Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon (16 page)

After Aidan’s inexplicable desire to
kiss Miss Hathaway while they’d argued in the woods that morning,
and then Niall’s insistence that he find some way to repent for his
behavior or at least apologize to her for it, Aidan could do
nothing but brood over the fact that he couldn’t keep his mind
anywhere but on the vexing woman.

Indeed, he’d spent the rest of the day
with little else on his mind but the impertinent girl who seemingly
had no regard for his sister’s safety. Even now, as he sat by
himself near the hearth after supper, nursing the glass of port
which he’d brought with him from the dining room, he was bewildered
to find himself watching her.

Perhaps more befuddling was the fact
that she, likewise, was watching him. Yes, he’d made an arse of
himself when he’d arrived in the drawing room by tripping over the
chair upon which he was now sitting. He’d only done it because, for
whatever reason, he couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t focus on
where his feet were moving. Couldn’t think of anything but how
perplexing it was that he was suddenly so fascinated by her: the
intensity of her gaze, the plumpness of her lips. And the flush
that was delightfully creeping over her skin. That flush made him
think all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

At least he hadn’t spilled his port
when he’d tripped.

She sat well across the room from him,
her blue gown the precise shade the morning sky had been when
they’d gone off on their promenade through the woods. Morgan sat on
one side of her and Miss Weston on the other, and the three of them
were surrounded by gentlemen—a thought which left Aidan with very
muddled thoughts. Miss Hathaway was turned at a slight degree so
that her attention remained squarely on Sir Henry Irvine. Her legs
were angled and bent, crossed at the ankles, and the slightest hint
of her slippers peeked out beneath the hem.

His unfocused thoughts moved along
with his eyes, which trailed over those long, ungainly legs. He
thought about how she always seemed on the verge of falling down,
as though her legs would not cooperate with her mind and do as she
wished them to do…and then he started thinking about those legs
wrapped around his waist while he drove himself inside her
repeatedly.

That line of thought absolutely
wouldn’t do.

So then he forced both his eyes and
his thoughts elsewhere, only to discover himself looking at her
lips that were too wide for her face, and which were far from
society’s idea of beauty. Her eyes flickered away from Aidan for a
moment and she smiled up at Sir Henry, stretching those lips wide.
But then Aidan’s mind turned to thoughts about the feel of them
suckling against his earlobe or stretching over his cock—and the
cock in question hardened to the point of pain in his
breeches.

This time, he repositioned his body,
facing the opposite side of the drawing room and doing his best to
hide his erection from view until he could gain better control over
himself. Good God. What was wrong with him? It was Miss Hathaway,
for Christ’s sake, not some piece of Haymarket ware or opera
singer. He didn’t find her attractive in the least. Did
he?

A grouping of gentlemen that included
both David and Niall was situated in his line of sight now,
blocking his view of Miss Hathaway and her lush lips and delectable
legs. Much better.

How had one entirely inappropriate
thought about one very inappropriate kiss with a thoroughly
inappropriate lady turned to this madness?

Until today, every thought he had of
Miss Hathaway that involved an image of her had been linked to
somehow punishing her for the slights he’d perceived. Now the
images coursing through his mind were punishing him instead, almost
begging him to take out his pastels and vellum.

Niall caught Aidan’s eye and worked
his way through the room to join him. Blast, but he didn’t want to
talk. Not now. Not while he had a mind filled with lustful images
that he was trying, unsuccessfully, to banish…not to mention the
proof of those lustful thoughts pressing against the flap of his
breeches. He tried to cross his legs and somehow hide the evidence,
but managed only to draw his attention more fully to the growing
problem. The dog. He should think of the dog and all the fleas. But
that thought only led him back to thoughts of Miss
Hathaway.

There was no stopping his
brother when he set his mind to something. Aidan had never met a
more single-minded person in all of his life, nor one more driven
to set things right. Or at least
right
as he perceived
right
to be.

They didn’t always see eye to eye on
that score.

Nevertheless, there would be no
stopping Niall from joining him. After stopping briefly to discuss
something with Lord Roxburghe in a far more civilized manner than
Aidan would have managed, Niall finished crossing the room. “Have
you apologized to Miss Hathaway yet? I can’t help but notice you’ve
hardly taken your eyes from her the whole evening.”

“
I’ve been watching
Morgan,” Aidan lied.

“
And I’ve been dining with
Alexander the Great. You’ve never looked at Morgan that way before,
and the very instant you start, I’ll send for someone to cart you
off to Bedlam.”

He ought to have come up with a better
lie. Looking at their sister with lust in his eyes? Christ, he
ought to voluntarily commit himself to Bedlam just for making the
suggestion, but now was not the time for such an endeavor. He
grunted for his brother’s sake. At least it could be considered
some sort of response.

“
So you haven’t made your
apologies yet, then.” A statement, not a question. His brother had
always been too readily able to discern the truth from Aidan, even
when he had no inclination to divulge it. A damned annoying
trait.

“
When would I have had time
to do that?” he bit off. It was damned near miraculous he could say
even that much while he was so otherwise occupied.

“
I won’t march you over
there holding you by the ear and watch over you while you do it,”
Niall bit off. “Not even Mother would do something like that
anymore. You’re a grown man. Act like it. I’ll trust you to do what
is right.”

What is
right
. Such a perplexing concept, yet
one that Niall spoke of as though it were the simplest thing in the
world. He always saw things in strict black and white, never a
shade of gray.

Aidan was not so lucky as that. In his
world, not only were there infinite combinations of grays, but
every other color under the sun as well. Waters were much murkier
in his head than in his brother’s—always had been. Some days, he
wished he could see things as plainly as Niall did.

Those days were rather rare, of
late.

Lucky for him, Niall didn’t wait
around for a response. He turned and made his way to a table where
Mr. Weston sat with several other gentlemen playing whist, and took
up a chair…leaving Aidan alone again. Blissfully, blessedly
alone.

The conversation with
Niall
had
served
one purpose. The raging lust that had previously been coursing
through his veins had cooled, at least a small degree. He thought,
perhaps, he could yet again turn around without his erection making
itself known to all and sundry.

When he did, Miss Hathaway’s warm,
brown eyes immediately found his. She looked away, staring out the
window, and Aidan couldn’t miss the hint of a blush creeping up her
cheeks.

Why would she be flustered?
He knew why
he
was—it was a damned nuisance to be physically attracted to a
woman upon whom he’d harbored such hatred for so many years. But
why would Miss Hathaway join him thus?

He’d given her no cause whatsoever in
all the time of their acquaintance to even be able to stand the
sight of him. She clearly had no desire to be in his presence. Why
would she flush from being caught staring at him? Indeed, why would
she be looking at him at all?

There seemed to be no end to the
complexity of their fledgling, ill-fated relationship. He ought to
do them both a favor and banish her from his mind. Ignoring her
would serve far more purpose than either entertaining his lustful
thoughts or those of vengeance.

But…

For all his best intentions, Aidan
could not remove his eyes from her if he tried.

Every now and again, she’d turn back
to the group surrounding her, laughing with Morgan and Miss Weston,
or answering Sir Henry or Lord Muldaire with a smile that could
warm even the coldest of hearts such as his own. Her eyes might
flicker over to Aidan again before she hastily returned her gaze to
the window—the great bay window overlooking the estuary.

He wondered what she thought of when
she looked out that window…when she saw the riverbed where their
lives had altered so drastically. Well, his had been drastically
altered, at least. He could only imagine that Miss Hathaway’s life
had been changed in some manner as well. Those few minutes when
Morgan was drowning—five minutes perhaps, or maybe seven—had been
the worst of his life.

It must be high tide now, like it had
been that day. The water would be up against the banks, pulsing
with the life of the ocean. Threatening to take anything within it
out into the sea, never to be seen or heard from again.

And yet, Miss Hathaway sat there and
watched with no discernible emotion taking over her visage. The
desire to know what was going on inside her head became so strong
within Aidan that he almost had to force himself to leave. All he
could think of doing was marching over to Miss Hathaway, gripping
her shoulders, and shaking her until she told him everything he
wished to know before kissing her senseless.

He was still trying to calm himself,
making an effort to slow his pulse and return his breathing to that
of a sane person, when Miss Hathaway’s lips parted slightly. Even
though the room was crowded and there was no way he could have
possibly heard anything coming from between those lips, he imagined
he heard a soft, “Oh.”

Then she was on her feet and making
her excuses. She placed a hand to her forehead, feigning a headache
or illness or being overly tired—he couldn’t be certain which,
since he was fully on the other side of the room from
her.

She made her way to the door. Sir
Henry followed her, holding out his hand as though to offer her
assistance. Miss Hathaway shook her head, using her hands to
gesture him back to the rest of the group they’d been seated
with.

Then she darted through the doors and
was gone.

Once the drawing room doors closed
behind her and she was certain no one had followed her, Emma raced
through the corridors in the direction of the kitchens. They’d had
a lovely roasted quail for supper, and if there was any of that
left, it would do perfectly.

No servants stopped her on her way.
Thank goodness. More than likely, many of them were occupied with
either seeing to the guests’ current needs or preparing for their
future needs, which served her purposes quite well. While she had
no qualms about pretending to have a headache in order to escape
the drawing room, there was no call for her to have to explain her
deception should word somehow reach guests in the drawing
room.

Emma hadn’t really thought through all
of that before setting her plan into motion. She’d just seen
Kingley pawing at the window and imagined she’d heard him whining
with hunger, and then she’d decided to act.

When she turned the final corner and
discovered the stairs down to the kitchens, still without being
stopped, she let out a sigh of relief. Lying had never been a
particular skill of hers, so she did it as sparingly as possible.
She took the stairs as quickly as she could, and then came to an
abrupt stop when the cook and all of the various kitchen maids
looked up at her, startled.

Perhaps she was a bit mad, but this
was no time for her to worry about it; nor was it time to allow the
servants to deter her.

“
Can we help ye, Miss
Hathaway?” Cook bustled around a table, wiping her hands on an
apron as she came. “Ye could ha’ just rung for a maid, ye know.
They’d be glad te bring ye anything ye need, should ye just ask.”
She tucked a graying strand of hair that had escaped her mobcap
behind her ear and put a hand out as though to indicate that Emma
should follow her. Before she knew what was happening, the cook had
turned her back around and guided her back up the very steps she’d
just raced down.