'Mr Tidewell?' Abigail repeated in amazement. She'd always liked Miss Wyndham's lawyer, but it hadn't occurred to her he'd had any hand in her rescue.
'Very fierce on the need to rescue you, he was,' said Anthony, smiling slightly. 'So was the admiral. If Giff hadn't put his foot down, they'd have been riding along with us to your rescue.'
'Oh, no!' Abigail instinctively pressed her hand against the base of her throat. It would have been dreadful if those two respectable, middle-aged gentlemen had seen her humiliation, but it comforted her to know they'd cared so much about her fate. 'They might have been hurt,' she said. 'I don't think they could have managed all that leaping and jumping that you and
Gifford...Captain Raven...did. You were so brave and strong.'
'I just followed Giff's orders.' Anthony shifted his legs uncomfortably. 'As I was saying, you have many old friends—and also newer friends. Like Malcolm Anderson...and me...and Giff, of course. You are not alone. You don't need to be afraid about the future.'
Abigail's eyes filled with tears at his blunt assurance. It meant so much to her, but she didn't know how to thank him—or even if he wanted her thanks. By the time she'd collected herself enough to speak, he'd risen to his feet.
'I'm hungry,' he said gruffly. 'Giff will keep you company for a while.'
She looked up and through misty eyes saw Gifford striding towards her. She was so shaken by Anthony's words, and by her sudden excited nervousness when she saw Gifford approaching, that she didn't immediately notice anything odd about his appearance.
She brushed her fingers across her eyes and looked up at him as he closed the distance between them.
'What's the matter?' he demanded, looming over her. 'Why are you crying?'
'I'm not crying.' She gave him a watery smile. 'Your shirt's all wet!' she exclaimed an instant later. His shirt tails hung halfway down his thighs. The damp linen clung to the muscular contours of his upper body.
'You told me to wash it.' He continued to stand over her, his hands on his lean hips.
'You washed it?'
'There's a pump in the yard,' he said pugnaciously. 'I believe I'm as competent to wash my own shirt as the next person—as you.'
'I don't suppose you've ever washed anything before in your life!' Abigail retorted. 'I've never seen such a creased-up rag. What did you do to it?'
'It's clean and I'm wearing it!' he growled. 'What more do you want?'
'Nothing,' she said hastily. She couldn't resist touching the fine crumpled linen. He'd squeezed a myriad knife-edged creases into it so fiercely she wondered if it would ever iron flat. But she knew he was rich enough not to care.
She almost thought she could see the damp fabric steaming in the combined heat of his body and the sun. She smoothed the linen over the hard ridges of his stomach. His muscles jerked and grew even harder beneath her palm. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, excited and fascinated by the feel of his virile body.
Gifford's large hand shackled her wrist.
'When we go to London, you are not to stroke every man you meet!' he said harshly.
'What?' Abigail tried to jerk her arm away from him, but he held her firmly—though not so tightly he hurt her. 'You oaf! Let me go! I wasn't stroking you. I was wondering whether the creases would ever iron out!' she said tartly.
'Well, don't let your obsession with smooth linen prompt you to stroke any other men!' Gifford said dis agreeably. 'Even I know that's not the conducl e
pected of a young lady embarking upon her first Season.'
Abigail hit his stomach with her free hand. It wasn't a very hard blow. She was still sitting on the chair in front of him, which limited her freedom of movement and, in any case, she was too soft-hearted to put any real weight behind the punch.
Gifford grunted softly and grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again.
'That wouldn't have stopped a kitten!' he said scornfully. 'If you're going to hit a man—put some power behind it. It's no damn good if you just annoy him.'
'I didn't want to hurt you!'
'You can't hurt me, you ninny!' Gifford released her. He planted his feet astride and put both hands on his hips as he looked down his nose at her. 'Not like that.'
'You want me to hit you where I can hurt you!' His arrogant pose as he stood over her was so infuriating that Abigail was tempted to do just that.
'You have no idea—' Gifford began, then broke off to intercept a well-aimed blow to his groin. 'Dammit, woman!' he snarled through gritted teeth. 'Have you got no decorum?'
'I was extremely decorous for twenty-seven years,' Abigail declared hotly. 'It's not my fault that my careful plans to go on living a decorous life have been ruined. And if you didn't want me to retaliate, you shouldn't have loomed over me b-boasting about your invincibility.'
Gifford flung her wrists out of his hands and spun away from her.
'I have never claimed to be invincible,' he said in a low voice which throbbed with anger, and another emotion which Abigail couldn't identify.
She folded her trembling hands in her lap. For some reason she was finding it increasingly difficult to have a calm, rational conversation with Gifford. She didn't understand why he was so upset at being called invincible. He was the most powerful, ruthlessly competent, unconquerable man she'd ever met.
She looked up to see the landlord approaching them, and wasn't sure whether to be relieved or sorry at the interruption.
Abigail sat in the dark on the wobble-legged chair. Gifford had curtly told her she would be safe to spend the night alone. She hadn't argued with him. Of course she was safe. He was only a few yards away, and all the danger was over.
But without Gifford's forceful, overwhelming presence to distract her, she was plagued by memories of her brief captivity. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered as she recalled how Charles Johnson had spoken to her. How he'd breathed on her. The way he forced her to undress in front of him and stroked her with his pistol.
She hated him. She'd never believed it would be possible for her to hate another human being as much as she hated Charles Johnson. She tried not to think about him. Hate was not an emotion she enjoyed feeling. It spoiled her peace of mind and served no useful purpose.
She felt oppressively hot and uncomfortable. Gifford had forced open the small window in the bedchamber the previous evening. It was open now, but it didn't provide much relief from the humid night. Abigail was wearing her green sprigged gown. Her black mourning dress was still at the Blue Buck.
It was reassuring to wear her own familiar clothes again, but Abigail had to admit she'd been physically more comfortable in her makeshift linen tunic. Her damp skin prickled within the confines of her corset. The heat pressed down upon her. It felt difficult to breathe. She shifted her weight on the chair and it rocked forward. She stood and picked up her fan from the dresser. Then she went to lean against the wall next to the window.
She could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. She saw a brief flash of lightning. Thunder growled a little closer. She unfurled her fan, remembering how she'd sat at her window the first night she'd seen Gifford.
So much had happened since then. She grieved for Miss Wyndham. She was still shocked by what had happened with Charles Johnson. But she also felt more alive—and in some ways happier—than she had at any time since her mother's death.
Gifford had held her in his arms. He'd kissed her. As she remembered, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. She touched her lips wonder-ingly with her fingertips. No one had ever kissed her before. Dowdy, penniless Abigail Summers. No one had ever flirted with her before—not that she could recall. But gallant, daring, magnificent Gifford Raven had kissed her.
She smiled against her fingers. Perhaps he would kiss her again. She hoped he would kiss her again. Put his arms around her and let her explore his virile body. His hard musculature fascinated her. She loved touching him.
A flash of lightning nearly blinded her. Th
under crashed almost immediately afterwards. A few seconds later it started to rain. Almost at once a cooler breeze stroked Abigail's face. She put down her fan and gripped the windowsill, delighted by the occasional large raindrops which splashed on her skin. The clean, refreshing smell of parched earth as it accepted the rain pervaded the small bedchamber.
Lightning lit up the landscape. Thunder responded. For a few minutes the storm crashed noisily overhead. At last it moved on, and only the steadily falling rain disturbed the peace of the night.
Abigail extended her arm out of the window. The summer rain was warm, but it was cooler than her overheated skin. It felt wonderful. Her body was still too hot and uncomfortable within her corset. She wished she could feel the raindrops rolling down her neck and between her breasts. The desire to experience that sensation became as compelling as the desire to drink when she was very thirsty.
She stood undecided for a few seconds, but she would probably never get another opportunity to indulge such a fantasy. No one would know if she went outside. She slipped out of her room and down the stairs, unbolted the door and went out into the pouring rain. She stood in the yard for a moment or two, then realised someone might see her from one of the win-
dows. It was one thing to do something a little peculiar if no one else knew, but she didn't want to be discovered in the midst of fulfilling her whim.
She navigated carefully across the yard until she found the edge of the orchard. The trees were dark and slightly ominous shapes ahead of her. She shivered in momentary apprehension, and glanced back at the solid security of the inn. She wouldn't go any further.
She unpinned her cap and shook out her hair. She loved the feel of the cool rain on her scalp. She lifted her face to the sky and unfastened the top two buttons of her high-necked bodice. The rain beating against her body felt cleansing and invigorating, washing away the lingering sensation that she had been defiled by her abduction and auction.
Then two hands closed on her shoulders from behind. Shock slammed through her. She opened her mouth to scream.
'Abigail?' Gifford growled in her ear. 'What the hell are you doing?'
Her legs sagged with relief. She slumped against him. He grabbed her before she could fall on the muddy ground. A moment later her relief turned to anger. She twisted round and gave him a big shove.
'Will you stop making me jumpT she shouted at him. 'Haven't you got any sense?'
'Sense? Where's the sense of standing out here in the rain?' Gifford demanded incredulously. 'What's wrong with you?'
'Nothing's wrong with me. I'm perfectly well.'
'Don't be ridiculous. No sane person goes out in a thunderstorm.' Gifford seized her upper arm and dragged her towards him. 'I'm taking you inside.'
'Stop it!' Abigail pushed him away. Rain plastered her hair to her head. Water ran into her mouth when she opened it to speak. 'Stop giving me orders and telling me what to do!'
'Someone has to. Even a halfwit has the sense to come in out of the rain.'
'I'm sorry you have such a poor opinion of my understanding. Go away.' In the darkness, Abigail saw Gifford make another move towards her. She stepped hastily aside. 'And don't just pick me up and haul me off like a sack of corn.'
'What are you doing out here?' Gifford said through clenched teeth.
'It's none of your business.' Abigail turned her back on him.
'Are you meeting someone?' Gifford's broad chest pressed intimidatingly against her shoulders, crowding into her.
The sky above was dark. The sound of the rain, as it drummed on the cobblestones to one side of them and the trees to the other, isolated them from the rest of the world.
'Meeting...?' Abigail could hardly believe what she'd just heard. She whipped round to face him. Her waterlogged skirts banged against his legs. 'That's a witless question if ever I heard one,' she said scornfully. 'Of course not.'
She felt the expansion of Gifford's chest as he drew in a deep, frustrated breath. 'Then what are you doing
out here?' He sounded at the end of his patience. 'Abby?' He took hold of her upper arms.
It seemed natural to Abigail to rest her palms against his chest. It didn't take any time for her to notice he wasn't wearing a shirt. Of course he wasn't wearing a shirt. It was the middle of the night, when any sensible man would be asleep—and Gifford Raven prowled around half-naked.
'How did you know I was out here?' she asked.
Rain drenched both of them. It sluiced over Gifford's wide shoulders, over his chest and over Abigail's hands. Rivulets of water coursed down her angled forearms and dripped from her elbows onto her already soaking skirts. Water filled her eyes and her ears.
'Of course I knew where you were,' Gifford said irritably. 'I heard you open your door and come downstairs. When you came outside I thought you must be sleepwalking! Perhaps dreaming... No one in their right mind—'
'We've already established I'm only fit for Bedlam!' Abigail interrupted crossly. 'Why weren't you asleep? I thought no one would notice if I came outside.'
'You don't seriously believe I would leave you unguarded in a public inn?' Gifford sounded incensed. 'After everything that has happened?'
'You said I was s-safe in my room alone.'
'You were. I was watching.' Gifford's hands moved from her arms to rest on her upper back. He pulled her a little closer to him.
'I didn't know.' Abigail filled with warm wonder at the knowledge Gifford had been actively guarding her.
'I didn't... Thank you.' She lifted a hand to his rain-wet cheek. 'I should have known you'd take care of me.' She put both arms around his neck and lent against him confidingly.
Gifford cleared his throat. 'So what are you doing out here?' he asked hoarsely.
'I was hot,' she said simply. 'And the rain looked so cool and inviting. I thought no one would know. I can't put my head under the pump the way you can.'
'How do you know about that?'
'The children told me.' Abigail's fingers explored the nape of his neck. 'You are very tall,' she murmured.
'Damned inconvenient at sea,' Gifford growled. 'This is one of your benighted witch tricks, isn't it?'
Abigail laughed softly, feeling a surge of warmth that owed nothing to the hot, hard body pressed against hers. It was an emotion akin to affection, but something deeper and more tender. Gifford shouted at her, insulted her, and ordered her about with no thought for her sensibilities. But he'd guarded her repose, followed her out into the rain—and now he was holding her with care and gentleness.
She slipped the fingers of both hands through the rain-soaked hair at the back of his head, lifting it from his scalp. A warning sound rumbled deep in his chest.
'No one ever suggested I could bewitch them before,' she said breathlessly, intoxicated by the effect she appeared to be having on him. 'It's very k-kind of you to—'
'Dammit! I'm not kind at all,' Gifford said savagely.
He bent his head and fiercely claimed her mouth with his. In the darkness Abigail closed her eyes. She could hear nothing but the rain falling all around them. Her awareness was dominated by her sense of touch and her sense of taste.
Gifford's kiss was flavoured by summer rain—and the faint tang of salt. His mouth was cool when it first touched hers, but his tongue burned against her lips. His kiss was hot and demanding. One hand slid down her back to her waist, and then lower to curve around her bottom, moulding her soaking dress against her body. The heat of his hand scorched through the cold wet muslin, warming her body where no man had ever touched her before. Pleasure pulsed through her. She wriggled against his hand, because it felt so good. He pressed her hard against him. Suddenly they were clamped together from breast to thigh.
Abigail gasped—then gave a small moan of excited discovery. She felt stunned—dizzy—with all the wonderful new sensations bombarding her. The contrast of the cool rain falling on her back with Gifford's scalding, urgently exploring hands. Her soft breasts pressed against the hard wall
of his chest—the solid length of his thighs...
His kisses were hot and fierce. His tongue stroked boldly against her soft lips then confidently invaded her mouth. He tasted wild and dangerous. Abigail lifted herself on to her toes, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she pushed eagerly up to meet his passion.
Gifford groaned. He lowered his head to press his open mouth against the side of her neck. His hands kneaded her buttocks and rocked her against his pelvis.
Excitement soared through Abigail. She couldn't distinguish one overwhelming sensation from another. Gifford's passion was hot, hard and undeniable. Her legs trembled. Her body throbbed in places she hadn't known it was possible to throb. She moaned helplessly, and rested her forehead against Gifford's shoulder, as he kissed her beneath her ear.
Rain fell all around them. Concealing them like a curtain and a blanket in one. It was getting colder, but Abigail burned with arousal.
Gifford went utterly still. He rasped something against her rain-slick skin. Abigail was too passion-dazed to understand what he said.
'W-what?' she gasped. 'What happened?'
'Nothing happened.' An instant later Gifford swept her up in his arms and started to carry her back towards the inn.
'Are we going in now?' Abigail put her arms around his neck and stretched up to kiss his rigid jaw. 'Yes.'
'All right.' She pressed another kiss against his jaw.
Gifford gritted his teeth. Her breath was warm against his cheek. Her body was soft and yielding against his. Desire for her raged through him like an insatiable beast. He was determined to protect her from the consequences of her own innocence, but his mind was clouded by the fumes of his passion. His driving need to satisfy his hard, insistent arousal.
He reached the doorway and paused, tipping his head back to the sky. Rain fell in long straight spears out of the darkness, temporarily blinding him, but doing little to cool his ardour.
He took Abigail inside. He ordered her to bolt the door and pick up the lantern he'd left beside it. He hadn't taken the lantern out into the storm. The light would have interfered with his night vision and might well have been extinguished by the rain.
Gifford's Lady Page 16
