All You Could Ask For

by Angeline Fortin

  “He’s not going to help, is he?”

  Francis shook his head tightly. “Hard to say. He’s a reasonable man and fairly liberal but CB has ambitions. He won’t step on any toes too hard even if it is the right thing to do. The problem is that, in the proper course, we need Cambridge too, and CB cannot tolerate the fellow. Neither can Stanhope, for that matter. They think the duke is stagnating the British Armies and want to see him out.”

  “He is,” Richard agreed. “You forget, Cambridge was the one who commanded our forces when we first laid siege to Alexandria. It was a fight between him and my battalion commander, Connaught, each time a decision needed to be made. Cambridge cares about the soldiers but has little imagination when building our military. I’ve heard he once said, ‘There is a time for everything and the time for change is when you can no longer help it.’”

  That drew a snort of laughter from his brother and they both relaxed a bit.

  “Cambridge truly does care about his men,” Richard repeated. “I can’t believe that he would knowingly allow good men to suffer without trying to do something for them.”

  “I wish I knew who had the final call on this one,” Francis answered. “I had thought that CB would step up on this on his own, but we may need more pull.”

  “We’ll find it. We have to.”

  “Without doubt, the Duke of Cambridge will be at an event given by Haddington,” Francis said thoughtfully. “They are old friends from years back. Abby mentioned an invitation; I wonder what it was for?”

  “A ball tomorrow night,” Richard told him and added, when his brother’s brows rose curiously. “Sara mentioned it. She, uh, said it was her sister’s engagement ball. They’ve another sister, don’t they?”

  “Catharine.” His brother nodded. “Bit flighty, that one. Can’t imagine whom she would get to marry her. Might be Abby, though. That was Aylesbury who took her away for the dance. Everyone knows he’s been on the hunt for a wife since the old marquis died last year. She couldn’t do better. Are you ready to leave then? I think we should leave Stanhope to CB and focus on Rosebery in the morning.”

  Richard hesitated before nodding shortly. Though he had been reluctant to attend the ball at all, he was suddenly more hesitant to leave. However, he knew his brother detested attending any social function, especially since the petition for his divorce was being heard in Parliament. A decade of marriage to Vanessa Fane had been a been more burden than a man should bear. Sitting through hours of testimony from witnesses to her rampant infidelities was beginning to wear on Francis. Facing the busybodies at social functions only made it worse.

  To make the entire matter even more distasteful, Vanessa’s father, the Earl of Westmoreland, was fighting the petition publicly. As Palmer had insinuated, Glenrothes had used up most of his favors just to see the petition come before Parliament, beating Westmoreland at his own game to see the issue pigeon-holed.

  With all that he’d been through in Egypt, and in the battles fought before that, Richard knew there could be no worse fate than what his brother suffered through now. The public humiliation of being a cuckold, the gossip flying wildly through the ton dogging his ever step. It took more bravery to step into Society and face that than it did to face a firing squad intent on your death.

  For his brother’s sake, Richard hoped it ended soon.

  And for the love of his brother, Richard was prepared to leave the ball still wondering whose engagement ball he would be attending the next night.

  It nagged at him, unreasonably so.

  Chapter 12

  The very essence of romance is uncertainty.

  ~ Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

  The townhome of Lord and Lady Boughton

  46 Belgrave Square, London

  The next evening

  A day apart from their last meeting, and the knowledge that the woman he had been lusting after was none other than a lifelong friend, should have cooled Richard’s unexpected ardor. That it hadn’t was surprising. That Abby had lingered in his mind throughout the entire day when he should having been paying mind to far more urgent concerns, was even more astonishing.

  The unusual heat of the late spring day had carried into the evening, leaving the Boughton’s large ballroom uncomfortably warm, despite the row of open doors leading to the terraces at the rear. Still, it was brightly lit and filled with a crush of overdressed bodies and the scent of flowers just barely masking the odor of them all.

  Richard noticed none of it as he watched Abby circle the ballroom in Aylesbury’s arms once again. What he did notice was that the years since he’d last seen Abby Merrill had served her well. Though he’d thought her angelic in pale pink the night before, she was a goddess in the ivory gown she wore this evening. The cut was modest with a high collar in the rear and heart-shaped neckline that dipped only low enough to invite a curious glance. Again, instead of baring her shoulders in the popular fashion, tight sleeves with lace cuffs covered her arms to the elbow. The slightly golden cast of the shimmering silk was a near perfect match to her hair, which shone in the candlelight of the huge crystal chandelier that hung above them. Her skin was as pale and translucent as the pearls she wore around her neck.

  As demure as she appeared, the sight of her in her evening gown snatched his breath away, leaving him gasping for air. She appeared poised and sophisticated yet conversely so young and innocent. He wondered how old she was now, trying to think back over the years he’d known her. It seemed like forever. She’d been a fixture in his life for as long as he could recall. He pictured her as a child in long braids and short skirts only because that was how he’d always remembered wee Abby through the years.

  It was hard to hold that image in his mind now with her looking as she did. Abby looked nothing like a child now. Her eyes last night were not filled with the mischief of the past, the laughter. Her gaze was serene and unruffled, unaffected. Where is that grubby lass who trailed behind me for years on end? Where is that impish grin that always seemed to grace your face?

  Who is this stunning woman before me?

  The music faded away and Richard watched her leave the dance floor on Aylesbury’s arm, noting the mesmerizing sway of her bustle and swish of her long train as she departed. His pulse raced in response…and then his irritation swelled when that bloody marquis dipped his head down and whispered in her ear, drawing a low chuckle from her.

  Bloody hell. Was it her engagement ball or not?

  Though the question had lingered in the back of his mind through the course of the day, it only just occurred to him that he should’ve looked at the damned invitation. But Vin, Jace, and their futures had dominated his thoughts, making everything else—including his curiosity—seem insignificant in comparison.

  Until now.

  When it seemed the height of foolishness to ask the question of his hosts.

  His grandmother, Lady Hyde, would know, he realized. When he approached her for the information, however, she latched on to his arm with the obvious intention of introducing him to each eligible miss they came across. Richard tried to excuse himself, citing the need to help Francis in their search of the Duke of Cambridge.

  His granny ignored his hints and so he, in turn, ignored her as she tried to wheedle him into asking any of the ladies to dance. He was long out of practice and not yet completely healed from his injuries. As a result, he was disinclined to make a fool of himself before the entirety of the ton by bungling his first dance before them all.

  Instead, he tracked Abby and her escort about the room, listening with half an ear to the chatter around him but hearing nothing useful among their gossip to answer his questions.

  “Richard?”

  It didn’t help that Abby danced but one dance during that first hour and that with Aylesbury before retreating to the terrace on his arm. He watched them go, wondering if the pair merely walked the promenade together or something more.

  Then wondered why it mattered.

&nbs
p; “Richard?”

  “Aye, Gran?” he said absently, watching the terrace door.

  Moments later, Aylesbury returned…alone.

  “This is Lady Elizabeth…”

  It was the height of rudeness to his grandmother and the poor lass she was trying to introduce him to, but…

  “I’m sorry, Gran. Please excuse me.”

  Slipping out the terrace doors, he found the terrace and small garden beyond nearly deserted, though the cool evening air should have been a welcome respite to those crowding the stuffy ballroom. Glancing around, it took but a moment to locate her. Elbows on the stone balustrade, she leaned into the night, her bottom thrust out behind her as she swayed enticingly back and forth to the rhythm of the music drifting through the open doors. In the dim light, she looked so damned lovely, so otherworldly, it was hard to imagine her baiting a hook now.

  Hard to remember how young she must be. He considered that once more, thinking back.

  Surely, she was not more than seventeen or eighteen. If she were out in Society, she had to be at least that old. Richard might have been only twenty-six, but with all he had done and all he had seen, he felt much older. World-weary. Jaded, in comparison to her beatific innocence.

  Perhaps, that was how he should remember her, he chastised himself. Innocent. Untouchable. Abby was his friend, a life-long companion. It was ill done of him to think anything other than friendly thoughts now.

  * * *

  “This is a very fine address. It surprises me that your father would choose to live here.”

  The deep Scottish brogue broke the silence heralding the moment Abby had both anticipated and dreaded all day. What would he do? What would he say? What would she say?

  Last night had come as such a total surprise and their meeting was so brief that she’d given little consideration to her appearance. In the twenty-four hours since then, she’d had more than enough time to consider it…and enough time to feel her nerves begin to jangle and her stomach to knot.

  Tonight, the possibility—no, the probability—of seeing him again was high, and she’d done her best to prepare. She’d spent the day worrying over every aspect of her appearance, as she hadn’t since arriving in London. In the past several months, she’d taken to wearing her hair drawn tightly back in the current fashion, inviting one and all to take a good hard look at her. To gasp and grimace at their leisure.

  Let them get it over with.

  However, tonight was different. She’d allowed her maid, Meg, to experiment with other styles, as she had been begging to do. Reaching up now, Abby skimmed a finger down the edge of her hair from the middle part, along the sloping wing that just touched the corner of her eye, and down her cheek before looping back up beneath her ear. Though she had refused to look at the result, the worst of her scarring seemed hidden, but the coverage was never complete. A long look was all it would take for him to notice it.

  Gathering her courage, Abby glanced at Richard through her lashes to find him watching her intently, waiting for an answer. “Oona might have liked it, but you’re correct. This is my grandparents’ townhouse. Father rented a new house on Mount Street. It’s very nice and fashionably upcoming but too small for a gathering of more than fifty people. When Gram offered this place for the ball, I rather thought Oona would swallow her own tongue. I must admit to rather enjoying the moment.”

  Abby bit her lip hard to halt her prattling. Gracious, she sounded like Sara now. So much for her preparations. Apparently, her appearance wasn’t all she should have been considering. Swallowing back the tight knot that lodged in her throat, she was uncertain how to proceed. The only thing she felt certain of was that her weak knees were sure to give out, and she was would cast up her accounts at any moment.

  Silence fell around them. Casting another look at Richard, she found him shifting from one foot to the other. Impatiently? With boredom? Having attempted conversation, was he ready to escape the inanity of her response?

  What would her friends tell her to do? Would they urge her to pursue him? Or would they tell her to give it up, and accept what would surely be a happily contented life with Harry? Would they understand the insecurity she was experiencing?

  She wrote to her friends often and received many letters in return, but Abby acknowledged with some guilt that she had played them all false in the past several years. In her letters, she was the girl of years past, lively and adventurous. Living out on paper the life she might have once had, rather than revealing a life of social withdrawal. Was that fiery girl gone, Abby wondered? Or simply buried deep inside?

  Moira and Eve would never have allowed her to deteriorate into the insecure ninny she’d become. Oh, Kitty might tenderly pat her hand and assure her that all would be well, but Eve would’ve grabbed her by the hand and pulled her, kicking and screaming, into the eye of the storm while Moira pushed from behind.

  A smile tugged the corner of her lips as Abby considered the image of her friends yanking her into a crowd while Kitty pleaded with them to let her be. Or better yet, the lot of them urging her toward Richard, insisting she take a chance. Insisting she find the courage to fight for what she had always wanted.

  She glanced at him again, wavering in her course of action. His eyes slid down, before drifting back upward just as they had the night before. Those mesmerizing eyes lingered at her bosom for just a moment, but it was long enough for her to finally understand what that meant. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  It had never occurred to her that he would look at her and see a woman, an attractive woman. Confidence clashed with nerves and Abby ran her finger down the edge of her hair once more. The lighting was dim on the terrace, leaving her cast only in moonlight. How much could he see? Did he like what he saw? That long assessment he gave her from head to toe left her thinking that he just might, and her body tingled with longing.

  That look, combined with the security of the darkness, roused a daring that her friends couldn’t have produced with all the prodding in the world. This was her chance, perhaps her only chance, to take part in a flirtation with Richard before the harsh light of day stole any further chances.

  Turning to lean against the terrace railing, Abby tapped her fan against her lips before asking in a throaty voice, “Did you follow me out here, Richard?”

  “Perhaps.” There was a smile in his voice.

  “Why would you do that, when didn’t even remember me?”

  “That I dinnae recognize ye doesn’t mean I dinnae remember ye,” he argued in his husky brogue, taking a step toward her.

  He didn’t often slip into the soft burr of their homeland and she couldn’t help but think that he did it for effect. He had to be aware of how the sound sent a shiver of excitement up a woman’s spine.

  “Are ye angry wi’ me then for not recognizing ye last night? Ye must realize that physically ye’ve changed a great deal.”

  Abby ran her fan against along her collarbone and turned her face away from him, sliding a step deeper into the shadows. “Perhaps.”

  To her satisfaction, Richard followed. A roguish grin turned up the corner of his gorgeous mouth drew her attention so fully, she nearly missed what he was saying.

  “What I mean is, the Abby Merrill I recall from years past was a hoyden and a brat. A grubby lass. Ye’ve become Lady Abygail in the years since, an incredibly lovely, sophisticated lady. Ye were always engaging, yet now yer aloof.”

  “Aloof?” In her surprise, she dropped the seductive pose she’d been holding. True, she hadn’t a lot of experience in the art of flirtation, but she’d seen Oona in similar situations with positive results. “How am I aloof?”

  “Ye’re out here alone in the dark, greeting an old friend, a soldier back from war, without even a smile?” he asked. “Where is the lass I remember?”

  “Perhaps that girl is gone.”

  “That would be too bad.” He sidled closer until he was able to trace a finger across the back of her free hand. “For I loved her dearly.”


  Abby’s back touched the wall. She leaned against it for support as Richard prowled into the darkness after her. For all his banter, he did seem to be sounding more flirtatious than brotherly. It bolstered her confidence.

  “Perhaps you might love the lady I’ve become as dearly.”

  “Och, but ladies are no’ for sisterly affection,” he said softly, employing his voice as a lethal weapon still.

  “What kind of affection are they for then?”

  “Yer far too young to ken.”

  A slow smile curled her lip. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined luring Richard MacKintosh into a dark corner. Even if her imaginings would have carried her so far, she would never have dreamed that the seductive brogue she’d heard so long ago might be directed at her.

  This was her moment. Her moment, to take what she wanted. The shadows gave her strength. Hidden in their depths, Abby felt bold…wild, even, for the first time in years. More like herself. More like the person she wanted to be.

  As she hadn’t in an age, she had the confidence and circumstances to make something happen for herself. She embraced the moment.

  “I would wager not.”

  With that, she pressed herself against her long-lost love and looped an arm around his neck. Pulling his head down, her lips met his in a kiss filled with all the longing she carried with her over the last ten years.

  Richard jerked in shock as her lips touched his. He’d been enjoying their flirtatious banter perhaps more than he should. Abby’s transformation into this sultry seductress set his groin aching with unexpected arousal. Still, he hadn’t expected this.

  Despite his intention to pull away, her dewy lips clinging to his filled him with unanticipated hunger. Giving himself over to the sensation, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back hungrily. The emptiness and loneliness he’d suffered for the past month poured out of him.

  Lifting her off her feet, he pulled the length of her body against his. A growl of pleasure started deep in his throat as her fingers plunged into his hair and curled, pulling and urging his mouth to explore more deeply. He did, parting her lips and sweeping his tongue across hers. Feeling a tremor shake her as he did so.