Aaron strode out of his study, tucking Howlett’s note into his coat pocket. The Runner’s cramped handwriting had been brief but urgent:
New information regarding Lord S. Meet at the Boar’s Head, two o’clock.
“Very good, Your Grace.” Thornton fell into step behind him. “Shall I inform Lady Merrow of your departure?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, but it will.” Cecilia’s voice carried down the corridor.
She stood blocking his path to the front door with the determination of a general defending territory.
Behind her, Louise held Emily’s hand while Buttercup sniffed hopefully at Aaron’s greatcoat pocket, no doubt searching for treats.
“You’re not leaving this house until you hear what I have to say.”
“I do not have time for this, Aunt.”
“You haven’t even heard what I’m proposing.” Cecilia’s smile held that gleam that meant trouble.
“When you ambush me in my own hallway with that expression, I don’t need to hear it.” Aaron pulled on his gloves, avoiding Louise’s gaze. Even a glimpse of her these days threatened his carefully maintained control. “I have an appointment in town.”
“With whom?”
“Business matters.”
“How delightfully vague.” Cecilia moved closer, forcing him to stop or bowl her over. “Well, your business will have to wait a moment. We’ve been invited to the Ashworth winter ball.”
Aaron felt his jaw tighten. “The time to send invitations for the Season is over.”
“Lady Ashworth has decided to throw a winter celebration. A magical evening of snowflakes and silver, she calls it. Everyone will dress in white and silver, like a fairy tale come to life.”
“Sounds dreadful.”
“It sounds necessary.” Cecilia’s tone shifted, becoming serious. “Louise needs to be seen as my companion, Aaron. The more we appear together in public, the less speculation there will be about her presence in this house.”
Against his better judgment, Aaron’s gaze found Louise. She wore a simple green morning dress that somehow made her copper hair glow like flame. Their eyes met for an instant before she looked away, color rising in her cheeks. The sight sent heat coursing through him, memories of that night at the inn flooding back with visceral clarity.
Her mouth under his. The soft sound she made when he pulled her closer. The way she felt in his arms, all warmth and willing surrender.
He forced the thoughts away, focusing on his aunt’s expectant face. “When is this ball?”
“A fortnight from now.”
Aaron studied his aunt’s expectant face. He knew she’d pout, then pester him endlessly, or even feign some sudden illness to get her way.
“Fine.” The word came out clipped. “We’ll attend.”
He moved to step around her, already calculating his escape routes for the evening, when she caught his arm.
“Excellent!” Cecilia clapped her hands together. “Which means we need new gowns immediately. The modiste awaits.”
Aaron stopped. “You already made an appointment?”
“Of course. Did you think I would leave such things to chance?” Cecilia linked her arm through his before he could protest. “And you’re coming with us.”
“You do not need a chaperone to visit the modiste, aunt.”
“But I do! Your presence will ensure the modiste understands the importance of winter-themed attire.”
