The Kiss of a Rogue

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  That was part of the reason why Abigail had been awake so early that morning. She was still fretting over the incident with Whitehaven. For the last thing she wished to do was cause any sort of trouble for her friend and hostess. Then again, if not for that incident, she likely would not have been walking in the gardens. And she would not have stumbled upon the duke asleep on the lawn. And even if all of that was unavoidable, she should not have stayed to make certain he was well. The man was none of her concern.

  Yet she had remained with him and now, what was done was done. There was no going back, as her father always liked to remark. The only path was forward. And after that kiss, delightful as it had been, Abigail was fairly certain she would only ever see the duke again in passing. It wasn't as if they were friends. How could they be? She didn't even really know the man! She had merely kissed him.

  Which, when one put it that way, made the situation sound far worse than it had been. And her imagination began running wild once more until she made a concentrated effort to reign it in.

  Instead Abigail reminded herself that the incident was in the past, and she had the rest of the house party, just shy of a full fortnight actually, to enjoy herself before she retired to the dower house at her father's secondary estate in Wales. Where she would live a life of her choosing. Even if that life was the occasionally lonely one of a spinster. However, better that sort of life than one where she was subjected to a husband who would beat her and take her fortune. Like it was now rumored that Lord Selby would do to Sophia.

  Of course, Abigail realized she would still have something of a battle on her hands with Papa over her plan to cease attending the Season in London, but she was certain she could manage him. In time, anyway. After all, he wished for her to be happy. And as of late, London was making her decidedly un-happy. He could not possibly wish for that to continue, even if it meant that she was never able to snare a title for herself - and them by association. Eventually he would come around to her way of thinking. She was certain of it. Especially if she was already in Wales by the time the news of her plans reached him.

  Abigail was about to venture to the sideboard for more bacon when a shadow fell over her table. Expecting to see the frowning face of Miss Cutwright, she was pleased to see that instead, it was another of her friends, Lady Charlotte Cleary, the daughter of Lord and Lady Waverly, smiling down at her.

  Abigail had met Lady Charlotte at a musicale during the early part of the Season three years previous, and they had become fast friends almost immediately. Abigail hadn't known many members of the ton back then, but she had quickly discovered that she didn't need to when she was in the company of Charlotte Cleary. The young woman was something of a chatterbox and knew everyone - or so it seemed. There was also not a person alive that she seemingly wouldn't engage in conversation, much to Abigail's benefit. Within less than a fortnight, Charlotte had managed to expand Abigail's circle of friends almost ten-fold, something that had pleased both women.

  "Charlotte!" Abigail exclaimed with genuine happiness. "I didn't see you last evening, and I was wondering if you had arrived yet. Please join me. I was also wondering how much longer I would be dining alone this morning." Even though it was clear that Abigail was more than welcome at Fairhaven, she was not, as of yet, the most popular of breakfast companions. Normally, she didn't mind, but this morning, she was eager to discover if news of her escapade with the duke had been discovered. Though she sincerely doubted it, it was also best not to leave things to chance. That was another of her father's favorite sayings and one she often took to heart.

  "I would adore your company this morning, Abby! We did arrive rather late last night, as our carriage broke a wheel shortly after we left Town." Charlotte was all smiles, even though the hour was far earlier than what they traditionally kept while in town. And she likely hadn't slept much, either. "Still, I have ever so much to tell you!"

  For a moment, Abigail's heart seized in her chest, certain she had been discovered. Then she took note of the beatific expression on Charlotte's face and realized that it likely had something to do with Lord Francis Deaver, Viscount Underhill, who had been courting Charlotte off and on since his own slightly scandalous return to town a few months ago.

  "I take it that Lord Underhill has something to do with your good mood?" Even though that was the likely scenario, Abigail felt the need to be certain. Just in case.

  Given Charlotte's contented sigh, Abigail quickly decided that she had her answer. "I know that my parents believe this is far too sudden. After all, he has only been back in Society for such a brief time. But I know my own heart. And I know his. He is a good man and I could not ask for better. He is the sort of man I never imagined that I would find." She blushed prettily. "He makes my knees week, Abby."

  "Do you think he will ask for your hand?" she asked excitedly. Abigail hoped so for her friend's sake. She knew of few people who deserved happiness more than Charlotte.

  Unsurprisingly, Charlotte's eyes sparkled with delight. "I can only hope so." Then, as if struck by a realization, they dimmed a bit. "Though I do fear that Papa means to make us wait. He says that if Lord Underhill is truly smitten, then another few months so that we might have a spring wedding will not make that much difference." She sighed. "Still, I had hoped that this would be my last season on the Marriage Mart. I am not as young as I once was."

  Unexpectedly, Abigail felt her next words snag in her throat. Charlotte was all of four and twenty. Abigail herself was six and twenty. If it was time for Charlotte to be off the Marriage Mart, then the same was certainly true of Abigail herself. Or it should have been. But Abigail reminded herself that she was not the wealthy daughter of a peer. She was the wealthy daughter of a man in trade and thus, the rules for her were different.

  Though not too much different. After all, she was not getting any younger either.

  "Perhaps your father will come around sooner than you anticipate," Abigail finally offered with a smile. "Fathers do tend to dote on their daughters."

  At least Abigail's did. Which was why she was convinced she could bring him around to her way of thinking on the idea of spinsterhood. Though he had already made his displeasure regarding the subject clear. Several times over, in fact. Abigail was his little girl and he hoped that one day she would wed, likely someone from the peerage. Someone who saw her as more than her dowry, of course.

  On one rare occasion, likely thinking of just that scenario, her father had hinted that he would be fine if she did not wed at all, going against his previous stance on the issue. It gave Abigail hope that she might yet bring him around to her way of thinking. Especially if she could prove to him that spinsterhood would make her far happier than marriage ever would.

  Finally, Charlotte's beaming smile returned. "You are right, of course. Once Papa has time to think upon the matter, I am certain he will grant his permission for an official courtship." Then a mischievous gleam came into her eyes. "But what about you, Abigail? Has your father given permission for a man to court you? Is there any one that you fancy? We have not spoken since either of us arrived here and there are plenty of eligible, titled men to pick from."

  The question was so absurd that Abigail almost choked on her tea. "Certainly you do not mean that, Charlotte. You know very well that this is to be my last season." She hated to question her friend's sanity, but surely Charlotte knew that there were great differences between their stations in life. And they had discussed the topic of marriage many times in the past.

  Instead of being embarrassed, however, Charlotte merely quirked an eyebrow at her friend. "I do indeed mean that." She offered Abigail a pointed look. "While I am well aware of the differences between the two of us, and that you have recently stated your desire not to marry, I also know fathers very well. You would not have me believe that your father does not care a whit whom you wed. Of if you wed at all. I am fairly certain that he does care, no matter what he says. And I have to believe that he allowed you to attend this house party
with only a single chaperone in the hopes that you might form an attachment with one of the eligible men here. Or at the very least, develop an understanding with one."

  Drat her friend for being so perceptive. The same thought had occurred to Abigail as well. Many times. "He cares, certainly," Abigail amended quickly. "That is why he assigned Miss Cutwright to accompany me, after all." Well that and to spy on Abigail and report back to him on his daughter's activities. "Though truly, he will be fine if I choose not to take a husband. He knows that is my desire, and he rarely attempts to change my mind. As I am not the daughter of a peer, my choices are a bit different than yours." And with each word that she spoke, she was becoming less and less certain that her father was truly accepting of her choice.

  Even though it was Abigail's stated desire to remain a spinster.

  Something that she had a feeling he would ignore in the end. No matter what he said at present. And no matter how much she protested. Or how much freedom to make her own choices she was accustomed to enjoying. In the end, Abigail had the sinking suspicion that her father's will would win out. And the choice would be taken from her. She didn't know why she felt this way, but she did. It was also making her very uneasy.

  The truth was, Abigail had led her life as she pleased for a very long time, doing precisely what she wished and when. Her beloved father was in Plymouth, near his shipping enterprises. He spent very little time in London, instead leaving his wife and a proper chaperone to oversee his daughter's social life. It was no secret that Henry Northrup wanted his daughter to make the best match possible, perhaps even a peer if she could manage it since it would increase the family's social standing - which was the one thing he could not buy, no matter how hard he tried.

  However, it was also no secret that this past year had been atypical for the family, with Mrs. Northrup, Abigail's mother, taking ill back in March and returning to her seaside home and allowing her daughter to remain in London with a chaperone and a handful of trusted servants. And when Abigail had stated that she wished to remain unwed and retire to Wales, there had been no one around to challenge her.

  Especially not her father.

  Though her proclamation of impending spinsterhood, which had come one night at a ball when Abigail's dance card had been pitifully empty, had been heard by plenty. Abigail's decree had also caused something of a scandal in Town, which her father had done his best to silence, coming to London himself to oversee what he termed his daughter's "husband hunt" for a brief time. When the rumors died down, he returned to Plymouth, satisfied that all was right with the world once more. And that despite Abigail's "silly notions" about remaining a spinster, that she would, in time, settle on a man of wealth and title and wed him in short order.

  Still, even after her father's departure from London, Abigail knew that she was still whispered about by those members of the ton who saw her as nothing more than an impudent intruder who did not belong among the more refined debutantes of London. She was not exactly like them and never would be. The fact that she had stated she had no wish for a husband only added fuel to that particular fire. No matter how hard her father had worked to put the rumors to rest.

  "Your father may have allowed you a scandalous amount of freedom, to be sure," Charlotte conceded breezily as she poured herself some more tea, "But that still does not mean he does not care whom you wed or if you wed at all. In fact, I would wager that he cares very much. Especially after his trip to Town not so long ago." That wicked gleam was back in her eyes. "For instance, I doubt that your father would approve of someone such as...oh..." She scanned the room as if searching for the most scandalous man present. "Oh, say someone like the Duke of Hathaway. No matter that he is a duke. I cannot countenance that any father would allow his daughter to marry a man like him."

  This time, Abigail did choke on her tea and she had to take several deep breaths in order to recover, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "Clearly you do not know my father all that well." That much was true, but Abigail used those words to deflect her friend's choice of possible husband more than anything else. "He would be thrilled if I somehow managed to snag a duke, regardless of the man's reputation. Especially since I currently have no desire to snare any man, which my father well knows."

  In fact, Abigail was all but certain of it, given her father's last, grumbling letter that had arrived in Mayfair only days before she and Miss Cutwright had departed for Fairhaven. The only thing Papa might not countenance would be a fortune hunter, but then Abigail herself would never be so foolish as to fall in love with such a man. She was far too clever for that. But a duke? Even the so-called Dastardly Duke? Well that sort of man would be just fine where Mr. Henry Northrup was concerned and Abigail knew it well.

  "Not that duke. Not even your father would agree to such a thing." Charlotte nodded towards the far corner of the breakfast room where Lord Hathaway had just entered looking slightly worse for wear.

  Though his clothing was impeccable, a rather large bruise was blooming on his cheek. Abigail hadn't noticed it earlier and wondered exactly what he had struck to cause it. Perhaps the balustrade when he had made his leap for freedom the previous evening. Though she would never say as much, especially directly to him, the bruise gave the duke a rather rakish air that she found she quite liked.

  Then those slate gray eyes of his - eyes that she had done her best not to notice earlier in the day - landed on her and for a single moment, she forgot to breathe. She prayed that Charlotte didn't notice.

  "He is looking directly at us." Silently Abigail cursed her bad luck as Charlotte's now-cold gaze narrowed on the duke, as if all but daring him to approach. "In fact, Abby, I would think that he is looking at you."

  "No, I believe that he is likely looking at you," Abigail deflected once again. No one could know of her morning escapade. No one. Otherwise, she would be utterly ruined. "I am all but certain he is not looking at me. I have only met the gentleman once, and that was but in passing and nothing more,"

  Then, to her immense relief, the duke simply nodded in their direction before continuing on to a nearby table where Lord Hunt, the Comte De La Croix, and the Marquess of Berkshire were already seated and laughing over strong cups of coffee. She watched as the men paused slightly at the duke's approach but did not turn him away.

  When Hathaway was seated as well, Abigail turned back to Charlotte, only to see her friend eyeing her speculatively and tapping her finger on her arm as if deep in thought. "No, I am quite certain he was looking at you. Please, Abigail, do not tell me you are involved with him, despite your words to the contrary! You have both been here less than a day! I know that he is sinfully attractive and obscenely wealthy, not to mention a duke as well, but he is also a rogue of the worst sort. His reputation is in tatters and I do not wish for him to bring you down as well! I couldn't bear it!"

  "I am not involved with him! I swear! I have spoken to virtually no one since I arrived and certainly not any man." Abigail didn't consider what she had done that morning as being involved with the man. Not really, anyway. "I did see he duke last night as I passed the billiards room. I shall admit to that. I was looking for my chaperone and inadvertently stumbled into the wrong section of the house." That much was true as well. "Perhaps he recognized me from that brief glance or thinks that he might. After all, I was under the impression he was rather foxed last night. Everyone has been talking about it this morning."

  Charlotte seemed to accept that explanation and quietly Abigail let out a sigh of relief. Her secret was safe. For now. "I suppose that makes sense." The other woman dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "I simply do not wish to see you associated with a man like that, no matter that he is a duke. If you wish to make a proper match, you must not be seen to favor a man such as him. I am only trying to help you, Abby. You have so much to offer, and I would hate to see you waste yourself on a rogue like him."

  "I know. Honestly, I do." And truly, Abigail did. In fact, the subject of the duke and his behav
ior had been the talk of the house party last night as well. She simply didn't want to hear Charlotte belabor the point. Especially when there was no point to belabor. "And I swear that I have no idea why the duke looked at me so directly, other than perhaps a fleeting memory, as I have said." She sighed and pushed her plate aside. "This is to be my last event in Society, as you well know. All I wish is to have fun. Nothing more and nothing less. I do not know the duke, nor do I have any idea why he might look in our direction. I was under the impression that after the incident with his sister last night that he was going to depart this morning."

  In fact, the possibility that Hathaway might depart Fairhaven was just about all anyone could gossip about last evening. Well, that and whether or not his accusations against Lord Selby regarding his gambling habits were true. They were, of course, but it was not Abigail's place to offer up that sort of information.

  Shaking her head, Charlotte rose with a sigh, her breakfast barely touched. It was little wonder she was so thin and managed to keep her figure. "Very well. If you are certain that is all there is to his fascination with you."

  "It was a brief glance. Hardly a fascination. And, as I said, he spotted me last evening when he was foxed. Given the size of the lump on his head, it would be little wonder if he was not somewhat confused about the events of the evening." Abigail did not want to argue with her friend, but she also did not want to continue this conversation either. In fact, it would be better if they never spoke of Lord Hathaway again. Though she also admitted silently to herself that scenario was unlikely.

  "If you are certain." Charlotte did not look completely convinced but she seemed content, for the moment anyway, to let the matter rest. "I am afraid that I promised Mama that I would meet her in Lady Enwright's morning room to attend to some correspondence this morning. Please forgive me for dashing off. Perhaps tomorrow we can breakfast together longer." Then she paused. "And Abigail, I am sorry if I sounded harsh a moment ago. I am merely worried for you. You are my friend and I want what is best for you. That is all. The ways of Society are far from easy for women of our age."