Chapter 13
“Ishouldn’t be more than two hours, Thornton. Have the carriage brought round.”
Aaron strode out of his study, tucking Howlett’s note into his coat pocket. The Runner’s cramped handwriting had been brief but urgent:
New information regarding Lord S. Meet at the Boar’s Head, two o’clock.
“Very good, Your Grace.” Thornton fell into step behind him. “Shall I inform Lady Merrow of your departure?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, but it will.” Cecilia’s voice carried down the corridor.
She stood blocking his path to the front door with the determination of a general defending territory.
Behind her, Louise held Emily’s hand while Buttercup sniffed hopefully at Aaron’s greatcoat pocket, no doubt searching for treats.
“You’re not leaving this house until you hear what I have to say.”
“I do not have time for this, Aunt.”
“You haven’t even heard what I’m proposing.” Cecilia’s smile held that gleam that meant trouble.
“When you ambush me in my own hallway with that expression, I don’t need to hear it.” Aaron pulled on his gloves, avoiding Louise’s gaze. Even a glimpse of her these days threatened his carefully maintained control. “I have an appointment in town.”
“With whom?”
“Business matters.”
“How delightfully vague.” Cecilia moved closer, forcing him to stop or bowl her over. “Well, your business will have to wait a moment. We’ve been invited to the Ashworth winter ball.”
Aaron felt his jaw tighten. “The time to send invitations for the Season is over.”
“Lady Ashworth has decided to throw a winter celebration. A magical evening of snowflakes and silver, she calls it. Everyone will dress in white and silver, like a fairy tale come to life.”
“Sounds dreadful.”
“It sounds necessary.” Cecilia’s tone shifted, becoming serious. “Louise needs to be seen as my companion, Aaron. The more we appear together in public, the less speculation there will be about her presence in this house.”
Against his better judgment, Aaron’s gaze found Louise.
She wore a simple green morning dress that somehow made her copper hair glow like flame.
Their eyes met for an instant before she looked away, color rising in her cheeks.
The sight sent heat coursing through him, memories of that night at the inn flooding back with visceral clarity.
Her mouth under his. The soft sound she made when he pulled her closer. The way she felt in his arms, all warmth and willing surrender.
He forced the thoughts away, focusing on his aunt’s expectant face. “When is this ball?”
“A fortnight from now.”
Aaron studied his aunt’s expectant face. He knew she’d pout, then pester him endlessly, or even feign some sudden illness to get her way.
“Fine.” The word came out clipped. “We’ll attend.”
He moved to step around her, already calculating his escape routes for the evening, when she caught his arm.
“Excellent!” Cecilia clapped her hands together. “Which means we need new gowns immediately. The modiste awaits.”
Aaron stopped. “You already made an appointment?”
“Of course. Did you think I would leave such things to chance?” Cecilia linked her arm through his before he could protest. “And you’re coming with us.”
“You do not need a chaperone to visit the modiste, aunt.”
“But I do! Your presence will ensure the modiste understands the importance of winter-themed attire.”
“My presence at a dressmaker will cause more speculation, not less.”
“Nonsense. A duke accompanying his aunt shows family devotion. Besides,” Cecilia lowered her voice, though not enough that Louise couldn’t hear, “you have excellent taste when you choose to exercise it.”
Aaron glanced at his pocket watch. Howlett’s note had suggested meeting at the Boar’s Head at two o’clock. It was barely noon. He had time, though every instinct screamed against spending it near Louise.
“One hour,” he said firmly. “Then, I have business that cannot be delayed.”
“Marvelous!” Cecilia was already steering him toward the door. “Emily, dear, bring Buttercup. He enjoys carriage rides.”
The journey to Bond Street took place in torturous proximity.
The carriage, spacious under normal circumstances, felt impossibly small with Louise seated directly across from him.
Every bump in the road shifted her slightly, drawing his attention to the graceful way she steadied herself, the delicate bones of her wrists visible beneath her gloves.
Emily chattered about snowflakes and whether the ballroom would have real snow or just decorations, while Buttercup attempted to stick his massive head out the window despite the cold. But Aaron heard none of it, too aware of Louise’s presence, the subtle scent of lavender that haunted his dreams.
Eventually, they arrived at Madame Beaumont’s establishment. The modiste herself appeared at the door, clearly having been watching for their arrival.
“Your Grace! Lady Merrow! Such an honor!” The woman’s French accent might have been genuine twenty years ago; now it served as a theatrical enhancement to her mystique.
They were ushered into a private salon, all gilt mirrors and cream silk. Emily immediately gravitated toward a display of ribbons while Buttercup found a patch of sunlight and collapsed into it with a contented grunt.
“Now then,” Madame Beaumont clasped her hands together, “Lady Ashworth’s winter ball, yes? Such excitement! Everyone wants silver and white, but we shall create something extraordinary.”
She whisked Cecilia away first, leaving Aaron trapped in a salon with Louise and the overwhelming need to be anywhere else. Louise moved to the window, pretending to study the street below, but he could see the tension in her shoulders.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said quietly. “I’m sure your business is important.”
“My aunt would never forgive me.”
“Your aunt seems quite determined.” Louise kept her voice carefully neutral, though being this close to him made her pulse race.
“She has that effect on people.” He turned to study a display of gloves with intense concentration.
The silence stretched between them, filled with everything they couldn’t say. Louise traced a pattern on the velvet settee, fighting the urge to smooth the tension from his shoulders, to tell him she understood his distance even as it hurt her.
Thankfully, Madame Beaumont returned with Cecilia, who wore an expression of deep satisfaction.
“Perfect! Absolutely perfect!” Cecilia declared. “Now, Lady Louise, your turn. Madame has some wonderful ideas.”
“I really couldn’t possibly accept a gown,” Louise protested as Madame held up several swatches of silk. “I’m only Lady Merrow’s companion. I’m sure I have something suitable in my wardrobe.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Merrow swept forward. “You’ll be properly dressed or not at all. I won’t have people saying I don’t care for my companion.”
“But the expense—”
“Is not yours to worry about,” Lady Merrow said firmly. “Besides, the duke agrees. Don’t you, Aaron?”
Aaron looked up from where he’d been pretending to examine walking sticks. “My aunt is correct. You’ll be dressed according to your position in this household.”
Louise felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Your kindness is overwhelming, but—”
“Please, Louise?” Emily abandoned the ribbons to clutch her sister’s hand. “I want to see you look like a princess!”
Louise allowed herself to be led away, but not before shooting Aaron one last look that seemed equal parts frustration and something else. Something that made his chest tight and his control feel suddenly fragile.
“She’s lovely,” Madame Beaumont said conversationally as she guided Louise toward the fitting area. “Such unusual coloring. We must be careful not to overwhelm it.”
Aaron moved closer without conscious thought. Through the partially open curtain, he could see Louise standing before a mirror as Madame held up various fabrics.
“The white silk is traditional,” the modiste was saying, “but perhaps something with more warmth? This cream would complement your skin beautifully.”
“It should be appropriate for a companion,” Louise said firmly. “Nothing too elaborate.”
“Nonsense!” Cecilia called from where she was examining gloves.
Madame produced a bolt of fabric that caught the light like captured moonbeams. “Pearl silk,” she announced. “With silver embroidery, perhaps? Elegant, but not ostentatious.”
Louise touched the fabric reverently. “It’s beautiful, but I couldn’t possibly accept something so fine.”
“You can and you will,” Aaron kept his voice level, but something fierce stirred in his chest. “Unless you’d prefer people whisper that I don’t properly provide for my guests.”
Everyone turned to look at him. Louise’s lips parted in surprise, and Aaron had to force himself not to stare at her mouth, not to remember how it felt against his.
“Exactly right,” Cecilia said with satisfaction. “The pearl silk, Madame.”
“Right away, my lady.”
As Madame bustled about taking measurements and discussing trim options, Aaron watched Louise. She stood still as the modiste worked, but her eyes followed Emily’s excited dance around the salon. The soft smile that curved her lips made something shift in Aaron’s chest.
This was what he was protecting, he reminded himself. Not just Louise’s reputation, but Emily’s future. Their place in society, tenuous as it was, depended on maintaining absolute propriety. One whisper of scandal and they would be ruined.
“Mademoiselle!” Madame Beaumont emerged from the fitting area, carrying a gown that seemed to capture moonlight. “I have found the perfect gown for you. You must try it on.”
Louise’s laughter faded. “Oh, I don’t think this dress is suited for me. I’m only Lady Merrow’s companion. Something much simpler will suffice.”
“Simple?” Madame looked personally affronted. “With your coloring? Non, non, non. This pearl silk was made for you.”
“Really, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Oh, try it on!” Emily abandoned Buttercup to tug Louise’s hand. “Please, Louise? I want to see you look like a princess!”