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“Aidan.”
The disapproval in Edward’s voice brought heat to Aidan’s face. “You cannot know the effect she had.”
“Can’t I?”
Aidan looked away, focusing on the farthest corner of the room so he would not have to see his brother’s eyes. Of course, Edward had heard all the tales. And in those first years, he’d likely seen the evidence of Aidan’s debauchery with his own eyes. “I am the one who chose to take advantage of the legend she created. The young man devastated by love and grief. The heartbroken hero in need of comfort. But when I found out she was the person who’d told my secrets . . . It was a relief to have someone else to hate besides myself.”
The fire snapped against the silence. Sparks shook free of the flames and slowly floated up the chimney.
“Can’t you forgive her?” Edward asked softly.
“I forgave her long ago.”
“I’m not sure she knows that, Aidan.”
Yes, she likely wouldn’t. He’d made peace with his mother’s actions, but he’d never made peace with his own. Hard to distinguish one anger from another, he supposed. While he was considering that, Aidan’s eye caught on the wing chair in the small alcove near the corner window. A scrap of gray fabric seemed out of place. He craned his neck, scowling.
“Is that Aunt Ophelia?”
“No, I . . . My God.” They rose together and descended upon the alcove to find ancient Aunt Ophelia dozing in the weak sunlight. She opened one eye and stared balefully at them.
“Aunt Ophelia,” Aidan shouted. “A pleasure to see you again. May I escort you to your room?”
She pushed to her feet before either man could help and shuffled from the room without a word.
“Do you think she heard
anything?”
Edward laughed. “She hasn’t heard anything in years.”
“Right.” Aidan frowned at the echo of a door closing farther down the hall. “Of course.” He was distracted from his worry by the sound of lively voices from the entry. He prayed it was his sister and not houseguests, and soon enough he recognized her voice.
The whole household descended to greet her and touch her and ask after her journey. Aidan gave her a long hug, then solemnly shook the hand of her husband, Jude. Jude had been a good friend once. Good enough to volunteer to marry Marissa when she’d found herself compromised. But now Aidan and Jude eyed each other warily while Marissa discussed their honeymoon trip to the Ottoman.
The bronzed tint to her naturally pale skin spoke to her adventures, and her eyes sparkled like emeralds as she wove tales.
Their mother smothered Marissa with dramatic kisses. “My darling!” she exclaimed. “You’re as dark as a Persian harem girl!”
“I’m sure that harem girls are kept quite fair, Mother. They are not allowed to tour the country on camelback, for instance.”
“Never say you did!”
Marissa grinned. “If you’d prefer I not speak of it . . .”
“Nonsense! I can’t bear it, but your brothers will want to hear it!” An utter falsehood, of course. Their mother was fairly trembling with excitement, and if Marissa wasn’t careful, she’d find her next exotic trip with her husband fully encumbered by a maternal stowaway.
As entertaining as Marissa’s story was, Aidan found himself drifting away, as he always did. He’d separated himself from his family long before, and now he worried that he’d permanently severed those ties. He watched his mother and brother and sister and cousin as they laughed and talked. Even Aunt Ophelia hung on Jude’s arm, smiling up at some story he told. Aidan headed toward the door.
He’d take his favorite horse out for a hard run and rejoin his family for dinner. By then, he’d be ready to face them again.
“Aidan!” Marissa called just as his hand touched the door.
He froze and turned reluctantly back, but when she threw herself into his arms, Aidan hugged her hard, and planted several more kisses on her cheek. “Your new status suits you,” he said honestly. “You look beautiful. And happy.”
“I am happy.”
Her grin turned his heart to jelly. Two months before, he hadn’t even hoped she could be happy in her marriage, only content. But now she looked prettier than ever, her smile wide and wicked.
