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“Nothing, Aunt Ophelia!” he shouted.
“When’s dinner?”
“Eight o’clock!” he yelled, then muttered, “Same as every night,” under his breath. Her cane knocked his shin, ringing it like a bell.
She shuffled past him, her kerchiefed head reaching only half the height of his body. “You’re a fool.”
Aidan frowned and leaned closer, clasping her elbow to steady her frail body. “Pardon?” But she ignored him and shuffled all the way to the door, pulling her elbow from his grasp halfway across the room. “I’ve been walking for eighty years.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She narrowed her half-blind eyes in irritation. “Puling babe.”
Aidan tucked his chin in. “I’m sorry . . . What did you say?”
“Some men never get over teat-sucking for comfort.”
He stumbled back in horror. “Aunt Ophelia! What did . . . ? You . . .”
She spun back toward him with surprising speed and pointed a crooked finger in his face. “I said grow up or I’ll dress you in short pants like you deserve!”
Aunt Ophelia escaped before he could stop her, likely because he was paralyzed with confusion. He now had no idea if she had been eavesdropping or was simply mad as a fiend. He could certainly hear her muttering to herself as she moved slowly down the corridor. Aidan could only shake his head and hope that everything would make more sense tomorrow.
Chapter 29
Kate woke exhausted, and the irony was not lost on her. All day yesterday, she’d kept the shop locked and shuttered, too weary to even greet her neighbors. But despite her daytime exhaustion, she’d lain awake in a sea storm of twisting sheets for most of the night. Now that it was morning, she was finally tired again.
It wasn’t fair, and she wanted to lay abed and weep, but there was no time for that.
She took her boots from the wardrobe, avoiding the sight of her blue dress and the memories of him. In the near dark of the room, she washed with water that she was too tired to heat, sending trails of goose bumps marching over her skin. Lamplight flickered, softening the angles of her body, sparkling off the small drops of icy water. She smoothed the cloth between her breasts, watching, remembering. Her nipples tightened almost painfully at the cold touch, but her eyes saw them peak and harden for Aidan, saw his hands stroke over her instead of her own.
Lust swept over her, startling and unexpected. Its intensity nearly buckled her knees. The very core of her tightened and heated, and the urge to close her eyes and stroke again, to think of Aidan and his jaded skills . . . it took her breath away.
Oh God, her body was not her own anymore. Of course, that had been true in her marriage also, and she’d learned to live with that. But this was a different sort of ownership altogether, binding her with her own needs, her own memories. This was so much more insidious, so much easier to embrace.
Angered by her desire, she finished washing quickly, scrubbing with a harsh hand at her body. Without even taking the time to dry, she pulled on her clothes. The worn linen shift, the woolen stockings, the loose corset and shapeless brown dress. Nothing that any of Aidan’s other women had worn, she was sure of it.
She could not imagine living like this every day. A tight, uncomfortable ache weighted down her stomach, a feeling that she’d forgotten something important, something crucial. A sense of foreboding had overtaken her last night, and she’d been on guard before she’d even opened her eyes.
“It’s Gerard worrying me,” she whispered to herself as she pulled on her worn, ugly boots. “That’s all.”
But that wasn’t one of the thoughts that had tortured her through the night. Instead, she’d thought of Aidan. She couldn’t seem to steel her heart against him.
If she still loved him, it didn’t matter. The fantasy that she could take him, take his body, his heart, everything he offered, now seemed impossible. How could it work? Even in the short-term, how could she please a man who’d likely had every woman he’d ever asked for?
The answer was that she couldn’t. Insatiable, the woman had called him. Insatiable.
It still stung like fire, seared her lungs, her throat. How many women had said the same about him?
Every moment with him, every touch, every kiss they’d shared had seemed special, almost sacred. She felt betrayed and foolish now. Beyond foolish—stupid. She’d trusted him. She’d trusted him to overlook her hesitance and fear when they made love, to not even notice her lack of skill. Now, with the truth between them, she realized how hopeless that must have been. He’d likely been bored.
Perhaps that was the greatest source of her anger, that he had offered her such joy—such fierce joy—under a false pretense. The pretense that he found her arousing in some specific way. The truth was that his arousal was an easy thing. He’d admitted it himself. Those women had meant nothing to him, and still he’d had them.
Muttering a curse, she pushed to her feet to stomp downstairs. The stove didn’t dare to defy her this morning, and her coffee and salt pork were both hot within minutes. Perhaps this would be her last small meal here. If she could sell the shop today . . . But no, that was a ridiculous fantasy. She’d never sell it so quickly, but there still might be a way to steal away today.
She couldn’t in all good conscience call on the Cains this early, so Kate spent time going through her ledgers and copying everything she wished to take with her. It was only then that the sadness hit her. She hadn’t been born with this dream, but she’d made it hers out of necessity. Now what would she do?
Undoubtedly, it could be nothing to do with coffee this time, not if she wanted to leave Gerard behind. Perhaps she would simply sail to America and decide what to do with herself once she’d landed. Plenty of others did exactly the same, and surely Gerard would never find her in a place so immense. She could disappear as she had before. It would be as if she’d never returned to England. Just as well. She never should have.
