A Heart So Innocent Read online

  UNITED BY CHANCE, THEY WERE MATCHED IN DANGEROUS PRIDE—AND DESPERATE PASSION

  * * *

  Queen Victoria herself had decreed it: Lady Aidan Prescott must marry. The girl was too wild—a husband would settle her. But Aidan would never accept her irate father’s choice, a wealthy older man who had already buried two wives. She fled London, placing her life in the hands of the arrogantly handsome young Duke of Westover, Justin Warfield, who was to escort her to a Scottish estate where a younger, more compliant bridegroom awaited. Warfield was fascinated by the copper-haired beauty …torn between a surging desire for his naive, rebellious charge and the dark legacy which kept him from giving his heart to any woman. The sparks of fate ignited when Aidan’s father forced them to marry. Furious, each vowed to live separate lives, refusing to yield to the desire that so urgently flamed between them. But not even the force of their combined wills could quench the inferno that raged in their souls…

  JUSTIN SWEPT HIS STRUGGLING WIFE INTO HIS ARMS AND BOUNDED UP THE STAIRS …

  Frightened, Aidan looped her arms around his neck, tightening them like a vise, not letting go even when they had reached the landing.

  For a long enduring moment, violet eyes studied those of silver, then Aidan noticed that Justin’s wicked smile had slowly faded. He pulled her arms away from his neck and stepped back. Strangely, Aidan felt an emptiness invade her.

  “We survived, madam,” he said in an oddly taut voice. “If we are wise, we shall try to work through this in whatever way the law affords.”

  Recovering from the shock of his nearness, Aidan whispered, “Then you believe that I had no knowledge of my father’s plan to marry us?”

  “I haven’t decided that yet,” he said abrasively, realizing his unsteady breathing had little to do with his fast trek up the stairs. “I do not, however, wish to be married to you. Take it as fact.”

  Praise for Charlene Cross’s previous novel, Masque of Enchantment

  “Wonderfully constructed…. Ms. Cross skillfully blends all the elements of a classic Gothic … with a sweet romance.”

  —Romantic Times

  “[A] flawless gem…. tightly written, sharp-edged, but filled with warm humor and human foibles…. an absolute delight.”

  —Rendezvous

  Books by Charlene Cross

  A Heart So Innocent

  Masque of Enchantment

  Published by POCKET BOOKS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 1990 by Charlene Cross

  Cover art copyright © 1990 John Ennis

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-671-67700-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4516-8276-2 (ebook)

  First Pocket Books printing October 1990

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  To my children Dawn, Tracey, and Brian:

  You are my pride, my joy, my greatest measure of success. No mother has been blessed more than I. I love you.

  Thank you for purchasing this Pocket Books eBook.

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  15 May 1830

  The smell of death clung heavily to the warm spring air. Insects buzzed in a dizzying crescendo, their tiny wings propelling them through the long meadow grasses, then back again around their quarry.

  Justin Warfield stood motionless, his tormented gray eyes taking in the grisly sight. Both his parents lay dead, their lives snuffed out by his father’s own hand.

  Why? he cried silently, angrily.

  But he already knew the answer.

  His eyes narrowed; then he strode to his mother’s lifeless body, where he knelt beside her and removed her jewelry. He tucked her reticule inside his belt, then rose. Moving to his father, he stripped the cold remains of its valuables; the pistol was pried from the dead man’s grip.

  Shakily he stood; then his icy gray eyes surveyed the spiritless couple again. As he did so he felt his insides quiver; a heaviness settled in his chest. Love, he decided, was a wasted emotion. And marriage, a thing for fools.

  Turning on his heel, Justin Alexander Malcolm Warfield, the sixth Duke of Westover, strode from the glade. Anguish coupled with hatred burned in the depths of his eyes.

  1

  11 June 1840

  London, England

  “Young lady,” Alastair Prescott, the Duke of Atwood, addressed his daughter, his angry voice ringing from the closed library into the halls of the elegant home situated in London’s Grosvenor Square, “you’ve been given ample opportunity to make a suitable match for yourself. Since you’ve refused to find a husband, I’ve done it for you!”

  Lady Aidan Prescott could not believe what she was hearing. Violet eyes flashed mutinously. Whenever she felt threatened, she always hid behind her anger, using it as a protective cloak. “I’ll not marry until I’m ready, sir. And when I do, it will be to a man of my choosing, not yours!”

  “Your choosing!” the duke exploded, a furious flush rising up his neck, over his face, to the roots of his silver hair. “You’ve already denied half the eligible men in England. The other half are either too wise or too cowardly to saddle themselves with the likes of you! And that, dear daughter, narrows the field to exactly naught!”

  Thinking she’d won, Aidan resisted the urge to blow on her well-manicured fingernails and buff them against her chest. Instead, she tilted her head, crowned with lustrous red-gold hair, and smiled sweetly. “Well, Father, since you’ve stated there’s nary a man to wed, it seems I shall simply have to remain unattached. A pity, wouldn’t you say?”

  One silvery brow arched upward, pulling away from its mate. Discerning blue eyes inspected the young woman opposite him. “I beg to differ with you, Aidan,” her father replied, a knowing smile splitting his pliant lips. “There’s one foolish heart who has offered for you. A man of notable stature and nearly equal wealth to our own. An excellent match, I’d say.” He watched the slight widening of his daughter’s eyes and purposely prolonged the moment of revelation. Finally, when her exceptional features had settled into a tight-lipped posture, he stated, “The Earl of Sedgewinn.”

  “What?” Aidan bounded from her chair. Slender hands smacked loudly upon the smooth surface of the duke’s mahogany desk. Bracing herself, she leaned toward him. “You must be insane! The man’s already outlived two wives and ha
s nearly a dozen children running about. From all reports, they’re an incorrigible lot!”

  Alastair chuckled. “Their care should occupy your time and keep you out of trouble.”

  “More like lead me into it, I’d say. I’ll not be encumbered with a ready-made family. And as for Sedgewinn, he’s a doddering old man. Why … why, he’s nearly as old as … as you!”

  The insult was too great. Alastair Prescott jerked to his feet, slamming his hands onto his desk. Nose to nose with his daughter, he returned her glare. “Doddering! At one-and-fifty, I do not consider myself a palsied, moth-eaten old Methuselah! Had your mother not departed this life when you were but a child of ten, I might have had an easier time of it. As it is, young lady, each silver thread you see atop my head was put there by you!”

  When his wife, Anne, had died unexpectedly from a short illness, Alastair had been devastated. Aidan had become his whole life, and he’d admittedly pampered and spoiled her. Yet, despite the fact that she’d been overly indulged, his daughter was giving, caring, a champion for those less fortunate than herself. But, equally so, she was stubborn and rebellious, determined to have her own way—much like himself.

  “I’m tired of dealing with your scandalous behavior!” he continued. “So, while I still have a few good years to enjoy before I slip into my grave, I’ll let someone else worry over what embarrassing stunt you might pull next!”

  Aidan knew he was speaking of her last “shocking display,” brought to his attention only a week ago. While riding in Hyde Park with a group of friends, she’d suddenly bounded up in the saddle, planted one foot squarely in the middle of the mare’s back, swung her free leg high, imitating a circus acrobat, and headed toward the King’s Private Road.

  Ignoring the shouts from her friends, she’d cantered along its edge, only to see Victoria and Albert, the Prince Consort, rolling by in an open carriage. With a courteous smile and a polite bow of her head, Aidan had turned her mare back northward, her pose never faltering. Yet, within the hour, the Duke of Atwood had been summoned to Buckingham Palace, and upon his return, a furious Alastair Prescott quoted the Queen’s exact words, “‘I am not pleased with your daughter’s escapades. They have gone on long enough. Perhaps a husband would tame her wild nature. Don’t you agree?’” Hence, their ridiculous discussion now.

  “Sedgewinn can deal with your antics,” her father bit out. “I’m washing my hands of the whole situation!”

  “I’ll not marry him, Father!” Aidan snapped back.

  The duke’s fist thumped his desk. “You will, Aidan! The contracts are to be signed within a fortnight, and as soon as the banns have been posted thrice, a license obtained, and a minister hired, you’ll be married in both a civil and a church ceremony. There will be no question as to its legality! Now, take yourself to your room!”

  For a long moment Aidan glared her dissent. Then, in a rustle of lavender silk skirt, she spun and fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Incensed by his daughter’s rebellious disposition, yet frustrated because he could do nothing to conquer that part of her personality, Alastair Prescott fell back into his chair. Cursing his fate, he was by the same token thankful Aidan was an only child. He’d never have survived more than one like her. When she’d been born, nineteen years ago, he’d thought her a gift from on high. But now he was doubtful whence she’d come. Indeed, her beauty could only have been crafted by the angels. But her disposition smacked of Old Scratch himself. Troublesome she was; a constant source of worry. And embarrassment, he thought.

  “Dear Lord,” he wondered aloud, troubled blue eyes searching the stark white rococo ceiling, “what unforgivable sin have I committed to have been burdened with a lone offspring such as this?”

  “Aidan,” Eugenia Sommers ventured after watching her childhood friend a long moment. “You seem preoccupied … disturbed.” She set her teacup on its saucer. “Has something happened? Have you and His Grace quarreled again?”

  Violet eyes glanced around the cheery drawing room, decorated in soft yellows and springtime shades of green. The reclining sun cast long shadows through the Brussels lace curtains on Portman Square, and Aidan’s troubled gaze followed the elongated netlike pattern, stretching across the soft wool carpet to where it stopped at Eugenia’s feet. Looking up, she noted her friend’s concerned expression. “You know me too well,” Aidan stated, her lips trying to lift into a smile, but failing. “I never could hide anything from you.”

  Eugenia laughed. “Why would you want to? Especially since we’ve been as thick as thieves from the day we met.”

  “And in equally as much trouble,” Aidan added, her smile finally blossoming. “I don’t believe that anyone shall soon forget the pains we have caused over the years.”

  “Nor do I,” Eugenia agreed, her laughter ringing forth again. “Yet, for every hour I spent in my room writing volume after volume on the abominations of unladylike behavior, solemnly swearing I would not commit such repugnancies again, the pleasure I derived from seeing the shocked expressions and raised eyebrows of the stuffy lot we call our peers was well worth the solitude and cramped fingers.” She sighed. “But now our youthful follies are only a sweet memory.” She noted Aidan’s fading smile, then how her friend’s perfect teeth worried along her bottom lip. “Aidan, you haven’t done something to cause an uproar again … have you?”

  Since Eugenia and her husband of six months, David Sommers, the Earl of Manley, had returned only this morning from their month-long holiday in Brighton, Aidan knew the latest round of gossip had not yet hit her friend’s ears. While the two girls had caused many a stirring among the peerage during their youth, Eugenia had settled into the mold of “proper lady” several years back. Unfortunately, Aidan had not, and she feared her friend’s censure should she tell her of the incident in Hyde Park.

  “Aidan, I can see it in your eyes. What have you done now?”

  Taking a quick sip of her fast-cooling tea, Aidan gulped it down, then laughed disjointedly. “Done?” She shrugged. “Why, nothing.”

  Eugenia’s blue eyes narrowed. “You can’t fool me, so don’t even try. From the look on your face, I’d say you’ve really done yourself in this time! Whom have you managed to scandalize now?”

  Aidan found she couldn’t quite meet Eugenia’s gaze. Drawing a deep breath, she admitted in a barely audible voice, “Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.”

  Although she’d had to strain her ears to hear the words, Eugenia reacted like a cannon had discharged next to her. Her cup clattered around on its saucer, tea sloshing over its rim onto her lap, staining the silk skirt of her blue day dress. Yet she paid it no heed. “Please, Aidan,” she implored, eyes searching frantically, “tell me you’re teasing!”

  Violet eyes finally met her friend’s wide gaze, and Aidan shook her head. “I wish I were, but it’s true.” Then, lacking her normal spunk, she quietly told of the incident in Hyde Park, finishing with Victoria’s words on the necessity of Aidan’s finding a husband to keep her on the straight and narrow.

  Despite herself, Eugenia laughed. “Perhaps Her Majesty is right. Maybe you do need a husband.”

  Aidan carelessly set her cold tea aside. “One who would tame my wild nature?”

  “One who would share your passion for life,” Eugenia countered, having heard the sarcasm in her friend’s voice. “You’re not wild … simply restless.”

  Aidan fidgeted in her seat, then sprang from the chair to pace the floor. Why couldn’t she be out and about, enjoying herself as usual, instead of worrying over how she could possibly delay her intended marriage to a man she could not—would not!—abide as a mate. She’d do anything if she could only stop the ridiculous event altogether. But there seemed to be no way out—short of running away.

  “If you were to find a special someone to love,” Eugenia said softly, watching Aidan’s to-and-fro motion over the carpet, “I’m certain these feelings of unrest, which you’re continually experiencing, will subside. Mine di
d when I met David. He was the one element of true happiness lacking in my life. Once I found him, everything else seemed to fall into place.”

  Aidan stopped her pacing; a derisive laugh escaped her lips.

  “Do you doubt my words?” Eugenia asked, ready to take issue.

  “No. You and David were meant for each other. It was love at first sight for you both. But I’ve yet to meet a man who sparks even the slightest bit of interest within me. I’m beginning to think there’s not a man alive whom I could love.” Aidan fell into her seat. “Besides, it’s too late for me to even think in those terms.”

  “Aidan, it’s not too late,” Eugenia said, holding back her smile. “I’d hardly call you a spinster at nineteen. There’s plenty of time for—”

  “No, there’s not!” Aidan noted Eugenia’s questioning gaze. “My father took Her Majesty at her word. He informed me this morning I’m to be wedded.”

  “Wedded? To whom?”

  Aidan nearly choked on the name as she spat it from her throat: “The Earl of Sedgewinn.”

  “Sedgewinn! Why, he’s old enough to be your—”

  “Father, I know,” Aidan said dryly, remembering the duke’s reaction when she’d stated as much herself. “But, unfortunately, the earl is neither as handsome nor as charming as my father—when His Grace wishes to be, that is.”

  “Nor as young at heart as the duke,” Eugenia supplied, remembering how she’d entertained a schoolgirl’s crush on the handsome Duke of Atwood from the moment she’d first met him, eight years ago. “Surely His Grace was only using the earl’s name in order to bring you around.”

  “If it were only true, Eugenia,” Aidan said as she came to her feet again. Hands twisting anxiously, she paced the floor anew. “The contracts are to be signed within two weeks. Once done, we’re to be married with all expediency.”

  How could her father do this to her? her heart screamed in painful rebellion. In all her girlhood dreams, Aidan had pictured herself in a marriage very much like that of her parents. Love and devotion had abounded between the pair, and Aidan dreamed of finding a man who would love her equally as much as her father had loved her mother. Suddenly she wondered if her father had forgotten how important the tender feeling truly was.