One Naughty Night2 (9 page)

“Because you’re pretty, of course. And smart and loyal and brave. He would be a fool not to send you flowers.”

It was Lily’s turn to laugh. “You are my sister; of course you would say that. Society would see it very differently.”

“Oh, pooh. Who needs society anyway? They’re all so boring—Dominic is quite right about that.” Isabel grinned at Lily. “But Lord Aidan doesn’t sound boring. He sounds like a dashing character in a play.”

“No,” Lily murmured. “Boring is the last thing he is.”

“You need more excitement, Lily. All you’ve done since Mr. Nichols died is work. And don’t listen to our stuffy old brothers either. They don’t know any more than society does.”

“When did you get so wise, Issy?” Lily said with a laugh.

Isabel shrugged. “I learned it from you, I suppose. What else is an elder sister for?”

Lily smiled, but she wasn’t at all sure excitement was what she needed. Not the kind of excitement Aidan offered, the kind that turned her body and her emotions upside down. They turned at the end of the lane and started back in the other direction, moving into the flow of the crowd again.

“Oh, look, Lily,” Isabel exclaimed, pointing with her riding crop. “Isn’t that that Bassington character who was chasing after you a few months ago?”

Lily sighed and looked to where Isabel pointed. It was indeed Freddy Bassington; she could see the sunlight on his unruly red hair. She had heard he had gone off to the country and had hoped it was true. She had certainly hoped he would go away once she refused to give back his letters. Those rambling missives, full of ardent declarations and bad poetry, were her guarantee he would keep his distance.

“I’m afraid so,” Lily said. “That is quite the last time I am kind to some eager puppy I find myself seated next to at a dinner party.”

Isabel giggled. “He did send you massive bouquets there for a while. The whole house smelled of lilies. But I must say I prefer those violets Lord Aidan sent. They suit you better.”

Lily preferred them as well, but she wouldn’t ever say so aloud. She didn’t want to hear any more of Isabel’s opinions on her romantic life. What pitifully little there was of it.

“Shall we ride back the other way?” Isabel asked. “Maybe he hasn’t seen you yet.”

“An excellent suggestion, Issy. But I fear it’s too late.” Bassington had turned his head in their direction, and his face went as red as his hair. He had definitely seen her.

Lily gave him a cool, polite nod and tried to edge her horse into the concealment of the crowd. Then she caught a glimpse of the man beside Freddy, and a gasp escaped her lips before she could catch it.

Aidan. It was Aidan who rode with Freddy Bassington.
His face was shadowed under the brim of his hat, but it was undoubtedly him with that austere, elegant profile. He wore a brown riding coat, plain and sharply tailored over his muscled shoulders and lean back, his hair curling over the velvet collar.

Lily felt her stomach clench under the tightness of her corset, and she pressed her palm to it. The handle of her riding crop bit into her skin, the pain holding her steady. What was Aidan doing with Freddy Bassington? Were they friends? Confidants?

That hardly made sense to her. The charming, easygoing Aidan and poor, bumbling Freddy, friends? But she knew both men enjoyed the theater, and strange bonds were formed at places like Eton and Oxford. Or maybe Freddy relied on Aidan to bring him confidence, and Freddy amused Aidan. Aidan did seem to like to be amused, as if life were one long party.

Lily frowned as she thought of that. Her brothers were the same way. Life was an amusement, one long swirl of dancing and drinking and playing cards, chasing women, and smoking opium. They took the theater seriously because out of all the other St. Claire business concerns, that was their very heart. To act, to create. Everything else they did—the music halls and gaming den—were all to support the work that went on at the Majestic.

So, yes, she did understand the bonds that could be formed at the theater. The beauty and profound truth of the plays was what mattered, and to keep it alive, to bring it to the audience, they needed the money for sets, costumes, and the best actors and playwrights. So they went out into the world, the “scandalous” St. Claires, objects of derision, shock, speculation, and desire among
“respectable” society, but it did not matter. For one day, everyone they met would want something very much, and they would have to go to the St. Claires to get it. And they would pay a price for it.

Lily closed her eyes and thought of the old tales about her adopted family, the tales that showed just how wrong a Huntington was for a St. Claire. The St. Claires had once been a fine gentry family in their own right. Respected, revered almost, by the people they cared for on their estate. Not the wealthiest of families, nor the most influential. But they worked hard for their comfortable lives as a close-knit country family.

Until King Charles I came riding through St. Claire Abbey during his civil war, exhausted, hungry, wounded, barely kept upright by the battle-weary courtiers who were with him. They stayed a mere two days, resting and readying to flee onward. Young Mary St. Claire, barely more than a child, watched all the chaos with wide eyes. She had never seen wounds or death, had never seen despair and weakness in her sheltered life. It shocked her into silence.

But there was one young man, John Huntington, only a few years older than Mary, who served as standard-bearer to the king. The legend had it that they looked at each other across the tumult of a house preparing for war, and they were lost. They would never be parted again. That was the blessing and curse of the St. Claires, the depth of their passions.

But when they married amid the glitter of Charles II’s court as lovers and spouses, things did not end well for poor Mary St. Claire. And her suffering still filled the family with rage toward the careless, cruel Huntingtons…

“Lily? What’s wrong?” Isabel said, and Lily felt her sister’s hand on her arm. “You looked so far away just now, and you were so distracted at breakfast. Are you ill?”

Lily tore herself away from brooding on the past and made herself smile at Isabel. She couldn’t see where Freddy Bassington was now, or Aidan either. Maybe she had just imagined seeing Aidan with Freddy. “I was just daydreaming.”

“It must have been an unpleasant dream. You were frowning so fiercely.”

“Must be a headache coming on. The sun is so bright today.”

Isabel peered doubtfully up into the sky. “Perhaps. Maybe we should go home now. I’ve had enough of these gawking crowds anyway.”

Lily nodded, and they turned their horses toward the gates of the park. The sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon now, the trees casting larger shadows, and the knots of horses and carriages were thinner. Everyone had to go home to change for the night’s revels, balls, theaters, suppers, or more disreputable pursuits.

Lily was still distracted by her thoughts and didn’t see the man on horseback until she was nearly beside him.

“Mrs. Nichols,” he said, and she looked up, startled by the familiar, rough, dark sound of that voice. The voice she had been hearing in her dreams.

Her fingers tightened on the handle of her crop as she stared at Aidan. He tipped his hat to her and nodded, all politeness. But his smile—she hadn’t seen such a smile on his lips before. She had seen him roguish, teasing, coaxing. She had let the golden heat of his smile wash over her, carry her away.

This smile looked thin, almost cynical, and it didn’t meet his blue eyes. His gaze swept over her, quick and assessing. Lily felt suddenly cold despite the lingering warmth of the evening.

“Lord Aidan,” she said. “Such a surprise to see you here.”

“Is it?” he replied, and she still had that strange sense of something off, something not right. Something just beyond the edge of what she could see and understand.

She didn’t like that feeling at all. Her whole life depended on observing and knowing what went on around her, how to respond to every situation, how to control it. But Aidan was closed to her.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your ride,” he said.

Lily nodded shortly, very aware of Isabel watching her and of Aidan’s narrowed eyes and that faint, knowing smile. “Though I would prefer a
real
gallop across a country field, not just this sedate walk.” A hard ride that would whip her hair free of its pins and clear her mind of all her confused thoughts. Thoughts
he
had put into her calm, quiet life.

“Not much chance of that in London, I fear, Mrs. Nichols,” he said. “I would not have taken you for a woman who seeks out danger, though.”

“Oh, she is a bruising rider!” Isabel piped up. “She even leaves our brothers in the dust when they dare to race her, much to their chagrin.”

Aidan’s glance flickered to Isabel, and his smile transformed to that charming, white flash Lily remembered. “Is that so? How very interesting. I must remember to place my wager on her, if the chance ever arises.”

Lily swallowed hard. “Where are my manners? Lord
Aidan, may I present my sister, Miss Isabel St. Claire. Issy, this is Lord Aidan Huntington.”

Isabel laughed and held out her hand for him to bow over between their horses. “Oh, I have certainly heard of you, Lord Aidan! I’m very happy to meet you at last.”

“Have you really, Miss St. Claire?” Aidan said, his smile widening. “I am not sure if I should be flattered or frightened.”

“Oh, I’ve heard only good things,” Isabel said. She glanced at Lily from the corner of her eye. “The violets you sent to the house were lovely.”

“Thank you.” Aidan looked at Lily again, with that speculative glint in his eyes that she did not trust. His eyes slowly slid over her body in the close-fitting habit, until she shivered as if he caressed her with his hands.

She wanted to turn and run—or slash at his too-handsome face with her crop. She wrapped the reins tighter around her fist and held her ground. She wasn’t about to let one man’s changeable temper frighten her away.

Aidan leaned toward Isabel and said confidingly, “If only your sister liked my flowers just as much. I’m afraid my offering displeased her.”

Isabel’s eyes went wide. “Not at all! Violets are her favorite flowers. She kept them in her own sitting room, and she never does that when someone sends her flowers.”

“Indeed?” Aidan’s smile drifted over her again. “And does she receive many flowers from admirers?”

“Oh, I think she—” Isabel began, only to freeze when Lily reached over and grasped her arm. Lily wanted to scream at her sister to stop talking, to catch Isabel’s reins and pull them both out of the park as fast as they could go.

But she just gave a tight smile and said, “Isabel, I do believe we are expected at home soon.”

“No, we—” Isabel turned to Lily and gasped. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

“I do thank you for the flowers, Lord Aidan,” Lily ground out, not quite meeting his eyes. “Isabel is right. They are lovely, and it was most courteous of you to send them.”

Aidan leaned toward her and said in a low, dark voice only she could hear, “Oh, I did not send them to be
courteous
, Lily. I sent them in hopes you would remember those moments in your office every time you looked at them. Remember what we did together…”

Lily reared back from him, startling her horse, who shifted restively under her. “We do need to be going now.”

“Then allow me to escort you home,” Aidan said.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Lily said. What if Dominic or Brendan were at the house and saw a Huntington bringing their sisters home? Her head throbbed at the thought.

Isabel shot her a frown, and Lily’s head ached even more at the thought of how her sister would interrogate her once they were alone.

“At least let me see you to the gates, then,” Aidan said easily. “I wouldn’t want two ladies trampled in the exodus from the fashionable hour.”

Lily couldn’t see much danger of that. The crowds were much sparser now, and they had the pathway nearly to themselves for the moment. But she couldn’t see a way to escape without being blatantly rude. She nodded and said, “Thank you, Lord Aidan.” And they turned their horses toward the main gates of the park.

Aidan and Isabel chatted easily about the theater, Aidan complimenting Isabel on her performance as Juliet and Isabel complaining it was the last time her parents would let her take a lead role until she was older.

Lily half listened to them, murmuring polite replies when they asked her a question, but she kept thinking of Aidan’s strange smile, the look in his eyes when he studied her. What had happened between them since the last time she saw him? What had hardened that look in his eyes?

Then she remembered that he was with Freddy Bassington earlier. Lily almost groaned aloud.
Freddy!
If Aidan was his friend… Oh, damn it all, what would Freddy have told him? What did Aidan think about her now? That she was a flirt, who rejected men’s affections and then kept their letters for nefarious purposes? Better that than the truth, though.

Everyone always thought they knew things about her, when they didn’t know her at all. She couldn’t let them.

They reached the gates of the park with Isabel still chattering. Lily thought she saw escape at hand, but then she was distracted by the sight of a young child standing on the pavement just beyond the gilded gates. The girl was thin and pale, dressed in a ragged, much-mended gray dress and knitted shawl and a grubby cap over her tangled hair. She held a basket full of packets of matches tied to her waist, with a handful of them held out to passersby.

“Matches! Penny per dozen,” she cried out. Everyone ignored her as they rushed by out of the park.

Lily’s heart ached at the sight of the child. How often had
she
been that girl when she was young? How many days had she spent hungry and terrified she wouldn’t have enough money to take to Beaumont at the end of the day?

She started to climb down from her horse in order to give the girl what money she had, when suddenly a man in a fine coat and silk hat brushed by the child. It was the merest touch, but her matches fell from her hand and scattered on the walkway. The girl sent up a loud wail, and Lily knew what was going on. The child was a Lucifer-dropper.