty that the brandy had gone to her head when he eased her up against him, tucking them both into the corner of the settee. Her eyes fluttered, then closed. She nestled against him, already limp and relaxed. With a tremulous little sigh, she curled her fist against his chest.

Aidan had to force himself to relax. He held himself very still, tempering the desire that churned and clamored in his chest, twisting and turning restlessly. He was still shocked by it, by its strength, its persistence, for it grew more rousing with every moment spent with her. He discovered himself embroiled in a rare conflict—he, the man who had always prided himself on his decisiveness.

He wanted her. That had already been established. But the point in question was whether or not he should
act
on that desire, potent as it was.

And tantamount to all was the fact that he’d not yet decided whether or not to pursue Miss Fionna Hawkes.

He thought of her mouth. Small. Delectable.

Lord, maybe Alec was right. Maybe a woman was all he needed to cleanse his soul.
This
woman. But maybe he need take it no further than a flir
tation. A dalliance. A kiss. She would allow him that. He could be charming when he wished. Perhaps that would suffice.

Well, maybe two kisses. A little seduction…perhaps even a forbidden caress…

His mind turned.
If
he decided this was what he wanted, instinct warned that he must proceed with careful, cautious precision where the fractious Miss Hawkes was concerned. She would not be stormed. She would not be led onto a path she did not want or share.

Her fingers twitched. She shifted her head ever so slightly, her lips parted, her mouth upturned. Her breath was warm upon his throat.

Aidan swallowed. Desire churned. His heart thundered. Heat raced through his veins. His cock was hard as stone. His body urged him to spread her thighs wide and take her here and now, to seat himself hard and tight and deep inside her and yield to the fire that seared his every nerve.

His arms tightened. Tensed. Her chest was full against his. Her breast was plump and ripe against his chest. She would never even know. All he need do was stretch out his fingers and…

She stirred. “I was foolish to scream,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “You…you just startled me. That’s all. That’s all it was. Really.”

Aidan froze. Christ, what the
hell
was he thinking? What the
hell
was he doing? He could have
groaned aloud his frustration. He’d already decided to pursue the lady—he’d made the decision this instant!

But this was not the time to begin.

Somehow he held himself in check, willing away the tension strung throughout his form. Releasing a sigh, he kissed her knuckles, then rested his chin against her temple, inhaling the beguiling scent of lilies, aware of the silky little tendrils of hair that brushed his mouth.

It brought a surprising peace to his soul.

Fionna woke, her eyelids heavy, her vision adjusting slowly to the dark. She knew exactly where she was. In Aidan’s house, in Aidan’s arms, tucked against the crook of his shoulder. His heart beat a rhythmic drum directly beneath her cheek, steady and reassuring. At some point she’d been divested of her mantle; it had been replaced with a warm, fuzzy blanket.

After several minutes came a whisper. “Awake now?”

She stared into the fading embers of the fire. “Yes,” she whispered back. “It’s late, isn’t it?”

“Mmmm. Half past three.”

Not so very late to her,
she thought vaguely. “I must go.” Her limbs felt heavy. Wooden. She had no desire—no motivation—to move, but she knew she must.

Nor did he make any move to release her. In
stead his arms tightened around her…or did she only imagine it?

“You may as well stay. I’ve several empty bedrooms upstairs.”

The sound she made was half-strangled.

He arched a brow. “I was not suggesting that you share mine,” he said rather coolly.

He’d given no indication that was what he meant or that he harbored any sort of designs on her. Of course there was his roguish behavior in the shop the other day. But even then—

Fionna pushed herself upright, suddenly wide-awake and incredulous that he would even suggest such a thing. She was too stunned to be indignant.

“Good heavens,” she said faintly. “I cannot stay here!” She dropped the blanket. “I must go home. Now. Please, my mantle. My gloves.”

“Come now. My staff is asleep. Or do you have a maid or a housekeeper who will miss—”

“A girl who comes in several mornings a week. Tomorrow morning, in fact,” she stressed.

He sighed. “Then I suppose we can have you safely home before anyone notices, and with no one the wiser.”

Her hair had come undone; she could feel it half-falling down her back. Grabbing a pin, she tried to twist it back up; she succeeded only in stabbing her scalp.

“Here, let me help you.” It was Aidan who
tucked it up in a loose coil and pinned it in place. At the feel of his hands sliding lightly through her hair, a peculiar tightness knotted in the pit of her belly.

Settling her mantle over her shoulders, Fionna snatched up her gloves and almost bolted toward the door.

“Oh, no, Fionna! You won’t be walking home alone.”

“It’s only just across the street—”

His drilling stare told her she was going nowhere without him.

“Almost,” she finished weakly.

Fionna watched as he procured his greatcoat and shrugged it on. It should have been a simple shift of movement, that rise and fall of his shoulders. And it was, but for the fact that it was more a lithe ripple of muscle.

Fionna swallowed. She was aware of heat flooding her face, her entire body. Was it any wonder she found the man distracting?

Lastly, he put on his hat. Dark brows rose. “Ready?”

Fionna nodded, her cheeks still burning.

In very short order they were crossing the cobbled street. Fionna hauled in a stinging lungful of air, impatient with her behavior. What the devil was wrong with her? Why, she’d acted the panic-stricken schoolgirl, afraid of being ravished! Which she was not. Neither a schoolgirl, nor in
danger of being ravished. Not really. Granted, her knowledge of the earthy side of passion far exceeded actual experience—any experience at all, to be sure. Except, perhaps, for her rather erotic imaginings with Raven and Rowan. And, of course, hidden deep in the very bowels of her desk…

Her copy of Vatsyayana’s
Kama Sutra.

It was Sunday. The one day that belonged to herself. She did not have Glynis in. And perhaps it wasn’t totally to herself, for she never missed visiting her mother in the late morning. But she felt as if it were.

She sat upstairs in the parlor, gazing outside
from her desk. The day was cloudy. Now and again a brisk wind swirled the branches of the tree just outside her bedroom. A fire burned in the fireplace, casting out its warmth. Snow sifted from the scuttling clouds.

She scooped a bit more coal onto the fire. But all at once her mind was filled with the fading embers of another fire…

Two days had passed since Aidan had walked her home; rather, two nights.

Memory flooded her. Damn, damn,
damn
the man. Every time she closed her eyes, every time she left her thoughts drift,
he
was there. It made her ache, remembering how it felt to lie against him—no demands, no worries, nothing but the warmth of simply
being
with someone. Being
held
by someone.

There was no lying to herself. By
him.

She sighed. What a fool she was. She’d hoped to put it from her mind today—put
him
from her mind and immerse herself in
Demon of Dartmoor.
And she would. In just a moment.

So she told herself. But she made no move toward her desk.

Downstairs, someone knocked on the door of the bookshop. The unexpectedness of it made her start. She straightened upright.

Fionna frowned. She knew the sign on the shop was turned to
CLOSED
. She considered ignoring it.

Impossible, for the knocking continued.

Setting her mouth in a stern line, she headed
downstairs, prepared to let loose a portion of her temper. If a person sought entrance to a bookshop, surely they could read.

She should have known.

Aidan McBride.

He stood at the door, looking decidedly dashing—as if the man could appear otherwise! Now that he saw her, she saw him lock his hands behind his back.

Fionna’s knees were suddenly weak. She’d written of such things, why, the very first time Raven had met Rowan, in fact! Rowan had appeared on Raven’s doorstep, during—of all things!—a monstrously cold snowstorm. She hesitated, a little uncertain as to Aidan’s sudden appearance.

He wasted no time in clarifying it.

“Will you have dinner with me?”

Her lips parted. “What?”

“I said, will you have—”

“I heard what you said.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still a little stunned at his appearance—and his unabashed directness.

“Oh, come,” he said lightly, “must you always be so wary? You persist in gazing at me as if I am anything but what I am, as if there is more to what I am than you see. I assure you, there is not. I have a very busy day at my office tomorrow. Despite what you may think, I am not a man of idle propensity.” He paused. “I must eat. You must eat. Therefore, I propose we eat together.
A relaxing Sunday dinner is all I’m suggesting. I should like a day of peace. A day with
you,
as it were.”

Fionna flushed. She could hardly fault the man for being candid, could she?

“Your reluctance does not ease my mind,” he remarked, his manner still casually offhand.

Her skin grew warmer still.

“Why do you look at me so, Fionna? Is it a crime to wish to spend time with you?”

She wet her lips. “Why should you want to spend time with me?” she asked, her voice very low.

The merest smile grazed his lips. “Why indeed,” he murmured. “Of course, if I were courting you, the answer would be obvious.”

Fionna felt her cheeks heat. Somehow she was never quite sure when he was teasing.

At her silence, he laughed. “What, Miss Fionna Hawkes, have you never been courted?”

Fionna stiffened. Was he making light of her? “
Am
I being courted? It certainly doesn’t feel like it,” she retorted.

A smile flirted at the corner of his mouth. “Well, perhaps we should change that. And perhaps it’s because you won’t let it.”

Perhaps he is right,
needled a little voice inside.

“Come,” he said softly. “Come with me.”

Come with me.
It was almost as if it were something else entirely. Not an invitation to Sunday dinner, but something far more intimate. Some
thing that existed—that involved—only the two of them. Something that involved warmth, heat, and overwhelming maleness versus softness and closeness.

Every sense inside her sharpened. Clamored in a way that was entirely new to Fionna. Seeing him thus, so handsome he drove the air from her lungs—why, it made even a single breath a monumental struggle.

She longed to give in. To let herself be swept away by the man and her urges and dash the consequences. Foolishly—stupidly—she found herself overtaken by the urge to touch him, to reach out but a fingertip and trace the squareness of his jaw, to feel the smooth texture of his cleanly shaven skin.

She’d never touched a man, not really. Never felt the nuances of skin and muscle and bone. And the thought of touching Aidan…

A fist clutched tightly in her skirt checked the impulse.

“I can’t,” she heard herself say. Good heavens, she sounded almost desperate. “Aidan, I must work. I’ve much to do in the shop,” she added lamely.

“Oh, come. Do you do nothing but work? Do you allow yourself no time for your own pursuits? For your own enjoyment away from the shop? Though I suppose, being the owner of a bookshop, you must always have your nose buried in a book.”

Mercy, if he only knew! Filled with contradictory feelings, Fionna smothered a sound that was half laugh, half sigh. Why did he have to be here? Why couldn’t he just let her be?

“I have another proposal for you, then. If you will not have Sunday dinner with me, then let me help you in the shop. That way, at least you need not toil alone. You might even enjoy the pleasure of my company. I know I should enjoy the pleasure of yours.”

Well, there was nothing else for it, she decided wryly. The man certainly earned high marks for persistence!

In his arms the other night, she had felt safe and cosseted and shielded from all manner of harm. She certainly couldn’t deny that she had liked it. But her life, her world, was too complicated for something like this. For
him.
For any man.

Especially the brother of a duke.

Through the door, a brisk wind wound its way around her ankles. She shivered.

“I would come in,” he said, “but if you recall, I’ve been banished.”

She couldn’t withhold her smile this time. “That was a rather silly thing to say, wasn’t it?” She bit her lip. “A lapse in judgment, I fear. You are hereafter
un
banished.”

A lapse in judgment,
she thought. Heaven help her, it was true. When he was near, he made her feel as if some other woman inhabited her body and stole her good sense.

There was a decidedly devilish sound to his low chuckle. It should have served as a warning, she decided much later. Moreover, she should have heeded that warning.

“I shall remember that, my dearest Fionna. Now which shall it be? An afternoon’s toil or an afternoon’s leisure?”

This time there was no hesitation. “Come in, if you please. I just need to get my cloak and bonnet.”

He did not remain in the shop, as she had expected, but followed in her wake to the rear of the shop, all the way up the stairway that led to her apartments.

In her parlor, he glanced around in approval at the soft, pastel colors of her furniture, the plump cushions of the sofa, the white wainscoting that set off the pale blue walls. “Lovely, Miss Hawkes. But, of course, I would never have expected otherwise.”

Miss Hawkes
.
My dearest Fionna.
There was no doubt, he forced her to maintain her defenses.

There was also no doubt that she liked it when he called her Fionna.

“I’ll just be a moment.” Indeed, there was far too much to like about Aidan McBride, she thought as she dashed into her bedroom.

She retrieved her best fur-trimmed cloak from the wardrobe, along with her bonnet. As she was tying the strings of her bonnet in front of the mirror, she suddenly remembered…

She’d left the pages of her manuscript lying on the desk, in plain sight. Oh, Lord. If he should chance to see them…she dare not even consider the possibility.

Chafing at her carelessness, she rushed headlong back into the parlor, nearly tripping over her skirts.

He was in exactly the same spot as she’d left him. Praying she hadn’t appeared foolish, she smiled brightly.

“Shall we be off?”

“Excellent idea,” he murmured.

Once they were outside, he tucked her gloved fingers into his elbow and glanced over at her. “You don’t mind if we walk, do you? I know it’s cold, but it’s not far. However, if you prefer, we can take a hansom. Or we’re close enough that I can summon my carriage—”

Fionna was already shaking her head. “No need,” she injected. “I spend far too much time indoors. And this is not cold, but rather, brisk. Besides, my mother always maintained that a little walking, in weather both fair and foul, was good for both the heart
and
the soul.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart, your mother.”

Fionna bit her lip. Damn, but she hadn’t meant to mention Mama. Indeed, it was her most stringent wish to keep the details of her life private.

All of them.

They strolled along, south toward St. James.

“Stop,” Aidan said suddenly.

Fionna blinked, too startled to do anything but obey. She sucked in a breath, discovered she couldn’t release it. She held herself very still, for his head was lowering…lowering. And suddenly, all she could think was how his eyes were so unexpectedly blue in his dark face. And his mouth…he had such a beautiful, masculine mouth…Was he going to kiss her? she wondered frantically. She wanted him to, she realized—and it didn’t matter a whit that they were on a public street, where anyone might see. A part of her was appalled at the very prospect—at her utter lack of propriety. Nonetheless, her stomach felt most peculiar, as if it had gone suddenly hollow. It was hunger, she told herself, that was responsible for this momentary insanity.

And Aidan…he hovered near. His mouth was so close, as if a kiss was his only intent.

He brushed a snowflake from her nose.

Was she relieved? Disappointed? Either way, she reminded herself sternly, she was definitely in need of a meal. Why else would she feel this way?

Before long they reached a small hotel. The dining room was lovely. The wainscoting was painted white, the papered wall above patterned here and there with yellow and gold, the chairs covered in bright chintz, the tables topped with crisp Irish linens.

She must have made some faint sound. Aidan’s
fingers squeezed hers as their eyes met. “What do you think?” he asked, his mouth turned up in a smile that was almost lazy.

She spoke with genuine pleasure. “It’s just the thing to brighten up a dreary afternoon,” she said softly.

He laughed, a low, husky, almost seductive laugh that set her insides to quivering. Hunger again, she assured herself stoutly.

“I’m glad you approve of my choice,” he told her, “though I promise, the food’s even better.”

And it was. There was roasted beef and potatoes, light and airy Yorkshire puddings. Fionna ate almost as heartily as Aidan.

Aidan insisted on ordering sticky toffee pudding for dessert. While they waited, Fionna sipped her tea; Aidan drank coffee.

It struck again, the strange, fluttering feeling in her belly.

And this time she knew it had nothing to do with hunger.

Fionna was unaware that her chin tilted high, as if she was searching the heavens; in truth she envisioned a man. It flashed through her mind that if she were to encounter Rowan in the flesh, he might have appeared…well, much like the embodiment of the man who sat so casually across from her. Dark, sturdy, and strong as the rowan tree for which he was named; never had there been a man so striking as he.

But all of that was in Raven’s eyes, of course,
Fionna hastily assured herself. That was why Raven forever battled her feelings for Rowan. Rowan could be a bit high-handed, even arrogant. But there was no denying that Raven considered him quite the most handsome man she had ever encountered—or was ever likely
to
encounter.

Aidan leaned forward. “I should very much like to know what is running through your mind just now.”

Fionna smiled demurely. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? I highly doubt that.”

Fionna conceded. “True,” she said lightly, “but it’s simply an errant thought, nothing of any importance.”

“Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that.”

“You must trust me, my lord, for I assure you, it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Trust,” he repeated. “I find it interesting you should say that.”

Fionna tipped her head to the side, still smiling. “How so?”

“Well,” he pretended to consider, “I do believe you’re not a very trusting woman.”

Fionna’s smile faded. “Not a trusting woman? Whatever on earth makes you say that?”

“Ah, you see? You’ve turned very defensive of a sudden. That but proves it, I think. Which, in turn, makes me wonder
why
you’re so defensive.”

“I am
not
defensive.”

It was his turn to smile. “Aren’t you?” Again that lazy smile, which was growing quite infuriating. Again that shrewd consideration. He leaned back in his chair, awaiting her response.

Fionna glared at him. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing denouncement, then realized it would only serve as confirmation.

“You don’t like talking about yourself, do you, Miss Fionna Hawkes?”

It was true. She would much rather keep their conversation confined to things other than herself. Still, she felt compelled to argue. She had the uneasy sensation that he
saw
too much. That he
saw
what was best left hidden.

“I beg to differ. Do you consider me distrustful simply because I am not eager to spill any and everything that enters my mind?”