From Rags to Kisses by Shana Galen

Two

“Well?” Aidan askedas soon as the Duke of Mayne entered the dining room at the Draven Club on King Street in St. James.

Phineas scowled at him. “Might I at least have a drink before you bombard me with questions.”

“Here.” Aidan offered his glass of port, but Phin gave him a strained look and waved his hand. He insisted on taking his time sitting at the table then removing his gloves. Porter, the Master of the House, who had escorted the duke to the paneled wood room, signaled a footman to bring the duke a glass of wine. The duke accepted it and then asked one hundred and one questions about the menu. In the meantime, Aidan paced back and forth between the tables covered with white linen. Neil Wraxall and Colonel Draven were also dining tonight, but they were on the far side of the room and seemed engrossed in conversation. Draven threw Aidan an annoyed look, and Aidan pulled out his chair and sat opposite Phineas, who seemed to have finally decided to eat the same meal he always ate at the club.

“You’ve come from Westminster, yes?” Aidan asked.

“I’m fine, Aidan, how are you?” Phineas said. “Why, my wife is doing very well, thank you for asking.”

Aidan rose. “Never mind. I’ll go to the offices of the Times. They’ll have the news from Parliament.”

“Come back,” Phineas said, laughing. “I’ll tell you.”

Aidan didn’t even pretend to think it over. He sat back down and raised his brows. “The tariff bill?” he asked.

“Failed,” Phin said, and Aidan sat back in relief. There would be no new tariffs to cut into his profits. Now he needed to find someone to introduce a bill to repeal existing tariffs. He eyed Phineas with interest.

“You must have called in favors,” the duke said, sipping his wine. “I thought it would pass.”

“You have no idea,” Aidan admitted. He’d waged an all-out campaign against the bill these past few days. He was exhausted but also exhilarated by his victory. Actually, he was elated at the thought of making more money. Money always invigorated him. “How did you vote?” Aidan asked, still thinking about introducing more bills.

Phin raised his brows. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t owe you any favors.”

“True, but surely a repeal of some of the existing tariffs would suit your interests as well.” Aidan withdrew the notebook and pencil he always kept in his pocket. “Here, let me show you—”

Phin waved the notebook away. “I don’t want to discuss tariffs and I don’t want to discuss the Lords. I want to drink my wine and eat my dinner and talk of trivialities. That’s all my brain box can handle after all the speeches I was forced to listen to tonight.”

Aidan tried to think of trivialities to discuss. And tried.

Phin must have seen the futility of waiting for Aidan to suggest a topic because he began, but not before glancing longingly at Draven and Neil’s table. “Have you been to any mills lately? Seen Chibale Okoro’s new fighter?”

“No, you?”

“No. I thought you were one of the Fancy, traveling to watch the boxing exhibitions and such.”

“Not as interesting now that Rowden retired,” Aidan said.

“I’ve noticed”—he gestured to Draven and Wraxall—“we’ve all noticed that now that Rowden is no longer fighting, you’ve become rather...obsessive about your work.”

Aidan had no idea what he was talking about. He’d always been obsessed with making money. “I thought I’d miss the mills more, but this new crop of fighters doesn’t interest me. Besides, the stakes are usually too low.”

“It always comes back to money for you, doesn’t it?” Phin said. “Even your pastimes need be profitable.”

Aidan bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with making a profit. We weren’t all born a wealthy duke.” Aidan immediately regretted the words. Phineas Duncombe had been the youngest of five sons born to the Duke of Mayne. His four older brothers had died or been killed before he could inherit, causing terrible pain to the family. Aidan saw the shadow cross Phin’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke.”

He'd been distracted and feeling off all day, thanks to his encounter with Jenny. He had to keep pushing her from his mind and reminding himself that she did not want to see him and that she wanted him out of her life. That was the least he could do for her.

Phin waved a hand. “I was born privileged. That’s true. But even the lowliest night soil collector has a pint with friends once in a while.” Night soil collectors had the unenviable job of emptying the cesspools and privies of the upper classes and carting the excrement away.

“You and I are having a drink,” Aidan argued as a footman delivered Phin’s soup, supervised by the watchful eye of Porter. Aidan raised his glass to Draven and Wraxall. “A toast, gentlemen,” he said.

“Did you buy another factory?” the colonel asked as he raised his glass.

Aidan scowled. “No.” He turned back to Phin who had his napkin to his lips and appeared to be clearing his throat. It was a poor disguise for the laughter shaking his shoulders.

Aidan sipped his port, a drink which he hated but ordered because it was expensive. “You’ve made your point,” he said.

“Actually,” the duke said, “my point was that you need a life outside of making investments and counting profits. You only go to a ball if there’s someone you want to speak to about business. You only dance with a woman if her father is a man with whom you want to partner. You only come to your club”—he gestured to the room—“when you want news about a bill on tariffs.”

“Now that Rowden is leg-shackled, I hardly have reason to come,” Aidan said. “I’m the only bachelor of the lot, save Nicholas, and he’s hiding in the country. I hardly want to sit here for hours and listen to all of you wax poetic about your wedded bliss. And if all the weddings weren’t bad enough, now there are the babies. I saw Lady Lorraine the other day, and she’s as big as a house. Ewan had to pull her out of her chair.”

“Then I suppose you won’t enjoy hearing the news that Jasper will be a father before the end of the year.”

Aidan put his head in his hands. “First the weddings, now the christenings.”

Phin ate more soup. “Have you ever considered marrying?”

“Gad, no. I don’t have time for a wife.”

“You would if you allowed the army of clerks and assistants you employ to do their jobs instead of checking every notation they make for accuracy.”

Aidan scowled. Even if he’d wanted to do such a thing, it would have been impossible. He had far too many employees to go over everything they did.

“Aidan, I didn’t marry because I had time to fill. I married because—well, I fell in love—”

“No.” Aidan held up a hand. “No love stories.”

Phineas grinned, and Aidan could have sworn he was enjoying himself at Aidan’s expense. “Companionship is part of what makes life worth living. It’s human nature to want to share our experiences and hopes and dreams with another person. Not to mention, Annabel makes me laugh. She adds to my experiences of life. Her way of viewing the world is interesting and novel—”

“Duke, if I want a woman in my bed, I can have a woman.”

Phineas rolled his eyes. “You aren’t even listening. I am speaking of more than mere carnal relations. Marriage is more than having a woman in your bed every night, and even that act is different when the woman is your wife.”

“I don’t need a wife. I don’t want a wife.” He wanted lower tariffs and it didn’t appear as though that could be accomplished tonight. He rose. “I need to go back to my office and look in.”

“It’s past ten o’clock,” Phin pointed out.

“Still early. Give my best to Her Grace and to Lord Jasper, if you see him.” He stopped by Draven’s table and asked after Mrs. Draven and her sister, who had recently married, and he sent his greetings to Lady Juliana, Neil’s wife, but made sure to leave before Neil could regale him with any anecdotes about the orphanage he ran. An orphanage—the idea was appalling. Where was the profit in that?

Somehow Porter, who had been in the dining room but a moment before, was in the vestibule with Aidan’s coat and hat at the ready. He allowed Porter to help him don his greatcoat as his gaze paused on the large shield opposite the door. A medieval sword bisected the shield that was embellished with eighteen fleur-de-lis. Those were for the eighteen men of the troop they had lost during the war. Aidan remembered each and every one of them—Guy, Bryce, Peter, George, Harold...

But he had come home. Against all the odds, Aidan had made it back to England, and he would not squander his second chance at life now. He stepped out of the club into the brisk April evening. It was cool and sometimes he found the night air cleared his thoughts. He told the footman waiting for him to send the coach home as he would walk to his offices and could take a hackney home if he did not wish to walk. The truth was, he often slept, when he slept, in his office. There was little to go home to. He had a large house in Grosvenor Square, but only the rooms he used for entertaining had been furnished or decorated. The rest of the house was quite empty, except for his bedchamber. And really that was cold and empty as well.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and started for the building he used for his offices on Piccadilly. It was a short walk, and he was far from the only man out in St. James’s this evening. He stayed well clear of the drunk young lords stumbling about or tossing up their accounts. He wondered how many of them would go home to a pretty young wife this evening. Was he the only man in London sleeping alone?

He didn’t have to sleep alone. There were plenty of widows and even married women who had made their interest plain. But he’d been so focused on building his empire for so long that he had begun to think he didn’t have the same physical needs other men had. Aidan counted himself lucky in that regard because he remembered all too well the way he had burned for Jenny Tate when he’d been younger. Back then a touch of her hand or a glimpse of her ankle could arouse him for hours. And when she wore trousers—well, he’d needed a plunge in the cold Thames to cool off then.

But he’d been a youth, undisciplined and unruly. Now he was a man, ordered and efficient, and even seeing Jenny the other night had not brought back those lustful urges—well, not many of them. Seeing her had reminded him of the time they’d spent together, some of it nearly naked. But she was engaged to marry Viscount Chamberlayne, and Aidan didn’t feel quite right about lying in bed imagining her on her knees with his cock in her mouth when she was soon to be another man’s wife.

Of course, now that he did have that memory in his mind, it was hard to dislodge it. She hadn’t known what to do, and he hadn’t any experience either, but they’d made it up as they went along, and he thought they’d done a fair job of it.

He’d just turned onto Piccadilly when a coach slowed, and a man leaned out of the window and called to him. Aidan, mind still on fellatio, turned distractedly then started as he realized the man calling to him was Viscount Chamberlayne himself. Aidan felt the color rise to his cheeks. But the viscount was saying something—repeating it now—and Aidan made himself focus. He tried not to look into the coach windows, tried not to squint to see if Jenny was inside, but he couldn’t quite help himself.

“—we’d be happy to take you there,” Chamberlayne was saying. He rapped on the roof of the coach, and it slowed, causing the coachmen in the conveyances behind it to protest quite loudly. Chamberlayne swung the door open, and Aidan couldn’t fail to see Jenny in the light from the carriage lamps. She wore a red dress and leaned forward to peer at him. Her dark hair had been pulled up and away from her face except for a long curl that snaked over one breast, much of which was exposed in the low-cut gown.

A thousand thoughts went through Aidan’s mind in that moment, not the least of which was that he had no idea what Chamberlayne had been saying or where he was headed. But Aidan, who a moment before had been congratulating himself on overcoming the physical needs other men succumbed to, couldn’t quite stop staring at the tendril of hair caressing Jenny’s breast, and the next thing he knew he was in the coach.

He found, once he entered, that Chamberlayne and Jenny were not alone. Another man was also present, and he was seated beside Chamberlayne. This meant Aidan had to sit beside Jenny. He did so, and the coach started away. The coachmen behind them cheered and whistled.

Jenny looked over at him. “Good evening, Mr. Sterling,” she said in her cultured voice. Chamberlayne made introductions.

“Might I present my good friend, Oscar Lexum,” he said, introducing the man beside him. Aidan nodded at the man with the overly tousled brown hair and sleepy eyes.

“Miss Tate said you were tall, dark, and handsome,” Lexum said. “She was not exaggerating.”

“I said no such thing,” she retorted, and Aidan was inclined to believe it. Jenny didn’t give compliments.

“Should we drive you home?” Chamberlayne asked. “Or were you off to one of the other events of the evening? We’ve just left the theater. The play wasn’t over, but Miss Tate found it rather dull.”

“I was actually—” He paused, remembering Phin’s words from earlier that evening. Even the lowliest night soil collector has a pint with friends once in a while. How pathetic would he seem if he admitted he was returning to his offices to work while the rest of London danced and laughed and drank?

“Which play was it?” Aidan asked, turning to Jenny. He didn’t know why he’d asked. He never went to the theater. He had a box, of course. He had the best box at every theater, but he never used them.

She named the play, still playing her part as a lady of the upper classes, but it meant nothing to him since he hadn’t seen it. But instead of expecting him to comment on the production, she changed the subject. “Lord Chamberlayne will not say it, but he would be endlessly grateful if we could have a peek at your recent find. If you have other plans for this evening, perhaps we could call on you another day, but if you are amenable to allowing us a glimpse this evening...”

“Oh, do say yes,” Chamberlayne said.

“Please,” Lexum added. “I beg you. If you don’t agree, he shall go on about it for days.”

Aidan had quite forgotten about the trunks the workmen had found when doing repairs on the ground floor of the old house. If he had remembered, he would have ordered a footman to have them sent to Montagu House for the British Museum to appraise and hopefully buy. But he saw no harm in allowing Chamberlayne to take a look. He had mentioned Chamberlayne’s offer to appraise the items to his private secretary, and Pryce had said the viscount was widely respected in that area.

“Of course,” Aidan said. “Have the coach drive to my house in Grosvenor Square.” It wasn’t until the viscount had relayed the directions and the coachman had turned the conveyance in that direction that Aidan had time to regret. He was aware, again, of Jenny at his side and of their shared history in the rookeries of London. To have Jenny in his house—his very large, very ostentatious house—seemed somehow vulgar. They’d practically starved to death together, and now he would be showing off one of the largest, most expensive properties in Town.

She moved slightly, and the silk she wore rustled, reminding him that she had come out on top as well. It might have easily gone the other way. She might be dead in a pauper’s grave right now. But somehow, for some reason, Fate had put her in his path again.

Jenny and her betrothed.

“Would you mind telling me how you came to find the trunks, Mr. Sterling?” the viscount asked, producing a notepad and a pencil from the pocket of his coat, much like a Bow Street Runner might do. Much like he himself did when talking business.

“Not the notebook,” Mr. Lexum said under his breath.

“It sometimes helps in our work to know a bit about the discovery,” Jenny said. Aidan would never get used to hearing her speak in that upper class accent. It was practically flawless, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Of course, when they’d lived on the streets together, he’d perfected a lower-class accent. He’d had to else he would be beaten by anyone who heard him open his mouth. He wondered if he could still affect it. He’d tried so hard to forget those years.

“Let’s see,” Aidan said, bringing his mind back to the antiquities. “I bought the house about two years ago and took possession almost immediately. I did some refurbishment of the bedchambers and servants’ quarters, but I hadn’t thought much of the areas belowstairs until my housekeeper mentioned that she would like to move the coal cellar to the other end of the house and might I allow her to authorize workmen to open up a wall.”

“Which wall was it?” the viscount asked, scribbling furiously.

“One of the walls of the larder,” Aidan answered. “I don’t know if it was always the larder, but that was how we used it, as had the previous occupants.”

“And you had no idea there was a room behind the wall?”

“I suspected there was something. I’d walked about the exterior and noted that the structure went on past the section we were using. I saw no reason for Mrs. Woodson not to have the wall opened.” He was distracted by the rustling of Jenny’s skirts again. She seemed restless or perhaps bored. He made an effort not to glance at her again, as his eyes were continually drawn to that lock of hair over her breast.

“And when did the workmen tell you they had found something? Was it the first day of work?” Chamberlayne looked up from his notes, pencil at the ready.

“I don’t know which day it was. I’m not home all that often, but at some point, they let me know they had found several old trunks stacked in that walled-off antechamber.”

“I assume you went to investigate right away,” the viscount said.

Jenny laughed, and Aidan did look at her then. “I’m certain he was far too busy making money to do anything of the sort,” she said.

Chamberlayne gave her a quelling look. “We can’t all be gentlemen of leisure, my dear,” he said. Aidan found he did not like it when the man used terms of endearment toward her. He’d never done that himself. If he had, Jenny would have laughed in his face. But she seemed unperturbed.

“No, we can’t,” she agreed. She looked at Aidan, and though he couldn’t see the pale gray of her eyes, he could imagine them fixed on him. “At some point you found a moment to examine the find,” she suggested.

“Yes. I found papers and clothing items. A few books. It all looked rather old. No jewelry or plate, nothing terribly valuable.”

“As though you would know.”

He opened his mouth to retort that he wouldn’t know because she had always been a better thief than he, but he remembered her betrothed sitting across from them and his promise to keep his potato hole shut and said nothing.

The viscount either hadn’t heard Jenny or was pretending he had not. He closed the notebook and smiled at Aidan. “I expect that within the hour I will be able to tell you if there’s a possibility you have anything of any real value. Regardless of the monetary worth, it sounds like an exciting find.”

“Yes.” Aidan drew out his pocket watch. “An hour, you say?” he asked, glancing at the time. It might be after midnight before he was able to return to the office.

“Do you have another engagement?” Jenny asked sweetly. “A paramour from whom we are keeping you?”

From whom? This was thick even for a born charlatan like Jenny Tate.

“Dear girl,” Chamberlayne chided, reaching over to squeeze her knee. Aidan followed the movement with his eyes before forcing himself to look away. “I’m sure that’s none of our concern.”

“It’s nothing pressing,” Aidan said, though of course it was. His time was money, and money was always pressing. But he did need to attend to the trunks on his ground floor before the workmen could continue, and if Chamberlayne could give him some direction that would at least tick one thing off his list. “This is it,” he said, as his town house came into view.

The viscount rapped on the roof of the coach while Lexum let out a low whistle. “Now that is a house,” he breathed. But for some reason Aidan found himself looking at Jenny. She shook her head, looking disappointed.

Aidan glanced past her, trying to imagine how the house must seem to her. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it. It looked as well-maintained as always. The outdoor lamps were lit, so the house could be seen in the dark. The flickering light showed fresh white paint, new black shutters, flower boxes bursting with blooms, and hedges trimmed within an inch of their lives. The gravel at the drive was smooth and almost soundless as the wheels rolled over it then stopped.

Almost immediately, the door opened, and his butler came out with two footmen.

Everything was perfect. And yet Jenny turned to him with a pitying look on her face. He knew that look because she’d given it to him often enough when she’d first found him sleeping on the streets. “Well,” she said quietly, her tone full of scorn. “Ye finally got wot ye always wanted.”

***

THE HOUSE WAS RIDICULOUS, Jenny thought as she was led inside an enormous vestibule lit as brightly as the day with a crystal chandelier that must have boasted a hundred candles. Why it should be lit, when they had not been expected, was beyond her. But then judging by the amount of gilt and marble around them, Aidan spared no expense.

She didn’t know why she expected him to live in one of the terraced town houses. She should have known when he mentioned Grosvenor Square the house would be free standing. She just hadn’t expected it to be so large. When the coach had driven through the gates and onto the circular drive, it appeared the house went on and on before them. She’d actually peered out the window to look up and up at the massive stone façade. Aidan had always talked about one day living in style. He’d said one day he would have the biggest house in all of London. She’d laughed, thinking it was the idle talk of any youth starving on the streets. She’d say how one day she’d own a hundred silk dresses and buy a whole sweet shop so she could eat as much as she liked of the confections. She’d been fantasizing, but Aidan had been planning.

A servant took her wrapper and Roland and Oscar’s greatcoats, and Aidan offered to give them a tour. He did not want to give them a tour. She could see his reluctance in the way his eyes did not crinkle when he smiled and made the offer. He was doing what he considered polite, not what he wanted. He probably had a woman waiting in a flat across town and would rather be rogering her than poking about in musty old trunks.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the trunks,” Roland said predictably. Oscar rolled his eyes, and the four of them followed the butler down the stairs and into the servants’ domain. This area of the house was not blazing with light. Most of the servants would be up with the sun and had already retired. The butler’s lamp was all the light they had to see by. And yet, Jenny noted that the quarters were clean and comfortable. At least Aidan took care of his servants.

Finally, they reached the larder, and though the debris of the excavation had been mostly swept away, there were still large chunks of plaster and rock that dug into the sole of Jenny’s flimsy shoes. Ladies didn’t wear shoes that were actually good for anything because ladies didn’t ever have to walk anywhere or do anything. Jenny rather hated that part of being a lady. Sometimes she longed for her boots and trousers.

She winced as she maneuvered around the worst of the rubble and stopped before three large trunks. Not only had they been walled in, they had also been set inside a wooden cupboard. The workmen had torn the cupboard down, if the stacks of wood pieces around her were any indication. That was too bad. The workmanship of the cupboard might have told them something about the period when the trunks were put away.

One of the trunks had been pulled off the top of the stack, and Aidan went to it, opening it with his gloved hands. Strange seeing him in gloves, but they suited him. In fact, everything about this house and the wealth oozing from his every pore suited him. He’d always been too good for her, and they’d both known it.

“May I?” Roland asked, gesturing to the latch on the trunk. He’d inspected the outside and made murmuring noises, but Lexum was making motions with his hands, obviously eager to see inside. If she had done that, Roland would have scolded her and told her there was as much to learn from the outside as the contents, but Oscar really didn’t care about antiquities. He just wanted to open the trunk and see the surprise.

“Go ahead,” Aidan said. “Pierpont.” He gestured to the butler to raise the lamp higher so they might see. Roland reached for the latch, and Jenny held her breath. It was exciting, almost as exciting as thieving had once been. In some ways the work she did now was not dissimilar. She went into people’s homes—invited, of course, which was different—and studied their treasures. She never knew when she arrived if she would find anything of value. Sometimes Grandmama’s old vase was just a cheap trinket. And sometimes Grandpapa’s sword was priceless.

Roland raised the lid of the trunk with a flourish, and too late Aidan said, “Slowly now.”

Dust rose up, and they all coughed for a good thirty seconds before it settled and Pierpont could hold the lamp steady again. The first item they saw was an old piece of burlap. Jenny would have tossed it aside, but Roland took out his notebook and made a note. He squinted at the cloth and then looked at Aidan. “Is there any way we might have more light?”

“I can fetch another lamp, sir,” the butler said.

“Very good,” Aidan said. Because no one else moved forward to take it, Aidan finally took the lamp from the servant and raised it up. Jenny saw his hand stray to his pocket, where his watch resided. He did not appear the sort to have the patience for the tedious work she and Roland did on a daily basis. Roland looked down at the trunk and withdrew a sheaf of papers, squinting at the writing on them. “Hmm. Perhaps sixteenth century,” he murmured. “Much older than I expected.” Then he looked up. “Do you know when the house was built, Mr. Sterling?”

“I...” Aidan opened and closed his mouth. “I don’t remember at the moment. I am sure that information is in the records I received when I purchased the house. It has quite a history, I’m told.”

Apparently, he hadn’t cared enough about the history to read the records, but then she had always been the one drawn to the old coins and pieces of jewelry the mudlarks they knew pulled from the Thames. Aidan had just wanted to know how much they were worth. Jenny had been interested in the value too, of course, but she was also interested in their history. The mudlarks learned very young how to identify older finds and separate them from something only lost in the river recently. She liked to talk to them and learn how they could distinguish.

Roland was at war with himself. Jenny saw the way his mouth tightened and his eyes flicked back to the open trunk. He wanted to know what was in those records, but he couldn’t very well order a man like Aidan Sterling to fetch them or report back about their contents.

“I’m afraid I’m not dressed for this tonight,” she said, indicating her flimsy slippers and the hem of her gown, now gray with dust.

Roland’s eyes widened in horror. “I should not have dragged you down here. I’ll take you home, my dear.”

“Nonsense.” Her gaze met and held his. They’d known each other long enough that he could see she was warning him to let her take the lead. “We just arrived. Perhaps Mr. Sterling would be so kind as to allow me to sit in his study and peruse the house’s records. I’m sure he has more important tasks to attend to than holding a lamp in the larder while you poke around, my lord.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Aidan said. She gave him a look that said, liar. He looked away and cleared his throat. “Of course, if the lady is uncomfortable, I would be happy to show you to a more restful room.” He glanced at the lamp, and Oscar stepped forward and took it.

“I’ll hold the lamp.”

“This way, Miss Tate,” Aidan said, gesturing back through the larder. She stepped into the kitchen, but the farther she moved away from the work area, the darker the quarters became. She hesitated, allowing her eyes to adjust. “Where is Pierpont?” Aidan asked, moving past her. His arm brushed against her back before he realized how close he was and adjusted his path.

He stood in front of her. “Should we wait?”

“I can see well enough now,” she said. He led the way, and as they moved out of the kitchen the sound of Roland and Oscar’s voices faded. Funny how more than a decade had passed but now that she was creeping about in a dark house with him again, it felt like they’d never been apart.

“The stairs are this way,” he said, the shape of him moving off to the right. At the base of the stairs, he waited for her to reach him. She gathered her skirts in one hand and started up behind him. But she hadn’t quite caught all the material of the gown because she stepped on the hem and started to fall forward. He pivoted and caught her under the arms, steadying her and pulling her upright.

“Feck,” she breathed, forgetting she was supposed to be a lady. “I almost cracked my ‘ead open.”

“I have you,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. He lowered his hand to her arm, brushing—quite inadvertently, she thought—against her breast. “Let me help you.”

“A moment. My slipper is caught on the material. Bloody worthless shoes,” she said, dislodging the hem of the dress.

“I see your language hasn’t improved.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. The comment rankled. She might never be a true lady, but she’d worked hard to get where she was now, and unlike him, she hadn’t had a rich, titled uncle to help her.

“I beg your pardon,” she said sweetly. “I know your ears are innocent.”

He snorted and started up the stairs again, still holding her arm.

She tried to tug free. “I can walk on my own.”

“I’d prefer to hold on just to make certain you don’t fall and break your neck. The last thing I need is the magistrate here tonight.”

If she had needed more confirmation that their presence here was an interruption to him, his words were it. Still, she allowed him to hold onto her, if only because she didn’t quite trust herself in the shoes and the gown, until they reached the door at the top. They had to pause then. He fumbled for the latch in the dark and she, waiting on the step below him, tried not to notice how close she was to his broad back or how his coat smelled of tobacco and clean wool.

He finally opened the door, and just as he stepped through a light appeared as the butler holding a second lamp neared. “Sir!” he said, looking surprised. Well, as surprised as a servant of his training ever managed to look. “Madam. I would have escorted you up the stairs.”

“We managed, Pierpont,” he said. “Hold a moment.” He took a candlestick with a taper from a counter in the anteroom and gestured to Pierpont to assist him so he might light the candle with the lamp. That accomplished, he led Jenny through the house and back the way they’d come. The candle was unnecessary as they passed through the foyer again, but the chamber behind the wooden door he opened toward the rear of the house was dark, and he lifted the candle to shed light on the room as she entered.

This was obviously his library. Shelves and shelves of books lined the walls and went up and up as far as she could see. This was no ordinary library. It extended past the first floor and into the second. Tall windows would allow light in during the day, and though it was too dark to see through them now, she imagined the view they showcased was a manicured garden.

While she stared at the books and the winding staircase, the painted ceiling and the various ladders on this floor and the one above, he lit a lamp on the desk, two wall sconces, and stoked the fire. When she looked back, he was standing behind the chair at his desk, watching her. Her gaze flicked to the desk, and she knew instantly this was his private space. This was where he lived. The piles of books on the desk, the open ledger, the inkwell and numerous quills spread about indicated he worked here. She had never known him to be particularly fastidious. He tended to spread out and leave things where they fell. She’d lectured him about it time and again because if they had to make a hasty exit from a roof or an abandoned building where they’d found a place away from the elements, it would take too long to gather up items strewn about. He’d learned to keep his few possessions close and tidy. But she saw now he’d reverted to his old ways.

“Would you like to sit?” He indicated a grouping of chairs and couches upholstered in a red that matched her gown. “I could ring for tea.”

“No need,” she said. “I’ll have whatever that is.” She pointed to a table behind the desk with crystal decanters filled with amber, pale gold, and ruby liquids. She could have fetched the drink herself, but she liked the idea of him waiting on her, so she took a seat on the couch and watched as he selected what appeared to be brandy, poured her two fingers, and replaced the stopper. She would have told him to go back and add two more fingers, but he started toward her then and she forgot about the drink altogether. He’d been sixteen when she last saw him, not quite a man and no longer a youth. He’d been tall and thin, sinewy from the hard work of survival and the thin rations. He was still tall, but he was no longer thin and rangy. His chest stretched the front of his shirt, his shoulders needing no padding to fill out the coat, which tapered nicely into a V at his slim hips. His breeches, fawn-colored and snug, showed off muscled thighs and well-shaped calves.

Her gaze traveled back to his face. Before he’d sprouted a patchwork of facial hair that he needed to shave every few days. They’d stolen a razor and shaving soap for him. Now he had a dark shadow along his jaw. She imagined he had to shave every day to keep his face smooth. The dark eyes were the same. The hollows around them were gone as were the dark shadows underneath, but they were the same murky eyes that told her nothing of what he was feeling.

He stopped in front of her. “That was rather obvious,” he said, handing her the drink. “I doubt your betrothed would appreciate the way you just undressed me in your mind.”

She almost said he wouldn’t care a whit but remembered herself in time. “I was just noting the changes in you.”

“I could note some in you,” he said, “but I’m more circumspect.” His gaze lowered to her breasts pointedly before returning to her face. The glance had been brief, but it didn’t matter. Her nipples hardened inside her stays, and she felt an old heat she’d almost forgotten begin to pool in her belly. He turned away. “I imagine you’d like to see the house plans.” He crossed to a cabinet and opened a drawer. “I have them here.” He rummaged through papers and produced a folder. She had no doubt that what appeared to be chaos to others was perfectly arranged in his mind. He flipped the folder open and perused its contents under one of the sconces. His dark hair gleamed under the light, and she wondered if it was as soft as it looked. He’d worn it short when she’d known him before, but the longer length now—just long enough to fall over his forehead—suited him. She sipped her brandy, glancing at the glass after a taste. The brandy was very good, probably the best she’d ever had. She was no connoisseur, but this was smooth and didn’t burn as she swallowed.

“Ah, here we are,” he said, still looking at the papers. “Built in 1728. One of the first houses in Grosvenor Square. There have been changes and additions, of course,” he said, carrying the folder to her. “It’s all here.”

“Interesting.” She took the folder. “Roland said the cloth looked to be from the sixteenth century.”

“I thought it rather old myself, but perhaps we are both mistaken.”

She shook her head. “He’s rarely mistaken.”

She looked up at Aidan, surprised at how close he was. He had leaned down to hand her the folder and not yet straightened. Their eyes locked. “Is that so?” he asked.

She nodded.

“That’s another thing the two of us have in common.”