“Much of my work for the government takes place in the night’s middle,” he admitted. “I will not complain about having a mere seven or so hours of sleep. Now, hurry along. We havediscussed this enough. You are cold and I am getting chilled, as well. We are practical and know how to solve this problem together.”
She did as he instructed while Aaran bent stiffly to add several rolls of paper between the mix of wood and coal set within the hearth. Another roll of paper caught the weak flame of the candle he had set aside. He dropped it into the middle of the other twists and sat back on his heels to watch the flame begin to take hold. Next, he set the metal grate before the hearth. Reclaiming his candle and bracing himself with his free hand, he pushed himself upward. His injured leg burned from the effort, but Aaran breathed through the pain. He watched the fire expand before he returned to his room where he found Lady Freya sitting before the hearth, her stocking covered toes stretched out to capture the heat of the flame and begging for the warmth.
He shook his head in amusement but made no comment. Instead, he crossed to the pail to scoop more coal and toss it into the flame. “Would you like some wine or brandy, my lady?” he asked.
“I am well, my lord,” she told him, as she tugged his coat tighter about her. “Did you manage the fire?”
Aaran lowered himself into a nearby chair. He would never be able to wear that coat again without thinking of how she looked so perfect in these cherished moments of companionship. “I am resourceful when required.”
“I held no doubts, my lord,” she said with a small smile. “I imagine all of Lord Duncan’s sons are quite capable of a number of skills. Your brothers were very brave tonight to chase the poacher into the woods.”
“It should have been me,” Aaran stated. “They have wives and responsibilities.”
“You have responsibilities to your tenants and your estates,” she argued. “Those who depend upon you do not deserve your younger brother as their new lord.”
“No, I suppose they do not,” he said with another heavy sigh. “I had hoped…” He shook his head in the negative. “As long as Lady Rayland is alive, Boyde will be permitted to be a loose wheel. Lady Rhonda will not be a steadying force upon him. She is cut from the same cloth as Lady Rayland, which I suppose makes Lady Rhonda a purposeful choice on behalf of Boyde’s mother. She planned to capture my father, and then later still, once my father was dead, Lord Darius Roland, and now Lord Rayland. If I were Rayland, I would sleep with my eyes open and never accept a drink poured for me from Her Ladyship’s hands.”
Lady Freya said sarcastically, “Why do you not tell me how you truly feel about your stepmother. And, if you felt this way, then why did you propose to Lady Rhonda?”
“In truth, as I said previously, I did not propose to the lady, and she did not accept, nor, as she tells the story, reject me. Under Duncan’s advice, I spoke to Lady Rhonda’s father about thepossibilityof negotiating a marriage contract. He sent me packing. Duncan later claimed such was what he expected. Only after learning of my wealth did Lady Rhonda declare that even my fortune could not induce her to marry me. She saved face from her flirtation, and, once more, people pitied me for my heritage.”
“Were you heartbroken?” she asked.
“Relieved,” Aaran corrected. “Especially after learning more of both the lady and her family. Now, I wish to warn Boyde, but Lady Rayland means to profit from her son’s eventual misery. Lady Rhonda will cuckold my brother, and Boyde will never see it coming.”
“Could the shooting tonight be a message to you?” she asked.
“A message to all of us,” Aaran corrected. “Then again, it might truly have been a poacher.”
“You do not believe that,” she countered.
“But I am known to be a cynic,” he said with a shrug. “There have been a series of incidents… for nearly a year now.” The idea of how long they had been searching for an answer surprised him. “Duncan was shot a year ago in March. Since then, there have been many overlapping events. Only with Thompson’s insights have we come to think that the attacks are not random. Nor are they political, though many in England do not approve of a Scot having as much power in government as does Duncan. The attacks are personal. A vindictiveness, of sorts.”
Instead of responding to his confession, she looked about the room. “Do you suppose the fire has warmed the other chamber? I do not wish to be sleepy in the midst of the wedding.”
Aaran rose stiffly. “We will go through the dressing rooms so you might lock that door from your side. Keep me honest.”
“You are one of the most honorable men I know,” she declared.
“Not everyone views me as such,” he countered.
“If someone judges you as weak because of your injured leg or as not worthy of respect because of your father’s choices, then that person should not be a part of your life. Are you strong enough to carry your children in your arms? To protect your loved ones? To love your own family as you apparently do Lord Duncan’s?”
“I would cherish such a memory,” he said into the silence that had fallen between them. “To know children who call me ‘father’ is my most sacred prayer. I never knew the previous Lord Graham as father, for he was dead before Duncan proved His Lordship’s marriage to my mother. I have a missing link in my life. I do not want that for my own children.”
Tears misted her eyes, but she said, “Then do not quit on your dreams. I shall pray that you some day will know such happiness.”
“Are you quitting on yours?” Aaran countered.
“In England, young women do not have the choices permitted to young gentlemen. We hold few rights, even when we are married. A widow, though she might be impoverished, holds more rights than a lady of the aristocracy,” she declared.
“I doubt many would wish to switch roles in society,” he said with a challenging lift of his brows.
“I would,” she said softly into the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. “To be free to choose where I go—with whom I wish to associate—to believe my thoughts are as worthy as another’s. Women of the aristocracy hold no such rights—only the privileges presented to us by our fathers and, later, our husbands.”
“You sound very much like Lady Emma,” he said, at last.
“As you admire Lady Emma,” she argued, “I shall take your observation as a compliment.” The promise of what could be hung precariously in the emotion-charged, but silent, space resting between them. Her blue eyes searched his, looking for something Aaran feared he would never own. At length, a thoughtful sigh escaped her lips. “I should take to my bed. Tomorrow shall be a busy day for both of us.”
