One Sinful Night (9 page)

Suddenly a panicked shout erupted from Gregory. “Watch out!”

An odd scraping noise grated from beneath their boat and it suddenly lifted out of the water, tilting sharply to the left and throwing all three off balance. Startled cries, one must have been her own, pierced the air and the little blue rowboat tipped over completely. Vivienne caught a brief glimpse of Helene's terrified face and Jackson's stunned expression before she was tossed out of the boat and plunged into the cold, dark waters of the lake.

 

Watching the race from the shore, Aidan had seen Gregory's boat overtake Harlow's and immediately felt better. It rankled him that both Vivienne
and
Helene had elected to ride with the likes of Harlow. They were both more than likely still vexed with him for his churlish conduct last night. And justifiably so.

Suddenly Jackson's boat overturned, throwing them all into the lake. With his heart in his mouth, he watched Vivienne, who was seated near the bow, thrown clear of the boat, while Helene and Harlow were trapped beneath the upturned rowboat.

Amidst shrill screams from the Atwood sisters, Gregory had already jumped into the lake and was swimming to the scene. Aidan and George jumped back into their two-seater boat and raced across the lake with Harry and Wesley following close behind them. Aidan rowed as fast as his arms would go. As he intended, his boat neared Vivienne first.

“Go help the others. I'll get her!” Aidan called to George as he tossed aside his jacket and dove into the lake.

Immersed in the bone-chilling water, Aidan saw Vivienne surrounded by the pink and white fabric of her dress, looking like a wilted spring flower floating on the surface. Aidan knew from experience Vivienne was a strong swimmer but now, stunned and cold, she struggled to stay afloat with her cumbersome dress weighing her down.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he reached for her.

“Aidan?” she gasped, looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

“Hold on to me,” he commanded, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her close to his chest. “Are you all right, Vivienne?” he repeated more softly, close to her ear, his lips brushing lightly across her wet cheek.

She nodded numbly, not saying a word. Although thankful she was not hurt, he knew he needed to get her out of the very deep and cold water. He guided her to the side of his boat. Lifting her up by her waist, he managed to get her and himself into the small craft without tipping it over, which was no easy task.

When they were both safely out of the water, he saw that George and Gregory had already returned the hysterically wailing Helene back into their righted boat. On the other side, Wesley and Harry wrestled Harlow's limp form into the smaller boat. Blood dripped from his forehead and he lay motionless.

“What in blazes happened?” Aidan called out incredulously. He had been so intent on Vivienne's safety that he had nearly forgotten about Helene and Harlow.

“I think their boat hit that large boulder,” Gregory explained, pointing to a shadowy outline in the water. “Do you see it there? The waterline barely conceals it below the surface. I saw it just a second before they hit it, but it was too late. They were going too fast. Looks like Harlow hit his head on the rock, judging from the gash on his forehead.”

Fortunately, the boat was not badly damaged and was deemed seaworthy enough to ferry them back. Harlow lay sprawled in a boat with George, while Wesley climbed in the boat with the distraught Atwood sisters, who were the only ones still dry by that point. Aidan observed Gregory comforting the sobbing Helene, who, aside from being wet, seemed perfectly fine, while Harry rowed them slowly toward the dock. He could not help but admire Vivienne's calm manner, especially in comparison with Helene's hysteria. They both had been unceremoniously dumped into the lake, but Vivienne bore the upset with a surprising calm.

As each boat made its way back across the lake, he and Vivienne were left alone. Aidan looked toward her. Her little straw hat now floated in the lake and her black hair hung in long, wet strands around her delicate face, which was dotted with crystal droplets of water. Her pretty pink and white dress clung seductively to her lush curves, the front of which had torn apart, revealing a more than tantalizing amount of her creamy breasts.

She looked like an exquisite water nymph come to life. To Aidan, the most amazing part of it was that she was completely unaware of how desirable she looked and the effect she had upon him. Suddenly the urge to hold her in his arms again raced through his veins. He wanted to kiss each tiny droplet of water off her soft cheeks, her pink lips, her graceful neck, her full breasts…Good Lord, he had wanted to kiss her last night as well. Vivienne had always had that power over him and the cold dunk in the lake had done nothing to cool his ardor.

“Aren't you going to row us back?” she asked with a puzzled expression. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, unaware that she only amplified her bosom's exposure.

“Of course,” Aidan answered shortly, surprised he could find the breath to speak. Wishing he'd had the foresight to toss his jacket into the boat instead of the lake, he removed his wet shirt, leaving himself bare-chested. Better him than her. Casting another hungry glance at her open dress front, he handed her his shirt and muttered, “You might want to cover yourself.”

An aghast “Oh!” sprung from her lips when she glanced down and saw where he had been staring. She accepted his sodden shirt and struggled to slip it on, clutching the front together with her hand. Because it was wet, the white cotton shirt was almost sheer and virtually useless, but at least it gave her the appearance of a covering.

“Thank you, Aidan,” she murmured with a shiver.

He nodded. “You're welcome.” He picked up the oars, not taking his eyes off her. “Are you sure you're not hurt?”

“I'm fine. Just cold.”

He slowly began to row, realizing how drained he felt. The wind had picked up a bit and the lake began to get a slight chop to it. The oars cut through the water, making little splashing sounds amidst the awkward silence. He could not find the words to say what played over and over in his mind since yesterday. He knew he should say something. Simple good manners dictated he say something, anything, to her. He had known Vivienne longer than he'd known anyone else in his lfe. She deserved at least an expression of sympathy from him. Now might not be the best time, but at least they were alone.

“Vivienne?”

“Yes?” Her dark blue eyes turned to him.

If he kept looking into them he would be lost. Or do something entirely stupid.

He swallowed and tried to look away. “I'm sorry about your father. And Aggie.”

An expression of utter sorrow shadowed her beautiful face; the grief was still raw for her. For a brief instant he wished he had not mentioned her loss, for her anguish was painfully obvious.

“Thank you,” she whispered in a tight voice.

“Gregory and George just told me yesterday.”

She did not respond, nor encourage him to continue the matter. Yet he did so anyway. “I always admired your father. And I loved Aggie, you know. She was more of a grandmother to me than my own.”

Almost everyone in Galway believed Agnes Joyce to be a witch, but Aidan knew her only as a wise old woman, with a wry sense of humor. As a child he had spent many hours in Aggie's warm and cozy kitchen, listening to her recount Celtic fairy tales and legends. She was a riveting storyteller, Aggie was. Spry, witty, and with a zest for life, Aggie offered sage advice and had touched something, given something, to Aidan that he was unaware was lacking in his own family until he met Vivienne.

And Aggie
knew
things. Aidan couldn't explain it, and it was the reason half of Galway believed her to be a witch, but Aggie knew certain things were going to happen before they happened. Her ability both frightened and fascinated him. At the time she had been the only person in Galway who had recognized Aidan and Vivienne's love for each other as something real. Although she had been utterly wrong about him and Vivienne, Aggie had once told him that he would be living in London years before he actually did. Some said Vivienne possessed the same otherworldly talents, but Aidan had yet to see evidence of that.

Aggie had been so full of energy, so full of life, he could hardly imagine her gone. He could still picture her in her neat black dress, her hands always busy, sewing, cooking, making, creating something. She wore her dark hair, without a single strand of gray, pulled into a tight knot on the back of her head and her wrinkled but elegant face had merry eyes. He had always pictured Vivienne looking like her grandmother in fifty years.

Now Vivienne's blue eyes brimmed with tears at his words and she murmured, “She loved you, too, Aidan. Even after everything…”

“You were with her at the end?” he asked, although he knew the answer. Vivienne would not have been anywhere else but at her grandmother's side.

She nodded her head. “She had not been well for years, and Aggie knew it was her time to go. She passed peacefully in her sleep one night.”

“What happened to your father?” he asked after some time.

“His ship was lost at sea.”

“I'm sorry, Vivienne. I always admired your father.”

“I know,” she choked out.

“So that is why you came to live with your aunt and uncle?”

“Only because before she died, Aggie told me to go live in England. She said that I would find happiness here.”

“And are you happy?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“The Cardwells have made me feel quite at home.”

“They are set on finding a husband for you?”

“What else would you expect them to do, Aidan?” she said matter-of-factly.

Again he thought of Jackson Harlow. He and Vivienne had looked very cozy together earlier that afternoon. Aidan had watched while they sat on a blanket beneath a shady tree, talking quite earnestly to each other. Obviously Harlow was interested in pursuing her. But Vivienne could not possibly entertain the idea of marrying the likes of Jackson Harlow. Just the thought of it made his blood run cold.

Then again, what business was it of his who Vivienne married at this point? It was not his place to give his advice or opinion. If she wanted to ruin her life by becoming the wife of Jackson Harlow there was not anything he could do to prevent it. There seemed to be nothing more to say after that and they rowed the rest of the way back to shore in awkward silence.

 

Glenda Cardwell watched with stormy eyes as the boating party returned to the dock. The entire day was ruined now. Oh, the fuss that ensued over her foolish brothers and their ridiculous friends! It infuriated her. Truly. They were not even capable of simply rowing to the other side of the lake and back. One would think they had been shot at rather than simply fallen into the water. The idiots.

That haughty Helene Winston acted as if she'd been dragged by wild horses, the way she carried on. The sobbing and the tears. It was really too much, how everyone was fretting over her, coddling her. And there was Gregory, preening about as a great hero for rescuing the little blond twit. Sarah and Victoria Atwood were wailing and describing the events dramatically, and nothing even happened to them! They all made her sick.

At least that handsome Jackson Harlow had the good grace to actually get hurt, judging from the nasty gash on his head. He deserved it, too.

Glenda was familiar with his kind. He never gave plain girls like her the time of day, but would fawn all over the pretty girls. Even the silliest ones. Glenda had tried her best to be nice to him at supper last night, for she had thought him most attractive, fascinated by his golden coloring and thick, tawny hair.

At supper she attempted to discuss the fine spring weather, and how delicious the food tasted. But he only murmured a decidedly dismissive, “That's nice,” and practically turned his back to her. As if she were not good enough! She hoped he had scarred his face terribly in the accident. That would teach him, for he was too handsome to be tolerated.

Aunt Jane had already rushed inside with Uncle Richard to send for the doctor to care for Mister Harlow. Glenda, however, raised her eyebrows as she watched Lord Whitlock and her cousin Vivienne arrive alone together in the last boat, he bare-chested and she wearing his shirt. Well, well, well. This was most interesting. What had the saintly Vivienne been up to with the Earl of Whitlock?

Now Lord Whitlock, there was a true gentleman! Even though he was a friend of Gregory and George's, she could forgive him that flaw, because at all times he treated her as if she were the greatest beauty. He always made a point of asking, “How are you today, Miss Glenda?” as though he truly cared if she were fine or not. What a pity he was practically engaged to that feather-headed Helene Winston! Glenda would have liked being
his
wife, if she had to be someone's. Not that anybody was offering, mind you. There was no fear on that account.

By now Glenda had quite grown resigned to the idea of spinsterhood. She could not abide fools, and all the men of her acquaintance were nothing if not foolish. Most men she knew were not worth much as far as she could see.

But the Earl of Whitlock, now he was different, a genuinely good man. He was industrious and hard-working, when he certainly didn't have to be. He had even built a shipping company on his own. Being devastatingly handsome did not deter from his appeal either.

No, she would not mind being married to someone like Aidan Kavanaugh, but he was destined to marry someone typically conventional like Helene Winston.

As she watched Vivienne being escorted from the boat, she could not help but think that something was not quite right between Aidan Kavanaugh and her cousin. It was patently obvious to everyone that the pair disliked each other intensely and from what she had gathered, they had known each other as children in Ireland. There was more to that story, she was quite sure.