Chapter 9

“Hope is a waking dream.”

Aristotle

Buttercup, Octavia, and Gwen stood in the family hall watching footmen moving Aidan’s trunks into the bedroom next to hers. Aidan’s valet, a gaunt man with a fastidious sense of style and an effeminate voice, directed the servants.

It was all rather strange, but her father had informed her that they would be staying with him until their new residence was ready.

Gwen did not know of higher-ranking members of the ton moving into the homes of lower-ranking members for an extended length of time, but she supposed it made sense, what with Lord and Lady Moreland leaving London in a few days.

“What do you suppose is in Lord Abbott’s trunks? There are so many.” The footmen were showing some signs of strain as they filed past the door of Gwen’s room to enter the next one.

Gwen drew a speculative breath before finally answering with an air of confidence. “Books. The extra trunks are his books.”

Octavia frowned in question.

“He just returned from the Continent. He quotes Marcus Manilius and William Shakespeare with an accuracy and detail that imply a frequent interaction with his books.”

A smile broke over Octavia’s face. “He doesn’t possess the form of a scholar.” She held up her hands to indicate the width of his shoulders compared to his lean hips, finishing off with a slight cupping motion that provided evidence she had noticed—Gwen stopped breathing at the thought—his derriere.

“Octavia!” Gwen’s remonstration was halfhearted. After several years of the servant’s company, she was well aware that the woman was entirely incorrigible.

The lady’s maid shrugged without remorse. “I know you’ve noticed, Gwendolyn Smythe.”

Buttercup whined at their feet, a dangling tongue hanging out of her mouth as if to agree with Octavia’s lewd assessment.

Gwen blushed, well aware that when she did so, it was a fiery red that spread quickly from her décolletage, up her neck and across her face. The roots of her hair were practically singed by the increase in heat. She said nothing, knowing Octavia could evaluate the answer without comment.

The servant shot her a sideways glance. “I thought so. Just think—tonight’s your wedding night. You’ll have the opportunity to behold … first hand.” Again the cupping motion, the implication crystal clear.

Gwen exhaled in a puff, the thought of Aidan entering her bedroom ensuring that the blush did not subside even a fraction. She certainly had thought about what it would be like to kiss in privacy, remove his coat and run her hands on that broad chest that felt so hard pressed against the mounds of her breasts.

“Did you ever find out why the wedding was delayed ’til now?” Octavia must have taken pity on the beleaguered Gwen, shifting the subject to less … passionate … subjects.

“It was to allow for his cousin to return from Somerset for the wedding. Lord Moreland was adamant that the scandal had sufficiently abated with news of the wedding to send for his niece and her family to attend. Apparently, she grew up with Aidan and his sister in their household.”

Octavia tilted her head, obviously perplexed. Then her eyes widened in alarm. “Do you mean the Countess of Saunton?”

“I think that was it. Lady Sophia Balfour.”

Her lady’s maid emitted a choking sound. “Lord Saunton’s accompanying her?”

Gwen nodded, turning from the hall to peer at Octavia in surprise. “Yes, what of it?”

“Do you know who Lord Saunton is?”

“No, not really.”

“His father was Lord Satan, the infamous defiler of servants. I heard that the younger Lord Saunton followed in his footsteps until he unexpectedly wed a girl he barely knew. Last year, he acknowledged that he had sired a bastard with a maid. The boy’s now living with them.”

This news seemed out of character from what Octavia had told her of the Abbott family. “Why would a prestigious family allow such a match?” she wondered out loud before an alarming thought struck. “Do we need to warn the women belowstairs to be careful?”

Octavia raised a hand to nibble on a thumbnail, her tension etched in the lines of her wide face. Dropping her hand, the servant straightened up. “I’ve not heard anything recently, but I’ll inform the housekeeper. Cook will know if there is any risk involved in serving him.”

“Perhaps the maids should remain out of sight until he departs. The footmen could take over their duties on the main level.”

The lady’s maid nodded, darting off in a manner that reminded Gwen of the starlings that visited the Smythe gardens. As she raced down the hall, Octavia’s gray skirts fluttered behind her like their palpitating wings while her head bobbed in the same agitated manner. Her distress was palpable, and Gwen pouted a lip in contemplation.

Buttercup watched the lady’s maid depart, slightly baring her teeth as if to remark on the dire danger women could find themselves in. Gwen could not blame Buttercup for her sentiments, considering the circumstances of their meeting.

Nevertheless, Gwen could not help but be intrigued. What would it be like to meet such an infamous rogue? It was hardly the kind of gentleman whom her father would invite within their circle, but if the servants were safe, Gwen thought it was all rather exciting to meet such a person and observe his character for herself.

Lady Sophia Balfour allowed his bastard to live in her household! Had the noblewoman been required to do so by her husband? Was she humiliated by the situation?

The link to the Abbott family was certainly unexpected, given everything that Octavia had told her about them.

Turning back into her room, she carefully nudged Buttercup back inside, giving her a quick scratch before shutting the door to go stand in front of the mirror.

Signora Ricci had made her a gown of azure for the nuptials this morning, and the fine blue silk clung to her slight curves. Gwen had ordered it, thinking of how Aidan had compared her to the Birth of Venus, thinking that the soft blue was reminiscent of a hazy morning by the sea. Gwen had been more adventurous about offsetting the red of her hair against the hue, hoping that Aidan had been sincere in his admiration of her ginger tresses.

Nerves fluttered in the region of her stomach, and Gwen considered if she should descend to meet the arriving guests with her father on her own, or await the return of Octavia to accompany her. Then she recollected the last interaction her lady’s maid had had with Lady Moreland and winced.

She had a sneaking suspicion that Octavia, having been rather intimidated by Aidan’s mother, might use this opportunity to remain out of sight.

Alone it is.

Squaring her shoulders, she summoned her confidence, assuring herself she had assessed Aidan’s preferences correctly.

She had, despite her cynicism, developed a number of hopes about this unexpected match. Her father’s optimism had infected her, and Gwen prayed she would not regret opening up her mind to the possibilities of a grand future with an intelligent and handsome gentleman at her side. After so many miserable years circulating the edges of the beau monde, Gwen crossed her fingers that all would be well with her and Aidan.

Preparing to depart her room, she turned to Buttercup and said, “Sorry, girl. This is not the time to follow me.”

The little dog whined in protest, wiggling her bottom against the floor, but remained seated near the mirror as if she planned to wait for Gwen’s return.

Gwen shut the door and made her way downstairs, then entered into the small drawing room, where she had met Aidan’s parents, and discovered that their guests had arrived. Aidan quickly stepped forward, bowing before offering her his arm. He was sartorial perfection, wearing a coat of navy wool that fit over his broad shoulders.

“You are ravishing this morning, Miss Smythe.” Aidan’s deep voice sent a thrill of pleasure chasing through her veins. Gwen accepted his arm and took in the group, which was larger than she had expected.

By the window stood a very large gentleman, many inches over six feet. He had the appearance of a marauder from the shores of Norway, with his blond hair and gray eyes. Gwen thought she might recognize him from the social events she had attended, but she did not think he had been introduced. By his side stood an elegant young woman with a pile of dark chestnut curls. Aidan led her toward the couple, which suggested that the imposing gentleman was the highest-ranking peer present.

Coming to a halt, Aidan introduced him with deference. “Miss Smythe, I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Halmesbury.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up. She had indeed recognized him. The duke bowed before speaking in a deep baritone. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Smythe. Felicitations on your wedding.”

She curtsied, mumbling a reply while surreptitiously glancing around to see who else she would be meeting this morning. Her father was at the fireplace, bouncing on his toes with his grin in place. Clearly, he was ecstatic at the new connections Aidan was bringing to their lowly family.

Aidan turned to the lady next to the duke. “Your Grace, I present Miss Smythe.”

Gwen realized that this must be the duke’s wife. She quickly curtsied. The duchess was taller than the average woman, just two or three inches shorter than Gwen herself. Her Grace also had a rounded belly, obviously increasing, and her brandy eyes reflected warmth when she smiled in greeting. “Miss Smythe, welcome to the family.”

“F-family?” Gwen shot a questioning look at her betrothed, but it was the duchess who responded.

“My brother, Lord Filminster, is married to Abbott’s sister. His Grace insisted we return to London when we were informed of the nuptials.”

“Oh.” It was not an adequate reply, but Gwen was thinking she was going to have words with Octavia later this morning. Why had her confidante not informed her of the connection to Halmesbury, one of the most lauded peers in the realm? It seemed such news would be notable.

Aidan proceeded to introduce her to Lord and Lady Saunton. Despite Octavia’s on dit about Lord Saunton’s proclivities, Gwen found him to be pleasant and quite amusing. The emerald-eyed lord was seemingly obsessed with his wife, who was an attractive and thoughtful young woman with reddish-blonde hair. The countess did not appear beleaguered by a roguish husband. She seemed calm and confident, her arm linked with the earl’s the entire time they spoke.

Gwen was startled when Lady Saunton’s skirts seemed to take on a life of their own, before a small boy erupted from behind her. He was a miniature of Lord Saunton with matching eyes and sable hair.

“Hallo.”

Not quite understanding, she responded, “How do you do?”

“Are you Cousin Aidan’s new wife?”

Lady Saunton chuckled. “They have not yet wed, Ethan.”

His sweet little face fell in disappointment. “Does she play chess, Mama?”

“I do not know. Perhaps you should ask her.”

Ethan’s little face grew pensive, peering at Gwen with a touch of shyness. “Do you play chess?” he finally asked.

“I do.”

“After you marry, will you play with me?”

“We will have to enjoy the wedding breakfast first.”

“And then we can play?”

Gwen grinned at the lad’s persistence. “Then we can play.”

“Good.”

Ethan disappeared back behind the countess’s skirts, the tails of his green coat the last she saw of him. Gwen was bemused that Lady Saunton and the boy, who must be the illegitimate child Octavia had mentioned, seemed as close as any mother and child. There were no signs of domestic strife between the trio.

Next, Gwen greeted their local vicar, a cheery and cherubic man with long white side-whiskers and a bald pate.

“I appreciate your presence this morning, vicar.”

“Not at all, Miss Smythe. Lord Moreland made a generous donation to our parish to secure my presence. Our church is quite grateful.”

Next, Lord Filminster was introduced. He had the same dark chestnut locks and brandy eyes as the duchess, the family resemblance obvious. Lord Filminster bowed and smiled politely, but he was not as effusive as the other guests, observing her with an air of reserve.

Aidan continued his introductions, increasingly less formal as he moved through the guests. “And this is my sister, Lady Filminster.”

A petite young woman with the chocolate brown hair and eyes of Gwen’s betrothed stepped forward, grabbing Gwen by the hands. “Please call me Lily! We are to be sisters, are we not? I do love weddings so! They make one think of the future and possibilities and babes. Here we are with another scandalous match, just a month after my own ruin! What a strange turn of events.”

Gwen blinked several times, rather taken aback by the torrent of words.

“Aidan tells me that you love to read. I have been enjoying books on French military strategy. What is your favorite reading?”

Realizing she was staring, Gwen hesitantly opened her mouth while she tried to follow the many paths the young baroness had begun. “I favor the Ancient Greeks. Aristotle. Homer.”

Her betrothed emitted a purr of pleasure, glancing at her in appreciation.

Lily nodded. “That is quite beyond my language skills. Aidan and Sophia are far more studious than me. I have to use a dictionary to study in French, but it must be fascinating.”

The baroness glanced over at her father in a strange manner, her countenance serious when she turned back to face Gwen. “Welcome to the family. Whatever the future brings, I am thrilled to have you as a sister.”

Then the young woman gave her a clumsy embrace before stepping away. Gwen felt practically winded by the exchange. Aidan’s sister might be no larger than a schoolgirl, but she certainly had infinite zest. Her personality was much larger than her physical stature.

Finally, Aidan walked Gwen over to greet his parents, where Gwen was surprised to find that they had been joined by an elderly servant. The old woman was dressed as a maid, with wispy white hair in a halo around her head and a mobcap practically falling off. Lady Moreland greeted Gwen, then turned to fix the servant’s cap.

Aidan brought Gwen to a halt in front of the servant without comment. Lady Moreland leaned over and shrieked into the old woman’s ear, causing Gwen to flinch in surprise. “THIS IS MASTER AIDAN’S brIDE!”

The servant blinked filmy eyes, slowly focusing on Gwen and smiling with a clumsy curtsy.

“This is my father’s nursemaid. Nancy helped raise us and has acted as Lily’s companion until recently. My parents thought she would enjoy attending this morning.”

Gwen experienced a surge of affinity for the Abbott family in that moment. Apparently, the Smythes and the Abbotts had something in common. They both appreciated their close family retainers.

Lady Moreland must have read her thoughts. “Where is that odd lady’s maid of yours? Does she not wish to attend your vows?”

Gwen realized that she and Octavia must have misread Lady Moreland’s reaction when they had first met. She beamed. “I shall ring for her.”

“Yes, my dear. We should not make the vicar wait too long. I am sure he has work to attend to.”

Octavia was summoned, and Gwen looked about in surprised awe. So many important new relations, and they were all so welcoming and pleasant. Lord Filminster seemed reserved, but that could simply be his personality. Perhaps this was all going to turn out to be better than she had hoped for. Aidan had been throwing her glances of admiration, his eyes lingering on her lips as if he, too, were thinking of their first night together.

Despite her misgivings that something was bound to go wrong, Gwen found herself daring to believe in her father’s vision of the future. Perhaps this would become the love match she had once dreamed of.

While they took their vows,Aidan felt both bliss and remorse. It had been quite a surprise when he had learned that the duke and duchess had returned, along with his cousin, Sophia, and her husband, the Earl of Saunton.

The linked families had all met yesterday, except for his own parents. Lord Moreland did not want to involve Lady Moreland in the discussion. Aidan agreed that there was no reason to distress his mother when they did not yet know the truth about the baron’s murder.

It had soon become clear that their arrival was not merely to celebrate the wedding. It was a show of support for his bride in the event that Smythe was accused of murdering Brendan’s father. Apparently, his brother-in-law had apprised them of the murder investigation.

The duchess had commiserated over the complexity of the situation, pointing out that she understood the troubles that a father could bring on his daughter. Aidan had not known that she had had a troubled relationship with the late baron, but he was aware that Brendan Ridley and the late baron had been estranged because the news sheets had reported on it.

There had been a lengthy discussion with all parties present at Ridley House, where the murder had taken place a month before. A rather grisly and sobering reminder of why Aidan was in this strange position.

Nevertheless, as he gazed down at Gwen in her soft blue dress, he could not bring himself to regret this wedding. He could only be thankful that Trafford was not in attendance to remind him of his shortcomings and future troubles if Smythe turned out to be the culprit.

Today was a complicated union of interests, but at this moment, Aidan was mostly anxious about what would happen this evening when he joined his bride in her bed. In the home of a potential murderer.

Frederick Smythe was clearly exuberant about the connections who visited his home this morning, grinning and rubbing his hands together in greedy, childlike joy. Aidan supposed any man would be overjoyed to scale the ladder of high society so abruptly, but there was an element of naked ambition to his behavior that was repellant.

Unfortunately, despite Aidan watching Smythe closely during the introductions, Smythe had displayed no telling reaction to meeting Lily and Filminster, which Aidan had hoped he might, given the circumstances.

“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” intoned the vicar.

On the one hand, Aidan wished they could resolve the murder in order to ensure Lily’s safety. On the other hand, it was with a sense of dread that he considered informing Gwen of such terrible news. It was obvious she was close to her father. He imagined if he found out that his own father had murdered a man. Such a revelation would be utterly devastating. All he could do was resolve to remain at her side and be a good husband and partner, no matter what might come to light.

“I will,” Aidan stated, his voice firm and confident.

And then, he could no longer think about the future because it had quietly arrived and his thoughts returned to their wedding night.

“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

He watched Gwen, who hesitated before responding in a shy voice, “I will.”

Aidan was captivated by her radiance in the morning light shining through the great fan-arched windows and prayed that Trafford would uncover a different suspect.

He wanted his bride to experience a long and happy life, but as his eyes flickered over to Frederick Smythe, he could not help thinking that his new father-in-law craved these new connections to Aidan’s family. It certainly lent credence to their suspicions that Gwen’s father might become desperate at the idea that the late baron would prevent him from receiving his title and the accompanying inheritance.

The vicar laboriously completed the service. When it was over, Gwen looked up at Aidan, her blue eyes aglow. He smiled down at her. “We are wed.”

She swallowed hard, licking her lips. “We are wed.”

Aidan’s thoughts once again turned to their wedding night, both anticipation and a creeping anxiety rolling through his gut.

They linked arms and led the wedding party from the drawing room for the wedding breakfast.

Gwen picked at her breakfast,scarcely able to believe that she was finally married. Tonight her groom would come to her bedroom and they would begin their quest for children, a thought that sent a shiver of delight down her spine.

Aidan was resplendent. Tall, confident, and youthful as he debated with his sister on his other side.

You barely know him.

The whisper of her consciousness was an unwelcome disquiet.

I will learn about him.

The argumentative voice struck back without pause.

You do not know what kind of husband he will be. What if he is cruel?

Gwen shut her eyes for a brief second, attempting to squash the angst washing over her. She was simply nervous about her wedding night. Aidan had proved to be a thoughtful suitor, and if he had hidden intentions, he would not move into her father’s home where her father could observe any untoward behavior. His family were all upstanding members of society—with perhaps the exception of Lord Saunton, but even he seemed a pleasant fellow.

“Are you done eating?” A childish voice interrupted her thoughts. Gwen looked up to find little Ethan gazing at her with large, hopeful eyes a little way down the table.

Lady Saunton smiled at Gwen in apology. “Hush, Ethan. Allow Lady Abbott to finish her meal in peace. She will not forget her promise to play.”

“Why do I call him Cousin Aidan, but I must call her Lady Abbott?” Ethan pointed a diminutive finger at Gwen and her groom.

“It is up to Lady Abbott to decide how she wishes to be addressed. We only just met her this morning.”

Gwen laughed. The lad was lively and charming—not at all what she was expecting when Octavia had told her of the Sauntons’ situation. “Cousin Gwen would be acceptable to me.”

Ethan beamed. “Are you finished eating yet, Cousin Gwen?”

She looked down at her plate and determined that her appetite was nowhere to be found. “Shall we play in the library?”

Ethan clapped his hands in excitement. “Yes!”

He scrambled out of his chair, running around the table to wait for Gwen.

Aidan leaned over to speak in a low voice near her ear. “You are part of the family now. Ethan will expect a game in all future encounters.”

His words chased down her neck, a blaze of pleasure that swept through her body at his deep velvet voice. Gwen nodded in acknowledgment. “I do not mind.”

Once she had risen, she took hold of Ethan’s tiny hand and they walked together to the library. Gwen contemplated what it would be like to have a tyke of her own to take care of, and then realized in mild disbelief that it had become a genuine possibility.

Huzzah! I am married!

Several hours later, their party of guests began to depart. Gwen and Aidan stood with her father in the hall bidding them goodbye. His sister and her husband were the last to leave, Lily chattering in a nervous manner before once again embracing Gwen awkwardly.

Once the door closed, the three of them stood in silence until her father announced he would be in his study and left the two of them alone.

Gwen watched Aidan in a state of pensive anticipation. Would he kiss her now that they were alone?

Aidan blew out a breath, before turning to smile at her. He seemed … nervous?

“I … have a meeting at my club … and I shall return later.”

Disappointment washed over Gwen. He seemed reluctant to be with her. The way he had stated his appointment sounded disingenuous, as if he sought a reason to leave.

Was he unhappy about their marriage born from scandal, after all? He had seemed committed to their union, even keen. Now he appeared desperate to get away.

“Um … I shall ensure the servants have unpacked your things and … await your return, then.”

Aidan nodded, not quite making eye contact before he bowed in a manner that Gwen found rather formal, considering that they had just wed, before racing out the front door.

How was he going to reach his club without transport? Was he to catch a hackney?

Gwen held her arms at her sides and shook out her hands in agitation, feeling decidedly nervous and hoping that her groom was not regretting their vows. It was far too late to change course now.

Aidan had walked several miles,attempting to clear his thoughts. It had not worked. He could not stop thinking about this evening and what was expected of him. The mechanics of it were not a mystery, but that did nothing to dispel his turmoil.

Sitting alone at a back table in his club, he stared down at the drink he had ordered, while other gentlemen imbibed in deep discussion and fine French brandy. Like the rest of the Abbotts, Aidan did not drink spirits in respect to his cousin, Sophia, but he occasionally ordered a brandy to placate the servers who would hover in apprehension at leaving him unserved.

Aidan briefly considered downing the brandy. Perhaps it would help him fulfill his duties? Not that it should be an undue chore. He had imagined bedding Gwen numerous times since their encounter on the terrace that first night.

It was not a matter of want. It was a matter of how. Gwen was an innocent maiden who deserved something better than a clumsy fumbling.

“Little Breeches.”

Aidan grunted in irritation. How he managed to choose the one club where he would encounter the aggravating Trafford… Looking up, he tensed his jaw and forced a stiff smile.

Trafford was dressed in a bronze jacquard coat over an ebony waistcoat. More ridiculous attire. Whatever the Earl of Stirling provided as an allowance, it was far too much if Trafford’s expensive and foppish clothes were anything to judge by.

The other heir dropped into a chair across from him, sweeping a hand through the artful tangle of wheat curls at the crown of his head. Aidan rolled his eyes. There was nothing more affected than Trafford’s two-toned hair. His valet obviously bleached the top, while the back and sides were a contrasting brown.

“I thought you wed today.”

“I did.”

“Then why are you here?”

Aidan rolled his shoulders, forcing himself back into the chair in a feigned pose of relaxation. “No reason.”

“Is the whole …” Trafford waved his hand in the air.

“No.” The muddle with Gwen’s father, and the fact that with Gwen’s future secured, he would now continue his investigation into Smythe, was a constant burden upon his conscience. Today, however, that was the least of his concerns.

“Are you well, Little Breeches?”

Aidan snorted. Trafford was both sympathetic and insulting in the same breath.

“What are you doing here?”

The other heir broke eye contact, staring down at his lap. “I … cannot be at home right now. There are … issues.”

Aidan cocked his head. Trafford was clearly uncomfortable. “Are you staying at the club?”

A nod was the only response. Aidan did not welcome the feeling of empathy that developed slowly, like a fire being lit in the hearth. Apparently, they both had problems they were not discussing.

Trafford shook his head as if to discard his thoughts before leaning on the table. “But what of you, Little Breeches? You appear melancholy and your bride awaits.”

Aidan cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I think you know, considering your charming little sobriquet for me.”

This pronouncement was followed by silence. A hand entered into his peripheral vision to grab his drink, which was pulled away. The sound of swallowing followed before Trafford finally spoke. “It is true, then?”

Aidan nodded, a flush of embarrassment heating his skin.

“You have never … lain with a woman?”

He gave another reluctant nod.

Trafford sighed. “I suspected this was the case. There was no mention of women from anyone. There was even speculation that you … Well, never mind that. I have seen how you look at Miss Sm—Lady Abbott—so it is painfully clear that you prefer women. Why have you never …?”

By Jupiter, this is an uncomfortable subject!

Aidan had been away from England for so long that he had no close friends to speak with about it. The fact that he now discussed it with Trafford of all people was a waking nightmare, but somehow, considering the other man’s vast experience, there was something mildly comforting about finally admitting the truth of it. “I believe that such an activity should be shared by two people who care for each other. I never met a woman I wished to commit to … until Gwen.”

Trafford was quiet for several seconds before huffing out a laugh. “A man with standards. I am calling for another drink so I may toast that which Diogenes only dreamed of—I have found an honest man.”

Aidan groaned. “I am deceiving my bride, so not as honest as I would wish to be.”

“That aside, I think it is endearing, Little Breeches. You come from an upstanding family and you have morals. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed. Unless”—Aidan leaned forward, his hands curling into fists—“you decide to share this conversation, in which case I will beat you within an inch of your life.”

Trafford’s lips quirked into a smile. “This conversation is our secret. I am just profoundly impressed with my ability to gather gossip. When I first asked around about you, the thought had crossed my mind, but I dismissed it as implausible. Turns out I am quite the investigator.”

“Fantastic! Find a murderer other than Smythe, then. It would save Gwen a lot of pain if we find someone else with a motive.”

“I am working on it. Ridley is rather dear to me, old chap.”

Aidan rolled his shoulders once more. “I suppose I should go home and …” He made a vague gesture that approximated the task at hand.

“There is a book in my rooms that might assist you.”

Trafford jumped to his feet and swiftly left the area. Within a few minutes, he returned, retaking his seat and placing a leather-bound book on the table. Aidan picked it up and frowned in confusion.

“I am quite the scholar, Trafford, but even I do not read Sanskrit.”

Trafford shook his head as if Aidan were an imbecile. Leaning over, he opened the book and began to flip through the pages. “There are illustrations, Little Breeches.”

Aidan drew the book closer and scanned the images Trafford had revealed, growing hot under the collar when he realized what he was looking at. The figures were engaged in lewd and explicit activities.

“Is this legal?”

“The activities are, for the most part. The book itself—probably not.”

“I know the mechanics of the deed. I do not need these.” He pushed the book toward Trafford.

Trafford snickered and slid it back. “There are many different ways to accomplish the task. Trust me, and pay attention to the illustrations.”

Aidan took the book and quickly pocketed it. He would hire a hackney and explore the images in privacy.

“Now, I shall impart some of my wisdom on the subject.” Trafford’s drawl was smug.

“Please do not.”

“You want to know what I know, Little Breeches. Gwendolyn Abbott will be a very happy woman if you listen up.”

Aidan groaned and considered his options—return home with a hazy idea of what was involved; return to the Abbott townhouse to question his father; or remain here and endure Trafford’s explanations.

“Bloody hell, just make it painless.”

Trafford tsked. “Do you want painless, or effective?”

Aidan dropped his head into his hands, mortified to receive lessons on carnal relations from the pompous coxcomb he could barely tolerate. “Effective, I suppose.”

Trafford needed no further encouragement, launching into a detailed explanation of the female anatomy.