by Amy Sandas
“I don’t like being laughed at.”
Though she found she very much liked being carried by him. It gave her a wonderfully unexpected excuse to hold tightly to his broad shoulders.
Entering the shadowed stables, he walked to a large storage box and sat, settling her in his lap. He linked his arms around her hips, holding her in place.
He met her gaze with an earnest, though still amused, expression.
“Sweetheart, I swear I was not laughing at you. It was just a shock to discover what an idiotic ass I’ve been. I should have realized you were not so different from the women I have known before.”
Abbigael stiffened in his lap and narrowed her gaze.
“Are you referring to the barmaid who last warmed your lap?”
His brows lifted. “The maid at the inn?”
Abbigael clenched her teeth.
Leif sighed and hauled her in a little closer to him.
“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I will tell you nothing happened with her.”
Abbigael couldn’t explain how, but she felt the truth of his words. A tentative sense of relief drifted about her heart.
“That may be true,” she retorted, “but someone should have explained to you that it is not safe to place your wife in the same category as your prior women.”
He chuckled and she felt the rumble of his laughter where her side pressed against his chest. He lowered his chin until his face was only a few scant inches from hers. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and her attention dropped automatically to his well-formed lips.
“Trust me, Irish, you will come to appreciate my prior experience.” His voice was softly challenging. “But to be clear, I would never make the mistake in thinking you are anything like them in most respects. However, in certain things, maybe you are not so different.” His voice lowered to a tone that flowed over her skin like molten honey. “All women desire passion, whether a scarlet courtesan or an untouched virgin.”
“Or a once-touched bride,” she whispered.
His eyes smoldered and he moved his hand possessively over the curve of her hip.
“Right. It seems you have some things to teach me, Irish. I have not done well so far in this new role.”
Unable to look away from his lips, Abbigael muttered, “You did warn me that you would make a terrible husband.”
“I did. However, I still intend to make it up to you. Tonight. We will go to Vauxhall Gardens.”
He lowered his head and his lips reached hers. The kiss was lovely and attentive. As soon as she started to become breathless, he pulled away just a fraction of an inch.
“Henceforth, I promise to be a very willing pupil.”
Standing abruptly, he placed her on her feet, holding her slim waist between his hands as she swayed a moment then finally found a return of her equilibrium. As soon as she had her balance, he released her and stepped away.
“I will return for you tonight. Seven o’clock. Be ready.”
Then, with a wink and a jaunty smile, he turned and left.
Chapter Twenty
Abbigael was astounded by the crush of carriages in the street as they neared Vauxhall Gardens. It was a warm evening, which likely assisted in drawing out such a large crowd. She had also heard the earl remark that the concert, new works composed by someone whose name Abbigael didn’t recognize, was expected to be exceptionally well received.
A feeling of excitement welled from her chest as she contemplated the evening ahead. She was desperately in need of a pleasant diversion.
Earlier that day, when she had finally gathered the courage to face her hosts, Abbigael discovered that the countess had decided to blame herself for Abbigael’s current situation since Leif was her personal friend. She seemed to think she should have been able to thwart his devilish plans, though Abbigael assured her there was no way anyone could have anticipated the events leading to the elopement.
The earl, for his part, offered to assist Abbigael in getting an annulment.
She told him she would let him know if she felt the need to resort to such a remedy.
It took significant effort, but Abbigael was eventually able to convince them both that although the trip to Gretna Green had not started out as her idea, by the time they arrived she was in full agreement with the elopement.
Overall, the interview went rather well until the moment when the countess turned to her with an expression that revealed her reluctance in what she was about to say.
“Abbigael, dear, we had to notify your father of what happened.”
Abbigael’s heart seized with sudden panic. “My father?”
She had purposely not allowed herself to consider what her father might think of the elopement. She had hoped to have plenty of time to find the right way to advise him of the situation.
“To tell the truth, he would likely be here now if I hadn’t delayed in sending the message to him once we discovered you were with Lord Neville.” A scowl darkened the countess’s elegant face. “I had hoped the stupid man would come to his senses and return you unharmed, but when it became clear that was not going to happen, we had no choice but to send a letter to Sir Felix.”
“I understand,” Abbigael replied. Though she wished it could have been postponed, her father’s involvement was inevitable. “Has he sent a response?”
“We received his reply just this morning. He will be in town in two days.”
It was not much time to figure out how to convince her father to accept a shameless fortune hunter as a son-in-law.
It was an issue she would have to address, but for tonight, Abbigael promised herself she would put aside the worries that still hovered in the atmosphere surrounding her marriage and just enjoy herself. She was rather surprised at how excited she was at the prospect of spending the evening in the renowned pleasure gardens.
Following in the slow crawl of carriages, they eventually made their way to the main entrance to the Gardens. Leif exited the borrowed carriage and turned to assist Abbigael.
His smile as he took her hand and helped her to the ground was filled with masculine charm and roguish whimsy.
He didn’t even have to say anything. His arched expression told her that the teasing scoundrel was back in full force.
A smile curved her lips before she could stop it. Something about the moment filled her with a sense of impending adventure. She felt on the cusp of something spectacular and was more than ready to see what this new life as the Lady Neville might have in store for her. It was long past time she got to experience a few frivolous evenings.
She cast a covert glance toward Leif.
And who better to explore them with than a master of sensual entertainment. She had no doubt the evening would take a sensuous turn. There were too many hints in Leif’s warm eyes, too much anticipation flying through her blood. A thrill passed through her as her husband tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and proceeded through the arched entrance.
Crowds of people flowed around them in various masses and at different speeds. Laughter and a bright sense of gaiety filled the air. Vauxhall Gardens was one of few social venues that attracted, and promoted, attendance by people of all classes. The entrance fee was minimal and the managers prided themselves in providing diverse musical entertainment, enviable supper menus and innumerable sights to dazzle and amaze the patrons year after year. Some said the Gardens were long past their heyday, but looking at the crowds around them, Abbigael couldn’t imagine those people were correct.
They continued along the gravel walk farther into the garden where she began to hear the lilting strains of music weaving toward them through the towering elm trees.
“The concert has already started?”
“Don’t worry,” he said as he slid her a sideways grin, “there will be plenty to enjoy this night.”
Anticipation lightened her feet as she relaxed and allowed herself to become immersed in the vivacious atmosphere of the teeming gardens.
They strolled along in no apparent hurry to reach the Orchestra Building, which allowed Abbigael to experience the magic of the place as each turn revealed new wonders. Painted murals so beautiful they looked almost real from a distance, fanciful pavilions, a gothic obelisk and various sculptures.
Along the way, Leif interjected various comments, sometimes giving an informative history, other times relishing the details of an amusing anecdote. It seemed he had participated in his fair share of larks in the gardens with his friends and many of his stories had Abbigael laughing at the tricks and capers of unruly young men.
Unfortunately, as they came around the side of an exotically painted rotunda, they nearly collided with a small group of two couples. Abbigael was suddenly face to face and in far too close contact with Lord Atwood of all people. Her cheerful mood took a swift turn toward the dreadful and her hand tightened on Leif’s arm as the gossipy lord’s face lit with an expression of perverse glee.
“Ah, how wonderful,” Atwood exclaimed, drawing his little party forward with a dramatic wave of his hand. “It is the very lady I have just been telling you about.”
Atwood’s male companion chuckled as he eyed Abbigael with a steady leer, and the two women twittered to each other behind gloved hands. Atwood himself grinned like a hungry wolf that had identified his prey.
“I have to say,” he added scathingly to Abbigael, “I am shocked to see you out in polite society in light of the scandalous whispers that have been running rampant through town.”
The heat of humiliation flooded Abbigael’s face and her tongue felt tied in a knot as she tried to think of an appropriate response.
“And who might you be?” Leif’s voice was jovial and bright in a way Abbigael instantly knew to be false. He lifted Abbigael’s hand from his arm and stepped forward as if to introduce himself.
Atwood turned and though he stood easily three inches shorter, he somehow managed to look down his aquiline nose at Leif as he replied, “Lord Geoffrey Atwood, if you must know.”
“Of course,” Leif exclaimed with a wide smile. “You are the horse’s ass who doesn’t seem to understand that a gentleman does not spread lies.” Pausing to look past Atwood’s shoulder, Leif added a gentle warning, “Be careful what you say or do around this one, ladies, it is liable to be known by all of London by morning. With a few choice embellishments, of course. Must make the story worth hearing, eh, Atwood.”
Atwood sputtered indignantly.
“Every word I’ve said about her is absolutely true. She’s as mad as—”
Everyone would have to wonder at what he was going to say since Leif’s fist came out of nowhere and stuffed his vicious words back down his throat.
One of the ladies shrieked as Atwood fell to the ground with the force of the blow, yet no one rushed forward to defend him. Like true friends, his companions fell back, leaving him to fend for himself.
Abbigael stood stunned behind Leif’s shoulder. She couldn’t deny to herself how satisfying it was to see Lord Atwood felled to the ground in one swift swoop. He deserved quite a bit more than the aching jaw he was likely to endure. But the humiliation of his current position, flat on his rear with his legs splayed and his expression incredulous, might be enough to satiate her sense of vengeance.
Atwood pushed to his feet, rubbing his jaw. The glare he cast toward Leif shielded a strong trace of wariness. “How dare you assault me, a nobleman?”
Leif scoffed. “There is nothing noble about you, Atwood. And I will dare far more if I hear even the slightest whisper of my wife’s name on your lips in future.” He grinned then and stepped forward to extend his hand to Atwood who flinched at the movement as if he feared being struck again. “Have we an understanding?”
The other man hesitated.
Abbigael could see his confusion over Leif’s odd turnabout from brawler to gentleman, and she saw the glint of malice return to his eyes as he replied.
“With the likes of you?” he laughed in derision. “You’re no better than she is, are you? You’d have to be mad to take her on, I’d say.”
Leif glanced over his shoulder at Abbigael.
She was still shocked by the unfolding of the confrontation, never having expected Leif to react in such a physical manner.
“A madness I relish, I assure you,” he replied, directing his words to her. Warmth and confidence flowed from his gaze, causing bubbles of elation to rise within her until she couldn’t hold back the smile that widened her lips.
Smiling in return, he angled back to Atwood.
“From this moment on, you know absolutely nothing about a Miss Abbigael Granger. You have never even heard of her, understand? If I discover anything to the contrary, you will start to hear some very unflattering information about yourself making the rounds through town.”
Atwood gasped, his beady eyes growing wide. “You would spread lies about me?”
He didn’t even recognize the poetic justice of the threat.
“Atrocious, I know,” Leif drawled. “Now, although it was a great pleasure to meet you, Atwood, we must move on. Do consider my words carefully and recall that I have many friends in the circles you travel.”
With one last handsome grin, he turned to Abbigael and offered his arm. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow as he looked to the sky. “It is starting to darken. Come on.”
Abbigael looked around then for the first time since encountering Lord Atwood and realized that a small but effective crowd had witnessed the interchange between them and Atwood. She guessed that most of the onlookers wouldn’t have heard what was said, but there would most certainly be conjecture.
Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment and she kept her gaze trained forward as they made their way casually past the witnesses. It seemed she was destined to be the subject of gossip and rumor. Perhaps even more so now that she had linked herself with Leif.
She sighed. She supposed she would have to get used to being a bit notorious.
After a few short minutes of walking beside Leif in introspective silence, Abbigael realized they were no longer heading toward the sound of the music, but were now going away from it.
“I am quite certain the concert is back that way.”
“We are not here for the concert.”
“Oh.” Confusion and disappointment mingled in her voice.
“You will be able to hear the music from just about anywhere in the park.”
As he spoke, he turned them off the widened walk they were traversing onto a deeply shadowed lane. The trees that lined the walk created a lush canopy overhead, blocking out much of the sun’s last dying rays. The fading light of dusk made the shadowed figures of the other couples that were walking along the path seem vague and distant.
As they walked, Abbigael began to hear night birds coming to life in the trees above. Their songs mingled with the soft melody from the distant orchestra, creating a very romantic effect.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “the night of the abduction, I had given up on catching a husband. I was preparing to return to Ireland.”
“To find a nice crofter to marry?”
“If I could be so fortunate.” Stiff pride reared its head at the humor she detected in his voice. She forced it aside. “Though my hopes for that were low as well. Even if I found a man who would have me, Father is a highly respected and well-known figure in Ireland. His reputation is very dear to him. He would not easily agree to a match he considered unsuitable.”
She glanced at Leif to see his reaction, wondering if he had realized her dowry was not yet secured.
“Hmm,” he muttered in slow response as he gazed upward at the trees and lifted his hand to rub his knuckles back and forth along his jaw. “I can only imagine what he will think of me then.”
Abbigael turned to him in all seriousness. He needed to understand that there were hurdles yet to leap.
“He could refuse to release my dowry.”
Leif met her gaze, his expression atypically sto
ic.
“He could,” he agreed, then turned his focus forward again and added with quiet confidence, “but he won’t.”
Abbigael nearly believed him.
Shifting beside her, Leif pulled her arm more securely through his until she was tucked warmly up against his side. When he spoke, she felt the vibration of his words transfer from his body to hers.
“You are not upset with me for hitting that bastard, are you?”
Abbigael glanced down and was transfixed by the sight of her skirts flowing in a fluid rhythm against his legs as they matched their strides to each other. The image filled her with a sense of comfort and rightness.
“I should be, but I cannot seem to find the proper motivation.”
Leif chuckled and she continued, “I wish I could understand why he went to such trouble to ruin me. What did he possibly have to gain?”
“Some people are born with malice in their blood. They find a perverse enjoyment in causing another’s suffering.”
She glanced at his profile. He kept his eyes trained forward so she couldn’t read his expression, but she felt the tautness in the muscles of his arm beneath her hand.
“You know someone like this?”
“My father.” The answer was bitten out between tightly clenched teeth. “Though I was very young, I recall the torment he inflicted upon my mother. She chose to flee rather than endure more of his ugly treatment.”
“She left you?” Abbigael was incredulous that a mother would abandon her child.
“She had no choice. Father wouldn’t have allowed her to get far with his only heir.”
Bitterness and pain weighed down his voice. Abbigael was certain he would have preferred to go with her.
“Where is she now?”
“Dead.”
Her heart ached for him. “I am sorry.”
He shrugged off her sympathy and threw her a half smile.
“Don’t be, Irish, there is no point in grieving something long past. And as for Atwood, I don’t want you to worry about him anymore. He has no more power over the direction of your life.”
