One Sinful Night (2 page)

“You are very late. I was afraid you wouldn't arrive in time for the dancing,” Helene scolded him in a mild tone, looking up at him sweetly. She had many admirers but her mind was set on Aidan Kavanaugh, the Earl of Whitlock. “Your mother said she expected you this afternoon.”

“I had some business to attend to in London that took much longer than I anticipated,” he muttered distractedly. He tried to forget that Vivienne Montgomery was in this ballroom. In this house. With him. For the next week. “I apologize if I kept you waiting.”

“I'm just grateful that you are here at all,” Helene said prettily.

He forced a smile at her, thinking he would rather be anywhere else on earth than at Bingham Hall. As much as he was grateful for the temporary escape Helene presented, he could not ignore the fact that his senses were reeling.

He was completely unprepared for the desirable woman that Vivienne had become. Ten years had barely left a mark of age or time on her. He had always imagined her married and fat, with a passel of babies by now. Obviously that was not the case. What had she been doing all this time? Why had she suddenly appeared in his life now?

As he and Helene moved in time to the music, the knot in his stomach only tightened at the thought of enduring a week of Vivienne's company. Dinners, card parties, picnics, games, musicales. He would be in contact with her constantly. Even a house as massive as Bingham Hall was too small, too confining, too intimate for both of them to survive the week unscathed. There would be no polite way to avoid interacting with her.

“May I cut in on this dance, Aidan?” Gregory Cardwell asked in his casual, easy manner. “I've grown very weary of dancing with my little Irish cousin all night.”

Aidan could hardly refuse Gregory's simple request without appearing boorish. And, judging from the look of surprised dismay on Vivienne's beautiful face, she was not at all inclined to dance with him either. His gentlemanly manners were too ingrained in him. He had no choice but to dance with her, although Gregory was oblivious to how much Aidan wanted to throttle him.

“Of course,” he mumbled, releasing Helene.

Before Aidan quite realized it, Gregory had waltzed away with Helene and he stood alone with Vivienne. She waited, her eyes downcast, the long dark lashes contrasting against her smooth, ivory skin. Was she that nervous to be with him? Or that disdainful?

Suddenly an exuberant young couple unwittingly bumped Vivienne from behind, causing her to stumble against him. Acting on instinct he grabbed her upper arms to steady her. Her head fell against his chest and then she gazed up at him in surprise.

He swirled in the deep blue of her eyes, unable to speak. His heart raced at the unexpected feel of her so close to him. He had forgotten how petite she was, how easy to hold. The light floral fragrance of her washed over him, recalling the scent of the ocean along a rocky coast, drenching him in an achingly sweet memory: the first time he ever kissed her. It had been heaven to kiss Vivienne by the sea.

She struggled to right herself, pushing away from him. Instantly he released her as if scalded. His hands trembled slightly and his heart raced. He squared his shoulders and mentally shook himself, taking a deep breath to steady his raw nerves.

“We might as well dance, Vivienne. We shall be trod upon if we stand here any longer.” His voice sounded harsh, even to him.

“Can you bear dancing with me, Aidan?” she questioned cryptically.

“If you can bear dancing with me.” He held out his hands to her.

She merely nodded her head and accepted his hands, which trembled still. Her contact undermined his steady nerves. They moved together awkwardly at first, then fell in rhythm with the strains of the music. The distinct uneasiness between them was to be expected, yet it irritated him that she kept her eyes downcast and refused to meet his gaze, while he could not help but stare at her.

“You did not seem as surprised to see me as I was to see you,” he stated when he could endure the awkward silence no longer.

She shrugged lightly, the delicate movement of her bare shoulders almost knocking the wind out of him. “I knew when I came to England that it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Her coolness left him unnerved, but he could not stop himself from asking, “You did not marry after all?” The impulse to know her answer was too strong to resist.

“No.” She answered simply, with no explanation, although an unspoken name hung in the air between them. She looked directly at him, as if daring him to say it aloud.

His gut clenched yet again at the sight of her dazzling blue eyes fringed by long black lashes. Had she always been this beautiful? He'd never seen her dressed so elegantly, but that was not quite it. Vivienne had grown more…womanly. More lushly feminine. She held herself gracefully, with a surprising air of confidence. He fought an increasing desire to lean close and drown himself in kissing her soft, sensual lips. He could barely breathe at the thought of it.

She suddenly asked him, “I gather you have not married either?”

He did not wish to discuss his marital status with Vivienne, of all people. Instead he asked, perhaps rather edgily, “What are you doing in England?”

“What does it matter to you what I do or where I go?” she stated, surprising him again with her coolness.

He responded, “It matters that we have to spend the week here in each other's company.”

“If it distresses you so, Lord Whitlock, you may certainly leave if you wish.”

His annoyance rose at her airy dismissal of him. He was definitely not running off as if he were afraid of her. He had considered leaving Bingham Hall as soon as he could make a respectable getaway, but now he was forced to finish out the week, just to spite her. “Unfortunately I must stay, for reasons I need not go into with you. So we will just have to tolerate each other's company as best we can.”

“Does it upset you that much to see me again?” She questioned him in a curious tone, her eyes flashing.

Once again he was lost in her liquid sapphire eyes. He had to remind himself to breathe. “Not in the least, Miss Montgomery. I'm simply surprised that you had to come all the way to England to find a husband. I gather no one in Galway would marry you?”

Vivienne stopped short, pulling away from him, and stood completely still, a devastated look on her face. He didn't feel the slightest bit of remorse. Suddenly her eyes flashed in anger and she made a motion to slap his face, but as if he could read her mind, he caught her hand before she could strike him. Deliberately he lowered it to her side. They stared at each other in heated silence.

Fortunately the dance ended before their motionlessness caused a scene. Without another word, he escorted her to the seating area, bowed politely, and left her standing with a group of giggling young ladies in pastel dresses.

Aidan walked directly to the Duke of Bingham's lavishly stocked bar. It was going to take a hell of a lot of liquor for him to survive a week with Vivienne.

Vivienne Montgomery cautiously opened the door to her bedroom, which was tastefully decorated by the Duchess of Bingham in shades of pale yellow and rose and, seeing it was empty, she breathed a grateful sigh of relief. She did not want to squabble with Glenda tonight. If she managed to undress hurriedly, she could pretend to be asleep before her cousin returned.

As she stepped into the room, the door to the small adjoining dressing room opened and a slender young woman, wearing a neat gray uniform and a white mobcap, came to assist Vivienne out of her intricate, blue silk gown.

“Thank you, Lizzie. If you could just help me undo these back hooks, I can do the rest myself,” Vivienne said as she turned her back to allow Lizzie to reach the endless row of clasps that enclosed her body in the latest fashion.

She was truly helpless to remove the gown herself. It still amazed her that she had lived her whole life wearing clothes that she was perfectly able to get herself in and out of without any assistance, but since moving to England she had been obligated to wear the elaborate garments that required her to have another person dress her. In spite of this, she adored her gorgeous new wardrobe and all the lovely accessories that went with it; silks, satins, velvets, ribbons, fancy slippers, fans, bonnets. Those little luxuries were unheard of in her former life in Ireland.

“Oh, I don't mind helping you none, miss,” Lizzie volunteered, eager to please her new mistress. “'Tis no trouble at all.”

Lizzie efficiently unhooked the small clasps along the back of the soft blue silk. Vivienne breathed deeply as the tight fitting gown was loosened and Lizzie deftly unlaced her corset as well.

“Please sit, Miss Vivienne, and let me take the pins out of your hair.”

Vivienne sat upon the small chair in front of the mirrored dressing table, and allowed Lizzie to unravel the mass of pins and curls that she had painstakingly weaved together only hours earlier. Luxuriating in the feel of her hair falling free of the tight coiffure, Vivienne unconsciously tilted her head back and let Lizzie's nimble fingers massage her aching scalp. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

The evening had been more than exhausting. Her body felt tense and edgy, and she wanted only to bury her head under her pillow and cry. This had been her first foray into society to prepare for her arrival in London next week, and she had been enjoying herself immensely until Aidan Kavanaugh walked in the ballroom. Seeing him again had shaken her to the core.

Aidan.

For the first time in ten years she had spoken with Aidan. And he still loathed her.

She had sensed his hatred spilling over and slapping her like an icy hand. Well, the feeling was mutual. She despised him just as much as he despised her. It was impossible to forgive him for what he had done to her. Yet she prayed that his gentlemanly breeding would prevent him from ruining her. That nasty comment he made about having to come to England to find a husband because no one in Galway would marry her hurt deeply and hit painfully close to the truth. How she wished she had been able to slap that detached and superior look off his face!

“Miss Vivienne, let me fetch you a cup of chamomile tea,” Lizzie offered kindly. “You look a bit peaked.”

“I'm fine, really. I just need some sleep. You go on to bed now.”

“Oh, but I have to wait up for Miss Glenda anyhow. And you look like you could use a cup,” Lizzie said as she helped Vivienne into her long white nightgown. “I won't be more than a minute.” The obliging maid hurried off before Vivienne could utter another protest.

Vivienne stared at her reflection in the cheval glass mirror. What had Aidan seen when he saw her tonight? Did he think her very changed? No longer a girl of seventeen with eyes full of love and adoration? Most likely not. She no longer loved nor adored him. And she had definitely changed over the years since he left. She had matured. She had learned from her mistakes. She was now a woman who knew better.

Aidan had certainly changed too. There was a dark, remote quality about him that she didn't recall being there, although his looks still managed to take her breath away. Tall and muscular with broad shoulders, he had a classically sculpted masculine face; strong jaw, straight aquiline nose, intelligent forehead. He had gorgeous thick black hair and penetrating green eyes with impossibly long jet lashes. Yes, Aidan Kavanaugh was still one handsome son of a bitch.

She laughed ruefully to herself for using the vulgar expression the twins had recently taught her. The description fit Aidan perfectly, though, for she had the great misfortune of knowing his mother.

“Good, you're awake,” a shrill voice caught her off guard. “I won't have to tiptoe around and be quiet.”

“Hello, Glenda,” Vivienne nodded, amused at the thought of Glenda ever tiptoeing around anyone. “Did you enjoy the ball?”

She watched as her cousin gracelessly crossed the room, leaving a trail of her possessions upon the floor: her silk fan, her beaded reticule, her kid gloves. It was the one drawback to living with Aunt Gwen and Uncle Gilbert.

Glenda Cardwell was a nightmare.

“Where is Lizzie?” Glenda whined petulantly, as she pulled the servant's cord with an air of beleaguered impatience. “How am I supposed to get this gown off me?”

Vivienne idly wondered how they got the gown on her in the first place, but she walked over to her cousin and began to undo the buttons that were fairly bursting with the weight they contained. It was truly unfortunate that Glenda had inherited none of the Cardwell family good looks or charm. She was heavy and short, whereas her brothers were tall and lean. The other Cardwells all had unmistakable ginger hair and sparkling sky blue eyes, but Glenda's hair was a dull brown and her eyes an indeterminate shade of gray. Her looks might not have seemed half as bad if her disposition were not so unbearable.

“No, Vivienne, I did not enjoy the ball tonight. And I wish I did not have to spend an entire week in this dismal house.”

Glenda's strident voice echoed through the room as she continued to enlighten Vivienne regarding all that had gone wrong with her evening, although Vivienne would hardly describe the stately, elegant, and quite enormous Bingham Hall, as a “dismal house.” Her cousin had a flair for the dramatic, if nothing else.

“I'm sorry you did not have a good time,” Vivienne murmured when she was able to get a word in between complaints.

“And Lord Browning was terribly rude to me, when all I said was perhaps he needed more dance lessons. Honestly, the ridiculous man stepped on my feet the entire dance.” Glenda continued her saga of her evening's miseries.

Vivienne felt sorry for her cousin. During the weeks she had been with the Cardwells, it was obvious that Glenda was a disappointment to her parents. Her twin brothers, George and Gregory, were good-looking men, outgoing, fun and well-liked in society, whereas Glenda was abrasive and bad-tempered. Aunt Gwen and Uncle Gilbert despaired of finding a husband for her, for after six seasons no one even once made an offer.

Lizzie returned to the room with a cup of tea for Vivienne.

“Where have you been? Off getting something for Vivienne, as usual,” Glenda snapped crossly, her plain, round face pinched in consternation. “My cousin was required to help me in your stead. No. No, don't bother me now, Lizzie. I've finished changing, no thanks to you. You might have thought to bring some tea for me, though,” Glenda sniffed, as she wrapped the ties of her dressing gown around her thick waist. “But no one in this family ever thinks of me. I'm always the forgotten one.”

When Vivienne first came to live with the Cardwells, she immediately felt accepted into their home. She tried to befriend Glenda, who was close to her in age, thinking it would be nice to have a sister-like companion in her life. However, Glenda made it clear from the outset that she wanted nothing to do with Vivienne.

Not unaware of the growing animosity between her and Glenda, Vivienne continually endeavored to make peace with her cousin. But Glenda only distanced herself from Vivienne's attempts at friendship. It did not alleviate matters that they were forced to share a bedroom while visiting at Bingham Hall, due to the large number of guests.

Lizzie, her kind eyes worried, hurriedly apologized. “I'm sorry miss. I didn't know you were back already. I'll fetch you some tea straightaway.”

“Glenda, you can have mine. I'm really too tired to drink it.” Vivienne intervened.

Glenda peevishly took the cup from Lizzie. “It's tepid now,” she whined. “It's no wonder Vivienne doesn't want it. Bring me some hot tea immediately.”

“Yes, Miss Glenda.” Lizzie hurried from the room.

Vivienne sighed in futility and padded to her four-poster bed. As was her nightly ritual, she kissed the palm of her hand and placed it lovingly on the intricately carved wooden box inlaid with ivory on her nightstand. It was the last gift her father had sent to her from his travels before he disappeared, and she cherished it.

Two years had passed since she had last seen him and she missed him desperately. When she had been a little girl she could not wait for her tall, handsome father to come sailing into port bringing exotic gifts for her from around the world. He would lift her high in his arms and swing her around while she shrieked in delight. She was so proud of him! He always promised that one day when she was old enough that he would take her sailing across the blue sea on his beautiful ship. But he never did think she was old enough to go with him, so she stayed behind and waited for him to come home.

Opening the beautiful box, her last link to her father, she removed the yellowed note inside. It had arrived one day early last summer, while she was still living with her grandmother in Galway. The note simply said:

Only a few weeks after she received the box she was notified that her father and his newest ship, the
Sea Star
, were missing after a storm off the coast of Africa and Captain John Montgomery and his entire crew were presumed dead. Although heartbroken at the loss of her father, Vivienne harbored suspicions that he was still alive. The strange note that came with his pretty box meant something more. She just knew it.

“I know you will care for it well and keep it safe until I return, for it is worth more than you know. Keep it close to you.”

She had puzzled over the meaning of those words for hours and she had studied the box over and over, wondering what could make it so valuable. To her it seemed an ordinary box, although it was unusually beautiful and delicately carved and inlaid with ivory in diamond-shaped patterns.

Maybe it was instinct or a sixth sense, but even the words “presumed dead” haunted her. Of course she had no way to prove her feelings at the time, stranded as she was in Galway. But prove them she would! One way or another.

The main reason she agreed to come to England was to do her own investigation of her father's disappearance. She confided her suspicions to Aunt Gwen with the hope that her father's sister would help her in her quest, but Aunt Gwen firmly believed her brother was dead and implored Vivienne to accept that painful fact once and for all. Vivienne would not. She could not. So far she had spent all of her time in England at her aunt and uncle's country estate, but after this week at the Binghams', they were finally going to London. Once they were there, Vivienne was determined to find a way to visit the office of Harlow Shipping International to ask some questions.

Placing the faded note back in the box, she glanced inside. The dark blue velvet lining held the few precious objects that meant the world to her: the simple gold band that had been her mother's wedding ring, a tiny Celtic cross that had belonged to Aggie, and a silver locket in the shape of a heart that Aidan had given to her when she was seventeen.

Taking the locket in her hand, Vivienne popped it open to reveal a miniature painting of Aidan. Her heart ached at the sight, for she had not looked at it in years. The artist had captured his handsome features remarkably, down to the slight smile on his lips and the intent look in his green eyes. She used to wear the locket close to her heart every day. Even after he left her. Once, in a fit of tearful anger, she almost tossed it into the waters of Galway Bay, but she could not bring herself to discard the last tangible memory she had of him. Instead, she kept it as a bittersweet memento of what could have been.

Carefully returning the locket to the beautiful box, Vivienne closed the lid with the ivory diamonds and climbed into bed. As she slipped between the soft sheets and settled back into the down pillows, Lizzie returned with the tea.

“Never mind, Lizzie. I've decided I'm too tired to drink tea after all,” Glenda's nasal voice intoned, her gray eyes glittering in triumph. “Now put away my things before you go.” She waved a plump hand at the mess she had left in the room.

Too overwhelmed by emotions to wrangle with Glenda about tormenting poor Lizzie, Vivienne sighed. Glenda played a continuous game of criticizing their lady's maid for every little thing. Nothing Lizzie did ever satisfied Glenda and no interference on Vivienne's part could persuade her to think otherwise. Glenda insisted that Lizzie favored Vivienne and neglected her. It was often better for Lizzie if Vivienne remained quiet.

Attempting to ignore Glenda's ridiculous instructions to Lizzie, Vivienne closed her eyes and buried her head in the pillow.

Aidan Kavanaugh.

She had always known in her heart that she would see Aidan again someday. Aggie had told her they would meet again, and her grandmother was usually right about those things, but Vivienne hadn't expected to see him so soon. She certainly never suspected that she would be trapped under the same roof with him for an entire week! Upon her arrival in England, the thought crossed her mind that there was a possibility, however remote, that she might encounter him at social events. But she had been completely unprepared for the fact that he was acquainted with Gregory and George. Her two endearing, rambunctious cousins were friends with Aidan Kavanaugh. And apparently had been for years.