Perhaps he was a dull old dog, as Aideen had seemed to be enjoying herself, but he ached to be alone…with her.
Spying for the Crown got his blood pumping, but how pleasant it would be to return to Aideen at the end of a night. To speak of what he was able, to rest his head and have that Irish whisper calm his mind.
With their temperaments of course, they would always…debate, but they’d settle their differences betwixt the sheets.
Over the last seven lonely days, he’d wondered if it could be possible, but always Gwen haunted his thoughts and supressed his hope.
Closeness meant danger in his vocation. And it wasn’t some imagined reaction, some misconceived idea of whatmayhappen – he’d felt the slipperiness of his sister’s blood seep through his fingers, heard her last gasp. And it hurt so bloody much.
He’d leave this ball once Phineas showed. Leave Aideen to her own life.
A rustle of silk disturbed him, and he swivelled, about to snarl his displeasure at some Cyprian, but brushing past and then on down the steps to the garden was his wife, her disguise no barrier to his gaze.
Was she meeting someone? Wrath burned within.
As usual with Aideen, his feet flouted his latest resolution to leave her be and lightly followed her into the dark.
An archway of fresh-leaved roses stood at the end of the garden with lanterns swaying overhead – a perfect place to tryst, and he watched as she ambled the grass path, stopping beneath the arch to caress the small buds that awaited more warmth than England was currently prepared to give.
Certainly, she presented no rush.
Aideen turned to lean against one of the ornate posts, her head bent, and it took a while to discern her expression.
Sadness.
Never had he seen his fiery girl sad before. Angry and upset, yes, but not this muted wretchedness.
It tortured him.
Had someone hurt her? Hadhehurt her? She always absorbed his taunts and fired back with verve, but words could slice deep and leave wounds the eye couldn’t see.
Or was she sad her tryst had not come to fruition? Was he being presumptuous in assuming it had anything to do with him?
Lust may certainly sear between them, but did Aideen actually like him? After all, he hadn’t created a very likable creature.
Sedately, he slipped around the arch to approach from behind, his tread silent on the path.
“A beautiful woman need not be alone.” He wasn’t quite sure why he disguised his aristocratic tenor with a strong Welsh accent. Only that he didn’t want to reveal his presence at this ball, a ball he’d forbidden her to attend. Or was it that he wondered for whom she waited.
His wife spun and he tensed, even though there was no reason why she would recognise him.
A tricorn hat, complete with dangling ostrich feather, covered his hair, in turn covered by a powdered white wig. His mask, in summer’s day blue, obscured all but his mouth, and his clothes mirrored a gentleman of some hundred years past: pale-blue silk frockcoat with matching breeches, white stockings and heeled shoes with square jewelled buckles. A froth of white lace tumbled from his throat, choking him if truth be known, and it itched like the very devil.
The single highlight to this disguise was the excuse to wear a dress sword.
“It appears I am alone no longer.” And she turned her back upon him.
He stepped near, undeterred. “Do you await a lover? Should I leave for fear of rousing his ire?” The Welsh cadence slid over that last word, prolonging it.
“No lover,” she said softly, and satisfaction flared in his gut.
“A pity.” He bent close but she didn’t stir an inch. Tonight, the violets had closed their petals and her perfume was darker, smelling of night jasmine and passion. “Would you care for one,fycariad aur?”
Still she declined to turn, so he brushed a finger against her neck, a pale column of contradiction to her dress and hair. She gasped but he couldn’t discern the cause – shock or pleasure?
He adored touching her in this moonlit paradise, the air redolent with spring blooms, and he couldn’t cease, didn’t want to cease, despite the travesty of this scene.
“Perhaps I have a jealous husband?” she whispered. “Are you not worried?”
