“Had my share of women?” He cocked a brow as he returned to leaning back.
She raised a finger, this time leaning closer. “Just because I am young, does not mean I am a fool. I know what is implied here but not said. You’ve had your fair share of women and you will continue to do so after you’ve pilfered all my money and had your share of me.”
His hands dropped and his eyes widened. Her barb had hit its mark. “I…” he swallowed, not finishing.
She leaned forward then, her fingers resting on the arm of his chair. “I am not going to play your fool.” She leaned even closer, her eyes narrowing. “Keep your lips and your hands to yourself.”
Bash chose that moment to enter the room, though he stopped in the threshold. “What did I miss?”
“Not a thing,” Abigail replied, slapping an overly bright smile on her lips. Bash wasn’t the only one who could use a false smile to dress up bad news. “I was just explaining to Blasphemy that he has no license to touch me.”
“That name is hardly appropriate for you—”
“I agree.” She looked back at him, gripping on the arm of his chair. “It’s a dreadful name, crass and gauche. But as you use it almost everywhere, I assumed it was your preferred address.”
“Your tongue is far too sharp,” he said, sitting straighter.
Abigail looked away. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that criticism. It was bandied about often. Her sisters also liked to claim that she’d been the favorite of her father and therefore got her way. It had been her only weapon as a child to defend herself against their bossiness where they were all bigger and louder than her.
But here and now, she’d wield her advantage without remorse. “You likely shouldn’t marry me then. I’ll only make you miserable.”
Rather than looking offended or even irritated, a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. The man was not supposed to be amused. This was not part of the plan at all.
Bash still stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance to the room. “Bash.”
Abigail heard her sister speak from behind her husband.
She stood quickly and called out to Isabella. “You must help me, dear sister. They are attempting to sell me off like a piece of furniture.”
Bash groaned even as he moved to the side to allow his wife in.
Isabella entered the room and glared at Abigail, until her eyes landed on Blasphemy. Then they widened. As her gaze snapped back to her husband’s, her arms crossed, and her eyes narrowed into slits.
Abigail returned to her seat. She spread her skirts out once again, humming in satisfaction. Was having bossy older sisters a problem? Not today it wasn’t.
Bash was in trouble now.
* * *
The wind was shifting.
He knew that sounded odd, they were in the drawing room, the winter wind whipping the skies outside wasn’t actually leaking through the windows. In fact, the duke’s home was warm to the point of cozy.
But Isabella looked like a storm and Bash was about to be hit with its full force.
Which was damned amusing. That’s what the man got for falling in love before he married.
But if Isabella won…he wouldn’t marry the princess after all.
Which filled him with…disappointment.
When the hell had that happened?
Coming into this meeting today, he’d found her constant prattle off-putting but the truth was…she was smart and damned interesting.
He looked over at her, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. He’d smile like that too if he’d had the victory she’d just earned.
And he had to confess, he’d underestimated her.
She was what he thought. She was loud, meaning she didn’t back demurely into a corner, and she was used to getting her way. But it wasn’t that she was spoiled like he thought…more that she knew how to achieve what she wanted. She was intelligent, and brave, and…damn. He liked the challenge she presented.
He leaned forward, touching her arm. She jerked away, giving him a dark glare.
“Should we pour wine as we watch this conversation unfold?” He jerked his chin toward Isabella and Bash.
“It’s ten in the morning,” she admonished, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you know anything about proper behavior for a lady?”
He knew. He just didn’t care.
He was rarely up this early. The club kept him out to the wee hours of the morning most days, so he rarely rose before noon.
Distantly he heard Isabella berating her husband. Words like rake, and unpolished filtered into his thoughts but rather than listen to the barbs thrown at him, he watched Abigail.
The way her tongue darted out again to wet her lips and her throat worked even as her rich brown hair caught the light.
“I know you’re concerned about her reputation and her safety, but this plan is…” Isabella’s hands came out to her sides, “Ill-conceived.”
Abigail gave him another satisfied smile, the mischievous gleam in her eyes attractive as hell. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take that wine after all.”
Imp, he thought again. But he stood and poured the wine into two glasses, using Bash’s personal stock, which he kept on the sideboard.
He carried the two glasses over, handing one to Abigail as the other couple continued to talk, oblivious of their audience. He clinked his glass against hers. “No matter how this day ends, I would just like you to know this morning has been…interesting. Intriguing even.”
“Intriguing?” Her brows rose. “Are you complimenting me now? After everything you’ve said?”
“Princess.” He sat again. “I’ve not said a word against you this entire conversation. If you think back, the only one throwing barbs is you.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again only to snap shut. “I must confess that you have a point.”
Had she conceded ground? He took a sip of his wine. “Then let me make another. You have a substantial dowry but no title and no reputation. If you don’t want to wed me, what are your other options?” She opened her mouth, but he held up a finger. “Don’t be hasty. Really think.”
She frowned at him. “You’re saying I must choose either a bad husband or spinsterhood and be content I got the best of the worst.”
He shrugged, but he inwardly flinched. Because the woman had a way with words. “However you wish to see it. But perhaps you are being hasty in rejecting my suit.”
She shook her head. “I’m not. I’ll marry for love, as my sisters have done, or not at all. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I won’t be punished for others perceptions. I don’t care what everyone else thinks I should have for a future.” Then she turned away again.
He grimaced. Love? What a silly idea. Marry for love. Look at his friend being cowed by his wife. Was such blind love what people strived for?
Then again, what did he know about love or even affection?
His family held none for him and none for each other.
His older brother had been mean, hateful even, though Chad had tried to form a real relationship with the man. Had that been his failing or William’s?
“Isabella,” Bash said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “He’s a good man. I wouldn’t be in business with him if he wasn’t and what’s more, he’ll keep your sister safe and…” He reached up and touched his wife’s face. “You know I would never do anything that would hurt your family. They’re my family now too.”
“No,” Chad heard Abigail mutter, her glass clinking down on the table next to her. “Drat it all…”
He settled back in his chair, taking another sip of his wine. Bash was winning, which gave him an incredible sense of satisfaction. Did he just like victory or did he actually want to marry Abigail? Maybe he did.
A thread of anticipation traveled through him. She would prove even more entertaining than he’d first imagined.
Isabella let out a long sigh and looked at her sister. “Perhaps Abigail could have
a bit of time to get to know Blasph…Blackwater and then we can reconvene the conversation?”
“What?” Abigail squeaked. “No!”
Isabella touched her husband’s forearm. “We’ve a ball to attend tomorrow night. The king’s. The baron could join us. It would both serve to make sure Abigail remains safe and allow them to get to know one another.”
A ball? They wanted him to attend a ball? Did they not know him?
But Abigail’s look of dismay had turned self-satisfied. Somehow she knew he hated balls and that attending one would be awful for him.
“What an excellent idea, dear sister,” she said.
He grunted as he took a large swallow from his glass. Courtship was going to be painful.
Chapter Three
The next evening, Abigail stood between Eliza and Isabella as she attempted to ignore the whispers that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. The king’s ball was a disaster.
She swallowed as her chin notched higher, determined not to listen. She still managed to catch a few of the words as a group of ladies passed by, giving her pointed stares.
“Alone with a man on a busy street.”
“In his arms.”
“Indecent.”
Abigail bit her tongue to keep a retort from passing her lips.
She glanced at the dance floor. Emily danced effortlessly in her duke’s arms. He looked down at her sister with such tender concern that Abigail’s heart gave a jealous beat. Not that she needed a man to protect her, but still. It would be nice to inspire such devotion.
The Duke of Dishonor had been the very man who’d rescued her from the attackers. He’d chased Emily through half of London to make sure she was safe. Of course, they’d been caught together, which is why Abigail was ruined.
Then her mouth turned down. Not ruined yet. She looked back over her shoulder to see the Baron of Blackwater, leaning against the wall. That devil was supposed to be her savior.
He’d tied his hair back, though the long locks still looked unfashionably scrappy, but his waistcoat and pants were impeccably fit to his large frame.
She looked back at the whispering women, stiffening her spine. She’d just imagine what they’d say about her engagement to the Baron of Blackwater. Out of the frying pan and into the fire…
He did not look at her with tender devotion. Granted his eyes were on her even now, but he looked…irritated rather than excited. She sighed, knowing full well she sparked the emotion in many.
Eliza snapped her fan against the palm of her hand, making a loud sound.
The women nearby went silent even as Eliza stepped forward. Eliza was tall for a woman and her gaze held the sternness of a lady who’d experienced real hardship. Her eldest sister was as strong as she was sharp, and the other women were right to fear Eliza’s wrath now. She’d flay them with words alone.
Abigail smiled, despite herself. These were one of many moments where she didn’t mind having older sisters quite so much.
“Move along, ladies.” Eliza said, brushing her fingers out several times as though sweeping the women away.
One gave a tiny huff, but they all started moving, likely off to find new guests to torture. Not one of them even attempted to stand against the marchioness.
She was glad for Eliza’s help, but the entire interaction reminded her how much more comfortable she’d be if she’d just stayed home. “Remind me why we’re here again?” Abigail closed her eyes. She couldn’t even turn away because Blasphemy still stood behind her. She was trapped in this very spot.
“You know very well this invitation was too important to turn down,” Isabella answered. “When the king invites you to a ball, you don’t say no. And besides, we need his help to catch the men responsible for stealing from us.”
Abigail shook her head. “That’s all well and good but why do I have to be here?”
Eliza looked at Abigail even as she tapped her sister’s shoulder with her fan. “You’re a Carrington. You’ll not run and hide. Now stand tall and stare them down.”
Abigail sniffed. “Easy for you to say. You’re the wife of a marquess.” Couldn’t Eliza give her a bit of sympathy rather than a lecture on remaining strong? All her good will toward Eliza evaporated. Why did her sisters always treat her like she was an errant child? None of them had had to face this sort of ridicule and none of them had been matched with such a…derelict.
In fact, none of them had been matched at all. They’d chosen their husbands after they’d fallen in love.
Her chin dropped as she shook her head. It wasn’t fair.
Her father had always told her how much their mother, his wife, had meant to him. How she’d allowed him the freedom to be himself. He’d spent a great deal of time off with his shipping company and her mother had always kept their home for him while he was gone.
Her sisters had all been allowed to follow in his footsteps. If all of them could, why not herself? He’d told her, more than anyone, about the merits of love.
Eliza’s fan snapped against her hand again and for a moment, Abigail wondered who her sister was irritated with now.
“Stop pouting. That won’t work on me the way it always did with Mother and Father.”
“I’m not pouting,” she fired back.
Eliza shook her head. “Don’t think looking morose will get you your way. We are equals without our father here. He can’t play favorites.”
“Equals? Pish!” She swept her hand. “You treat me like a petulant child not an equal. I’m nineteen now, and a grown woman.”
“Then start acting like one and not like Daddy’s spoiled favorite.” Eliza fired back, her voice a low hiss.
She wrinkled her nose at her sister. “You’ve always been jealous of my relationship with our father. It’s unbecoming, Eliza.”
“Abigail.” Eliza’s voice dropped low, a hard edge making the sound sharp. “This is not jealousy. Stop trying to hold yourself apart. That’s him at work. You’re supposed to be using this opportunity to get to know Blackwater. You’ve not even looked at the man all evening.”
Her chin snapped up at that. Those other women may not want to challenge Eliza, but she had every intention of telling her sister what to do with her advice. “I don’t need to spend time with him to know what my answer will be to the sham proposal I received yesterday morning.”
Isabella tsked, shaking her head. “It wasn’t a sham. You’re exaggerating. It was an actual proposal meant to provide for your future in several ways.”
She turned to her sister, frowning as her hands planted on her hips. “My future? It was meant to fund his not mine.”
Firm fingers wrapped about her elbow. “Let’s dance, shall we?”
Irritation and something warmer slid down her spine. Him. Blasphemy.
She tried to pull her arm away, but his grip was tighter than she thought. Her lips pressed into a firm line. “Let me go.”
His brows rose. “Your voice is rising and you’re drawing attention.”
Her gaze swiveled to find he was correct. Her outburst had drawn all sorts of attention and a flush rose in her cheeks. Why did she forget herself like this? She dropped her hands as she took a steadying breath.
She allowed her sister’s directives to fluster her. Again.
“Let’s dance,” he murmured.
“Shouldn’t you ask if I’m available first?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “You wouldn’t be standing here if you weren’t and I thought you might like a break from talking with your sisters or listening to…” And he glanced over at the group of whispering women who’d moved further away but hadn’t moved on. Now they were just gossiping about her from a distance.
She blinked, realizing he’d been attempting to be kind. She stepped closer then, ready to accept his invitation when she caught his scent. He smelled…wonderful. Rich and deep like the forest after a rain. She drew in a deep breath even as she nodded her assent.
Rather than offer his elbow, h
e placed a hand at her back. It was a clear sign of possession, a statement, and she heard the click of several fans as they opened and began to flutter. She knew he’d set tongues wagging behind those fans with his gesture, but she didn’t care.
The strength of his hand seeped into her back as they moved away, and she didn’t look behind her.
As he swept her onto the floor, he held her in a firm grip that made her sigh with relief. He’d been right. Here she was farther from the rumors and her sister’s irritation. The music started and with strong, sure steps, he began to spin her about the room.
* * *
Chad stared down at Abigail in surprise. He’d expected her to fight him. Instead, she followed his lead with an effortless grace as she moved closer, creating an intimacy between them that made his chest rumble with possessive need.
Her head tilted back, and her gaze met his, holding his stare as they waltzed.
He hated dancing as a general rule and had only asked to diffuse the escalating situation between the Carrington sisters.
With clarity, he saw the problem. Eliza and Abigail had matching wills and strength, but Eliza had the superior age and status as a married woman. A power she wielded over her younger sister with brute strength.
Abigail chafed and it was a position he understood well.
His older brother had been relentless too.
Unlike his brother, Eliza seemed to act out of love. He’d seen the marchioness protect her sister, something his brother would never have done. But she also liberally told Abigail what was best, and Abigail hated the treatment.
“Thank you,” she murmured as they moved. “I needed a break from…” she hesitated, looking up at the chandeliers hanging above.
He cocked a brow. “Wagging tongues or overbearing siblings?”
“You saw all of that, did you?” Her gaze snapped back to his.
He shrugged. “I see plenty where you are concerned. You’re the only reason I am here.”
Baron of Blasphemy Page 2
