by Candace Camp
Abby frowned. “Why are you here? I thought you were in Sussex.”
“I didn’t stay. I . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. “I decided I didn’t want to, um, waste an evening there. Fortunately, I was able to catch the evening train back to London.”
Abby smiled. He hadn’t wanted to spend the evening away. “I’m glad.”
“I only wish I’d made it earlier. When I think what could have happened to you . . .”
“I can’t believe I fell asleep reading. I never do that.” But she remembered how very sleepy she had felt the evening before.
He leaned down, hooking his hand around the nape of her neck, and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
Abby curled her arms around his neck. “And I’m glad you’re home.”
“So am I.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Now go back to sleep. You need the rest.”
Reluctantly she let her arms fall away from him. “I will if you’ll lie down with me.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”
She laughed. “I’m sure. I’m not ill or injured . . . just a little fuzzy-headed. I’ll sleep better if you’re here.”
He smiled and stripped off his clothes. Climbing into bed beside her, he took her in his arms. Abby snuggled up against him, relaxing and letting sleep take her. Just as she drifted off, a single thought popped into her brain: how had the candle caught the drapes on fire when it had been sitting in the middle of the table?
Abby was still groggy the next morning when she was awakened by Molly bringing in a breakfast of tea and toast. Molly hugged Abby tightly, then went on to scold her for her carelessness.
“How many times have I told you not to sit in your bed reading?”
“It’s beyond count.” Abby smiled. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her feel better to hear her old nurse’s familiar words.
Molly sniffed. “Not that you ever listened.”
“I’ve never fallen asleep before,” Abby protested. “A book is more likely to keep me awake than put me to sleep.”
“Not this time. And what in heaven’s name were you thinking, setting the candle down so close to the drapes?”
“I didn’t. I put it down in the middle of the table. I’m certain.”
“So you’re saying that candlestick walked itself over to the side?” Molly crossed her arms and fixed Abby with a stern gaze that made her feel approximately five years old. “Or maybe the dowager countess goes creeping about the house at night moving folks’ candles about?”
“No, of course not.” Abby heaved a sigh. “You’re right; I must have put it there.” No doubt her momentary carelessness, like her sleepiness and the nausea and the occasional swings in her mood, was caused by her pregnancy.
“Well, all I can say is that you best be more careful. It’s not only yourself you have to think of now, is it?”
Abby’s eyes widened. “What do you—you mean, you know?”
“Of course I know. What kind of gudgeon do you take me for? Do you think I haven’t noticed you can’t keep down anything but toast in the morning? Or that it’s been nigh on two months since your time?”
Of course. She had been foolish to think she could keep anything hidden from Molly. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s not just nerves or—” She stopped and sighed again. “I should tell Graeme, shouldn’t I?”
The truth was, Abby wanted to tell him—indeed, she ached sometimes with the need to share her excitement with him. It would be glorious to see his face light up at the news. They could talk and plan and daydream about their child and their future. More than once, it had been on the tip of her tongue, but always at the last moment, she backed away, an icy fear twisting through her. What if it changed everything?
“Och, well, there’s naught wrong in keeping quiet for a while. Many things could happen.”
“I wouldn’t want to get his hopes up and then be wrong.” Abby clutched at the excuse. Indeed, she thought with a sudden chill at the center of her being, what if what had happened last night had hurt the baby? Breathing in smoke, falling out of bed—what if her carelessness had caused irreparable harm?
“Now, don’t be getting in a bother about hurting the wee one,” Molly said, accurately interpreting the look of panic blossoming on Abby’s face. “I’m sure the bairn’s fine.” She patted Abby’s arm. “You just worry about taking care of yourself from now on. Come, now. I’ve drawn you a bath. You’ll feel more yourself once you’ve gotten that smoke off you.”
Molly was right, of course. She did feel much better after she was clean and dressed. As often happened, the queasiness in her stomach subsided, too. Molly had found a dress for her to wear. It has been downstairs in the laundry and was thus uncontaminated by the smoke that had permeated the room. Abby left the room, heading for the stairs, but she stopped outside her chamber door and looked inside. She was suddenly chilled again.
The bed was in ruins, the headboard charred, the canopy hanging in blackened tatters, the mattress charred and strewn with debris from the canopy. The wall beside the window was scorched, as were the draperies (what was left of them). All of it was sodden. The open window had cleared the room of smoke, but the smell still hung in the air. All her clothes would have to be laundered again to get rid of the smell.
“Thank God you awakened in time last night,” Graeme said behind her. Abby gave a start, surprised; she had not heard him come up the stairs.
“It’s ruined.”
“The damage looks worse than it is.” Graeme slid his arms around her, and Abby leaned back against his chest. “The structure of the wall is intact; even the bed can be reclaimed. Only the bedding and drapes are complete losses. The fire brigade got here in good time last night, and the servants had managed to keep it mostly confined to the bed.”
Abby could not hold back a shiver, and Graeme’s arms tightened around her.
“It will soon be good as new.” He bent and murmured in her ear, “In the meantime, I’ll be happy to share my bed with you.”
Abby smiled and slid her hands over his arms as they curled around her. His breath tickled her ear, sending little tingles through her, and he nipped lightly at her earlobe.
“In fact,” he went on, “it occurs to me that you really ought to go back to bed and rest after your ordeal.”
She laughed and swung away from him, her eyes dancing. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not until you’ve told me what you found out from ‘Bangs.’ ”
He let out a mocking groan. “Don’t remind me.” But he linked his hand with hers and started toward the stairs. “Mostly I learned that Bangs is a dead bore. He told me—more than once—that Reggie was ‘a capital fellow’ and that the world was much worse without him. He also related at great length that George Ponsonby was another ‘capital fellow,’ though not, apparently, as capital as my father, and that he—Ponsonby, that is—accidentally fell off a cliff while walking near his home. In Bangs’s opinion, it was Father’s grief over his good friend George that made him bring the fund to an end. He clearly didn’t know about the embezzlement. Even if he had heard a hint of it, I think he would have refused to believe it. I can well imagine him following my father about like a puppy, as Grandmother said.”
“Oh.”
“However, the trip wasn’t a dead loss. I managed to get a roster of names from him, including that of our elusive vicar. Alistair Cumbrey is the man’s name, and the church in question was St. Veronica’s in Audley Gate.”
“Where is that?”
“In the Cotswolds somewhere, I gather. But Cumbrey is no longer there. Bangston told me the vicar retired a few years ago. Unfortunately, Bangston hasn’t the slightest idea where.”
“Someone will be bound to know. At least now we can write the church and inquire about him.”
“And we have an entirely new complement of people to find and question,” Graeme pointed out.
In the weeks that followed, they did just t
hat. Tracking down each name, they maneuvered to run into the men at a party or the theater. Many people had retired to their country estates now that the Season was over, so their progress was spotty.
Abby didn’t care. She was more interested in spending the time with Graeme than she was in any actual result. No doubt that said something terrible about her. But, truthfully, Abby didn’t care about that, either.
The wall in her bedroom was repainted, the bed and drapes replaced, her clothes thoroughly cleaned and put back in place. Soon it was as if the fire had never happened . . . though Abby made sure each night that every light in the room was extinguished before she went to sleep.
The ballroom was crowded with people and noise. Tonight was Lady Middleton’s farewell ball, for she was spending the winter in Italy, and it seemed as if all of London had come to bid her adieu. Abby, trapped in a conversational circle with Lady Eugenia and her friends, kept a smile on her face as her eyes scanned the room, looking for her husband.
She spotted Graeme at last. She marveled, as she often did, that even in the same formal attire as all the other men he could look so much more handsome than any of them. He was standing, a glass of champagne in one hand, with his gaze fixed on Abby.
When their eyes met, a small, secret smile curved his lips. He raised his glass and sipped at it, watching her across the rim. Abby felt a flush rising in her face. She knew that look in Graeme’s eyes. She dropped her gaze demurely, then looked back up at him provocatively from beneath her lashes.
Graeme handed his glass to a passing waiter and started toward her. Abby turned back to the women, trying to suppress a smile of satisfaction. She watched from the corner of her eye as he wound his way through the crowd.
“My dear.”
“Why, Montclair,” she said, feigning surprise. “I didn’t see you.”
“Mm. I noticed.” His hand rested lightly on her waist, not enough to draw Lady Eugenia’s wrath for being unseemly, but enough to establish possession. Enough that Abby felt the heat of his skin through her dress. He greeted the other ladies, flashing a smile guaranteed to charm them. Behind Abby, out of sight, his thumb moved in a circle over her back. “I’ve come to steal my wife from you. She’s promised me a waltz.”
Neatly he cut her out from the group, guiding her forward with the faint pressure of his hand on her back. Abby cast a sideways glance up at him. “This isn’t the way to the dance floor.”
“Is it not?” he asked innocently. “How odd. Perhaps we should take a stroll, then.”
They wound through the crowd, emerging from the ballroom into the less noisy corridor.
“Where are we going?” Abby asked.
“I don’t know. Anywhere but there.” He bent his head to murmur in her ear. “Have I told you how much I like your dress?”
“Yes, but you may tell me again.” Her steps slowed, as did his.
“It makes the most delightful noise as you walk.”
Abby giggled. “Does it?”
“Yes.” She felt his breath against her ear. “I can’t think of anything but taking it off you.” He nipped her earlobe.
“Graeme . . . someone will see.” The warning slid out of her mouth in a purr.
“Shocking.” He slid his hand around to the front of her waist, spreading his fingers wide over her stomach. “Perhaps you should not have worn this dress then.”
“Would you like for me to take it off?”
Abby felt the surge of heat in his hand. “God, yes.”
He glanced around, then whisked her down another hallway. It was smaller and narrower, leading into the back of the house. Graeme pressed her up against the wall, one arm braced beside her head, and nuzzled her neck.
“I’ve been going mad the past hour, watching you walk, imagining that sound.”
“Taffeta.”
“Hmm?” His mouth was now occupied with exploring her ear.
“The dress. It’s made of taffeta. That’s what makes that rustling sound. And I was with you only twenty minutes ago, so it can’t have been an hour.”
“It felt like an hour. When can we go home?”
“Now, Graeme, you know we can’t leave yet.” Abby tilted her head to the side so that his lips could more easily roam her neck. She put her hands on his chest and slid them beneath his jacket, gliding up and down his ribs. “It would be rude.”
“I find I don’t care.” His hand curved around her breast, the thumb tracing the outline of her nipple beneath the cloth.
“What would your grandmother say?” Her breath hitched as his teeth grazed the cord of her neck.
“I think I don’t care about that, either.” He raised his head, gazing down into her face. His eyes were hot, his face flushed and slack. He pressed his body into hers even more firmly. “How the devil do you do this to me? I’m in the most indecent state.”
“I know. I can tell.” Abby slid her hand down between them, fingernails grazing the hard line beneath his trousers.
He let out a muffled noise and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. “Abby, I’m a hairbreadth away from shoving up your skirts and taking you right here.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” She gave him a gentle push; then, pressing a light kiss against his lips, she slipped away.
chapter 23
“Abby, wait.” Graeme reached out for her. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Abby took his hand, tossing a grin back at him, and led him down the hallway. “Just a wife’s duty, dear boy. Seeing to her husband’s comfort.” She moved quickly down the hall, reaching around the door of first one room and then another. “Ah, here we are.” Abby pulled him into the room, turning the gaslight to a dim glow.
“Where?” He glanced around at the space, jammed with tables of various sizes and heights and other pieces of furniture that had obviously been cleared from other rooms. “A storage room?”
“A room with a lock.” She reached behind him, closing the door and turning the key.
Heat flared in his eyes. “Abby . . .”
“What?” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, her voice lifting in question, “You don’t want—”
“Oh, yes.” He took her waist in his hands. “I want.”
He picked her up and set her down on one of the tables, opening her legs to stand flush against her body. His arms wrapped around her, and he buried his lips in hers. His kiss was hard and urgent, his body radiating heat. Abby wound her arms about his neck and kissed him back, curving her legs around him to press him more tightly against her.
At last he released her, but only to roam his hands over her body. His eyes followed the movement, hot and dark. Abby leaned back, bracing her hands on the table, in unconscious invitation. It stirred something deep and primitive in her to watch as he took his pleasure with her. The taffeta crackled beneath his touch, and he grinned at her.
“This . . .” he said, his fingers sliding over her breasts and delving down beneath her dress to caress the soft flesh. “This is the best party I’ve ever attended.”
Abby began to laugh, and he caught her mouth with his, kissing her until she was almost dizzy. When he pulled away, his eyes were so bright and intense she could not look away. Holding her gaze, Graeme shoved her skirts up and reached beneath them, jerking loose the ribbons of her pantalets and peeling them down and off her legs.
Freeing himself from his trousers, he moved between her legs again and, lifting her a little, plunged deep within her. Abby groaned as he filled her to the utmost, wrapping her legs around his back to take him more fully within her. His thrusts rocked her body, and she dug her hands into his back, unable to muffle the sounds of her satisfaction.
His arms were like steel, holding her to him as he drove harder, faster . . . until at last pleasure exploded in her. Graeme buried his face in her neck, her name an incantation as he shuddered, swept to his own release.
He stood for a long moment, holding her, their breaths panting, f
lesh damp and trembling from the onslaught of desire. Graeme smoothed his hands over her back and pressed his lips into the soft skin of her neck. “Abby . . .”
“What?”
He raised his head, his eyes filled with sleepy satisfaction. “Nothing.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “I just wanted to say your name.”
She stretched up to kiss him, then leaned her head against his chest. “Do you think we could stay here?”
He chuckled. “I think someone might wonder where we’d gone.”
“Mm. I wouldn’t want to be hunted down by the dowager countess.”
“God forbid,” Graeme agreed feelingly.
Reluctantly they parted and pulled their clothes back in order.
“I think I’d better go up and check in the mirror.” Abby adjusted a hairpin.
“You look beautiful.”
Her eyes danced. “I suspect I look like I’ve just been . . . doing what I’ve been doing.”
“Yes.” He smoothed his thumb over her lips. “Beautiful.”
She laughed and went to the door to peer out into the hall. It was empty. She looked back at him over her shoulder. Blowing him a kiss, she slipped out the door.
Abby spent several minutes in the cloakroom. One look in the mirror at her flushed face and disheveled hair convinced her that she must not only make repairs to her appearance but wait some time before it was safe to be seen by anyone. She kept to herself as she repinned her hair and straightened her skirts. She had no desire for company, feeling too soft and dreamy to face anyone.
At last, when her cheeks had finally lost their flush, she left the cloakroom, joining the chattering women making their way down the crowded staircase. Abby looked over the banister as she went down, scanning the hall below for a sign of Graeme. Like the staircase, the hall was filled with people and noise. But she had eyes for only one man.
