by Candace Camp
The thought was enough to make him harden. He leaned in, resting his forehead against the fabric, cool as water, breathing in the scent of her, remembering the smell of their sex in his nostrils, the bliss of being sheathed in her tight heat, her arms clasped around him as if she would never let go.
He stepped back and closed the door. And he knew: whatever it cost, whatever the pain or fear or right or wrong of it, it didn’t matter. He refused to stay away from Abby for a moment longer.
chapter 31
It was too late to take the train, so Graeme rode to Lydcombe. It was almost midnight before he reached Lydcombe Hall, and the windows of the house were dark. He was gratified to see a groom walking around the house, lantern in hand, keeping watch as Graeme had ordered. The man turned at the sound of the horse’s hooves and stepped forward to stop Graeme, raising the lantern.
“My lord!” The groom broke into a grin. “Welcome home, sir. Didn’t know you was coming in tonight.”
“No one did.” Graeme dismounted and tossed the man the reins.
“A surprise, eh? The ladies will be happy.”
“Let us hope so.” Graeme trotted up the steps.
A footman sitting on the bench inside the entry popped up, reaching for the cudgel beside him. “Oh. My lord. Sorry, sir.” He set the thick stick back on the bench.
“No, I’m glad to see you’re at the ready.” He, like the footman, spoke in the hushed tones the darkened house seemed to call for.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll get your luggage.”
“No need. My valet will bring it with him tomorrow. I came ahead early.” Shrugging out of his jacket, he cast a look up the stairs to the darkness above. “Everyone’s already in bed, I see.”
“Yes, sir, country hours.”
“And the countess, is she well? My countess, I mean.”
“Yes, sir, in the pink, I’d say. She’ll be even better now you’re here.”
“Mm.” Graeme was less sure of that, but he said nothing, just picked up a candle from the nearest table and, throwing his jacket over his arm, started quietly up the stairs. He tugged at his ascot as he went, progressing to unfastening his waistcoat and shirt as he slipped softly down the corridor toward his room. Tired and ready for sleep as he was, still he stopped outside Abby’s closed door. He was sorely tempted to go inside.
But it would be unkind to risk awakening her just so he could see her face. And what if she wasn’t happy to see him? He could not bear that. Graeme continued to his room, his head down, his attention on the cuff links he was removing. He had walked several steps into his bedroom before he looked up. His gaze fell on his bed, and he froze. Abigail was tucked into his bed, sound asleep.
The candlestick trembled faintly in his hand. And the knot that had been sitting inside his chest for so long loosened. She had chosen to sleep in his bed. Graeme set the candlestick on the dresser and sat down to remove his boots. Taking up the candle again, he went over to the bed.
Abby lay on her side, just as he had imagined her yesterday, dark hair spilling over the pillow. Her lips were slightly parted; her lashes shadowed her cheeks. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He should, he knew, snuff out the candle so he wouldn’t awaken her, but he wanted too much to look at her. It seemed forever since he had seen her, though it had been only three weeks. He knew; he had counted every dragging day.
Putting the candlestick on the table, he sat down on the bed beside her. Abby stirred and edged closer to him, her hand sliding over onto his leg. It lay like a brand on his thigh, and if he had not already been stiff just from the sight of her curled up cozily between his sheets, he certainly was now.
Need throbbed in him. It had been so long. He wanted her so much. He shouldn’t awaken her. Graeme curved his hand over her cheek, pushing back the strand of dark hair that had fallen across it.
Abby’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, still half-asleep. “Graeme!” A smile blazed across her face and she flung herself up against him, her arms curling around his neck. “You’re here.”
He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her to him. God, it was heaven to hold her again, to feel her burrow into him, to hear her murmur his name in breathy little gasps as she pressed her lips against his neck.
Graeme kissed her all across her face, digging his fingers into her hair, and settled finally on her mouth, drinking in her taste, her scent, her feel—all so deliciously familiar, so long untasted. Until this moment, he had not realized the depth of his emptiness, the glacial cold that had settled inside him. He slid his hand over her body, curling over her breast, and his mouth traveled over the tender skin of her throat, wanting her, all of her, at once.
Abby’s hands slipped beneath the sides of his open shirt, gliding across his naked skin. He pulled his hands away from her long enough to shrug out of his shirt and waistcoat and throw them blindly behind him. Abby had sat up and was tugging at her nightgown. Graeme reached over to whip it up and off her, sending it to join his clothes on the floor.
He looked at her in the golden glow of the candle, rediscovering each line and curve of her body. Reaching out, he cupped her breasts, teasing the nipples to hardness with his thumbs. “You are so beautiful.”
Bending down, he took one breast in his mouth, his tongue stroking, circling, as if nothing existed in the world but this pleasure. Abby made a soft noise, her fingers clutching at his shoulders. Lifting his head, he pressed a soft kiss on the pebbled nipple, then turned his attention to the other breast. The moan that escaped her now was not so soft.
Still tormenting them both with the slow, languid caress of his mouth, he reached down, groping for the sheet and blanket still covering Abby’s lower half. He ripped them aside and his hand started a slow glide up her leg.
He left her breast, sitting up now so that he could look at her. The curve of her hips, the dark V between her legs, the shadowy separation of her legs. She filled his vision. He could not get enough of looking at her.
Graeme watched his hand on her satiny white skin as it slid up her leg. His fingers slipped between her thighs, seeking her hot center. A tremor shook him when he found her ready for him, slick and wet and hot.
She whimpered his name as his fingers stroked her. Almost immediately she arched against his hand, her legs clamping around him, and a sharp little cry escaped her lips.
“Abby . . .” he murmured in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just—”
“No.” His voice was laced with satisfaction. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. Just let me take you with me now.”
He unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down. He moved between her legs, resting on his forearms. Gazing down into her face, he entered her with aching slowness, his muscles taut with the effort of holding back his desire. Her soft groan as he filled her was his reward, as was the way she moved with him, urging him on. She felt slightly different against his body as he slid over her, and he realized that her abdomen now curved out a little, his seed growing inside her. And that was another delight, as well.
Burying his face in her neck, he struggled to rein in the hunger that raged inside him, prolonging the supreme pleasure of being in her. Her scent, her heat, her softness surrounded him, her ragged breath filled his ears. Her fingertips dug into his back. This was all he wanted. All he needed.
And now, at last, he let go, felt the rush take him, hurtling him into the deep, dark well of passion, and felt, too, the convulsion inside her. He collapsed against her, utterly spent and mind-numbingly sated, unable to move or speak or even think, aware only that he was, completely and finally, home.
Graeme’s relaxed body pressed her into the mattress. Abby didn’t mind; she loved the feel of his weight on her. She slid her hand lazily over his back, tracing the familiar contours of muscle and bone. It was in these moments that she felt that he belonged to her and she to him. It seemed forever since she had basked in the glow of his satisfaction or felt
the blissful languor that flooded her now.
Finally Graeme rolled to the side. Abby hated the loss, but he slid his arm beneath her and pulled her with him, tight against his side. She settled her head into his shoulder and let her hand roam his chest. She could not keep from touching him.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, and she felt his lips press against her hair.
“You have?” Abby rose up on her elbow, staring intently into his face.
“Yes. Of course.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Why else would I come riding in at this time of night?”
“I don’t know.”
He sank his fingers into her hair, studying her face. “I was . . . surprised to find you sleeping in my bed.”
“Oh. I’m sorry; I, um . . .”
“No, no, don’t apologize. I liked it.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I just wondered why.”
“Well . . .” She cast about for a reasonable explanation. She could hardly say it was because his scent clung to the pillows or because it made him seem nearer. “Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I come in here. It’s . . . I . . .”
He stroked his fingers lightly down her arm. “Are you saying you missed me, as well?”
“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly.
“Even though you think I tried to murder you?”
“Graeme! I never did.” She sat up, glaring at him. “I told you I didn’t really think that. I just said the first thing that came into my head.” Abby turned away, pulling up her knees, looping her arms around them and laying her head atop them. “I was talking about London, that house; it was only there that I had been in danger.” She paused, then admitted, “And I wanted to insult you. I wanted to make you angry, as I was angry.” She let out a sigh. “I’m not a lady; I’m not even nice. I realize more all the time that I am becoming like my father.”
“Believe me, you are nothing like Thurston Price.” He reached out and smoothed back her hair. “It wasn’t the insult, Abby. It was knowing you didn’t trust me that hurt.”
“No.” She whipped back around, taking his hand between both hers. “I did trust you. I do. I was just so furious.”
“Is that why you pushed me away from you?”
“I didn’t push you away.” Abby frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You told me my services were no longer required. You’d achieved your goal, and I was no longer necessary.”
“I didn’t say that!” She stared at him, aghast. “Graeme, I know I did not say that. I released you from our agreement; I gave you your freedom.”
“You might have asked me if I wanted my ‘freedom.’ ”
“But—I was trying to make up for forcing you to do something you didn’t want.”
He reached out, curling his hand around her wrist, and said fiercely, “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want. Do you think you could have forced me to drag you into bed every chance I got? That I was coerced into turning hard as stone whenever I looked at you? That you compelled me to spend my days weaving lascivious fantasies about you?”
Abby stared at him, heat stirring low in her abdomen. “Graeme—”
“I desired you from the moment I saw you standing in that ballroom in the midst of your innumerable admirers. I wanted them all at the devil and you in my bed. Your offer was temptation, not force. I was angry because I didn’t want to give in to you, and I feared I couldn’t resist.”
“Really?” Abby’s smile was impish. She swung her leg over his hips, straddling him, her fingertips straying over his chest. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“No?” A half smile played upon his lips, and his lids grew heavy, his eyes dark and hot with promise. He laid his hands on her legs and ran them slowly up her body. “Then perhaps I ought to show you.”
She moved against him, eliciting a low groan as he pulsed and hardened beneath her. “Yes. I think perhaps you should.” Abby bent to kiss him.
chapter 32
Abby awoke the next morning feeling a little sore and wonderfully replete. It was a bit of a disappointment to look over and see that Graeme was not there. But it was like him to thoughtfully slip out without awakening her.
She stretched lazily like a cat and folded her arms behind her head, contemplating the delightful turn her life had taken last night. Why had Graeme come? Had it truly been just because he missed her? Her smile spread. She had the feeling she might not ever stop smiling.
She sat up, running her fingers through her hair, then reached for her dressing gown, loving the glide of the satin lining over her sensitized skin. He had not said he loved her, but Abby could live with that. He had been hurt by her offer of freedom, and that was enough. He wanted her, and that, too, was enough.
It would be nice, of course, to hear him say he loved her, only her, and that Laura Hinsdale had no hold on his heart. She yearned to know that he felt for her what she felt for him. But for now, for this moment, she would bask in the glow of his desire, in the knowledge that he had ridden from London just to be with her.
She had enough love for both of them.
Abby swung out of bed and started toward her room, smiling to herself at the sight of their clothes scattered over the floor. She paused to pick them up and toss them onto the bed, then continued to her room.
Her mood was too sunny for even Molly to dampen—and surprisingly, her maid didn’t say a sour thing about Graeme arriving last night. Abby sailed downstairs on her cloud of goodwill, so happy that she beamed at Lady Eugenia and Mrs. Ponsonby as well as Mirabelle.
“Abby, darling,” Mirabelle trilled. “Isn’t it wonderful that Graeme arrived?”
“Yes. I’m very happy.” She loaded up her plate, humming beneath her breath.
“Oh, dear, now we’re to have singing again?” Lady Eugenia asked.
Abby laughed. “I’m afraid so.”
“Don’t be so stuffy, Eugenia,” Graeme’s mother said, surprising them all. “I love to hear Abby sing. It raises my spirits.”
“Where is Graeme?” Normally Abby would not have exposed herself by asking after him, but this morning she felt too good to care.
His grandmother sniffed. “Off chasing his foolish notions.”
“He went to call on Mr. Cumbrey, dear,” Mirabelle explained.
“Cumbrey!” Abby stared, her happy certainty beginning to crumble. Was that why Graeme had come home? “He found out the vicar lives nearby?”
“Yes, I told him a few minutes ago,” Mirabelle replied. “It was the oddest thing. I asked him what he’d been doing, you know, as one does. He said he’d been talking to all those men who helped Reginald with that charity. Graeme seems to think that it would help keep you safe.”
“Poppycock,” Lady Eugenia snorted.
“Yes, well, I didn’t really understand it, either, but he was obviously feeling at a loss about the whole matter. So I suggested he talk to Cumbrey; the dear man was always so helpful to Reginald. Wasn’t he, Philomena?”
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Ponsonby nodded. “He was. He was most fond of Montclair and of George, too.” Unsurprisingly, her eyes glinted with tears.
“Anyway,” Mirabelle hurried on, “when I said that, Graeme literally jumped up from his chair and exclaimed, ‘You know where he is? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Well, he’d never asked, had he?”
“Oh, my!” Abby began to laugh. Graeme’s mother stared at her, which only made her laugh harder. Abby brought her napkin up to her mouth to muffle the sound.
“You’re acting just as odd as Graeme did,” Mirabelle said in amazement.
“They’re both mad as hatters,” the dowager countess proclaimed.
“I’m sorry.” Abby struggled to control her laughter. “It’s just that we have been hunting all over for Mr. Cumbrey.”
“But he’s right here. Well, not right here, but he’s only an hour’s ride away. He retired to a little cottage in Lower Brockington. He used to have the living there, you see, before St. Veronica’s. That’s how Reginal
d knew him.”
“I cannot imagine what Montclair finds so fascinating about the man,” Lady Eugenia said. “He’s very ordinary.”
“However that may be, Graeme went tearing off to see him,” Mirabelle assured her. “He left half his breakfast on his plate.”
“All this rushing about.” Lady Eugenia shook her head dolefully. “It’s bad for the digestion. He’ll be gone half the day, and he just got here. We’ve barely seen him. You’d think the boy could have some consideration.”
“I know!” Mrs. Ponsonby spoke up, startling them all. “We should go to Tunbridge Wells.”
“Whatever for?” Lady Eugenia asked.
“Lord Montclair will be gone. I’m sure Abigail would enjoy having a day out, wouldn’t you, dear?”
“I—yes, certainly.” Abby had no interest in Tunbridge Wells, but it was so rare that Mrs. Ponsonby spoke up, she hated to turn her down.
“We could go shopping,” Mrs. Ponsonby proffered. “It’s not far. We could take the train.”
“I would like to buy a new hat,” Mirabelle agreed.
“Before we come home, we could rest at the Swan,” Mrs. Ponsonby suggested. “You know, that inn where you liked their rack of lamb, Lady Eugenia.”
The dowager countess looked thoughtful. “Their flummery is rather pleasant, as well.”
The famously pleasant pudding was apparently a powerful lure, for in the end the dowager countess agreed that the day’s expedition would be nice. Abby would have preferred to be at home when Graeme returned, but the trip would pass the time, and anyway, perhaps she should not seem so patently willing to sit and wait for him. After all, he could have delayed it a bit and taken her with him.
Abby soon found that a shopping trip with the Ladies Montclair left a great deal to be desired. Graeme’s mother tended to like everything and his grandmother nothing, which made for an endless morning of bickering, genial on Mirabelle’s side and acerbic on the part of Lady Eugenia.
