It's Always Been You Read online

  Kate was coming to London. To see him.

  Allowed the space and time to think, Kate was changing her mind, it seemed, about him and about their relationship. She was open to more. She must be, to risk a trip to his home in London. His mind spun with the possibilities, and when he looked up to see Jude Bertrand stepping from the ballroom, Aidan latched on to the biggest possibility of all.

  “Jude. Might we speak in the library for a moment?”

  Jude’s brows lowered warily. “As long as you don’t plan to apologize again. That was painful enough the first time.”

  Aidan, embarrassed that he’d behaved badly enough to necessitate an apology, snapped at his old friend. “I’d acted terribly and I owed you an apology.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure the circumstances of my betrothal to Marissa—my last betrothal to Marissa—absolved you of any bad behavior on your part. I was happy to escape with my bullocks intact.”

  “You may thank my sister. She insisted we let you keep them, though I assured her they were worthless.”

  “Ha.”

  “Now,” Aidan snapped, “will you come to the library or not?”

  “I see you’ve used up all your pleasantness for the evening. Good thing I’ve no use for it.” Jude walked toward the library, his steps light as a stalking cat despite his intimidating size. Aidan had called him a lowborn bastard—and worse—just a few months before, but Jude had seemed to forgive him without another thought. His easy pardon only made Aidan feel more churlish. Jude had been a good friend to him, and it dishonored Aidan to admit he hadn’t thought the man worthy of his sister.

  “I am sorry,” he said again as they stepped into the library.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, man. Leave off. You seem to think me as sensitive as a child.”

  Aidan felt his mouth turn up at the edges. “Perhaps I’m only afraid I’ll never be allowed to visit your mother’s salon again.”

  “Waxing sentimental over Marie?” Jude asked, referring to one of the beautiful courtesans Aidan had met there. Jude’s mother was a former French courtesan, famous for her beauty and for the love of a certain duke. Jude was the product of that union, and seemed entirely comfortable with his unusual heritage. And now Aidan was counting on Jude’s odd family for help.

  He poured two drinks and handed one to Jude before inclining his head toward the chairs nearest the fireplace.

  Jude shot him a suspicious look, but he sat down and raised his glass. “To marriage,” he murmured, and Aidan winced.

  “What’s wrong?” Jude asked. “Finally being forced to the altar?”

  “Not at all. It’s something entirely different.” Aidan had clearly not poured enough whisky as he found his glass empty too quickly.

  “Well?” Jude prompted.

  “I . . . It seems . . .” He stumbled to a halt, unable to think how to start. “Can I count on your discretion?”

  “Haven’t you always?” Jude scoffed.

  Aidan managed a sick smile. “Yes, thankfully. But this is . . .”

  “Entirely different?” Jude finished.

  “Yes. It’s about Katie. The girl I once meant to marry.”

  “The one who died?”

  “Yes. Except that she isn’t dead.”

  Jude’s expression hardly budged as he shook his head. “Pardon?”

  “She didn’t die. Her family sent her to India and concocted the story of the shipwreck.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ve no idea, and Kate refuses to contact her family, so perhaps we’ll never know.”

  “You’ve been in touch?”

  “Yes.” He let his gaze rise to meet Jude’s. “I’ve found her.”

  “Well, my God, Aidan! That’s wonderful!”

  Aidan let the smile spread over his face. “It is. She’s alive and well and living in Kingston-upon-Hull, of all places. I happened by her on the street.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. But please don’t tell another soul. Only Edward knows.”

  “What about Marissa?”

  “I can’t tell her yet.”

  “Aidan . . . she’s my wife.”

  “I know, but I can’t tell her yet. It’s complicated. More than complicated.”

  “By what?” Jude asked.

  “The reason I told you . . . I don’t wish to involve you. . . .”

  “But?”

  “But . . . I wondered if your father would be willing to help petition Parliament for a divorce.”

  Jude’s entire body, alert and tense, relaxed slowly into the seat back as his face turned from thrilled to serious. “Ah. Complicated, indeed.”

  “She was sent by her father to marry him, but they’re living separate lives now. He’s still in India.”

  Jude frowned into the fire.

  “I’m sorry,” Aidan murmured. “I know it’s hopelessly hypocritical, after I accused you of having no honor, of not being a gentleman. . . . Now I’m here telling you I’m in love with another man’s wife. But I thought she was dead. And now I have her back. . . . Do you think you can understand that?”

  “Jesus, of course I can. Save your apologies. If I found Marissa after ten years’ separation, do you think I’d let anything keep me from her?”

  Aidan swallowed hard and wished desperately that he’d brought the decanter over. He needed a drink to wash the bitter need from his mouth.

  “And I know better than most how unfair society can be.”

  “Yes,” Aidan said. They’d had a shouted version of this discussion in this very library. Jude had pointed out that despite Aidan’s high birth, he’d often behaved as the basest of men. The truth had stung like fire.

  “What’s her basis for petitioning for divorce?” Jude asked.

  “Ah, well. We’re still discussing that. They’ve never had children. They no longer live as man and wife.”

  “Abandonment? Even so, Aidan . . . It’s nearly an impossibility.”

  “But divorces are granted . . .”

  “Not to women!”

  “Yes,” Aidan answered, his throat tight. “I know. That’s why I would dare to ask for your father’s help. I shouldn’t wish to ruin her name, or my family’s. But with the backing of a duke . . .”

  “I’ll ask him,” Jude said easily. “If that’s what you want. There is every chance he’ll say no, but I happen to know he has a tender heart.”

  “I think perhaps he passed that on to you.”

  Jude smiled. “I know how long you’ve loved her.”

  Aidan rubbed his thumb over the hard, cool surface of the glass. The fire danced over the crystal as if it were trapped inside the angles. “I failed her. In many ways. I don’t mean to do so again. I must find a way to fix this.”

  “So you are giving up your visits to my mother’s salon?”

  Aidan couldn’t help but laugh. “I may stop in to pay my respects to your lovely mother, but no more ulterior motives.”

  “Marie will be disappointed.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand, if she notices at all.”

  Jude sighed and slapped one of his large hands against Aidan’s knee. Aidan pretended not to wince at the blow.

  “I’ll speak to my father when you’re ready.”

  “I’ll call on him myself if he’s willing to consider my plea.”

  “He’ll hear you out. Don’t worry, my friend. The world won’t conspire to keep you apart any longer, surely.”

  Aidan wanted desperately to believe that himself, but it felt as though something dark and awful loomed on the horizon. As if he needed to move as quickly as possible to stay ahead of it, or Kate would be swallowed up again, disappearing from his life completely. But Aidan told himself it was only memory and worry, and he smiled at Jude and slapped the man’s knee as hard as he could. Jude didn’t even flinch.

  Chapter 22

  “You need a new dress!”

  When the lilting voice exploded through the shop, Kate nearly dr
opped the canvas sack she’d been filling with beans. “Lucy!” she yelped as she clutched the end of the bag tightly enough that the fibers dug into her skin. “My God!”

  “Sorry,” Lucy said, without an ounce of regret in the word. She tossed a pile of newspapers onto the counter, and Kate’s eyes widened. Kate had been so desperate for more news that she’d even considered asking the old dray driver if he’d come across any. But Mr. Fost had hired a new man, so her pitiful plan had been foiled.

  She realized that Lucy had been speaking. “I’m sorry, Lucy. What did you say?”

  “I said, if you’re going to London, you must have a new dress. Well . . . you must have a new dress before you go, and you must have six or seven while you’re there.”

  “Lucy . . .” Kate only barely managed to tear her eyes from the papers. “I’m only going to meet with a—”

  “Oh, whoever cares why you are going? You must look pretty regardless.”

  Kate had too many problems to worry over pretty dresses. For example, that pile of old papers must be read. Today, tonight, at the next possible moment. But the thought of a dress intrigued her as well. The dull browns and grays of her wardrobe now depressed her. Everywhere she went these days, young, beautiful women drew her eye in their bright colors and tantalizing fabrics. She wanted to be bright and tantalizing too, but she was very afraid she’d only look foolish, like a staid widow trying to recapture her youth.

  She smoothed the palms of her hands down the brown wool of her skirt and tried to look stern. “I leave in three days. There is no time for a new dress.”

  “Nonsense. I’d imagine the dressmaker has a ready-made piece she’d be happy to part with. I’d say you’re quite an average size. There’s no reason to think she couldn’t take something in.”

  Kate didn’t know whether to be happy or insulted to be considered entirely average. She decided on happy, but her gaze strayed to the papers Lucy had delivered and her happiness vanished.

  “Come. Let’s go now.”

  Kate blinked and shook her head. “I can’t go now. I’ve too much to do before I leave. As it is, the shop will be closed for days.”

  “Then a half hour of time today will hardly change that. Come.”

  She tried to resist. She really did. But the truth was that she wanted to go. The idea of showing up on Aidan’s doorstep in a brown wool dress . . . Kate had to bite back a shudder. She’d likely be sent around to the kitchen to apply as the new maid. So she let Lucy tug her from the shop and lead her four blocks over to Madame Durand’s.

  Bells jingled as Lucy pushed open the door of the modiste. A plump woman in a simple day dress hurried out of the back.

  “Miss Cain! A new dress already?”

  “Amazingly, I’m not shopping for myself this time. You should send a note of congratulations to my father. Instead I’ve brought along Mrs. Hamilton, who owns the coffee shop on Guys Lane. She needs a new dress. Today!”

  Madame Durand introduced herself in a voice that held not a hint of a French accent, then looked Kate over assessingly, her graying blond curls a-tremble. “How do you feel about royal blue?”

  “Pardon?” Kate whispered.

  “I have a lovely gown of royal blue and cream stripe. With a few nips here and there, I think it will work nicely.”

  “Oh.” Kate hesitated. “I don’t know about such bright colors. . . .”

  “Here,” Madame Durand said with an efficient wave of her hand. “I’ll retrieve it.”

  Kate’s mind tipped between temptation and practicality. Where would she ever wear such a dress again? But then Madame Durand returned with the dress draped over her arm, and Kate was lost.

  The colors were so sweet, the fine silk wool so crisp and lovely. The full skirt was gathered up at the hips, and she could imagine the sway of the bustle as she walked.

  “I am a merchant,” she reminded herself aloud. “A serious-minded—”

  “You are a woman first,” Madame Durand said. “And all women like to feel pretty.” For good measure, she added a tortured “Oui?”

  Oh, Kate did want to feel pretty. She wanted to look pretty. She wanted to descend the stairway of Aidan’s London home and remind him of the girl she’d once been.

  “Your figure is outstanding.” The dressmaker walked slowly around her.

  Lucy nodded in vigorous agreement. “The blue will be so lovely with your skin.” Kate flushed.

  “Yes,” the modiste agreed. “Yellow would be nice, but we’ll wait for spring.”

  “Yellow!” Kate began, alarmed at the suggestion.

  “And something in green also. But later. For now, shall we fit this dress?”

  Kate’s doubts were trampled by the thought of Aidan seeing her dressed like a woman. “Yes. Let’s fit it.”

  Lucy squealed and clapped like a child handed a new sweet, but Kate had lost her powers of speech. She stood dumbly as the modiste stripped her to her stays and pinned the dress around her. Kate was stuck simply staring at her reflection in the mirror.

  When she left an hour later, head spinning, she was far poorer than she’d been, but she could hardly regret it. The dress would be delivered tomorrow evening. And two nights later she’d be in Aidan’s bed. Her heart fluttered and flipped.

  Lost in thought, Kate unlocked her shop absentmindedly, absorbed by picturing herself in the dress, its simple line flattering her figure. She could see Aidan’s sun-darkened hand stroking the cloth over the curve of her waist.

  Leaning against the door to shut it, she let her eyes fall closed, savoring the dream of his touch. She didn’t want to be pretty, after all. She wanted to be beautiful. Seductive. Irresistible. A new dress wouldn’t give her that, but it might come close.

  She allowed herself a moment to daydream about her bright future as a seductress, but then she opened her eyes and it was just the stark lines and pale light of her everyday life. Her gaze fell on the stack of papers and she nearly groaned as she braced her hands against the door.

  She had to find Gerard, or she wouldn’t know what to tell Aidan when she arrived in London. The full truth? Part of it? None?

  Kate set her jaw and turned her mind to the task at hand. As she flipped through the papers, it felt as if Gerard sat on her shoulder, his presence was so heavy.

  His father hadn’t been an easy man. He had been hard enough to endure as a husband; Kate could not imagine him as a father. Certainly, her own father hadn’t been affectionate, but David . . . David had been completely removed from his family. His interest had lain a mile away at the small house his mistress Iniya had shared with her children near the entrance to the plantation. Gerard had been the heir, but David’s heart had rested with Iniya and the children he’d fathered with her. Gerard had never measured up to his father’s standards, never been enough, but he’d loved his father all the same.

  Kate frowned. If circumstances had been different, Kate would’ve befriended her stepson, she thought. He’d needed a friend, and she’d sometimes tried to fill that role, but those gray eyes of his had put her off, always bright, always watching. He’d been young, a few months younger than she, but his unhappiness had lent his eyes a frightening cast.

  And those first few years, Kate had been in no state to help anyone, not even herself. By the time she’d awoken from her strange state of weary suspension, Gerard had been a full-grown man, and Kate had been afraid to be alone with him, aware of the heat in his eyes whenever they touched her.

  Kate shivered, feeling the ghost of that gaze on her skin. She should be thankful instead of bitter. Thankful that she’d escaped that place. It had only been ten years, after all. Ten years out of a whole life she had yet to live. Ten years taken from her in Ceylon, and the jungle could keep them. She only wanted the rest of her years for herself. But Gerard would take those too, if he could.

  Spreading out the next paper on the counter, Kate searched for the answers hidden within.

  “Aidan Charles York, you stop right there!”
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  Aidan froze, one foot on the carriage step, one on the ground. His breath steamed around the lamp before disappearing into the predawn cold. Resignation took him over as his sister’s footsteps crunched through the hard frost.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” she snapped as she stepped into the light.

  “I’m returning to London, as I always do.”

  “Sneaking out in the dead of night is more like it.”

  “I am hardly sneaking out. I said farewell to Mother last night.”

  “You didn’t say farewell to me!”

  Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You and your husband had already retired after loudly proclaiming extraordinary weariness.”

  That shut her up for a moment. Even in the pale light, Aidan could see the blush bloom over her cheeks. “Right. Well. The traveling . . .”

  “Please don’t explain. I’m desperately hanging on to my blinders.”

  She raised her chin. “Well, I heard the carriage being loaded and I’ve come to say good-bye. And to find out what exactly is going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on. I don’t know what you mean.” He noticed then that she was wearing a nightdress and robe, though her feet were protected by boots. “You should get back to bed now, Marissa.”

  “I’ll get back to bed when you tell me the truth.”

  “About what?” he scoffed.

  “About the letter Jude wrote to his father!”

  Bullocks. Jude apparently had all the discretion of an elephant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Marissa put her hands on her hips and glared. “Really? Then why is Jude so delicately broaching the specter of Parliament and divorce? Has my new husband already tired of me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She poked him in the shoulder. “You tell me what’s happening, Aidan. Jude obviously knows and I guarantee I’ll get it out of him. Soon. But you’ll both be on my very bad side. For a long while. Not that it matters to you, I suppose.”

  His shoulders were nearly vibrating with tightness, but he took a deep breath and felt them slump. “Of course it matters to me.”

  She was trying to look stern, but a shiver worked its way through her body and exploded through her in a brief shudder. Aidan sighed. “Get in the carriage.”