by Amy Sandas
Once he released her, he saw that the color in her cheeks had brightened to a rosy pink. She stepped away from him as soon as he dropped his hand from her face. Swinging her attention back to her father, she cleared her throat and lifted her chin another notch higher.
“Father, will you be staying for luncheon? It should be ready within the hour.” Her voice was crisp and polite and contained the strength Leif knew to be inherent in her person.
He smiled openly in satisfaction at the return of her spirit. His smile grew even wider when he looked to Sir Felix and saw the flush of discomfort coloring his face.
“Ah, no, I have an appointment with some colleagues.”
“Of course. It was nice to see you again, Father. You will come by again before you leave town?”
Sir Felix cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we shall see.”
Abbigael nodded then walked with sedate pride from the room.
As soon as the two men were alone, Sir Felix glared at Leif with frigid accusation.
“Was that terribly necessary, Lord Neville? Treating my daughter like a common trollop right before my eyes just to upset me. Disgusting.”
Leif lifted his brows, honestly surprised. “I am happy to disillusion you. My interaction with my wife just now had absolutely nothing to do with you.” He stopped and lifted his finger, glancing to the ceiling as a thought occurred to him. “Correction, it related to you only in that I felt a desire to reverse the damage you seemed intent upon inflicting.” He chuckled and eyed the older man with frank assessment. “And really, Sir Felix, if you found the whole thing so disgusting, why did you do absolutely nothing to stop it?”
Sir Felix blanched and Leif continued without allowing him an opportunity to retort.
“I will grant you I have not had any prior experience with debutantes and their protective papas, but of course, you already know that about me, don’t you? What I do know is that the young woman who just walked out of here deserves a helluva lot more regard from you than what I have witnessed so far.”
Sir Felix straightened his shoulders and started toward the door in angry strides.
“I will not stand around for any more of this disgraceful nonsense.”
“Tell me, Sir Felix,” Leif began with a layer of steel beneath the carefree veneer of his voice, “how long do you plan on being afraid of your own daughter?”
Sir Felix came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. His broad shoulders heaved and his head lowered. When he turned around, the dark sadness in the older man’s eyes struck Leif with a heavy fist.
“You may have heard the story, my lord, but you were not there all those years ago. When Abby lost her mother so tragically, no one expected the depth of her reaction. It was a horror to witness.” He dropped his arms heavily to his sides and looked to Leif as if willing him to understand. “I didn’t know what to do for her. She is better now, I know that, but still I see the sorrow in her eyes and fear she is not as far from that darkness as I would hope.”
Leif was stunned by the man’s confession, and although it showed that Sir Felix did care for his daughter, it didn’t excuse his poor judgment.
“Abbigael is so much more than you see.”
Sir Felix stared at him, making no attempt to defend against Leif’s words. After a moment that drew into several more, Sir Felix shook his head, though whether it was in denial or surrender, Leif couldn’t tell.
“Why did you marry her, Lord Neville?”
“I need her dowry.”
Sir Felix narrowed his gaze and a sneer curled his upper lip.
“You admit it freely? Have you no shame?”
“Very little,” Leif replied with a jaunty grin, “and I admitted the same to Abbigael before she agreed to wed me. She is also aware of my less-than-virtuous past, or as much as she needs to be.” He lowered his chin. “No details, of course.”
“Why on earth would she agree to such an offer knowing all of that?”
Leif shrugged. “You will have to ask your daughter that question. Now, I believe we are about as close to two o’clock as I intend to wait. Will you have that drink with me?”
Sir Felix stood stiff in indecision for about thirty seconds, then shook his head again, this time in clear indication of surrender.
“I believe I will.”
Leif grinned widely and approached the older man to clap him heartily on the back.
“Excellent.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The ball was a success.
At least that is what Anna had declared approximately an hour ago. Though how success could be determined by a room full of strangers who stood around in their finest clothing for the esteemed purposes of gawking and speculating, Leif wasn’t about to try to understand. He rarely attended events that involved the higher echelon of London society, unless it was in the context of smaller, private and much more risqué parties.
Anna had been very careful to invite people whose opinions carried great weight in London’s social circles. Judging by the looks of things, every one of her invitations had been accepted.
Even Sir Felix had attended. A clear indication that for all intents and purposes, he accepted the match. Leif had never felt such a relief as when he saw Sir Felix and knew the dowry would be his. With that vital question answered, he was ready to be done with the ball and head home to bed. Unfortunately, after their first stroll about the ballroom together as husband and wife, Anna had swept Abbigael off on a whirlwind tour of introductions and he hadn’t had her back since. The thought of going home alone wasn’t appealing in the slightest, not that such a thing would have been allowed. Anna would have his head if he snuck off before the ball had reached its pinnacle, and he would never leave Irish to face the scrutiny of the ton without him.
Unwilling to slip out without his wife and uninterested in socializing more than was absolutely necessary, Leif found himself standing near the windows in a small group of gentlemen that included the Earl of Blackbourne and the Marquess of Rutherford of all people.
Rutherford had made it quite clear when he arrived that he was there only to support Abbigael and in no way was his presence to be construed as any type of gesture toward Leif himself.
Leif had laughed at that. The man was as pompous as they come, but his presence would add weight to the respectability of his and Abbigael’s marriage, which was the whole reason for this ball after all. Still, Leif hadn’t been able to resist making a comment to the fact that one of the Terribury twins was present and as of yet unattached. With Rutherford’s unnatural determination to avoid matrimony and his personal distaste for Lady Terribury, Leif’s comment had sent the arrogant ass off into hiding somewhere.
A few hours of reprieve, but now Rutherford was back, and with Abbigael engaged in conversation by a group of young women across the room, Leif had no avenue of escaping from Blackbourne’s little club, which was rounded out by the presence of Lord Whitely and Lord Grimm, two of Rutherford’s other usual cohorts. The men were not Leif’s top choice of companionship, so he stood off to the side, not caring much for the conversation or the company.
As soon as Leif saw Lady Carlisle sashaying across the ballroom toward him, he wished he had engaged more with the gentlemen at his side. Maybe then she wouldn’t have approached him so boldly.
Then again, it probably would not have mattered to her one bit. Foreboding crawled up his spine like a creeping spider. Lady Carlisle had been one of his earliest patrons, from the days when he had been wild and eager to please. Theirs had been a relationship of extremes. The lady was one who had always made it quite clear she expected him to satisfy her very specific and unique desires, and because of her overwhelming generosity, he had been more than willing to perform as she wished. The arrangement hadn’t lasted long, however, as she’d grown more demanding and Leif had discovered he did have some limits to what he was willing to do.
She had approached him several times over the years with offers to recommence their relationship and Leif had di
plomatically refused. He had been relieved when he heard several years ago that she had gone to tour the continent, in search of hedonistic experiences, no doubt. He only wished he had had some prior warning of her return to England.
And how the hell had she acquired an invitation to the ball tonight?
Leif forced his expression into one of placid pleasantry as the lady reached him and held her hand out for a kiss.
“Lady Carlisle, what an unexpected pleasure,” he lied easily as he lifted her hand to his lips. “I had no idea you were back in England.”
The woman had to be nearing fifty years of age yet with her inky-black hair and glittering blue eyes she rivaled most of the young women present in beauty and sex appeal. However, it was an appeal that now seemed too obvious to Leif’s judicious eye. Her gown hugged her exceptional curves to perfection, showing far more cleavage than many would dare, but the knowing glint of experience in her gaze held no softness as she swept a glance over him from head to heel.
“Darling, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” the lady said with a sly smile on her painted lips.
The heavy saccharine tones of her voice were sickening in their sweetness and her expression twisted with amusement as she looked pointedly to where Abbigael stood in a circle of young women. His wife’s purity and freshness stood in stark contrast to the overblown sensuality of the woman beside him.
Leif would have given anything to be across the room at that moment.
Gesturing with her fan, Lady Carlisle continued, “I am happy to see you found a more permanent arrangement than what you practiced when we last saw each other. The poor green girl must have been helpless against your charms.”
“Indeed,” Leif replied, smiling even though the muscles of his jaw started to ache from the effort. There was something excessively distasteful about his former lover talking about Abbigael in such a way.
“I hear her father is quite deep in the pockets.” She laughed and playfully tapped Leif on the shoulder with her fan. “It is a good thing too, since she likely has no idea just how demanding you can be…in the bedroom and on the bank account.”
Leif bit his teeth together hard to keep from reacting to her crude innuendo.
When he didn’t reply, she stepped closer to him. Her breasts pressed heavily against his arm and her rosewater scent drifted sickeningly to his nostrils.
“Now that you are sufficiently set up, so to speak, perhaps we can negotiate some new terms. Seeing you tonight made me realize how much I miss you,” she murmured in the hushed tones of a lover, sliding her hand over his chest.
Leif flashed a glance back across the room and stiffened when he noticed Abbigael’s attentive stare. There was a sad and wary look in her eyes as she watched the interplay between him and the lady pressed indecently against his side.
His stomach clenched with sudden nausea and he swallowed hard before he pasted another false smile to his face and replied, “I think not, Melisande. I am married, after all.”
Her laugh was loud and brash, grating on Leif’s tightly drawn nerves.
“Oh, come now, darling. You may have won the purse with that heiress, but it doesn’t change who you are.” She shook her head with a knowing leer. “You will tire of that milksop soon enough, and when you start to yearn to express the wickedness of your nature, you had better hope I am still available. My offer won’t be on the table forever. You of all people know that a woman like me has needs that cannot go unanswered for long.”
She leaned forward with a confident smile and pressed a lingering kiss against his cheek, then turned with a swing of her luscious hips and sauntered off.
“What the bloody hell was that all about?”
Leif turned to see Rutherford glaring at him as if he had just dishonored his sister. Blackbourne eyed him with a look of black warning.
Bitter anger clogged Leif’s throat.
“None of your damned business,” he muttered before he turned away.
Nearby, doors that led to the narrow terrace were thrown wide open to allow fresh air into the stuffy atmosphere of the ballroom. A few long strides took him into the night air and he grasped the rail as he drew a series of long, bracing breaths. They did little to cool the fire that burned hot in his chest.
He wished he could hate Lady Carlisle for her ugly insinuations, but he could only find disgust for himself. Because he knew she was right. From the beginning, he had known the damage he was doing to Abbigael in convincing her to marry him, yet he went forward with it anyway. Even the stigma of being ruined was better than being trapped into matrimony with a man with his past and proclivities. She probably didn’t even realize how much she had been maneuvered into giving him what he wanted. A girl with such a lack of experience wouldn’t suspect deception in the act of sex.
But such things came so naturally to Leif he didn’t even know when he was doing them anymore.
Abbigael didn’t deserve such treatment. She didn’t deserve a wastrel like him for a husband. But the deed was done. There was no going back.
He paced back and forth along the short length of the upper-floor terrace, annoyed by the limited space. What he needed was a long stretch of empty road ahead of him.
How long before he broke her heart? A year? Two?
No.
He stopped his pacing and rubbed his knuckles against the roughened skin of his jaw as a thought occurred to him. He didn’t have to be so cruel. He could speed up the process, show Abbigael right off what to expect of their future so she didn’t build false hopes.
It was the only thing he could do. For them both.
Feeling somewhat better, he took a few more deep breaths that still did not succeed in easing the restriction in his throat.
Reentering the ballroom, he headed straight to Abbigael’s side. She had been watching the doors to the terrace and as he approached, he saw the shimmer of concern in her gaze.
He smiled with all the devil-may-care charm he could muster as he reached her and bowed deeply before her.
“Would you honor me with a dance, dear wife?”
The least he could do was put on the proper show for the masses before he pulled back the veil within his marriage.
A shadow of wariness remained in her eyes, but Abbigael took his hand with a smile. “I would love to.”
He swept her onto the dance floor for a waltz, enjoying the way the curve of her narrow waist felt against his palm and how her hand fell lightly onto his shoulder as they turned to face each other. They fit together well. Perhaps too well. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for him to forget his true nature.
Once they had passed through several measures of the music, Abbigael finally lifted her head back to look up at him. He saw the question in her expression even before she spoke.
“Who is the woman you were speaking with earlier?”
He would have liked to brush off her question with a light remark, but he remembered his commitment to always being honest with her.
“My past is filled with women like her. You will have to get used to the fact that we will encounter them on occasion.”
“I understand,” she replied, “it is just that you seemed upset as you were talking with her.”
Leave it to his Irish to be far too perceptive.
Grinning widely to keep her from delving much further into the unpleasantness introduced by Lady Carlisle’s presence, he responded lightly, “She is no cause for concern, Irish. You can trust me on that.”
“I do trust you,” she replied, though he could see he had not completely dispelled her concern.
For the rest of the night, Abbigael seemed to regard him with a certain degree of curiosity. He did what he could to act as if nothing untoward had happened, but he could not disguise his relief when she touched his arm and asked if they could return home.
He had had more than enough of the scrutiny and judgment of the ton that night to last him a lifetime. The carriage ride back to the townhouse passed quickl
y. Though he sensed Abbigael wished to say something to him, she did not speak until they stood in his front hall. Then she turned to him with a look of soft anticipation.
Before she could speak, he stated in a voice he hoped did not sound unkind, “You look tired. You should go on up to bed. I have some things to attend to.”
“I do not mind waiting for you,” she said quickly. Her obvious expectation caused a band of discomfort to tighten across his lungs.
“There is no point,” he assured her. “I will be quite late.”
She tried hard to hide her disappointment, but Leif saw it in the way her lashes swept down to shield her lovely eyes.
“Good night then,” she replied as she turned to ascend the stairs alone.
Leif watched her slim form for long moment before he added, “By the way, I will be leaving for Sussex first thing in the morning.”
Abbigael turned, surprise lighting her face.
“But I will never be packed in time. Will this be an extended stay?”
“If you would prefer to stay on London—”
“I do not,” she interrupted boldly. Her eyes flashed briefly with annoyance.
He had to resist the urge to smile at her flare of temper. “Then you may follow at your leisure, though I warn you, the accommodations at Dunwood Park will likely leave much to be desired. How long you wish to stay there will be entirely up to you.” He gestured with a tip of his head toward the upper floor. “Now go on up to bed. It has been a long night.”
She hesitated for a long moment and Leif could see that she warred with herself over whether or not she should say more. But then she did as he said and turned to continue up the stairs.
Leif turned to his study before her form disappeared into the shadows above and blamed the uneasy feeling in his stomach on the wine he’d had that night.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The carriage rounded a bend and the trees that had been closely lining the drive cleared away to provide Abbigael with her first glimpse of Dunwood Park.
For the last hour, the curving dirt road had led past small tenant farms, many of them rundown and abandoned, and fields that had not been planted. But upon clearing the copse of trees, the dirt of the country lane turned to crushed gray gravel, thinned and spotted with patches of grass. Up ahead, a sheep-dotted pasture stretched modestly before a sprawling architectural hodge-podge. In the heavy grey light of the rain-soaked day, the unusual structure lounged with imposing defiance against the pastoral scene.
