Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1)

by Grace Callaway

  "Fair warning," I said in a sultry voice foreign to my own. "Now show me how to take you all the way."

  Groaning, he leaned down and took my head in his hands. The feel of his fingertips against my scalp set off shocks of bliss. He kissed me deeply, penetrating my mouth, feeding back to me all the pleasure I had given him. Then, taking one of my hands, he brought it to his lips and ran his tongue in a moist trail down the center.

  My breath stuttering in my chest, I let him guide my hand back to his erect member. The lubricated contact made us both gasp. He kept his hand over mine, our fingers entwined as they dragged slickly up and down. He uttered earthy words, carnal sounds that made me burn. With our hands and gazes joined, I could imagine but one greater intimacy. And I prayed there would be a chance for us.

  "I love you, Hux," I whispered, my throat swelling. "Please don't ever forget that."

  His chest rose on an abraded breath—then he jerked forward at the waist, his jaw clenched, his face pulled taut with passion.

  "Abby, I—"

  The rest of his words were lost in a guttural shout. Primal heat gushed against my fingers. His shuddering climax seemed to go on and on, drawing an answering wetness between my legs. As he worked to pull in deep, gulping breaths, his pleasure continued to ripple through me, the profound satisfaction of knowing what I had given to him. My own respiration fitful, I rested my chin against his knee and caressed his thigh in a soothing stroke. Finally, he snatched me onto his lap and buried his face in my hair. I held onto his large, powerful frame until the tremors stopped.

  When he finally lifted his head, my heart flipped in my chest. He was so beautiful, so wickedly sensual, and, in this moment, he was mine.

  "Abigail," he said unsteadily.

  That was all he said, and I knew what he meant. As his arms tightened around me, I pressed my lips into the crook of his neck. We did not move for a long while after that.

  TWENTY-NINE

  During the next fortnight, a series of spring storms migrated to Hertfordshire. Capricious deluges of rain and sun—sometimes both at once—let loose over Hope End. As the household staff struggled to adjust to the wild climes (twice, linens had to be rewashed and hung again to dry), I could not help but observe the parallel between the weather and my own inner tumult. From moment to moment, day to day, my emotions rode an unpredictable wave.

  On the surface, nothing much had changed between Hux and me. I had begged him to keep our relationship a secret, at least for the time being. Given the furor my promotion had caused, I shuddered to think how the others would talk about a courtship between the master and his secretary. Hux had arched his brow and said I might as well get used it: there would be no escaping the wags once I was his wife. The very thought was enough to send me into paroxysms of joy ... and dread.

  Me, a countess?

  Whilst I was more than ready to spend my life with Hux, I hadn't the faintest idea how I would get along in his exalted world. I tried to talk to him about it, but he swept my reservations about marriage aside.

  "You're mine, Abigail," he said. "Any other arrangement would shame our love."

  For the time being, however, he humored me, and we kept our public interactions circumspect, that of employer and employee. We spent days together in the library with the door pointedly open. He worked at his desk whilst I continued to organize his book collection. From time to time, our gazes would catch and hold; I would feel a jolt of love and desire so strong that it was a wonder I did not accost him where he sat. I could tell by the flush on his cheekbones, the bright gleam in his eyes, that he felt it too.

  But to my surprise, Hux insisted on observing proprieties. I had only wanted to appear decorous; he actually wanted us to behave properly. He'd requested that Mrs. Beecher and Ginny stay on during the weekends so that I would be chaperoned, and even in the few unattended moments we had together, he'd do no more than kiss me. When I tried to sway him into abandoning his principled stance, he only laughed softly and told me that I needed to be patient. That he wanted us to know each other fully, without the blinders of physical lust. That waiting only made the lovemaking sweeter.

  The hot promise in his sapphire eyes had melted my knees.

  I thought I understood his need for decency. He, who had once indulged in meaningless vice, who had exposed himself to lustful demons—he wanted now to know that he was whole and good. He wanted redemption. He sought to convince me that he was capable of being an adoring, faithful lover. I could have told him he was, but he seemed to need to prove it, to himself as much as to me.

  Despite my discomfort, he showered with me gifts. I did not know what to do with the packages that appeared magically by my bedside, everything from whimsical tokens to items of such extravagance that I blanched. Just yesterday he had given me a priceless emerald bracelet. It had apparently belonged to some Russian queen and was now housed in my spare boots, along with a thick rope of pearls, a diamond brooch, and hair combs fashioned from the finest ivory.

  To my mind, he'd already given me the most invaluable present: a sense of belonging. Of finding a home for myself at last. Hux did not deem my intellectual nature strange or undesirable. To the contrary, he seemed to take great pleasure in sparring with me, in testing my logic and wit. He indulged my curiosity in all subject matters for he was an avid a reader as I. During our long walks through the estate grounds, we engaged in vigorous debates to an audience of bobbing snowdrops and staunch daffodils. Before the evening fire, we continued our heated exchange over the chessboard. I did not even mind losing a match, for the forfeit was a kiss (one, in my opinion, that ended far too chastely).

  I did not think my love for Hux could grow—but it did and to a terrifying degree.

  For I knew all that delight was built upon a single, precarious omission. Like a boil in my psyche, my deception festered. I yearned to lance it, to release the putrid truth. Countless times I caught him studying me, speculation in his gaze, and I felt the urge to blurt out my secret. But I imagined his love turning to revulsion, I saw those nights by the fire evaporating in the inferno of his rage, and always the confession died in my throat. I hated my own cowardice. How, with each dishonest minute that passed, my fear of losing him grew and grew.

  The walls between us were not only mine. As the end of the three weeks neared, I sensed a growing impatience within him. There were instances when his expression shuttered, when a brooding darkness would swirl in his eyes, and he retreated to privacy. I did not intrude during those sojourns in the study or his wild gallops through the countryside. In truth, I feared to pry; I feared that any reminder of Lilith would bring an end to these tenuous days of peace.

  But today was Thursday—two days before our negotiated truce would expire. Soon, there would be no avoiding the confrontation. For I was certain he expected me to uphold my end: to leave for Yorkshire whilst he went off to London. I knew that this time no amount of prevarication on my part could stop him. My fingers trembled, fluttering the papers I was tidying on Hux's desk. As I finished replenishing the brass inkwell and the stack of blotting papers, I focused on the inevitable course of action.

  In order to save Hux, I would have to tell him the truth. I could only pray that he would believe me—and listen to my plan.

  Over the past fortnight, I had faithfully practiced cultivating the necklace's magic. I'd been able to replicate my earlier success of repelling demonic dreams by focusing on images of the cross. My skill had grown; night after night, the soothing, vibrant form dispersed the terrors with golden warmth. Afterward, my sleep stretched peaceful and undisturbed into the morning. I'd not felt this invigorated in my entire life.

  I was now ready to put my newfound ability to the test. I needed to practice with a bona fide vision. If I could control the trances, then I had something of value to offer Hux. Something to prove to him that I was me and not possessed by demonic power. A tremor coursed over my skin as I thought of the pent-up aggression that brewed within my lover. The righ
teous fury he was bridling to unleash upon Lilith and her ilk. Much as I loved him, I could not predict his reaction to my revelation. And to the fact that I had been lying to him.

  Drawing shaky breath, I began to line the pens and letter opener in their ornate tray when a gleam, a soft spark of color, caught my eye. I lifted my head and found myself staring directly at the portrait. The storm had ended, sending ribbons of afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. A gauzy filament had somehow reached the painting and animated the jewel-hued strokes. With my hands curling at my sides, I crossed the room. I stopped before the mantel and stared up at her. The light winked across her rosy tresses, glimmered in her mossy, mocking eyes.

  Lilith, I thought, my teeth clenching. How I hated her. How I wished I could banish her from Hux's life and mine forever.

  As I regarded that red, whip-like smile, that alluring, cunning visage, I had a sudden pounding instinct. My fingers twitched in response. But of course. Slowly, I brought my right hand to the necklace. I could feel the small shape reassuring beneath the layers of fabric. As if sensing my impulse, the charm's aura heightened, imbuing my chest with a tingling glow.

  Go ahead, it urged. Put your practice to the test. See if you can rid yourself of her as you've been doing with the dreams.

  Golden dust whirled into my mind's eye, settling into the form of a cross. Image and sensation blended, built upon one another. The hum in my chest innervated my limbs; light suffused every sinew, every nerve until I was immersed in a sea of warmth. Floating, slightly heady, I felt as if nothing could harm me.

  Stepping closer to the painting, I reached up with a hand that shook. My fingertips hovered a hair's breadth from the canvas ... then grazed the cool topography of swirling color. My breath held.

  Nothing happened.

  I pressed harder, waiting, hoping, but nothing changed.

  The door banged open, and I jumped back, my hand whipping to my side. The glow of the necklace fizzled.

  "You're certain?" I heard Hux's voice demand grimly.

  "Yes, my lord."

  This came from Mr. Jessop, who trailed in Hux's wake. Such was the intensity of their exchange that neither men noticed me at the fireplace behind them. Hux strode to the windows, his back to me. Against the dazzling sunlight, his silhouette appeared even larger and more potent than usual.

  "The stolen items were found in his possession," the butler continued. "If it pleases your lordship, he is being brought in now."

  I saw Hux's head jerk in assent.

  Before I could think to announce my presence, another entered. It was the new footman, William. He had someone next to him, whose face was blocked from my view. I saw that William gripped the other man's arm and pushed him forward toward the desk.

  "Caught 'im red-'anded, milord. The missin' silver, a pair o' cufflinks, an' other assorted 'ousehold goods, all o' it stashed 'neath a floorboard," William said grimly.

  "It weren't me who put it there," came the familiar inveigling voice. The other man stepped forward, and I saw the sandy hair, the insolent swagger to his step. "I'm innocent, I tell you. Ask anyone in this 'ouse, and they'll vouch for me good character. 'Tis all a mistake—"

  "Silence." Hux turned suddenly, and I saw the leashed fury upon his face. His eyes flickered for an instant—he'd caught sight of me, standing frozen by the settee—but his attention did not waver from Derrick. "Anyone who abuses my trust, and that of this household, will suffer the consequences."

  "But I didn't do nothin'!" Derrick protested unwisely. "'Tis William's word 'gainst mine, and I been 'ere longer. Ask any o' the maids who they trust be'er than Derrick Plow."

  The corner of Hux 's mouth curled with derision. "That is Detective William Yarden. I retained his services to track all suspicious activity amongst the staff. It didn't take long for you to rise to the top of the list."

  "'Tis a dirty piece of work, seducin' girls to get to the goods," William said sternly. "The scullery maid wept 'er eyes out when I questioned 'er. Admitted she'd let you 'ave a tickle while she'd been set to polish the silver."

  "The bloody bitch is lyin'," Derrick hissed.

  "An' was the chamber maid lyin' too, when she confessed to doin' the sheet-jig with you while in the master's chambers? That very same day the cufflinks went missin'?" William inquired.

  "You will pay for your crimes," Hux said in frigid accents. "I will see to it personally that the magistrate enforces the maximum penalty. You will be locked away for a very long time, and you will never work again in any household. Take him away, Yarden."

  "Get yer 'ands off o' me!"

  Wrenching from William's hold, Derrick spun around like a cornered beast. His eyes flew to the door—but Mr. Jessop had reached it first, clicking the lock and depositing the key in this pocket. Derrick's enraged gaze veered wildly, fell upon me.

  "You," he snarled. "Wot are you doin' 'ere?"

  Terrified at the brutish light in his pale eyes, I retreated a step. The small motion seemed to madden him. He sprang toward me. With a gasp, I stumbled back, my limbs clumsy with fright. A dark shape blurred before me. Before I knew what was happening, I was shoved to the side. I bounced upon the settee cushions, my head whirling.

  Blinking, I saw Hux's large form blocking me from Derrick. The latter's smooth demeanor had given way to a crazed sneer.

  "If it ain't the pot callin' the kettle black," Derek spat. "Blame me fer a bit o' fun wif the maids, will ye? All the while yer lordship is screwin' 'is own secretary."

  "By God, you will pay for that."

  Hux's lethal promise wrought a shiver over my nape, but Derek only taunted, "Who's goin' to see to that? Yer 'elp?"

  "My lord—" William said.

  "Stand back," Hux snarled, stripping off his jacket. "I'm going to kill this bastard myself."

  The two began circling each other in a predatory dance. My knuckles whitened upon the frame of the settee. I worried less for Hux's safety and more for what he intended to do to his opponent. Bloodlust gleamed in his eyes, virile animosity leaping off him in waves. In this state of potent aggression, he might do more than just teach the footman a much-deserved lesson.

  Derrick charged at him, and Hux warded the blow easily. He landed a solid punch to Derrick's midsection, eliciting a gasp of pain. The footman recovered quickly and swung out with his fists. Hux parried the wild blows, his expression that of a marauder biding his time. A jungle cat toying with his food. From time to time, he issued a hit, the power of his strikes knocking Derrick back toward the center of the room. I scrambled to where William and Mr. Jessop stood at the sidelines, their faces grim.

  "You won't let Hux kill him, will you?" I asked the detective anxiously.

  We both watched as Derrick crashed head first into the desk.

  "No, Miss," William muttered. "But I ain't fool enough to get in 'is lordship's way at the moment."

  Derrick spun to face Hux, and I saw an object glinting in his hand. My blood froze. He'd snatched the letter opener, its silver blade small but keen. With a fiendish smirk, the footman tossed it back and forth between his hands in the manner of a seasoned cutthroat.

  "Do something," I hissed to William.

  "Milord—" he said.

  "Stand back." Hux's authoritative growl booked no refusal. His broad-shouldered form coiled in readiness. "If Derrick wishes to play at knives, he had better watch his own throat."

  "Hux, please—" I beseeched.

  Derrick advanced, his eyes pale slits. "'Ear that, milord? The twat's cryin' out fer ye. But I'll tell ye a secret. She's cried out fer me, too. 'Twixt the sheets, 'er 'eels kicked up 'igh—"

  With a roar, Hux rushed him. They collided and landed heavily on the floor. They grappled, each vying for the upper position. Hux succeeded in pinning Derrick, but I saw the latter still held the blade in his grip. A scream rose in my throat at the arcing flash toward Hux's neck. There was a sickening crunch, the sound of a twig snapping, and Derrick's pained howl filled the room. The kn
ife clattered to the ground. Hux's fist cracked simultaneously against his opponent's jaw. My breath stuttered from me.

  The momentary relief gave way to panic, however, when Hux's pummeling did not abate. He had one hand upon Derrick's throat, the other ramming into the footman's face like a steam-powered piston. Shaking off my stupor, I ran to him, grabbed his arm. The bunched sinew did not even register my effort, and I fell witness to the force of his rage, the vibrations of violence trembling over me as I clung to him, useless as a limpet. I saw with horror the groaning, bloodied form beneath us.

  "You must stop. You'll kill him otherwise," I pleaded. Fury had pulled the skin white and taut against Hux's cheekbones; his eyes were blank, glazed over with carnage. With a quiver, I recognized the transformation: he'd become the avenging angel from the tower.

  Eerily flat, his voice seemed to come from some distant source. "I want to kill him." His fist beat down again, his eyes brimming with otherworldly fire. "Bugger betrayed me. Deserves to pay for his perfidy. All infidels shall be destroyed."

  Frantic, I grabbed his jaw. I felt the leap of rigid muscle a moment before the air knocked out of me. I gasped, staring up into his enraged features. He had me pinned to the floor, one fist raised and dripping scarlet over me.

  "H-Hux." Fear fractured the sound into air.

  His eyes widened. The next instant he was dragged off of me.

  "Easy there, milord." Dazed, I saw that William and Mr. Jessop each held Hux by the arm. Even so, the two of them struggled to keep Hux restrained. 'Twas William speaking, in a low, soothing tone one might use with a spooked stallion. "Bastard deserved it, but not the young miss, eh? Reckon the bloodlust got a hold o' you."

  "Let me go," Hux snapped, rearing against the hold.

  "Not 'til you shake it off. Seen it before, I 'ave, fresh after a fight. Best you get some air to clear the 'ead."

  "Release me." I heard rough anguish in Hux's words, saw that mortal color had returned to his countenance. "I am recovered. I have to see to Abigail."