The Duke's Legacy: Dangerous Dukes Vol 2

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Very well, what must I do?’

  He sent her a look that suggested she could have phrased her question more tactfully. ‘What do you know about the rudiments of the game?’

  Upon receiving her confession that she knew little or nothing, Sebastian succinctly outlined the aims while setting up the balls.

  ‘The skill lies in striking the cue ball crisply, exactly in its centre, while lining one’s shot up with the pocket one intends to sink the ball into. The key is to hold one’s cue correctly. Like this.’ He stuck the cue ball dead centre, sending a red shooting smartly into the pocket opposite. ‘Now you try.’ He ushered her to the side of the table and handed her his cue. ‘First decide which ball you intend to pot.’

  ‘That one over there.’ She pointed out what looked like an easy shot.

  ‘Good choice. Now then, you hold the cue by sliding it between your thumb and index finger, making a groove in your hand for it to rest upon.’ She experimented and earned a nod of approval from Sebastian. ‘That’s right, but it’s vital to look straight down the cue, in the direction you intend to send the ball.’

  ‘A bit like throwing your heart, metaphorically speaking, over a jump before your horse takes off?’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘All right, I understand that. What next?’

  ‘You must line your body up in accord with the cue. In fact the cue should almost touch your person. Line it up with your chin. No, no, move a little more to your right.’

  She did so. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘No, you’re still crooked.’

  Standing behind her he brazenly placed his hands on her hips—only to guide her—but Abbey froze anyway, convinced she could feel the heat from his hands searing through her layers of clothing. Her bottom was now within scandalous proximity of his groin. He was having fun at her expense again and she ought to put an end to this immediately. When his hands gently caressed her hips as he straightened her position, she forgot all about propriety, and tried to concentrate upon the game they were playing, no longer quite so sure if it went by the name of billiards.

  ‘That’s better.’ His voice, purring in her ear, brought her momentarily back to her senses. ‘A useful way to remember how to line up your shot is to say to yourself chin, breast and hip, since that’s the line your cue should follow.’

  Abbey gasped, not so much at his outrageous words, but because he was running his hand down the cue as he spoke, brushing it against the anatomical points in question. She let the cue fall from her hand. It hit the floor with a loud clatter as she turned to give him a piece of her mind. It was either that or allow him to take liberties. Abbey wasn’t too worried about him actually overstepping the mark…well, not any more than he already had. It was her own reactions she didn’t trust, unsure if she could hold out against his coercive charm. Just the feel of his fingers brushing against the side of her breast was enough to…no, this must stop, now!

  ‘Lord Denver, you really shouldn’t—’

  ‘No, I certainly shouldn’t.’ She could tell from his expression he wasn’t the slightest bit deterred by her feeble objections and probably intended to continue amusing himself at her expense. She opened her mouth to upbraid him further but he silenced her by picking up her cue and handing it to her. ‘Now come on, stop creating such a fuss and try potting that ball instead.’

  She scowled at him. ‘I’ll attempt potting the ball only if you agree to stand aside and not touch me.’

  He raised his hands in surrender but to Abbey it felt as though the temperature in the room had just risen by several degrees. Her body was definitely overheated. The atmosphere sizzled with anticipation as the unholy light in his eye tugged at her on a level she seemed unable to control.

  ‘All right,’ he said easily. ‘I agree to your terms. Now, shall you continue?’

  Irrationally annoyed that he had given up so easily, Abbey put all of her irritation into the shot. She lined it up with precision and potted the ball cleanly.

  ‘Well done! Now try that ball over there if you really want a challenge.’ She attempted to line up for the shot. ‘No, no, you’re already forgetting what I taught you. Your body isn’t behind the cue.’ His hands took possession of her hips again. ‘Swing a little more this way. That’s right, now aim and slide the cue smoothly.’

  His hand brushed against the side of her breast and was slow to move away. The breath caught in her throat and she remained rooted to the spot, the cue slipping from her grasp. The explosive amalgamation of conflicting emotions which bubbled inside her as his thumb briefly caressed the swell of her breast was beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. And since making Lord Denver’s acquaintance, she had spent a lot of time imagining. Every inch of her body was assailed by wave after wave of dizzying shock, overwhelming her with a torrent of pleasurable feelings.

  What did he intend to do next? She shouldn’t stay here and compliantly wait to find out; really she should not. But curiosity won the day and she didn’t move, willing him to cover her lips with his own as his hands once again rested on her hips.

  On the point of capitulating to whatever he had in mind, some sixth sense, some deep rooted awareness of duty and propriety, prevented her. Even so, it took every last vestige of her willpower to move out of range of his magical fingers. Not trusting herself to speak, she put all her frustration into her shot and watched the ball tumble crisply into the opposite pocket.

  ‘You have commendable powers of concentration,’ Sebastian said softly.

  Something made Abbey glance towards the door as he spoke and her heart sank. It burst open and Lord Evans stood there wearing a torn hunting coat and an expression of total outrage.

  ‘Now I am really for it,’ she told Sebastian in a gloomy undertone. ‘And it’s all your fault.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Is there a problem, Evans?’

  Abbey fled the billiards room, brushing past Lord Evans without pausing to beg his pardon. Sebastian’s languid drawl vaguely registered as she made good her escape. She hoped it wouldn’t further antagonise Lord Evans, causing him to act foolishly in defence of her honour.

  The sound of cue striking ball reached her ears and she could easily imagine Sebastian’s languid demeanour. Lord Denver had mastered the art of expressive innuendo, which was all very well, but it was her reputation at stake on this occasion.

  Abbey spent the rest of the afternoon hidden away in her chamber with a book she wasn’t reading open on her lap. She summoned Sally early and spent longer than usual attending to her toilette, expecting at any moment to receive a summons to attend her uncle and account for her activities. When it didn’t come she couldn’t decide whether she was relieved at the delay or disappointed not to get the scolding over with.

  When she could defer her arrival in the drawing room no longer she descended the stairs on leaden feet, wishing she had done something to justify her guilty conscience. If she was to be taken to task for behaving improperly with Lord Denver then she would prefer to have something to truly repent.

  Upon entering the room she looked for Sebastian and easily located him. He must experience difficulty in making himself inconspicuous in a crowd. There was something about him—an indefinable something that made it hard to overlook his sophisticated presence in a room full of equally sophisticated people. Abbey could see he wasn’t making any attempt to draw attention to himself, but for her there might just as well have been no one else in the room. Dear lord, she was a hopeless case!

  She paused in the doorway, taking a moment to feast her eyes on his muscular physique before her appearance was noticed and she was obliged to enter the fray. He was engaged in conversation with Harold and Mary and appeared to be the only person in a room resonating with tension who was perfectly at his ease. There was an element of suspicious resentment in the way some of Abbey’s guests darted wary glances in his direction. If Sebastian sensed their animosity he gave no sign. Abbey wondered how that could be po
ssible when the charged atmosphere was almost palpable—as though everyone was waiting for something to happen.

  Sebastian presented a picture of unruffled calm as he listened to whatever Harold had to say to him. As she walked towards them she could hear her cousin speaking affably, displaying his very obvious suitability for his chosen profession. Presumably he’d noticed the thinly-veiled hostility directed towards Sebastian and was going out of his way to make him feel welcome.

  Abbey was still on edge, following her day of rebellion, and persuaded herself she was reading too much into what had after all only been a moment’s scrutiny of her guests. Perhaps her nerves had got the better of her and it was nothing more than the inclement weather, which would keep the company off the hunting field until it improved, casting a pall over the proceedings?

  She observed Mary smiling almost coquettishly at something Sebastian murmured to her in a private aside. Abbey’s lips twitched. Even Mary, who had earlier warned Abbey to be on her guard when in Lord Denver’s presence, clearly was not immune to his charm.

  Uncle Bertram turned at that moment, caught sight of Abbey and beamed at her. Abbey, nervously clenching her fingers around her fan to prevent her hands from shaking, was confused. Her uncle couldn’t take her to task in front of their guests, she perfectly understood that. Even so, she hadn’t expected him to greet her in quite such a convivial manner. By now he must know all the lurid details of her conduct that day—well, most of them, anyway—and he would be very angry with her.

  What was happening? She felt Sebastian’s gaze resting upon her, and from the significance of his expression knew he was trying to warn her something important had occurred. In a blinding flash she understood. Lord Evans hadn’t tattled on her to her uncle. Through choice or had he been persuaded by Sebastian to keep quiet? Abbey suspected it must be the latter since Lord Evans’s standards were rigid and he would have felt honour bound to report what he had seen.

  Abbey hadn’t considered her suitor’s manners in that light before. Indeed she had never had occasion to since her behaviour had always been as punctilious as his. Now that her eyes had been opened, could she still marry such a man? She looked in Lord Evans’s direction, trying to keep the enquiry out of her expression. He was conversing with Laura and Elizabeth but looked over their heads and frowned at Abbey, shaking his head in a gesture which managed to convey his disappointment.

  Then she understood.

  Sebastian hadn’t persuaded him to keep silent. He’d done so for fear of losing favour with her. She experienced only a moment’s gratitude before accepting she was far from exonerated. His lordship’s grim expression told her at least that much. What in heaven’s name would it cost her to purchase his continued silence? What promises would she be expected to make? What assurances would she be required to give? Irritation superseded her fleeting gratitude. Whatever she might have done to provoke his displeasure, Lord Evans still presumed too much and his attitude was starting to rankle.

  Thrusting her grievances to the back of her mind, Abbey moved to join Harold and Mary, linking arms with the latter and smiling at Sebastian.

  ‘Lady Abigail.’ Sebastian bowed perfectly correctly but set her senses reeling by offering her a fleeting wink as he raised his head.

  ‘Lord Denver.’

  ‘His lordship has been telling us about his recent visit to Italy,’ Harold explained. ‘It’s a country I’ve never set foot in. It boasts such a rich religious history that the desire to experience it first-hand would tempt any man of God. I wouldn’t be averse to making a visit.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Mary said with a wistful sigh.

  ‘Mary!’ Abbey was genuinely surprised by her reaction. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever heard you express the slightest interest in setting foot outside of England.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t talk about such things, Abbey dear, but I have my aspirations, just like anyone else. I’d give much to see the wonderful architecture and museums of Florence, travel the canals in Venice and experience the splendours of Rome.’ She sighed again and looked almost pretty. ‘Lord Denver makes it sound so romantic.’

  ‘I too was unaware that you yearn for such adventure, my dear,’ Harold said.

  ‘We can all dream, Harold, but that’s all it is. I’m well aware it will never be anything more.’

  Harold looked upon her with genuine concern, as did Abbey, both well aware it was out of character for Mary to complain, however obliquely. Indeed, she wanted for nothing, was adored by her husband, and it was difficult to imagine her having anything to complain about.

  ‘Then one day I shall take you.’ Harold patted his wife’s hand. ‘Upon that you have my word.’

  ‘I don’t see how you will be able to keep that promise, but I appreciate your making it all the same.’

  Mary seemed her old self again as she curtsied to Sebastian, excused herself and crossed the room in answer to a signal from Lady Bevan.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Harold asked, looking genuinely bewildered.

  ‘What indeed,’ Abbey replied, lifting her shoulders.

  ‘I’m to blame,’ Sebastian said, his demeanour thoughtful rather than contrite. ‘My descriptions of Italy were a little too colourful and caused your wife to acquire a yearning for foreign travel I had no right to excite. I apologise if I’ve overset her, Bevan.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’ Harold waved Sebastian’s apology aside. ‘But perhaps, if you will excuse me, I had best ensure she’s all right. She didn’t look quite the thing just now.’

  Harold bustled off, leaving Abbey and Sebastian alone.

  ‘Circulate,’ he whispered. ‘We’re being observed and you are not supposed to like me, remember?’

  ‘I do not like you,’ she replied. ‘I don’t need to act.’

  Abbey drifted away from him and joined Charles. He was in the midst of describing to Sir Michael the added complexities of phaeton racing when a high-perched conveyance was involved. Barely pausing to acknowledge Abbey’s presence, he continued to explain the importance of possessing a perfectly matched pair.

  ‘Knew a chap once who spent a small fortune on a well-bred pair, but they didn’t work right together, don’t you see. One of them just wouldn’t take near-side corners on the right leg. Overset the entire rig and cost the chap another fortune to put it right.’ Charlie waved his arms about, almost knocking the glass from Abbey’s hand. Hastily, she backed out of his range. ‘It’s far more important to make sure your pair are properly schooled, and completely in tune with one another. Flighty horses don’t always make the best teams. Give me sturdier beasts, bred for endurance, any day. Proved the point this autumn when I beat Powell in our race to Brighton. His pair was much better bred but ran out of steam and didn’t last the distance.’

  ‘Will you let me drive your pair sometime, Charlie?’ Abbey asked sweetly.

  ‘Not a chance, Abbey. Too dashed valuable, and too much time invested in them to risk them to a woman’s hand.’

  ‘I say!’ Sir Michael puffed out his chest. ‘That’s a bit rich. Have a care, Wilsden. I happen to know that Lady Abigail is a first-rate whip.’

  ‘Sorry, Abbey.’ Charles patted her hand but didn’t look sorry at all. ‘I know you’re an adequate driver—’

  ‘For a woman? Is that what you were going to say, Charlie?’

  He grinned and twitched her nose. ‘Absolutely.’

  By the time dinner was announced Abbey congratulated herself upon successfully avoiding Lord Evans’s efforts to have a private word with her. But her relief was short lived because he materialised at her side, offering her his arm. She had let her guard down while sparring with Charles and hadn’t noticed him hovering. Reluctantly she placed her hand on his sleeve.

  Matters were even worse in the dining room. Sebastian had been claimed by Laura and was at the other end of the table, where he wouldn’t be able to help her out of any difficulties. Almost as though he recognised the fact and was using it to extract rev
enge, Lord Evans played upon her taut emotions by making no immediate mention of all he had observed that day. There were ample opportunities for him to do so, since those around them were engaged in conversations of their own, paying Abbey and Lord Evans little attention. A dozen times Abbey steeled herself, convinced he would broach the subject. Instead he engaged her in light conversation, saying nothing she could take exception to, and seemed to go out of his way to make himself agreeable.

  If his plan was to strain her nerves then he was succeeding better than he could know. She was as jumpy as a rabbit, had no appetite at all and the concentration span of a mosquito.

  The interminable meal was almost at an end and Abbey was starting to relax a little, thinking she might be safe after all. As though reading her mind, Lord Evans chose that very moment to break his silence.

  ‘What were you thinking of, taking to the field with Denver today, when you know your uncle expressly forbids you to hunt?’

  Abbey was prepared for the question and countered it with one of her own. ‘What makes you suppose I was on the hunting field?’

  ‘Don’t imagine I speak out of turn.’ He eyed her with a combination of disapproval, affection and annoyingly possessive intent. ‘I saw you, and that rogue, with my own eyes. You could have been hurt, Lady Abigail. I couldn’t bear to think of you being harmed, or worse, for the sake of a few hours sport. I suppose he wagered you didn’t have the courage?’

  ‘You saw me?’ Abbey tilted her head, pretending to consider the matter. ‘Where? I don’t remember seeing you.’ She paused, still feigning misunderstanding. ‘Oh, was that you, crumpled on the ground by that unclipped hedge?’ She offered him a seraphic smile. ‘I do hope you were not hurt.’

  Lord Evans coloured. ‘Not at all, but don’t think to change the subject. It’s your conduct under scrutiny at this moment. Quite apart from allowing that scapegrace to talk you into hunting, you must also have ridden with him this morning, unaccompanied. That’s not something you consent to do, even with me.’ A note of ill-usage entered his voice. ‘You shouldn’t—’