One Sinful Night (12 page)

No house party would be complete without an evening musicale and the party at Bingham Hall was no exception. That rainy night all the guests assembled in the grand parlor to listen to the varied musical talents of those present. Chairs had been arranged for viewing and a large dais had been set up for the performers. While their mother accompanied them on the piano, the Atwood sisters sang a charming duet, their voices ringing clearly through the salon.

As she sat in one of the elegant chairs arranged for the audience, Vivienne inwardly cringed in embarrassment and shame, still in shock over what she and Aidan had done in the portrait gallery that afternoon.

They had been completely reckless and impulsive. What were they thinking to start acting that way again? Even worse, how could she let herself be used by him that way? And he had so obviously used her! He could barely stand to be in her presence, yet he would gladly fuck her in a closet if no one would know about it.

There she went again, using those foul words Gregory and George taught her.

But what other word better described what they had done together?

Next Lady Annabelle Worthington, a pretty blonde with a wide mouth, began to play a rather sad tune on the harp. The strings moved magically under her fingers.

Again Vivienne shrank at the shameful memory of being naked in Aidan's arms. But even more embarrassing than the things she had
done
with him, were the things she had
said
to him. She had admitted her love for him, left all her feelings exposed, and he hard-heartedly trampled all over them. She acted like a lovesick schoolgirl, not a mature woman of twenty-seven.

And he was the worst sort of scoundrel to take advantage of her in such a way!

Instantly anger replaced her humiliation. Anger at herself for letting it happen. Anger with Aidan for the way he had treated her afterward. In her hands she twisted a Belgian lace handkerchief into a tight knot.

Then she watched as Lord Abernathy, a short balding gentleman with a pronounced paunch, situated himself on the dais and began to play a Vivaldi piece on his violin. “Spring.” Very fitting.

The music continued and Vivienne glanced furtively at Aidan, who sat across the room from her with Helene Winston by his side. Just a few hours ago she was naked in a dark closet with him and had reveled in every minute of the feel of his powerful body rocking hers against the wall. Of his hot mouth kissing her skin. Of his skilled hands touching her intimately. Of his strong arms around her again. It had been heavenly.

Now, Aidan appeared as handsome and elegant as ever, although his green eyes reflected calm reserve and distance, showing none of the fire and passion she had felt that afternoon. Nonetheless, a jolt of pure desire washed through her body in response to his physical presence. She wanted him again.

She cringed in mortification. How could she still want to be with him after the way he had treated her? This incredible desire for him mystified her.

She and Aidan had not uttered one word to each other since she left him in the portrait gallery earlier that day. She toyed with the idea of feigning a headache and not attending the musicale, but she did not want to give Aidan the satisfaction of thinking she cared that much.

Her eyes casually searched the room to see if Jackson Harlow had arrived yet. Not seeing him, she assumed that he was still in his room, recovering from yesterday's accident. Apparently, he had suffered quite a blow to the head. His gentlemanly presence would have comforted her tonight. Especially now, seeing Aidan seated beside the lovely Lady Helene Winston.

The musicale dragged on interminably. Her Uncle Gilbert sang an old English love ballad, his deep bass echoing through the room, the lyrics prompting Vivienne to doubt her interpretation of the word love, or at least romantic love. What did love really mean?

She thought of her parents, her father a dashing English sea captain and her mother a beautiful Irish girl. They had loved each other once. According to her father's stories, he fell in love at his first sight of the captivating Ellen Joyce during his first trip to Galway. They were married after a whirlwind courtship, before John Montgomery sailed away again. Their story was tragically cut short when Ellen died giving birth to a daughter, Vivienne. Her brokenhearted father never remarried. Was their love all for nothing? Did all love end in tragedy and heartbreak?

So what was love? To desire someone? To feel affection for someone? Could it be merely a special attachment or connection between two people? Was it something destined by fate or just a whim? Was there a biological chemistry that attracted certain people to each other? Did it need to be fortified with commitment, devotion, faith, and trust? A blend of all of these things?

She had once believed that she and Aidan were deeply in love with each other and that they were fated to be together. Now she was not sure what they had felt for each other at all. Had it been simply youthful adoration? A passing physical attraction? Once Aggie had foretold that their love was true, but it obviously had not stood the test of time.

Apparently the physical attraction between them had not waned over the years, judging from their actions that afternoon.

Vivienne idly wondered if Aidan loved Helene Winston. Helene, whom Aidan respected, trusted, and treated like a lady. Her heart unexpectedly ached at the thought of Aidan whispering words of love to Helene, when Vivienne had once been the one he whispered to. What would Helene say if she knew what went on in the portrait gallery that very afternoon between her and Aidan? A pang of guilt pierced her at the thought of Helene. She seemed a decent girl who deserved better than a hard-hearted man who took advantage of his childhood sweetheart in a darkened closet.

Come to think of it, they both deserved better than Aidan Kavanaugh.

“Vivienne, darling, please sing for us,” the Duchess of Bingham called to her. “I have been told your voice is quite lovely.”

Shaken from her reverie, Vivienne looked up at her aunt in startled surprise.

“Oh, Vivienne must sing for everyone!” Aunt Gwen echoed her sister-in-law's sentiment and smiled proudly. “My niece takes after her mother's side of the family for no one in the Montgomery clan can carry a tune!” Turning to Vivienne, she urged gently, “Please do, Vivienne.”

“Thank you, but—” Vivienne had no chance to refuse her aunt's request as Gregory and George, with much laughter and fanfare, hurriedly ushered her up the step to the dais and clamored for her to sing for them.

“Come on and sing something pretty, Vivvy!”

Vivienne had sung her whole life with her grandmother, but never in front of an assembled audience. Yet she could find no way out of this predicament except to acquiesce to their demands. “What shall I sing then?” she asked with a little laugh, glancing nervously around the room.

A few people called out the names of familiar tunes. She heard one distinctly rich, masculine voice more clearly than the others.

“Sing, ‘Give Me Your Hand.'”

The voice belonged unmistakably to Aidan, and Vivienne's heart slammed into her chest. She stared wordlessly at him. His green-eyed gaze pinned her in place. She could not breathe when he looked at her like that, let alone be expected to sing. And after what happened that afternoon, she did not have the strength to sing that song of all songs.

Much to the surprise of everyone in the room, Aidan stood up. Heads turned to watch, wondering what he was going to do, as he purposefully made his way toward the gleaming grand piano. To Vivienne he stated simply, “I shall play for you.”

Vivienne's mouth went dry. He was stark, raving mad!

He wished to accompany her on the piano while she sang, just as they had done together years ago in her grandmother's tiny parlor. Stunned, she dared a glance at the many faces watching them. Most were merely curious, but Gregory watched with open amusement, his smile enigmatic. Helene Winston's expression held a mixed look of bewilderment and interest, her eyes searching. Susana Kavanaugh's brittle face was drawn into a most definite frown of displeasure. Never one to back down from a challenge, and once again Aidan was challenging her by daring her to sing with him in front of everyone, Vivienne took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. They were actually going to do this.

“Are you ready?” he asked in a low whisper. He barely looked at her as he sat at the piano, yet she felt the warmth from his body as she stood beside him.

Vivienne answered with a soft “Yes,” and cleared her throat, as Aidan began to play, his long fingers moving expertly across the keys. The familiar chords pulled at her heartstrings and flooded her with warm memories of evenings in Ireland with her beloved grandmother. And Aidan by her side.

It was an old Irish song that played with meanings on a number of levels. It could be a love song to one's country, a song of forgiveness and reconciliation, or it could even be interpreted as a proposal of marriage. That Aidan had chosen that song for her to sing left her mind spinning. As her lilting voice carried around the room, she wondered if he were asking her forgiveness for what happened that afternoon or for what happened ten years ago. Tears welled in her eyes as she sang the chorus.

As she sang the last lyrics, she felt her voice falter, but Aidan's strong baritone joined her mezzo soprano in perfect harmony to finish the song together. She wiped the tears from her eyes and realized that everyone in the room was silent, staring at the two of them. She could not bring herself to look at Aidan.

“Oh, that was lovely!” the Duchess of Bingham finally said, breaking the silence. “Just lovely!” At her words, everyone applauded enthusiastically and called their congratulations.

“Did you two practice together?” Gregory asked, an amused expression on his face.

She could not speak. Yes, they had practiced together, but the thought of Aggie was too much to bear. Vivienne gratefully accepted the handkerchief Gregory silently handed to her.

Aidan said only, “Vivienne's grandmother taught us that song years ago when we lived in Ireland.”

“Well, that was simply beautiful. Do you know any others?” the Duchess of Bingham asked with enthusiasm.

“I'm afraid not tonight,” Vivienne apologized with a small sniffle. “I'm sorry, but that song always makes me cry. It reminds me of my grandmother.”

“I'm sorry, dear,” the Duchess murmured softly before turning from her. “Well then, that concludes the musical portion of our evening,” she announced to the room in general. “Let's have some cake, shall we?” Heartily agreeing to that proposal, the guests began filing out of the rows of chairs to follow the duke and duchess into the dining room.

Vivienne stood still, wishing to say something to Aidan, but not sure what.

He merely nodded his head briefly in her direction, and followed the others from the room, leaving her standing there feeling awkwardly bereft. Singing that song had filled her with a heartsick yearning for him, how had it left him so untouched? Especially after they were so intimate together in the portrait gallery only a few hours ago.

Gregory still stood by her side, saying in a low voice, “What was that all about?”

“It was just a song,” she murmured noncommittally. “And I'm overly sentimental.”

“It was more than that, Vivvy.” Gregory gave her a meaningful look, his bright blue eyes intent on her. “What really happened between the two of you?”

“We've known each other since we were children, that's all. He spent some time with my grandmother and me. She taught us both to sing and play the piano.”

Gregory eyed her skeptically, as if he didn't believe her for a minute. Vivienne knew Gregory was no fool, but at that particular moment she had no desire to discuss her history with Aidan. Breathing deeply, she took Gregory's arm and followed him into the dining room.

 

Waiting his turn near the dessert table, Aidan ignored the furious looks from his mother. Susana would not dare berate him here in front of everyone, but he would get an earful from her at some point. Aware that she was doubly angered, not only by his singing with Vivienne but also by publicly flaunting his Irish heritage, he felt a pang of remorse for upsetting her. Singing with Vivienne had been a mistake, but he could do nothing about it now. It was done.

He managed to retrieve a slice of lemon cake for Helene and brought it to her.

“Thank you, Aidan,” she said sweetly, taking the plate from him and resting it awkwardly on her lap.

“You're welcome.”

“I had no idea you had such a wonderful voice. You and Miss Montgomery sounded lovely together. And that song was quite touching.” Helene praised his singing, but her eyes betrayed her confused feelings. “You must have been very close at one time.”