McKenna wandered to a saddle and smoothed his fingertips over the well-worn surface. His dark head bent, and he suddenly seemed lost in memory.
Aline waited until his gaze returned to her. “How did you get your start in New York?” she asked. “I would have thought you’d find something to do with horses. Why on earth did you become a boatman?”
“Moving cargo at the docks was the first job I could find. When I wasn’t loading boats, I learned how to hold my own in a fistfight. Most of the time the dockers had to brawl over who was going to get the work.” He paused, and added frankly, “I learned in no time to bully my way into getting what I wanted. Eventually I was able to buy a small sailboat with a shallow draft, and I became the fastest ferryman going to and from Staten Island.”
Aline listened carefully, trying to understand the gradual process by which the cavalier boy had become the hard-driven man standing before her. “Did someone act as a mentor to you?” she asked.
“No, I had no mentor.” He ran his fingers over the line of a tightly braided crop. “I thought of myself as a servant for a long time—I never thought I would be more than I was right then. But after a while I realized that the other ferrymen had ambitions far beyond mine. They told me stories about men like John Jacob Astor—have you heard of him?”
“I’m afraid not. Is he a contemporary of the Shaws?”
The question made McKenna laugh suddenly, his teeth flashing white in his dark face. “He’s richer than the Shaws, though even Gideon won’t admit it. Astor was a butcher’s son who started with nothing and made a fortune in the fur trade. Now he buys and sells New York real estate. He’s worth at least fifteen million dollars by now. I’ve met Astor—he’s a domineering little runt who can barely speak English—and he’s made himself into one of the richest men in the world.”
Aline’s eyes widened. She had heard about the explosive growth of industry in America, and the fast-rising value of New York property. But it seemed nearly impossible for one man—especially one of low station—to have acquired such a fortune.
McKenna seemed to follow the train of her thoughts. “Everything’s possible, over there. You can make a lot of money if you’re willing to do what it takes. And money is all that matters, since Americans aren’t distinguished by titles or noble blood.”
“What do you mean, ‘if you’re willing to do what it takes’?” Aline asked. “What have you had to do?”
“I’ve had to advantage of others. I’ve learned to ignore my conscience, and put my own interests above anyone else’s. Most of all, I’ve learned that I can’t afford to care about anyone but myself.”
“You’re not really like that,” she said.
His voice was very soft. “Don’t doubt it for a minute, my lady. I’m nothing like the boy you knew. He may as well have died when he left Stony Cross.”
Aline could not accept that. If there was nothing left of that boy, then a vital part of her heart would die too. Turning toward the tack on the wall nearest her, she concealed the unhappiness that had pulled her features taut. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You seem to be warning me away from yourself,” she said thickly.
Aline was not aware of McKenna’s approach, but suddenly he was right behind her. Their bodies were not touching, but she was acutely aware of the solidity and size of him. In the midst of her inner turmoil, pure physical hunger stirred. She went weak with the need to lean back against him and pull his hands to her body. It had been a bad idea for her to go somewhere with him alone, she thought, closing her eyes tightly.
“I am warning you,” McKenna said gently. “You should tell me to leave Stony Cross. Tell your brother to get rid of me, that my presence here offends you. I’ll go, Aline…but only if you make it happen.”
His mouth was very close to her ear, his breath fanning over the tender outer rim.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to bed you.”
Aline turned to face him with a bemused gaze. “What?”
“You heard me.” McKenna leaned forward and braced his hands on either side of her, palms flattened on the ancient stable wood. “I’m going to take you,” he said, his voice laced with soft menace. “And it will be nothing like the gentlemanly lovemaking that you’re used to from Sandridge.”
That was a shot in the dark. McKenna watched her intently, to see if she would contradict his assumption.
Aline held her silence as she realized that giving him any thread of truth would cause all her secrets to unravel. Better for him to think that she and Adam were lovers, than to wonder why she had remained alone for so many years.
“You…you don’t waste time on subtlety, do you?” she managed, staring at him in wonder, while a warm, prickling sensation invaded the pit of her stomach.
“I thought it only fair to give you advance warning.”
She was jarred by the strange familiarity of the moment, as she was held in thrall by those extraordinary blue-green eyes. Surely this could not really be happening. “You would never force yourself on a woman,” she murmured. “No matter how much you may have changed.”
McKenna answered steadily, while his gaze encompassed every degree of temperature between fire and ice. “If you don’t send me away from Stony Cross by tomorrow morning, I’ll take it as a personal invitation to your bed.”
Aline was filled with the most bewildering mix of emotions imaginable…annoyance, amusement, consternation…not to mention admiration. The boy who had been born in service had become a splendidly arrogant man, and she loved his simmering self-confidence. If circumstances were different, how utterly willing she would have been to give him anything and everything he desired of her. If only—
Suddenly her mind went blank as McKenna took the double rope of pearls in his hand. He rested most of his weight on one leg, letting the other press gently into the mass of her skirts. In that moment of fully clothed proximity, Aline felt her self-control crumbling. The smell of his skin filled her nostrils—the hints of cologne and shaving soap, and the clean, sun-warmed, masculine essence that belonged to him alone. Breathing deeply of the fragrance, she felt an elemental jolt of response.
With a deliberateness that stunned her, McKenna used the front of his body to anchor her against the wall. She felt his free hand slide behind her neck, his gloved thumb and forefinger spread in a firm vise around the back of her skull. For some reason it did not occur to Aline that she should try to resist him. She could only hang there in his grasp, weak with excitement and desire and trepidation.
“Tell me to go,” McKenna muttered, appearing to want her to struggle, almost willing her to. Her lack of opposition seemed to inflame him. The hot waft of his breath struck her lips, and she felt her body tightening inside. “Tell me,” he urged, as his head bent over hers.
And the memories of who and what they had been, of past kisses, of agonizing longing, were consumed in a roar of desire. There was only now, her moan trapped in McKenna’s hot mouth, the kiss beginning as a near-assault, transforming swiftly to a kind of greedy, ecstatic worship. His tongue plunged inside her, strong and sure, and she cried out at the pleasure of it, the sound smothered by his lips. McKenna had taught her how to kiss, and he still remembered all the tricks that aroused her. He paused to toy with her, using his lips, teeth, tongue, then settled back in, delving into her mouth with gloriously aggressive kisses. His hand slid from her nape to the bottom of her spine, bringing her more tightly against him. Arching in response, Aline whimpered as his palm reached the swell of her buttocks and urged her into his loins. Even with the thickness of her skirts between them, she could feel the hard ridge of his arousal.
The pleasure intensified to an almost frightening pitch. Too much, too strong, too fast…
Suddenly McKenna made a rough sound and jerked away from her.
Staring at him, Aline leaned back against the wall, her legs threatening to collapse beneath her. They both bre
athed with deep, wracking pulls of their lungs, while frustrated passion saturated the air like steam.
Finally McKenna managed to speak. “Go back to the house,” he said hoarsely, “while I can still let you. And think about what I told you.”
It took several minutes for Aline to compose herself sufficiently to return to the ball. She thought she had managed to paste a facade of deceptive poise over her inner tumult—no one seemed to notice that anything was amiss as she greeted guests and conversed and laughed with artificial cheer. Only Marcus, who gave her a narrowed, meditative stare from halfway across the ballroom, made her aware that narrow strips of heat were glowing at the crests of her cheeks. And Adam, of course, who appeared at her left elbow and gazed into her upturned face with discreet concern.
“Do I look all right?” she whispered to him.
“Aside from being your usual ravishingly beautiful self,” Adam said, “you are a bit flushed. What happened between the two of you? Did you exchange words?”
Far more than words, she thought ruefully. That kiss…the annihilating pleasure like nothing she had ever felt before. Years of longing and fantasy distilled into pure physical sensation. It seemed impossible to layer detachment over the seething desire, to stand while her knees showed a dismaying inclination to fold. Impossible to pretend everything was as it should be…when nothing was.
That kiss, charged with their mutual hunger to discover the changes that had been wrought over a dozen years of living apart. McKenna presented a danger to Aline in every way, and yet she was somehow certain that she was going to make the wrong choices, take insane risks, all in the futile attempt to appease her need for him.
“Adam,” she murmured without looking at him, “have you ever wanted something so much that you would do anything to have it—even knowing that it was bad for you?”
They walked slowly, taking a slow turn around the outskirts of the ballroom. “Of course,” Adam replied. “All the truly enjoyable things in life are invariably bad for you—and they’re even better when done to excess.”
“You are not being helpful,” Aline said severely, struggling to hold back a sudden smile.
“Would you like for someone to give me permission to do what you’ve already decided to do? Would that help to pacify your guilty conscience?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. But no one can do that for me.”
“I can.”
She laughed suddenly. “Adam…”
“I hereby give you permission to do as you please. Now do you feel better?”
“No, just frightened. And as my friend, you should be doing your utmost to prevent me from making a mistake that will result in a great deal of pain.”
“You’ve already had the pain,” he pointed out. “Now you may as well have the pleasure of making the mistake.”
“My God,” Aline whispered, squeezing his arm tightly, “you are such a terrible influence, Adam.”
“I try,” he murmured, smiling down at her.
Gideon wandered to the terraced gardens behind the estate manor, following a flagstone path that curved around a row of artfully shaped yews. He had hoped that the outside air would distract him from temptation. The night was still young, and he had to slow the pace of his drinking a bit. Later, when the guests disbanded for the night, he could allow his thirst free rein, and he would pickle himself properly. Unfortunately, he still had to endure a few hours of relative sobriety until then.
A few strategically lit garden torches provided enough light to accommodate an evening stroll. In his aimless wandering, Gideon came to a small paved clearing with a splashing fountain embedded in the middle. To his surprise, he saw a girl moving about in the clearing. She seemed to be enjoying the distant music that floated from the open windows of the ballroom. Humming gently, she glided in a dreamy approximation of a waltz, pausing occasionally to sip from a glass of wine. Catching a glimpse of her profile, Gideon saw that she was not a girl but a young woman with pretty, if unremarkable features.
She must be a servant, he thought, noting that her gown was old, and her hair was braided loosely down her back. Perhaps she was a housemaid indulging in a stolen glass of wine.
The woman swirled back and forth like some misguided Cinderella whose ball gown had vanished before she had even reached the party. She made Gideon smile. Temporarily forgetting his desire for another drink, Gideon drew closer, while the gurgle of the fountain obscured the sound of his footsteps.
In the midst of a slow twirl, the woman saw him and froze.
Gideon stood before her with his customary elegant slouch, dipping his head and regarding her with a teasing gaze.
Recovering quickly, the woman stared back at him. A rueful smile curved her lips, and her eyes sparkled in the soft glow of torchlight. Despite her lack of classic beauty, there was something irresistible about her…a kind of vibrant feminine cheerfulness that he had never encountered before.
“Well,” she said, “this is quite mortifying, and if you have any mercy, you will forget what you have just seen.”
“I have a memory like an elephant’s,” he told her with feigned regret.
“How disagreeable of you,” she said, and laughed freely.
Gideon was instantly captivated. A hundred questions crowded in his mind. He wanted to know who she was, why she was there, if she liked sugar in her tea, had she climbed trees as a girl, and what her first kiss had been like…
The flood of curiosity puzzled him. He usually managed to avoid caring about anyone long enough to ask questions about him. Not quite trusting himself to speak, Gideon approached her cautiously. She stiffened slightly, as if she was unused to proximity with a stranger. As he drew closer, he saw that her features were even and her nose was a little too long, and her mouth was soft and sweetly shaped. Her eyes were some light color…green, perhaps…shining eyes that contained unexpected depths.
“Waltzing is somewhat easier with a partner,” he commented. “Would you care to try it?”
The woman stared at him as if she had suddenly found herself in a strange land with a friendly foreigner. Music from the ballroom drifted through the air in a heady current. After a long moment, she shook her head with an apologetic smile, searching for an excuse to refuse him. “My wine isn’t finished.”
Slowly Gideon reached for the nearly empty glass in her hand. She surrendered it without a word, her gaze remaining locked with his. Raising the glass to his lips, Gideon downed the contents in one expert swallow, then set the fragile vessel on the edge of the fountain.
She laughed breathlessly and shook her finger at him in mock reproof.
As he stared at her, Gideon’s chest felt very hot, the way it had once when he’d had croup and his nurse had made him breathe the reviving steam from a boiling pot of herbs. He remembered the relief of being able to breathe after hours of near-suffocation, the greedy movement of his lungs as they drew in the hot, precious air. Oddly, this felt rather like that…a sensation of relief, though from what he wasn’t quite certain.
He offered her a bare hand, having removed his gloves and placed them in his pocket as soon as he had entered the garden. Turning his palm up, he silently willed her to take it.
Apparently the decision was not an easy one. She looked away from him, her expression suddenly contemplative, the edges of her teeth catching at the plush curve of her lower lip. Just as Gideon thought she was going to refuse him, she reached out impulsively, her warm fingers catching at his. He held her hand as if he cradled a fragile bird in his palm, and drew her close enough that he could smell the hint of rose water in her hair. Her body was slim, sweetly curved, her uncorseted waist soft beneath his fingers. Despite the undeniable romance of the moment, Gideon felt a most un romantic stirring of lust as his body reacted with typical male awareness to the nearness of a desirable female. He eased his partner into a slow waltz, guiding her expertly across the uneven flagstones.
“I’ve seen fairies dancing on the lawn before,” he said,
“when I got deep enough in a bottle of brandy. But I’ve never actually danced with one before.” He held her more tightly as she tried to alter their direction. “No, let me lead.”
“We were too close to the edge of the pavement,” she protested, laughing as he compelled her back into his rhythm.
“We were not.”
“Bossy American,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him. “I’m sure I shouldn’t dance with a man who admits to seeing fairies. And no doubt your wife would have a thing or two to say about this.”
“I have no wife.”
“Yes, you do.” She gave him a chiding smile, as if he were a schoolboy who had just been caught in a lie.
“Why are you so certain of that?”
“Because you’re one of the Americans, and they’re all married, except for Mr. McKenna. And you are not Mr. McKenna.”
“There’s one other unmarried American in the group,” Gideon commented lazily, releasing her waist and turning her with one hand. At the completion of the turn, he caught her back against him and smiled down at her.
“Yes,” she replied, “but that would be…”
“Mr. Shaw,” Gideon said helpfully, as her voice trailed into silence.
“Oh…” She looked up at him with wide eyes. Were he not holding her so securely, she would have stumbled. “I’m supposed to stay away from you.”
He grinned at that. “Says who?”
She ignored the question. “And while I’m certain that at least half the rumors about you couldn’t possibly be true—”
“They are,” Gideon said without a trace of shame.
“You’re a rake, then.”
“The worst kind.”
She pulled away from him with a laugh. “At least you’re honest about it. However, it is probably best if I go now. Thank you for the dance…it was lovely.”
“Don’t go,” Gideon said, his voice soft and urgent. “Wait. Tell me who you are.”