Stealing Heaven

  "I don't believe it. If she had, Norah would never tolerate such—"

  "Philip! Please! Aidan has been most—most forthcoming, and—and surely it is a matter between husband and— and wife," she stammered, unsettled once again by the trickery he'd used to get her to the altar, unnerved by the knowledge that Philip must be aware of the scandals that had sullied Aidan's past.

  If Philip knew, Norah thought with a chill, then most of London must remember as well. And if that were true, the danger of Cassandra being told of her parents' sins was greater than Norah had even suspected.

  Norah raised a hand to her hair, the last white rose bruising at the touch of her fingers. "Philip, I thank you for your concern. And for your kindness in visiting Rathcannon on my behalf. But I know you must be anxious to reach Sligo. Perhaps I can summon up a bit of tea before you continue on your journey."

  "Oh, but he must stay at least until the ball," Cassandra piped up, sweeping over to clutch at the handsome nobleman's sleeve, her eyes all sweet supplication. "We are having the most lovely party to introduce Norah to our neighbors. There is to be music, and dancing, and a delightful supper party."

  "Cass, Lord Montgomery is in Ireland on business," Aidan said in hard accents. "I'm certain he has far more important things to occupy him than our insignificant rustic entertainment."

  "But Papa, Lord Montgomery obviously has such great affection for Norah. And, Your Lordship, you know how painfully shy Norah is at such affairs."

  "Cassandra!" Norah protested, her cheeks afire. "I—I am hardly a bashful girl any longer. There is no need for Lord Montgomery to inconvenience himself further."

  Cassandra turned her brightest smile on the Englishman. "Of course, Norah would never admit it, but you know what I say is true. It would make her so much more comfortable, I'm certain, to have you there. That way if no one asks her to dance, you can rescue her again!"

  "And why would my bride need rescuing?" Aidan demanded, in a surly tone. "You think I would leave her hiding behind a pillar?"

  Norah glanced at him, unable to stifle an acid thought. Perhaps not a pillar—but he'd certainly left her standing at the church where they were wed.

  "Papa," Cassandra said, drawing out the syllables and making a moue of long-suffering adolescent displeasure, "you can be most careless at affairs like this. Besides, it will be quite a feather in Norah's cap if she parades an English lord about at her first party as mistress of Rathcannon."

  "You are a most astute young lady," Philip Montgomery said. "And so considerate, thinking of Norah's feelings. I shall deem it a privilege to remain."

  "It's not necessary, Montgomery," Aidan said stonily. "I can tend to my own wife."

  "Can you? I suppose I shall see for myself." Philip turned to Norah, those steady eyes holding hers for long moments. "I shall look forward to waltzing with you once more." He raised her gloved hand to his lips, holding it there for long seconds.

  "Norah," he said, low, husky. "You look... more beautiful than I've ever seen you with roses in your hair." His fingertips brushed the fading bud.

  "Now if you'll forgive me, I shall need to procure lodging for the night. I believe I passed an inn some miles back."

  "Don't be absurd," Cassandra insisted. "We have dozens and dozens of rooms no one uses! Papa, surely Norah's friend must stay with us?"

  Aidan looked as if he could easily throttle his daughter, but the girl had trapped him.

  "Of course, Montgomery may stay if he wishes. But often bachelors of his sort prefer the privacy of an inn to a household running half mad with preparations for this kind of an affair. I'd not blame his lordship a bit if he sought refuge in the inn."

  Philip's eyes met Aidan's, and Norah sensed that the Englishman had grown more determined with each barely veiled challenge that had come from Aidan's mouth.

  "You mistake me, sir," Philip said. "There is nothing I would enjoy more than the opportunity to spend time with a lady I hold so dear. If you will excuse me, I shall go inform my servants that we shall be remaining here for a brief stay."

  With a curt bow, he strode away.

  Norah turned back to Aidan and Cassandra, her hands trembling, her stomach lurching at the expression in Aidan's eyes. It was glittering, hard, cynical. She could see the anger in him, hear it as he turned on his daughter.

  "Blast it, Cass, why the devil did you do that?" he demanded. "Invite that cursed Englishman to that infernal ball! As if it wasn't going to be bad enough already!"

  Cassandra gazed up at him, all bewildered innocence. "I thought Norah would like it. You said I was to be kind to her, to try to mend things between us because the wedding is over and there is nothing else to be done." She regarded Norah warily. "Norah, won't you like for him to be at your ball? Won't it be ever so much more comfortable?"

  Sir Aidan Kane and Lord Philip Montgomery circling the same ballroom? Norah thought grimly. It would be about as comfortable as being locked in a stable with two raging stallions fighting for a mare. For there could be no mistaking the hot possessiveness that had flared in Aidan's eyes, and the cold loathing, the disgust that had shone in Philip's.

  Dear God, as if things weren't bad enough! Now to have Philip here, to witness what? The disaster that this marriage had already become? Her fumbling attempts to regain Cassandra's affection? The stinging humiliation and stark uncertainty of her relationship with her new husband on this, their wedding night?

  Their wedding night...

  Norah cringed. Oh God, what if Philip somehow discovered that she would be spending this night in her own bedchamber, alone?

  No. There was no way Philip could know that—no way anyone could. Or could they?

  She caught her lip between her teeth, a bank of blossoms blurring before her eyes.

  "Norah?"

  She looked up into Cassandra's face and saw triumph there. The sad triumph of a hurting child, who had managed to wound someone back. And the uncertainty of a girl, nearly a woman, who was suddenly, reluctantly, ashamed.

  "Perhaps I could come to your chamber, help you with your gown and hair for the ball. You'll want to make the grandest impression, and..."

  Norah barely heard the girl's chatter. She wanted nothing more than to bar herself in the Blue Room and stay there forever, forget about ballrooms full of strangers and a reluctant bridegroom who had barely taken the time to say his vows. Forget about Cassandra, the pain and hurt in her eyes, and forget long-forgotten dreams about a youth with golden-brown hair who danced with an agonizingly shy girl.

  "Cassandra, go inform the servants to install Lord Montgomery in the chambers across from mine." Aidan's hard voice shook her to the core.

  "But—but I..." Norah started to protest, but Cassandra had already bolted off.

  "Why?" she demanded, glaring at him in fury. "There are a dozen other places he could be."

  "But he will be here at Rathcannon tonight, won't he, my dear? On our bridal night."

  "I didn't invite him! You must know that!" Norah insisted, her voice quivering.

  "You don't want him here? Strange, when I first saw you with him here in the garden, you seemed quite pleased that your girlhood hero had come... to what, my love? Rescue you once again?"

  The memory of Philip's words made Norah squirm. "I—I don't deserve this. I married you, Aidan."

  "No, you don't deserve this. For marrying me, you most likely deserve a medal for bravery or else keys to your own cell in Bedlam. Of course, you married me and then you told me I was not welcome in your bed."

  "I... after what happened, I..."

  "Don't distress yourself. I'm quite certain I will get over my disappointment. It's not the first time my wife has denied me her favors. And you will have your so-dear friend Lord Montgomery to console you. After all, you are not completely friendless in this godforsaken land."

  With that, he turned and stalked away.

  Dear God, Norah thought. How had everything gone so hideously wrong? She had run away from London t
o escape this: the grinding humiliation, the brutal sense of awkwardness that had tormented her from the first moment she had stepped into a society ballroom. But as she recalled Philip's outrage and her husband's stormy countenance, she feared that this bridal night and the morrow's impending ball might well be the most horrendous ordeal she'd ever endured.

  CHAPTER 14

  The bastard couldn't keep his eyes off of Norah, thought Aidan as he brooded, his eyes following Lord Montgomery's every movement with a lethal negligence that would have sent any of his gaming opponents diving from their chairs.

  Every flutter of those gentle hands that had soothed Aidan in his sickness, every nervous tug of those soft lips into a smile or a tremulous frown, every glint of gold or amber in those liquid dark eyes were captured by Montgomery's arrogant aristocratic gaze.

  Aidan shouldn't have given a damn. Yes, Norah was now officially his wife, but it wasn't as if he were in love with the woman—infected by that poisonous emotion that had once set his veins afire with the need to hold on to something that was as deadly as it was beautiful, addictive as it was venomous.

  He was no longer prisoner to emotions that had run white-hot knives through his vitals with every laugh, every smile Delia had bestowed on another man. He'd buried that part of himself on a dawn-kissed dueling field the third year of his marriage. Even now, he could still feel the agonized struggles of the last opponent he'd faced because of Delia's unfaithfulness. The eighteen-year-old boy's only sin had been being seduced into sipping the maddening poison that was Delia. Aidan had held the boy down as the surgeon had extracted the pistol ball from his shoulder, disgusted with himself, loathing the woman who had brought them both to this pass.

  Time and again, Aidan's gaze had tracked from the wound to where the boy's heart was beating, horrified at the notion that if he'd moved his shot but five inches to the left, the lad would be gasping out his final breath.

  For what? For a woman who would forget him before the week was out? For a harlot in lady's garb who would likely not remember his name in a dozen weeks' time?

  And Aidan—hadn't Delia triumphed over him as well? She had turned him into something repulsive, something that stung and burned and twisted in an agony of the soul that matched this wounded boy's pain.

  Couldn't he extract that part of him that Delia had infected? Rip it free, the way the surgeon ripped free the lead bullet?

  In that frozen moment, Aidan had done so. He had deadened that besotted fool that had been Delia's pawn until he didn't give a damn about her—about any woman, except to gain pure animal pleasure in the silken sheath of their bodies.

  He shouldn't have cared that Montgomery monopolized what few forays Norah had made into the conversation held around the bridal supper's table. Or that the Englishman had rushed to pull out her chair, to compliment her gown, to ramble on ad nauseam about boyhood antics of the stepbrother Aidan had never met, the crack-brained, careless youth who had precipitated Norah's flight to Ireland.

  Even Cass had bestirred herself to be charming after the long and grueling "discussion" he had had with her after the wedding. Not that he entirely trusted the chit's sudden turnabout. He was uncertain whether she was testing her budding feminine wiles on a peer of the realm, or merely trying to drive her father to distraction by prattling more questions about the infernal social whirl of London society until Aidan thought his head would explode.

  It had been all he could do to remain civil in the hours since he'd stalked from Rathcannon's gardens. But he'd vowed then and there that he'd be damned before he'd let any of them know the strange, pulsing restlessness that possessed him, the hunger that had nothing to do with cakes or feasts or even the brandy he'd drunk far too much of in the hours since they'd left the table for the drawing room.

  Yet with every minute that ticked by, Aidan felt the coils of tension inside him wrench tighter. With every glance of revulsion Philip Montgomery shot at him down that perfect patrician nose, Aidan became more and more tempted to break it.

  "Papa, you're being dull as a stone." Cassandra's voice shook him from that attractive contemplation. "Norah has asked you three times if you would care to play a game."

  Aidan shifted his gaze to his bride, letting her see the seething recklessness in his eyes.

  Hers widened, like some helpless woodland creature caught in the predatory gaze of a wolf. "I—I just thought that... that you must be weary of enduring tales of—of childish nonsense. That perhaps a game would be diverting."

  Aidan couldn't stop himself from purring, "I cannot tell you how I've been anticipating playing games upon my bridal night." His brow lifted with a suggestiveness that made color flood into those porcelain smooth cheeks, and he cursed himself as a bastard.

  "I meant faro, or whist, or—" Norah's gaze locked with his, reproachful, hurt, yet glossed with an anger that made her eyes shimmer hotly. She rose and paced to the mantel, and Aidan wondered if she was trying to decide whether to break down in a bout of feminine tears or whack him on the head with the fire iron. He devoutly hoped she chose the latter. Perhaps such a blow would drive this strange fever from his brain. Obliterate this pulsing, driving need to take her in his arms, strip away her proper clothes, force cries of ecstasy from those lips that were so tempting.

  "I truly am not in the mood for that type of... entertainment," Aidan said with a wave of his hand. "But if you and Philip would care to indulge..."

  The double entendre made her back stiffen and her chin tilt at that angle that always wrenched at Aidan's heart. She wasn't beautiful, damn her, Aidan thought. Then why the hell was he crazed with the need to grind his mouth down onto the pliant curves of her lips, possess them in a way that would drive the memory of every other man in the world from her mind.

  She faced him with the dignity of a captive princess. "I find myself reluctant to play any more games today. If you'll excuse me, I think I shall retire to bed."

  "My dear, it's early yet," Montgomery objected, sweeping up from his chair to prevent her. "I will be here but a few days. Surely you can bear to stay with me a little longer." The Englishman looked as if the idea of her sharing a bed with Aidan Kane sickened him. Aidan wished to God he could blame the man, dismiss his scorn. Yet it was true that he wasn't fit to kiss the hem of Norah's gown.

  "She said she is tired, Montgomery," Aidan bit out, furious with Montgomery, furious with his own chafing doubts. "Since your visit was totally unexpected, you can hardly expect my wife to sit up until all hours entertaining you. Especially since this is her wedding night."

  The Englishman blanched. "I should think that a gentleman would not mention—"

  "I doubt you would accord me the title of gentleman, my lord. Now bid my wife goodnight." Aidan unfolded his long frame out of his chair. "Cassandra, it is time for you to retire as well."

  "But I don't want to—"

  "You'll have a long enough night tomorrow at the ball," Aidan said in a tone that brooked no argument. "That is, unless I decide to forbid you to go because you're behaving like a fractious child."

  "Papa!" Cassandra hissed, with a painful, pointed glance at their guest. The girl paled, her eyes flooding with surprise and hurt, and Aidan wondered when his relationship with his daughter had grown so infernally complicated. His throat tightened at the flash of betrayal in those eyes that heretofore had always sparkled at him with delight and complete confidence.

  He wanted to call Cassandra back as the girl bid Philip Montgomery a reluctant farewell and Norah a stilted, brusque one. He felt a twinge, deep in his chest, as Cassandra glared at him and then turned stiffly and exited the room.

  Not a word—no Goodnight, Papa. Not one of those exuberant kisses he treasured. If the girl had sought a weapon to wound him with, she could have found none better.

  And as if Cassandra's antics weren't grating enough, his new bride now stood, her gaze shifting between him and Montgomery, as if she suspected that the minute she stepped from the room they would fling themselv
es at each other's throats like snarling wolves.

  "Perhaps I am not so tired as I thought," she said, crossing to where the teapot sat upon a chinoiserie table.

  "You look tired to death," Aidan said quietly, and he meant it. "Go to bed, Norah."

  Her fingers fidgeted with the lace at her bodice. Aidan tried not to notice the soft, pale swells of her breasts above the delicately webbed trimming, the fragile cords of her throat shifting as she swallowed hard.

  "Aidan, will you... will you join me?"

  Why did the plea irritate him beyond imagining? What did the woman hope to do? Lure him away from Lord Montgomery by promising her new husband entry to the bed she had earlier denied him? Perhaps her attachment to this Philip person must be more intense than he'd guessed. The fact that Aidan wanted her, was tempted to take what she offered in spite of that—made him furious.

  "Please, Aidan." She came to him, laying one hand on his chest.

  He glimpsed the gold of his mother's wedding ring upon her finger, the symbol of his right to claim her.

  That warm, feminine hand pressed against his heart. He wanted it to burrow past his waistcoat, through the slit in the front of his shirt. He wanted that hand eager, seeking out the ridges that marked his rib cage. He wanted them threading through the gilding of dark hair with indescribable delicacy. He wanted those feminine fingertips to discover the dark disk of his nipple, circle it, before he taught her shy, soft lips to kiss him there the first time.

  But wasn't it possible Norah had dreamed of another man teaching her the ways of pleasure? Was it possible that she had dreamed of being taken to Philip Montgomery's bed, having him worship her body?

  Aidan's jaw knotted. He'd already been chained to one wife who had hungered for another man when he'd come to her bed. There was no way he would put himself through that hellish experience again. Would he?

  "Aidan?" Her voice was pleading, when he'd already taken so much from her, hurt her, lied to her.

  Her accusations in the church rippled through him again, chafing him. Reminding him that when he'd dragged Cass out to the gardens earlier that day, it had been with the best intentions, with a hundred resolutions to apologize to Norah for the debacle of the marriage ceremony, and his callous disregard for her feelings.