One Sinful Night

by Kaitlin O'Riley

Genres: Historical Romance

Synopsis

Scandals Are Forever At sixteen, Vivienne Montgomery was utterly unprepared for the scandal that erupted when Aidan Kavanaugh abruptly left Galway for London, abandoning Vivienne to her ruined reputation. Ten years later, Vivienne has a new life, far from those who know of her past--until she and Aidan are both invited to a weeklong house party. Aidan Kavanaugh never forgot the magical summer he and Vivienne shared, or the betrayal he felt on finding her in another man's arms. Since leaving Ireland, Aidan has embraced his duties as Earl of Whitlock, including impending marriage to a young lady who will be the perfect wife in every way but one: she is not Vivienne. . .. Days and nights in close quarters quickly erode Vivienne and Aidan's reserve, leading to breathless trysts that are as passionate as they are dangerous. For others are determined to keep them apart. And if one week is not enough to undo ten years of mistrust, Vivienne will lose her reputation--and her heart--all over again. . . Praise for Kaitlin O'Riley and Secrets of a Duchess "A well-written, lively romance!" --Kat Martin, New York Times bestselling author "A talented author. . .O'Riley's plot twists add. . .freshness to the genre."-- Romantic Times

Release date: March 1, 2008

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“Come and meet my cousin now,” Gregory Cardwell said eagerly.

“You mean the pretty one?” Aidan Kavanaugh, the Earl of Whitlock, asked with slight skepticism, fresh drink in hand.

For the last few minutes Gregory had been extolling the heavenly attributes of his newfound cousin. Truth be told, Aidan had only been half-listening to his garrulous friend, although the point that Gregory was describing an unusually attractive person had penetrated his preoccupied mind.

“All my cousins are pretty, my fine friend,” Gregory explained with an unabashed grin, his merry eyes twinkling. “We’re a handsome family.”

It was a true enough statement, for Gregory was an attractive man despite his ruddy complexion and many freckles. Since their days at Cambridge years ago, he and Aidan had been good friends.

“You know I was speaking of your meeting my most beautiful cousin. But I must warn you, Aidan. She may just tempt you away from the fair Helene.” Gregory raised and lowered his eyebrows in a devilish manner.

Aidan gave him a doubtful look as they made their way through Bingham Hall’s massive ballroom, where sophisticated and fashionably dressed people swarmed about. A full orchestra played at one end of the elaborately decorated ballroom and couples danced in the center. The Duchess of Bingham’s invitations were always extremely popular and highly coveted, for she was renowned for her lavish and extravagant entertaining. Her informal style and manner were often imitated but never matched, for no one could host a party quite like the Duchess of Bingham and her house parties, like this one, were particular favorites. Tonight was the Welcome Ball to commence the weeklong round of lively and engaging activities for the fortunate guests who were extended an invitation.

As he and Gregory pressed through the crowd, Aidan ignored the heads that turned in his direction, the majority of which were of the female persuasion. As one of the most eligible bachelors in England, he was used to women flirting with him and fawning over him. In fact, he would be surprised if women did not look his way, but he paid no attention to them. He idly wondered where Helene was and knew he would have to seek her out sooner rather than later.

A decision about Helene Winston was one that Aidan needed to make in the near future. He probably should just propose to her and be done with it. She expected it by now, and perhaps even deserved it, but she was too much of a lady to ever pressure him about it. Somehow he could not bring himself to take that final step and ask her to marry him. Oh, Helene was desirable enough for a wife. He did not know why he held off on this, much to his mother’s dismay and, he presumed, Helene’s.

He truly did not even wish to be at this house party in the first place.

More than a little worried about his shipping business, Aidan recalled the dreadful week that passed. After one of his largest shipments ever of cotton from America was mysteriously lost, there had been a disastrous fire at his shipping warehouse two nights ago. The double financial blow of missing an entire cotton shipment in addition to losing a large warehouse filled to the brim with merchandise was almost ruinous, but fortunately not one of his employees had been injured in the terrible, late-night blaze. For that Aidan was most thankful. He had spent years building his shipping company up from nothing, devoting himself to making it a success. He was not about to let it go up in smoke.

Yet he had his suspicions that the fire was not accidental. There had been too many “accidents” lately, and the events of the past week were clearly deliberate.

And he had a fairly good idea of who was responsible for it. Proving it would be a most challenging enterprise, however. He would rather have stayed in London to manage these matters personally, but he had made a promise to his mother, as well as Helene, that he would attend the Binghams’ party, and he could not break it. He had finally arrived at the estate, although rather later than expected. His mother had not been pleased by his delayed appearance but, then again, she rarely was pleased by anything.

His mother’s wishes were not easily thwarted; she had wrangled this particular promise out of him when he had been overly distracted with work and afterward he had seen no decent way out of it. If it had not been for the mysterious fire the night before last, he actually might have enjoyed a week of relaxation in the country: going for long walks, riding and hunting. Lord knew he needed to clear his head. However, he was too anxious about the cause of the fire to relax now.

Clearly not in the mood for the evening’s unavoidable social obligations, he took another sip of the excellent whiskey in his glass and followed his friend around the crowded and noisy perimeter of the dance floor, nodding briefly in greeting to the many faces who recognized him.

Then Gregory stepped aside, nudging Aidan lightly with his elbow and whispering to him in a low tone, “There she is.”

As Aidan glanced ahead, he stopped short, almost spilling his drink down the front of his expensive, finely cut evening jacket.

There, on the arm of Gregory Cardwell’s identical twin brother George, was a woman of incredible beauty.

He stared as she gracefully turned her head and laughed at something George said to her, the sound of her laughter rich and warm. Her luminous smile lit up her exquisite face, which would melt the heart of any man looking at her, including—obviously—George Cardwell’s. But then, how could a heart not melt?

Silky black hair framed a face flawless and delicate in its bone structure. Her deep blue eyes were fringed by long, dark lashes with graceful brows arching lightly above them. She had a small, straight nose with high cheekbones in a slightly heart-shaped face with a creamy complexion. Full, sensual lips smiled charmingly to reveal pearly white teeth. As he watched her, the breath in his chest constricted and his heart pounded forcefully.

He could not move.

Suddenly Aidan was hundreds of miles away. Rolling green hills spread before him, covered in a soft gray mist. The waves of a wild surf crashed on the shore below high, windswept cliffs. The fresh scent of the sea saturated him. Heated kisses and sweet words; hands clasped and promises made. He could feel his heart pounding and his gut clenched.

He knew this woman.

No one else could have that face. That hauntingly beautiful face.

It couldn’t be anyone other than Vivienne Montgomery.

He could tell by the elegant curve of her neck. The graceful way she held herself. The ivory white skin that beckoned to be touched. The sultry sapphire eyes that sparkled and teased. The black hair that would fall in long, silky waves to her waist. He knew, for he had seen her wear it that way. God, he had run his fingers through it! Now those glossy tresses were piled fashionably around her head in sophisticated ringlets. The pale blue gown she wore covered perfectly rounded breasts that gave way to the slender waist of a petite body.

Desire coursed through his blood at the sight of her, although he fought against it. Anger surged through him next. White-hot anger.

What in hell is Vivienne Montgomery doing in England?

Gregory pulled Aidan closer and said in a low, satisfied voice, “As you can see for yourself, I did not exaggerate her beauty. You can close your mouth now.”

At his friend’s words, Aidan mentally shook himself and closed his mouth, unaware that he had been gaping like a callow school boy.

Good Lord! The enormity of the situation hit him. Vivienne Montgomery is Gregory Cardwell’s cousin!

“Vivvy, dearest, this is my good friend, Aidan Kavanaugh, the Earl of Whitlock,” Gregory introduced them easily. “Aidan, may I present my beautiful cousin, Miss Vivienne Montgomery.”

He stepped forward woodenly to greet the only woman who had ever turned his world upside down. She stood there composed and serene, looking for all the world like she had never laid eyes on him before. There was no air of recognition about her. Did she not remember him? Was she going to ignore him? How could she possibly have forgotten what had happened between them? So many years had passed, but not a day went by that he did not think of her, however unwillingly.

Vivienne’s sapphire-blue eyes were looking up at him from beneath her long sooty lashes. Aidan’s heart almost stopped beating completely. She had become more breathtakingly beautiful than he remembered. Even in his dreams. Perhaps dreams were not an accurate description. Tortured nightmares was the more precise term for the images that endlessly haunted him in his sleep.

He simply stared at her, not oblivious to the watershed of emotions that were crashing through him at the sight of her before him. He had never thought to see her again. Yet here she was, in the flesh and more beautiful than ever.

“Vivienne has just come to live with us,” Gregory had gone on to say in his usual blithe manner, unaware of the stilted silence between Aidan and his cousin.

Aidan cleared his throat. “Miss Montgomery and I have already met.”

The surprised expressions of the others were not lost on Aidan as he waited for Vivienne’s response to him. Had she wanted to pretend they did not know each other? That they had never met? Well, he was not going to let that happen.

“Has it been ten years already, Aidan?” she asked softly.

The subtle brogue in her voice was one that Aidan recognized instantly and again it pulled him back to another time and place. He felt himself immersed in emotions he had long since buried of a time he most definitely did not wish to recall. Their eyes locked and, for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.

“Time has done nothing to change you, I see,” he answered.

“I’ve changed more than you know,” she responded gently, although there was a wealth of meaning in that comment just for him.

“I doubt that.” Aidan’s words were like ice.

“How in the world do you two know each other?” Gregory asked, a curious expression on his boyish face.

“Galway. Aidan and Vivienne stated in unison, surprising each other.

“I knew you spent time in Ireland when you were a boy, Aidan, but I had no idea you were in the same town as my cousin!” Gregory exclaimed in amusement.

“What a remarkable coincidence that you two should meet again!” George Cardwell chimed in. “You knew each other as children?”

“You could say that,” Vivienne retorted calmly, although her little barb was lost on the others. It was meant for Aidan alone.

It puzzled him that she could remain unruffled by his presence. How could she be so composed when he was overwhelmed with emotion at seeing her again? His jaw clenched as he stared at her. Now that he really looked he noticed a family resemblance between Vivienne and the Cardwell twins in their eyes. But while the twins’ eyes were light blue, Vivienne’s were a tumultuous sea-blue, constantly changing to match her moods.

“Tell us, Aidan, what was our cousin like as a little girl? We’ve only just met her for the first time,” Gregory said, always wanting to know more than he should.

Aidan watched as Vivienne glanced up at him, meeting his eyes directly. For the briefest instant he pictured Vivienne the day he first met her. Lord, but she was pretty even back then, all dark hair and impish smiles, with the constant hint of laughter in her fascinating eyes. A vivid image of the last time he saw her immediately took its place and his stomach tightened in reflex. “I’m sure she has not changed at all.”

Vivienne’s expression hardened at that remark. “People rarely change their characters, although they may try to change their outward appearances to make it seem as though they have changed.”

“Surely you must have a lot to catch up on,” George offered with a grin that matched his brother’s.

Aidan watched the briefest shadow flash across her face. “I don’t believe there is anything we need to catch up on. Is there, Miss Montgomery?”

“Nothing at all that I can think of, Lord Whitlock.” She glanced coolly at him, as if he did not matter a whit to her.

Gregory Cardwell, carelessly unaware of the tension between them, said, “Can you believe a girl this beautiful has been hidden away in Ireland all this time? My parents are set on finding her a husband. Don’t you think she’ll be the hit of the Season in London?”

Aidan could barely get his mouth to form intelligible words. “Q,uite.”

“Lord Whitlock, there you are!” Lady Helene Winston declared in her typical breathless rush, as she came to Aidan’s side. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

For once Aidan was oddly grateful for Helene’s presence. Smiling warmly, he extended his hand to her. Her flaxen hair was fashioned in an intricate knot of curls upon her head, which emphasized the angular lines of her rather aristocratic-looking face. She was delicately boned, willowy, and taller than average. The pale sea-green color of her gown accentuated her hazel eyes. Aidan had always believed Helene to be pretty, but now he was startled by how she paled completely in comparison to Vivienne’s vivid coloring and radiant presence.

George Cardwell made the introductions between the women. “This is Lady Helene Winston. My cousin, Miss Vivienne Montgomery.”

Unconsciously sizing Vivienne up and down with a cool glance, Helene uttered politely, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Montgomery.”

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Lady Helene,” Vivienne responded.

“If you’ll excuse us, I believe I promised Helene this dance.” Aidan knew he seemed curt, but he could not endure standing there any longer. Good God! If he had known he would be trapped at Bingham Hall with Vivienne Montgomery all week, he certainly would have made up some excuse, any excuse, not to come.

He drained the rest of his whiskey, handed the empty glass to a passing footman, and escorted Helene to the dance floor. As the orchestra played a waltz, he maneuvered her with expert skill through the elegantly attired couples and began to dance.

“You are very late. I was afraid you wouldn’t arrive in time for the dancing,” Helene scolded him in a mild tone, looking up at him sweetly. She had many admirers but her mind was set on Aidan Kavanaugh, the Earl of Whitlock. “Your mother said she expected you this afternoon.”

“I had some business to attend to in London that took much longer than I anticipated,” he muttered distractedly. He tried to forget that Vivienne Mount-gomery was in this ballroom. In this house. With him. For the next week. “I apologize if I kept you waiting.”

“I’m just grateful that you are here at all,” Helene said prettily.

He forced a smile at her, thinking he would rather be anywhere else on earth than at Bingham Hall. As much as he was grateful for the temporary escape Helene presented, he could not ignore the fact that his senses were reeling.

He was completely unprepared for the desirable woman that Vivienne had become. Ten years had barely left a mark of age or time on her. He had always imagined her married and fat, with a passel of babies by now. Obviously that was not the case. What had she been doing all this time? Why had she suddenly appeared in his life now?

As he and Helene moved in time to the music, the knot in his stomach only tightened at the thought of enduring a week of Vivienne’s company. Dinners, card parties, picnics, games, musicales. He would be in contact with her constantly. Even a house as massive as Bingham Hall was too small, too confining, too intimate for both of them to survive the week unscathed. There would be no polite way to avoid interacting with her.

“May I cut in on this dance, Aidan?” Gregory Cardwell asked in his casual, easy manner. “I’ve grown very weary of dancing with my little Irish cousin all night.”

Aidan could hardly refuse Gregory’s simple request without appearing boorish. And, judging from the look of surprised dismay on Vivienne’s beautiful face, she was not at all inclined to dance with him either. His gentlemanly manners were too ingrained in him. He had no choice but to dance with her, although Gregory was oblivious to how much Aidan wanted to throttle him.

“Of course,” he mumbled, releasing Helene.

Before Aidan quite realized it, Gregory had waltzed away with Helene and he stood alone with Vivienne. She waited, her eyes downcast, the long dark lashes contrasting against her smooth, ivory skin. Was she that nervous to be with him? Or that disdainful?

Suddenly an exuberant young couple unwittingly bumped Vivienne from behind, causing her to stumble against him. Acting on instinct he grabbed her upper arms to steady her. Her head fell against his chest and then she gazed up at him in surprise.

He swirled in the deep blue of her eyes, unable to speak. His heart raced at the unexpected feel of her so close to him. He had forgotten how petite she was, how easy to hold. The light floral fragrance of her washed over him, recalling the scent of the ocean along a rocky coast, drenching him in an achingly sweet memory: the first time he ever kissed her. It had been heaven to kiss Vivienne by the sea.

She struggled to right herself, pushing away from him. Instantly he released her as if scalded. His hands trembled slightly and his heart raced. He squared his shoulders and mentally shook himself, taking a deep breath to steady his raw nerves.

“We might as well dance, Vivienne. We shall be trod upon if we stand here any longer.” His voice sounded harsh, even to him.

“Can you bear dancing with me, Aidan?” she questioned cryptically.

“If you can bear dancing with me.” He held out his hands to her.

She merely nodded her head and accepted his hands, which trembled still. Her contact undermined his steady nerves. They moved together awkwardly at first, then fell in rhythm with the strains of the music. The distinct uneasiness between them was to be expected, yet it irritated him that she kept her eyes downcast and refused to meet his gaze, while he could not help but stare at her.

“You did not seem as surprised to see me as I was to see you,” he stated when he could endure the awkward silence no longer.

She shrugged lightly, the delicate movement of her bare shoulders almost knocking the wind out of him. “I knew when I came to England that it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Her coolness left him unnerved, but he could not stop himself from asking, “You did not marry after all?” The impulse to know her answer was too strong to resist.

“No.” She answered simply, with no explanation, although an unspoken name hung in the air between them. She looked directly at him, as if daring him to say it aloud.

His gut clenched yet again at the sight of her dazzling blue eyes fringed by long black lashes. Had she always been this beautiful? He’d never seen her dressed so elegantly, but that was not quite it. Vivienne had grown more . . . womanly. More lushly feminine. She held herself gracefully, with a surprising air of confidence. He fought an increasing desire to lean close and drown himself in kissing her soft, sensual lips. He could barely breathe at the thought of it.

She suddenly asked him, “I gather you have not married either?”

He did not wish to discuss his marital status with Vivienne, of all people. Instead he asked, perhaps rather edgily, “What are you doing in England?”

“What does it matter to you what I do or where I go?” she stated, surprising him again with her coolness.

He responded, “It matters that we have to spend the week here in each other’s company.”

“If it distresses you so, Lord Whitlock, you may certainly leave if you wish.”

His annoyance rose at her airy dismissal of him. He was definitely not running off as if he were afraid of her. He had considered leaving Bingham Hall as soon as he could make a respectable getaway, but now he was forced to finish out the week, just to spite her. “Unfortunately I must stay, for reasons I need not go into with you. So we will just have to tolerate each other’s company as best we can.”

“Does it upset you that much to see me again?” She questioned him in a curious tone, her eyes flashing.

Once again he was lost in her liquid sapphire eyes. He had to remind himself to breathe. “Not in the least, Miss Montgomery. I’m simply surprised that you had to come all the way to England to find a husband. I gather no one in Galway would marry you?”

Vivienne stopped short, pulling away from him, and stood completely still, a devastated look on her face. He didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse. Suddenly her eyes flashed in anger and she made a motion to slap his face, but as if he could read her mind, he caught her hand before she could strike him. Deliberately he lowered it to her side. They stared at each other in heated silence.

Fortunately the dance ended before their motionlessness caused a scene. without another word, he escorted her to the seating area, bowed politely, and left her standing with a group of giggling young ladies in pastel dresses.

Aidan walked directly to the Duke of Bingham’s lavishly stocked bar. It was going to take a hell of a lot of liquor for him to survive a week with Vivienne.

Vivienne Montgomery cautiously opened the door to her bedroom, which was tastefully decorated by the Duchess of Bingham in shades of pale yellow and rose and, seeing it was empty, she breathed a grateful sigh of relief. She did not want to squabble with Glenda tonight. If she managed to undress hurriedly, she could pretend to be asleep before her cousin returned.

As she stepped into the room, the door to the small adjoining dressing room opened and a slender young woman, wearing a neat gray uniform and a white mobcap, came to assist Vivienne out of her intricate, blue silk gown.

“Thank you, Lizzie. If you could just help me undo these back hooks, I can do the rest myself,” Vivienne said as she turned her back to allow Lizzie to reach the endless row of clasps that enclosed her body in the latest fashion.

She was truly helpless to remove the gown herself. It still amazed her that she had lived her whole life wearing clothes that she was perfectly able to get herself in and out of without any assistance, but since moving to England she had been obligated to wear the elaborate garments that required her to have another person dress her. In spite of this, she adored her gorgeous new wardrobe and all the lovely accessories that went with it; silks, satins, velvets, ribbons, fancy slippers, fans, bonnets. Those little luxuries were unheard of in her former life in Ireland.

“Oh, I don’t mind helping you none, miss,” Lizzie volunteered, eager to please her new mistress. “‘Tis no trouble at all.”

Lizzie efficiently unhooked the small clasps along the back of the soft blue silk. Vivienne breathed deeply as the tight fitting gown was loosened and Lizzie deftly unlaced her corset as well.

“Please sit, Miss Vivienne, and let me take the pins out of your hair.”

Vivienne sat upon the small chair in front of the mirrored dressing table, and allowed Lizzie to unravel the mass of pins and curls that she had painstakingly weaved together only hours earlier. Luxuriating in the feel of her hair falling free of the tight coiffure, Vivienne unconsciously tilted her head back and let Lizzie’s nimble fingers massage her aching scalp. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

The evening had been more than exhausting. Her body felt tense and edgy, and she wanted only to bury her head under her pillow and cry. This had been her first foray into society to prepare for her arrival in London next week, and she had been enjoying herself immensely until Aidan Kavanaugh walked in the ballroom. Seeing him again had shaken her to the core.

Aidan.

For the first time in ten years she had spoken with Aidan. And he still loathed her.

She had sensed his hatred spilling over and slapping her like an icy hand. Well, the feeling was mutual. She despised him just as much as he despised her. It was impossible to forgive him for what he had done to her. Yet she prayed that his gentlemanly breeding would prevent him from ruining her. That nasty comment he made about having to come to England to find a husband because no one in Galway would marry her hurt deeply and hit painfully close to the truth. How she wished she had been able to slap that detached and superior look off his face!

“Miss Vivienne, let me fetch you a cup of chamomile tea,” Lizzie offered kindly. “You look a bit peaked.”

“I’m fine, really. I just need some sleep. You go on to bed now.”

“Oh, but I have to wait up for Miss Glenda anyhow. And you look like you could use a cup,” Lizzie said as she helped Vivienne into her long white nightgown. “I won’t be more than a minute.” The obliging maid hurried off before Vivienne could utter another protest.

Vivienne stared at her reflection in the cheval glass mirror. What had Aidan seen when he saw her tonight? Did he think her very changed? No longer a girl of seventeen with eyes full of love and adoration? Most likely not. She no longer loved nor adored him. And she had definitely changed over the years since he left. She had matured. She had learned from her mistakes. She was now a woman who knew better.

Aidan had certainly changed too. There was a dark, remote quality about him that she didn’t recall being there, although his looks still managed to take her breath away. Tall and muscular with broad shoulders, he had a classically sculpted masculine face; strong jaw, straight aquiline nose, intelligent forehead. He had gorgeous thick black hair and penetrating green eyes with impossibly long jet lashes. Yes, Aidan Kavanaugh was still one handsome son of a bitch.

She laughed ruefully to herself for using the vulgar expression the twins had recently taught her. The description fit Aidan perfectly, though, for she had the great misfortune of knowing his mother.

“Good, you’re awake,” a shrill voice caught her off guard. “I won’t have to tiptoe around and be quiet.”

“Hello, Glenda,” Vivienne nodded, amused at the thought of Glenda e. . .