“You never thought of me during all this time?”
Her lips compressed to form a hard, flat line. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t. Of course I thought of you, Reginald. I loved you. I was going to marry you. What I felt for you…it did not vanish when you left.”
He took one step towards her, then another. With the table no longer an obstacle between them he could stand as close as he wanted. He saw the quiver of her pulse in her neck and smelled honeysuckle on her skin. She had her hair pulled up in a bun, coiled loosely beneath a lace cap. A few tendrils had escaped and dangled down on either side of her flushed cheeks, tempting him to reach out and see if her hair felt as silky as he remembered. “Is what you felt for me gone now, Abby?”
She stared at him, her hazel eyes unflinching even as her bottom lip wobbled. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Liar.”
The space between their lips was blissfully short.
He dipped his head, closed his mind to what should have been, and indulged in what was.
She felt frail beneath his hands and he touched her with all the delicacy an artist would use when holding fine spun glass. His fingers slipped through her hair, dislodging the offensive cap and spilling her curls over her shoulders in a wave of silvery gold. He settled his other hand at her waist, cupping her hip when she tried to pull away, not enough to hold her but enough to offer a token resistance if that is what she wanted.
It was.
Abby had never been one to shy away from passion. She gave as good as she got, committing as much enthusiasm and energy into matters of the bedroom as she did into her everyday life. They may have never consummated their love, but they had done nearly everything leading up to the final act, fumbling and laughing and moaning their way through.
“This…is a mistake,” she gasped, wrenching her mouth free and raising her palms to press them flat against his chest. “Reginald, this is a mistake.”
“No,” he growled fiercely. “This is right.”
He kissed her again, his lips sliding across hers in a sinuous dance they had performed a hundred times before. The hand on her hip tightened, drawing her closer, and when Abby clutched his arms and gave herself over to him, he didn’t feel like a man aged sixty years. He felt like a young boy again, drowning in lust and love.
Drowning in Abby.
Their tongues met hesitantly, entwining and retreating in a waltz of remembrance and regret. This is what he had been missing. The sensation of being a part of someone else. Of drawing one breath and becoming one person.
His fingertips skimmed along the curve of her spine before tracing up along her ribs. He cupped her breasts and she started to draw away, but an easy flick of his thumb across her budding nipple and she leaned into his palm with a breathy sigh.
The heat of their youth was still there, burning between them like an open flame. He murmured her name as his lips traced a path down her neck and along the slender line of her exposed collarbone, suckling her flesh as though it were a feast laid out for him and him alone. When he dared moved his mouth lower she finally stopped him with a resistance that was more than token and he forced himself to step back, albeit with great reluctance.
Her hair a disheveled spill of curls around her shoulders, her lips pink and swollen, her eyes wide and glassy, Abigail stared at him as though she were seeing a ghost.
“That… That should not have happened.”
“Why?” he challenged, anger and unquenched passion thickening his voice. “It should have happened a long time ago. It never should have stopped happening. Bloody hell, Abby. We’re meant to be together.”
But she was already shaking her head. “We were never meant, Reginald. Not then, and not now.” Drawing a deep, shuddering breath she retreated behind a green chaise lounge, the fabric faded and worn by age. The afternoon sun shone at her back, illuminating her body in a soft, ethereal glow that stripped away the years and made her appear as the innocent girl she had once been. She shifted, the beam of light faded, and she was again a woman full grown with cynicism in her eyes and doubt in her heart.
If he could have taken both away he would have done it gladly, but there was no easy solution for a broken heart, nor a simple way to mend it. “I am so sorry, Abby. I was a fool.” He dragged a hand through his hair and glared down at his feet. “A damn fool,” he muttered. “I should have found a way to stay by you. No matter what, I should have found a way.”
“No,” she said softly, shocking him. “No, you made the right decision, Reginald. If you married me you would have been disinherited. You would have lost everything.”
Yes, his father had threatened to cut him off when he learned of the engagement. The late Duke of Ashburn had absolutely no interest in continuing the family line with the untitled third daughter of a baron, and he’d made his wishes clear. Still, Reginald had been prepared to defy him. A dukedom meant nothing if he didn’t have the woman he loved to share it with. His father must have sensed his heir’s brewing rebelliousness, because he’d soon given Reginald a second ultimatum.
One that had been impossible to ignore.
“Your family has presided over Ashburn House for generations,” Abby continued. “I would not have wanted to be the one who caused your title and lands to pass to another. For a while, perhaps, we would have been happy, but you would have come to resent me in time and I would have not been able to live with the guilt.”
“Abby…” His jaw clenched as he struggled to find the words. “That wasn’t the only reason I made the decision not to marry you.”
Her brow creased. “It–it wasn’t?”
“You met my mother. You know she was…different.”
“She was beautiful,” Abby corrected sharply. “Beautiful and innocent and gentle. I was so sorry to hear of her passing. Were you able to see her? Before…?”
He gave a curt nod as his throat swelled. Yes, he’d made it back to England just in time to hold his mother’s hand before she passed peacefully in her sleep. She hadn’t known who he was. She hadn’t recognized him a very, very long time. But he was there to watch her take her last breath, and he liked to think that some part of her, somewhere deep inside, had known it was him.
“She is buried in the field of wildflowers behind the old well at the estate. If you’d ever like to visit her.”
Abby smiled. “I would, thank you. I have, and always will, regard her with great fondness.”
Reginald knew that, which made this next part so difficult.
“When my father learned of our engagement, he was…enraged.” To put it mildly. “He threatened to disinherit me, true, but that wasn’t all he did.”
“What else?” Abby asked, her eyes narrowing on his face. “What else, Rocky?”
“If I married you, he vowed to put my mother in an asylum.”
“No.” On a gasp, Abby pressed both of her hands to her mouth and spoke between her fingers. “How–how could he threaten such a thing? Why…why did you never tell me?”
Because I never wanted to see the expression on your face that I see now.
“I didn’t want you to carry that burden. I didn’t want you to feel any guilt.”
“But I do feel guilty. Of course I feel guilty. If we were never together, your father would not have ever considered–”
“No,” Reginald said flatly. “It is not your fault, Abby. You’ve no blame in any of this. Nor does my mother. You were both bystanders in a power struggle between a cruel, callous man and his stubborn son. But that’s over now. I made my decision. The best decision I thought I could, given the circumstances. But it was still a decision that hurt the woman I loved. And that’s guilt I will have to live with for the rest of my life.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me. But…”
“But?” he asked when she trailed away.
Her eyes troubled, she met his gaze. “But it doesn’t change anything between us. This wasn’t a reconciliation, Reginald. This…this was a goodbye. I
trust you can see yourself out.”
“Abby–”
She pushed his arm aside when he reached for her. Pressing her fist to her mouth, she all but ran from the room, leaving him to wonder what the hell he was supposed to do now.
Chapter Five
It rained for the next four days.
From within the cozy confines of her parlor where a small fire hissed and snapped, Abigail chatted with Dianna over tea and crumpets. Her niece had returned from Sussex the day before, after a short visit with Charlotte and Gavin Graystone. They were expecting their first child, Dianna joyfully revealed, and Charlotte had wanted to share the news in person.
Since Martha and Rodger had left for the country in their daughter’s absence, Dianna would now be staying with Abigail until the Season began in seven short weeks. Her presence would be a welcome distraction, for try as she might, Abigail could not stop thinking about Reginald.
He was on her mind from the moment she woke to the very second she fell asleep. The dratted man was even in her dreams, although she could hardly complain about those, for they really were quite nice. It had been a while since she’d had thoughts of an intimate nature, having decided after her last affair–a quiet, mutual arrangement with a widower that had ended in the spring–she would remain celibate. It was simply too much work to seek out a man who wanted the same thing she did: namely, a discreet partner with which to spend time in and out of the bedroom. There had been four of them over the years; sweet, honorable gentlemen all, but none of whom she had ever been moved to marry even, though two had asked on numerous occasions.
“Are you thinking about him?” Curled up in a plush green armchair with her legs dangling over the side nearest the fire, Dianna regarded her aunt with both eyebrows raised and a knowing smile.
“Thinking about who?” Abigail said evasively.
“You know exactly of whom I am speaking.” Swinging her feet to the ground, Dianna pushed herself into a sitting position and arranged her cream colored skirts so they fell neatly around her ankles. “Your duke, of course.”
“He is not my duke. Eat another crumpet,” Abigail directed, nudging the plate across the table between them.
It was the same table Reginald had kicked in a fit of temper. The broken leg splinted, it leaned only a bit to the right, which in her eyes simply gave it more character. Everything in Abigail’s home had a story. It seemed only fitting the table now did as well, although every time she looked at it she couldn’t but think of Reginald...and their fiery encounter.
I am so sorry Abby, I was a fool.
Recalling his words, so miserably spoken, she bit hard into a crumpet and glowered into her cup of tea.
Yes, he most certainly had been a fool, both then and now.
What right did he have to waltz back into her life as though forty years had not passed between them? What right did he have to dredge up old feelings? What right did he have to kiss her senseless and then give her a perfectly reasonable excuse for breaking their engagement?
It was easier to be angry at him. To blame him. She didn’t want to understand him, or his reasoning for doing what he’d done. Of course he couldn’t have married her. Not if doing so would have condemned his mother to a fate worse than death. But Abigail didn’t want to feel empathy towards the man who had broken her heart.
She didn’t want to feel anything.
Reginald was a scoundrel, she decided as she finished the crumpet off and wiped her fingers clean on a linen napkin. Coming back here after all this time as if they could just pick up where they’d left off. Well, they couldn’t. And she was just as big a fool as he for ever thinking, even for a moment, that they could.
“I do not wish to discuss him,” she said, directing a stern look at Dianna. “That part of my life has been over for quite some time, and I do not want to begin it again.”
Unperturbed, her niece drew her fingers through her blonde curls and smiled indulgently. “Yes, Aunt Abigail. Charlotte and Gavin are thinking of throwing a Christmas party at Shire House in December and they’ve asked I invite you personally. Formal invitations will be sent out, of course, but—”
“It’s not that I do not want Reginald in my life. I do,” Abigail began. Visibly agitated and unable to remain still, she surged to feet and began to pace back and forth in front of the stone fireplace, her forehead furrowed in thought and her hands clasped tightly behind her back. “I just do not know how he would fit after all these years. I am an independent woman now. I don’t need a husband.”
“Certainly not,” Dianna said.
“And we are not the same people we were. I know I am different and I am certain he is, as well. Why, we hardly knew each other to begin with. And then for him to come over here just as brazen as you please—”
“He came over?”
“—and tell me he needed to see me and he wants to be with me—”
“He said he wants to be with you? Oh,” Dianna sighed, clasping a hand over her heart. “That is so very romantic. What did you do, Aunt Abigail? What did you say? Tell me everything!”
Abigail paused mid-step. “I told him to get out.”
“You did what?”
“Yes, well, I was not in possession of the clearest head,” she said defensively before she resumed her pacing. A fine sheen of perspiration glowed on her temple, although whether it was from the heat of the fire or the heat of her own emotions she couldn’t be certain. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she collapsed into the nearest chair and threw an arm up over her face. Her voice muffled by the sleeve of her dress, she said, “I never expected to see him again. I loved him with everything I had. When our engagement ended…when he married another woman and moved to France…a part of me died, Dianna.”
It was the best way she could describe the aching feeling of loss and despair she’d suffered through all those years ago.
Lowering her arm, she smiled ruefully at her niece. “I know it all sounds a bit dramatic—”
“No, it sounds wonderful. Not the part when he left,” Dianna corrected swiftly, “but the part where you loved each other. I hope to feel that someday.” For the briefest of moments a shadow passed over her countenance. She shrugged, smiled, and it was gone. “You should give him another chance.”
Abigail pulled fretfully at a loose thread on the hem of her sleeve. “Perhaps, but it has been so very long—”
“Oh, Aunt Abigail.” Dianna rolled her eyes. “True love does not know time. It is as endless as the stars and shines just as bright even on the darkest of nights. Give him a chance,” she coaxed. Leaning forward out of her chair, she took Abigail’s hands and squeezed tight. “If you truly love each other it will sort itself out and if not, well, you will be no different than you are now.”
So much wisdom, Abigail thought, contained within such a young mind. She squeezed her niece’s fingers in turn and managed a genuine smile. “You are right, of course. You always are. But I still need time to clear my head and think all this through. We rushed headlong into love last time without a pause to consider the consequences. I do not want to make the same mistake again.”
“We could go visit Charlotte!” Her blue eyes lighting, Dianna jumped to her feet, nearly upending the plate of crumpets. “Gavin is traveling to Scotland in two days to look at an estate and she will be terribly bored without him, especially since everyone else will be making their way back to London.”
“Why is she not going with him?” Abigail asked, her brow creasing in bewilderment.
Most married couples would welcome a separation–indeed, most lived completely separate lives–but she knew Charlotte and Gavin were one of the rare few who were blissfully in love. It hadn’t always been that way, but now you could hardly find one without the other. Gavin doted endlessly on his wife and Charlotte positively adored her husband.
Dianna waved a hand through the air. “If Gavin had his way, Charlotte would remain abed for the entirety of her pregnancy. He is refusing to let her travel.
She tried to change his mind and they had an awful row over it while I was there, but he is quite adamant.”
Having never carried a child, Abigail did not know firsthand the difficulties that came with being pregnant, but she knew her sister had found the entire affair so physically draining she’d sworn never to have another baby as soon as Dianna was born. “Poor dear. Has Charlotte been terribly ill?”
“Ill?” Dianna laughed and shook her head. “She is as healthy as a horse. I shall write her this afternoon to tell her we will be arriving with all haste. She will be absolutely delighted.”
Abigail hesitated. It would be lovely to see Charlotte–a woman she’d come to consider as much of a daughter as she did Dianna–but Sussex was so very far from London. Not that there was any reason for her to remain in the city. Certainly not for Reginald. Why, it had been days since he last called. Nearly a week gone by without a single word! No doubt he’d already forgotten all about her.
“You are thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Dianna asked slyly.
“Thinking about whom?” Abigail said even as the rising blush in her cheeks betrayed the direction of her thoughts.
“Oh, Aunt Abigail. Sometimes you’re as transparent as glass. Come to the country,” Dianna ordered. “You said you want to clear your head, and that’s just the place to do it. I did not want to say anything, but you are looking a bit peakish.”
“Peakish?” Abigail echoed, her brows darting together. “I do not look peakish.”
“You do.” Dianna nodded solemnly. “Just a bit.”
“Very well,” she conceded with a sigh. “I will go with you.”
It was useless arguing with her niece once she had her mind set on something. Dianna may have appeared slight and somewhat frail from the outside, but in her chest beat the heart of a lioness. The disappointments she had suffered in her young life would have jaded even the strongest of women, but she had remained strong through it all, her kind, gentle spirit never wavering. Seeing her now, her sapphire eyes sparkling and her mouth curved in a wide smile, Abigail knew she was making the right decision if only because it would make her niece happy.
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 29
