We are at an inn. ALONE.
Why did you not warn me, dear friend, that nightcaps would be the least of my concerns? It was quite a shock, I can tell you, but oh what a rapturous one!
James and I still have much to learn about each other, but our deepest emotion is the same – Love.
I do so hope you can find this with the duke, as I have beheld your anguish when you think no one is looking. I know he feels equally for you as his gaze possesses that same anguish when it catches in your direction – which is A LOT.
I had better end my letter there, dearest friend. James has got that look in his eye again.
All my love,
Cordy.
Obviously, Mrs Greenwood had succeeded in subduing the news that her pristine daughter had eloped to Gretna Green, as nothing had reached the papers or been gossiped about at tea.
She was happy for Cordelia, for the excitement and love her friend had found, but she also couldn’t help feeling bitterly, wickedly jealous.
It was awful to bear such an emotion but so it was. She could pretend otherwise but there was no point lying to oneself – or maybe there was. Maybe if one repeated something enough it would come true.
Aideen took a deep breath. “I am not jealous as my husband will enter through that door at any moment and declare undying love.”
The adjoining door opened. “Aideen, are you awake?”
Well, one out of three wasn’t bad.
“Yes.”
Alex strode in – as if he ever walked in any other way – and then stood by the fire, even though it was unlit. He wore that black banyan again and she couldn’t help the tremble as she remembered pushing it from his shoulders, kissing that odd tattoo. The curl had returned, draping its way across his forehead in defiance of its strict regime.
Why was he here?
A glass of brandy sat cradled in his palm, but he placed it on the mantel and swiped a hand over his face. If she didn’t know better, she would say he was nervous.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing important, darling husband.” She twiddled with her plait, unsure about continuing with the sweet act as her fists ached from all the clenching…as did her jaw.
A smile surfaced. “You do tell fibs, don’t you, my mavourneen?”
Now there was an agreeable endearment, Irish and loving. “Only trivial ones.”
After crossing to the bed, he sat on the very edge and expressed…nerves again. It was infectious. Had he come to give her bad news? Was he leaving for the Continent on a mission?
Rakecombe pushed his hair back, although that ridiculous curl he’d never been able to get rid of slipped down again. Thorn had once suggested egg white as a remedy – never again.
Walking home with Winterbourne – when he’d been able to get a thought in edgeways – he’d decided to talk to Aideen this very night. He couldn’t bear it any longer.
Attempting to stay away from her resulted in failure and frustration, so he’d have to do the complete opposite. But in order to keep her safe, and far from the danger he brought to those close, he needed Aideen to understand a few matters, comply with a few…instructions.
So, whilst eating supper, he’d written a list with twenty-three… He hesitated to say rules, more like codes of procedure which must be followed.
Compliance with instructions, he knew, wasn’t an Aideen trait but surely if she understood the reasoning behind his list, all would be well.
But where to start? She looked so young and innocent with her hair plaited into submission, hands folded saintly, although the gossamer night-rail belied her true colours. Black, of course – the wicked wench.
“I told a falsehood,” he confessed.
She didn’t reply, scarcely raised a brow, and he realised his wife wasn’t going to make this easy for him. But then again, it was exactly that prickliness he adored.
