Chapter 13 #2
“Emily, it’s not appropriate for someone in my position to wear something so fine.”
Cecilia swept out from behind a curtain, resplendent in the midnight blue she had chosen. “Nonsense. You’ll try it on, or I shall be deeply offended. Madame has gone to such trouble.”
“But—”
“Just try it on,” Cecilia insisted. “If you don’t like it, we’ll find something else. But at least let us see.”
Louise looked between them, her resistance crumbling under the combined assault of Cecilia’s determination and Emily’s hopeful eyes. “Very well. I’ll try it on. But that’s it.”
Madame whisked her away behind the curtain with a triumphant smile. Aaron turned his attention to the window, determined not to watch, not to imagine the fabric sliding over Louise’s skin.
Emily tugged at his coat. “Your Grace? Don’t you think my sister will look pretty?”
“Your sister always—” He stopped himself. “I’m sure the gown will be suitable.”
“That’s not the same thing at all,” Emily observed with a frown.
The curtain rustled. Aaron kept his gaze fixed on the street outside.
“Oh my.” Cecilia’s voice held a note of wonder. “Oh, my dear girl.”
“Louise!” Emily gasped. “You look like a fairy queen!”
Against every instinct, Aaron turned.
And forgot how to breathe.
Louise stood before the mirror, transformed.
The pearl silk draped her figure with elegant simplicity, the neckline revealing the graceful curve of her shoulders, the delicate hollow of her throat.
The fabric caught the light with every breath she took, shimmering like morning mist over a lake.
Her copper hair blazed against the pale silk, and her green eyes held uncertainty as she smoothed the skirt with nervous hands.
She was devastating. Luminous. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“It’s lovely,” Louise said, her voice small. “But it’s far too fine for a companion. I couldn’t possibly—”
“You will have it.” The words left Aaron’s mouth before he could stop them.
Everyone turned to stare at him. Louise’s lips parted in surprise.
Cecilia nudged his arm sharply. “Is that all you have to say? She looks magnificent, and you say she ‘will have it’?”
Aaron’s throat tightened. He should say something more. He should tell her she looked like starlight given form. He should admit that the sight of her had stolen every coherent thought from his head.
“The gown suits you,” he managed. “Well.”
Cecilia rolled her eyes heavenward. Louise’s expression flickered with something that looked like disappointment before she masked it with a polite smile.
“Thank you, Your Grace. But the cost must be considerable. I couldn’t allow you to—”
“The cost is irrelevant.”
“Your Grace—”
“The dress is yours, Lady Louise.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “I won’t hear any argument.”
Louise stared at him, searching his face for something he couldn’t let her find. “I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. It’s settled.” Aaron turned away before he could do something foolish, like cross the room and show her exactly what he thought of how she looked in that gown.
His gaze fell on a display of hair ornaments near the door. A delicate butterfly comb caught the light, its wings fashioned from seed pearls and silver filigree.
“This as well.” He picked it up and handed it to a startled Madame Beaumont. “For Lady Emily. To match her sister.”
Emily squealed with delight. “For me? Truly?”
“To my knowledge, princesses need proper adornment.”
Emily threw her arms around his waist in a fierce hug that caught him off guard.
Aaron froze completely, his hands hovering in the air as if Emily were made of spun glass that might shatter at his touch.
Emily squeezed tighter, her small face pressed against his waistcoat. “You’re the best duke in the whole world!”
His hand lowered slowly, awkwardly, until it rested on her curls. The gesture looked like something he had observed others do rather than felt it himself, only a careful imitation. His fingers barely grazed her hair, as if deeper contact might reveal how unprepared he was for this moment.
“You’re welcome,” he managed, his voice rougher than intended.
Over her head, he saw Louise watching him with an expression that made his chest ache.
“Thank you,” Louise said softly.
Aaron extracted himself from Emily’s embrace and checked his watch. Nearly one o’clock. “I must go. My appointment won’t wait.”
“Of course.” Cecilia’s knowing smile suggested she saw far more than he wanted her to. “We’ll manage from here. But try to return at a reasonable hour. We’re dining as a family tonight, and I won’t have you claiming urgent business.”
He fled the salon without looking back, but Louise’s image followed him into the street. The pearl silk against her skin. The uncertainty in her eyes. The flash of disappointment when he’d fumbled his compliment like a green boy.
The gown suits you. Well.
He was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.
The cold air outside did nothing to cool his heated thoughts. Every interaction with Louise left him more unsettled, more desperate for something he couldn’t allow himself to have.
The walk to the Boar’s Head gave him time to rebuild his defenses. By the time he arrived at the dingy pub in Southwark, Aaron had forced thoughts of Louise aside, focusing instead on whatever news Howlett had to share.
The pub was dim and smoky, filled with the low murmur of men conducting business best left unexamined. Aaron spotted Howlett in a corner booth, nursing an ale and trying to look inconspicuous despite his obviously professional bearing.
“Your Grace.” Howlett rose slightly as Aaron approached. “Thank you for coming.”
Aaron settled across from him, noting the tension in the man’s shoulders. “Your note suggested urgency.”
“Indeed.” Howlett leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’ve had word about Lord Sulton.”
Aaron’s attention sharpened. “What kind of word?”
“He’s been seen.” Howlett pulled out a small notebook, flipping to a marked page.
“Three days ago, at the docks in Wapping. Meeting with a man named John Wigram, who runs operations out of the East End. Has connections that make even the Runners nervous.” Howlett’s voice dropped further.
“Your Grace, if Lord Sulton is involved with Wigram, this goes beyond mere gambling debts.”
“You think he’s backing the operation?”
“It would explain how he’s been funding his losses. Smuggling pays well, if you don’t mind the risk of hanging.” Howlett closed his notebook. “I could look into it further. Perhaps speak with Lord Sulton’s accountant, see if there’s a paper trail.”
“No.” Aaron’s voice came out sharper than intended. “I’ll handle the accountant myself.”
Howlett raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“What’s the accountant’s name?”
“Seamus Hargrave. Keeps offices in Cheapside, and he’s known to be discreet about his clients’ affairs.” Howlett slid a folded paper across the table. “The address is there.”
Aaron pocketed the paper without looking at it. “If you hear anything else about Wigram’s movements, or Lord Sulton’s whereabouts, send word immediately.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Aaron stood, tossing coins onto the table to cover Howlett’s ale and then some. “Thank you.”
“Your Grace?” Howlett’s voice stopped him before he could turn away. “A word of caution, if I may.”
“Speak.”
“Wigram isn’t a man who forgives debts or forgets slights. If Lord Sulton has crossed him or taken something that belongs to him …” Howlett let the implication hang in the air. “It might be wise to find the young lord before Wigram does.”
Aaron nodded once and left the pub, stepping out into the gray afternoon. The cold air bit at his face as he walked, but he barely noticed.
The Earl of Sulton, George Burrows, was a smuggler.
It shouldn’t have surprised him. The man had shown time and time again that he possessed neither sense nor scruples. But if George were caught, the scandal would destroy what little remained of Louise’s reputation.
She and Emily would be ruined. Cast out of society entirely. No amount of protection Aaron could offer would shield them from the taint of a brother executed for crimes against the Crown.
He had to find George before anyone else did. Had to extract the fool from whatever mess he’d made and clean it up quietly.
The accountant would be his first step. If George was funneling money through smuggling operations, there would be records. There were always records. And records could be destroyed if one moved quickly enough.
Aaron hailed a passing hackney, giving the driver the Cheapside address. The visit to the accountant couldn’t wait. Every hour George remained entangled with Wigram increased the danger.
As the carriage rattled through London’s crowded streets, Aaron’s thoughts drifted despite his best efforts.
Louise in pearl silk. Louise laughing at Emily’s antics. Louise looking at him with those green eyes that saw too much, wanted too much, deserved far more than he could offer.
But God help him, he wanted her.
With an intensity that kept him awake at night, that made every interaction torture, that threatened to shatter his famous control.