Two Sinful Secrets (38 page)

L
ily settled herself at the tiny table in the corner and watched Aidan Huntington as
he made his way to the counter to order.
Aidan Huntington
—she could hardly believe she was here with him after their long-ago encounter at
the theater docks.

What was she thinking? She had vowed to harden her heart to him, to forget the memory
of their kiss. She was just getting her life in order again; he was a distraction
she did not need. He was a Huntington, for pity’s sake.

But when he smiled at her, flirted with her, when she felt the hard strength of his
body under her hand—somehow she simply could not turn away from him. She wanted him
to smile at her again.

She was not the only woman who felt that way. Lily watched the crowd as he threaded
his way through it, and every lady between the ages of five and eighty turned to study
him under their lashes. They all blushed and looked away, only to peek at him again.

Just as Lily feared she was doing herself.

She busied herself with taking off her gloves and smoothing her jacket, but her attention
kept drifting to
him. Aidan. The slightly exotic, Celtic-sounding name suited him. He was tall and
lean like some ancient warrior, with strong shoulders and snakelike hips and—her eyes
slid lower—a taut backside in close-fitting trousers above long legs. His rich, glossy
brown hair gleamed in the dim light of the cafe, and he shook it back from his brow
as he peered over at her. For an instant, his face looked dark and intent, taut as
a hawk about to dive onto its prey. His blue eyes, the most unearthly color she had
ever seen, narrowed, and she stiffened in her seat. Then he smiled, that charming,
careless grin that could capture any woman’s complete attention, and something warm
and melting touched Lily deep inside.

She didn’t like that feeling at all, that sense that her moorings to the real world
would snap and she’d drift up into the sky.

She turned away to pretend to study a menu on the wall. From the corner of her eye,
she saw him lean his elbow on the high counter to order. He gave a smile to the waitress,
and the girl giggled. Lily studied his profile, the sharply etched perfection of it,
the way he casually brushed his hair back. She was accustomed to being around handsome
men. The St. Claires were all very good-looking and garnered more than their share
of female attention wherever they went. The actors they worked with were often the
same. She hardly noticed such things now.

It was different with Aidan Huntington. She was all too aware of everything about
him.

Don’t be silly
, she told herself. She twisted her soft kid gloves in her hands and forced herself
to stay still. Aidan was no danger to her. Not here in this crowded place. Not if
she didn’t let him.

“You look very deep in thought,” she heard him say. She glanced up to see him setting
a tray of tea and scones on the table. He smiled at her but it was a different smile,
quizzical, questioning. “And not very pleasant thoughts, I would wager.”

Lily made herself smile in return and reached for the tea to pour. She welcomed the
routine, the familiar motions, something to root her in the everyday. “I was just
daydreaming, I fear. Organizing things in my mind.”

“What sort of things?” he asked, watching her closely.

She peered across the table at him and tried to gauge whether he was merely being
polite. But his blue eyes were focused only on her, waiting for her answer.

She passed him the cup of tea, and his fingers drifted over hers as he took it from
her. His touch lingered a little longer than necessary, and she sighed at the warm
feeling of his skin on hers, the strength of those elegant fingers. They were slightly
rougher than she would expect from a gentleman.

She glanced down as he slid away and noticed ink stains on his fingers. She remembered
his confession on that long-ago night at the Majestic, that he wanted to write plays.
She wondered if he still harbored that dream or if being a duke’s spoiled son took
all of his time.

She wondered if he remembered that night at all.

She shook her head and tried to recall what he had asked her. “I am helping my brother
with a new business venture,” she said.

“Sounds promising,” he answered. “What sort of business?”

Lily took a sip of her tea and studied him over the white rim of the cup. She almost
answered him by name,
before she recalled that they were supposed to be strangers. “I don’t even know your
name,” she said.

He gave her that rakish grin again, and she saw the flash of a dimple low in his cheek.
She had the strangest, strongest urge to press her fingertip there, to lean across
the table and lick him, taste him, feel that tiny indentation on her tongue.

Lily sat back in her chair in shock. She never had such feelings about a man, such
erotic urges. Not after seeing her mother’s life in the brothel, the girls she knew
on the streets, seeing where such things always led. She wrapped her hands tightly
around her cup and looked away from him.

“Easy enough to remedy,” he said. “I am Aidan Huntington, at your service. And you
are…”

Lily touched the tip of her tongue to her suddenly dry lips and tried to ignore the
way his gaze sharpened on that tiny gesture. “I am Lily Nichols.”

“Nichols?” A frown flickered over his brow. “Why is that—Ah.” He sat back in his chair
and stared at her, studied her. As if this were the first time he saw her. “Juliet.”

Despite the confusing swirl of emotions inside of her, Lily had to laugh at his thunderstruck
expression. “I did wonder if you would remember. It was so long ago.” And he had surely
known so many women, so many intimate moments, between then and now.

“Not that long ago. I have been gone on family business to the West Indies since then.”
He leaned his forearms on the small table; he was so close she could smell him. The
light touch of some expensive cologne, the dark scent of his skin. His stare was so
intent on her face.

“So you married your greengrocer,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I did. But he died last year.”

“And you never went back on the stage.”

Lily remembered too well the frozen terror of that night, humiliation that only burned
away when he kissed her. “Never. Acting is not for me.”

“I looked for you,” he said. His hand slid over hers, a quick, soft gesture hidden
under the folds of a napkin. “But the name in the program was a false one.”

“Thankfully. One less embarrassment if no one knows who I really am. My sister took
over the role after that.”

“Isabel St. Claire is your sister? I have heard about her.”

Lily gave a wry laugh. Of course he knew of Issy—everyone who saw her onstage fell
in love with her red-gold hair, green eyes, and sweet manner. Any interest Aidan Huntington
had in Lily would surely flee now. “My adoptive sister, yes.”

She waited for him to ask her to introduce him to Issy, but he just frowned. His hand
slid over hers again. His fingertip rubbed across the tiny band of skin where her
wedding ring once rested.

“Lily,” he said softly, as if to himself.

“Aidan,” she whispered. She turned her hand palm up and let his fingers tangle with
hers for the merest instant. She couldn’t seem to help herself. He had her caught
in some spell.

“There is so much I want to ask you,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the
crowded cafe. “But this doesn’t seem to be the place. When can I see you again?”

Lily stared at him in surprise. “You would like to see me again?”

A rueful half-smile drifted over his lips. “You can tell
me to stay away, if that’s what you want. I can’t promise I will do it, but you can
tell me to.”

And that was exactly what she should do. But it was not what she wanted to do. Lily
was suddenly weary of doing what she
should
do. She wanted to cease to be cautious for a moment, to be mischievous and seize
life as her siblings did. Even as she knew it would not end well.

“My brother and I are opening an exclusive new club in Mayfair in a fortnight,” she
said. “If you will give me your direction, I can send you an invitation.”

Aidan laughed, and his hand fell away. “There’s no chance of anything a bit sooner,
is there?”

Lily laughed, too, and shook her head. “I am too busy before then. It’s not a long
time to open a new business.”

“I’ll take what I can get, then. For now.” His eyes held some hint of warning—he would
not wait for very long.

Lily felt a shiver ripple over her skin at the threat and promise in his eyes. She
didn’t know what this was between them. The power of it both drew her in, like a moth
to the fatal flame, and made her want to run. To never see him again, even as the
thought of that was painful.

“Thank you for the tea,” she said. “I should go now.”

“Do you have your carriage here?”

Lily shook her head. “I took a hansom.”

“Then let me drive you home.”

She considered refusing. His dashing yellow curricle was so small; she wasn’t sure
how she would feel pressed close to him on the narrow seat. Her body against his.

But she found herself nodding. “Very well. Thank you. It’s not far.”

He took her arm in a light grasp as he led her out of the cafe and back onto the crowded
street. He held her close,
safe from the jostling, and drew her back toward the wider lanes outside the warren
of shops and restaurants. He kept up a light stream of talk as they went, making her
laugh at his jests, his observations of the people around them. She even found herself
relaxing somewhat and let herself enjoy his touch on her arm, the protective closeness
of his strong body.

But then they turned a corner, and she glimpsed a figure lounging against the brick
wall across the street. A muscular figure with close-cropped black hair and clad in
plaid trousers and leather coat and holding a stout, skull-headed walking stick.

Oh, Christ, that stick! It could not be.

Lily’s whole body went stiff with a rush of raw fear. He was dead. She had heard he
was, that he had died in Australia, and even the old nightmares had started to fade
as the years went on and she never saw him again. This had to be an illusion. She
was probably overly tired from working on the plans for the club.

She peered past Aidan’s shoulder, back to the wall, but no one was there now.

Her skin still prickled with awareness, with the fear she had known all the time as
a child, and she gave her head a hard shake. She had only imagined it. He was gone.
He no longer had any power over her.

“Lily?” Aidan asked. “Are you well? You look so pale.”

Lily jerked her attention away from the wall and back to Aidan’s handsome face. He
looked concerned, and his hand tightened on her arm. But the fear of the past, of
that man, still held her in its cold, iron grip. She drew away from Aidan.

“I am quite well,” she answered shortly, and walked away down the street.

Not real, not real
, she told herself as Aidan fell back into step beside her. If only she could believe
it.

Aidan leaned against his carriage door and watched Lily as she hurried up the back
stairs to her house. She wouldn’t let him leave her at the front door and walk her
inside. She had insisted he drive her to the mews tucked behind the garden. And as
he helped her down, he could swear she nervously scanned the windows to make sure
no one was watching.

What was she hiding?

That hint of mystery, of intrigue, only made her more attractive to him. He had always
loved a woman with secrets. It made it so much more fun to uncover them all, layer
by layer.

Especially when the secrets came in as pretty a package as Lily St. Claire Nichols.

She paused by the door to glance back at him. She gave him a tentative smile, a little
wave with her gloved hand. He barely had time to wave back before she whirled around
and dashed into the house.

Aidan grinned as he flexed his fingers and remembered the brush of her skin against
his just there, the rainy-violet scent that seemed to linger on his hand. He was a
man who liked women, enjoyed their company, and he had known a great many of them
in his life. If anyone knew exactly how many, it would be a scandal. Yet he had never
felt anything quite like the sensation that shot through his hand when Lily touched
him. The hot awareness that jolted straight to his manhood.

He glanced up at the windows, hoping for one more glimpse of her face, but the glass
was blank. Aidan swung back up into the carriage and gathered the reins. Soon he was
back on the crowded streets, turning toward his lodgings on Jermyn Street. But his
thoughts were still on Lily St. Claire.

Usually he knew all too easily how to woo a lady, could see as soon as they met what
would lure her in. With Lily St. Claire, he was baffled, thrown off his game. She
was like no other woman he had ever met.

He drew up outside his lodging house and tossed the reins to a footman as he leaped
to the ground. Soon enough he would get to see Lily again, when he went to her brother’s
gambling club—two birds with one stone.

And then he would start to slowly unravel the delicious mystery of Lily St. Claire.