She wanted that moment again, wanted it to go on and on forever.
Unless she could keep him literally in the dark, however, those brief moments of desire were all she would ever have. When they next met, he would see for himself what kept every other man in London at bay. He would know the reason why her only suitor was a man who—while very charming and caring—was likely to marry for no reason greater than his need for an heir.
Given that Richard was also a generous soul and a caring one, she knew he would make every effort to remain friendly. The moonlit kisses, though, were surely a thing of the past.
Still…Abby pressed her fingers against her lips, reliving the tingle of that magical kiss. The evening had delivered much more than she expected when readying herself for the ball. The culmination of a lifelong dream.
Hurrying to her desk, she pulled out several sheets of paper and prepared to put her pen to them. With a broad grin, she shook her pen to start the flow of ink, not caring in her excitement that the ink splattered everywhere.
At last, after all this time, she would have something truly adventurous to tell her friends about. She described in vivid detail each moment she’d shared with Richard on the terrace. How his dark hair had shown in the moonlight. How handsome he looked once again in his red-jacketed uniform of the Scots Guard. How it had hugged his broad shoulders and chest tightly. The number of ribbons and medals decorating the front. The gold braid, the black belt. He’d worn the jacket again with the black trousers beneath it and his shiny boots, but she knew sometimes on state occasions, the guard wore their kilts instead of trousers. With a chuckle she wrote on, speculating on how bonny Richard’s bare legs would look under a tartan kilt.
Then her descriptions turned to the feel of arms around her and her amusement faded. The press of his body against hers, strong and powerful. The taste of champagne on his lips. She drew in a shaky sigh as she laid it all out in brilliant detail. Perhaps she wouldn’t send it along without some editing of the more intimate aspects, but for now it was all there.
Her first kiss.
Perhaps her only kiss with Richard.
She would treasure the memory for the rest of her days.
Chapter 16
Moral wounds have his peculiarity –
They may be hidden, but they never close;
Always painful, always ready to bleed when touched,
They remain fresh and open in the heart.
~ Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
The next afternoon
Richard left Buckingham Palace with a grumble of frustration after waiting all afternoon in hopes of obtaining an audience with the Queen. For hours he’d paced the halls of the visitor’s receiving room, waiting, but to no avail. The Queen wouldn’t be hearing petitions of any sort that day.
That morning, he and Francis had had as little success in gaining an audience with the Prime Minister, Robert Gascoyne-Cecil, the Marquess of Salisbury. It was as if word had spread through the government of their petition and anyone that might be held responsible for the entire affair duly avoided them.
What would they do if they couldn’t gain military support for a rescue mission? It was a question that they might need to consider more seriously in the days to come. Without the support of the War Office, intervention by the Duke of Cambridge as Commander-in-Chief of the Queen’s Armies—or by the Queen herself—was their only likely avenue of hope.
So far, they hadn’t heard whether CB had had any luck with the Duke. Rosebery seemed to have gone to ground. Neither of them had any luck meeting with him as yet, while Stanhope refused to commit his support without further understanding of the mission so far, claiming it was beyond the scope and responsibility of the current administration.
No one was prepared to place himself in a responsible position for the blunder. Beyond that, it seemed to Richard that, so far, neither CB nor Stanhope had been provided any details on the mission beyond those he’d been able to give them, leaving him to wonder who had initiated the command to begin with.
All he did know at this point was that dispatches had been sent out to his own commanding officer, but General Adamson had long since been reassigned to India. Contacting him and receiving the information the others wanted might take more time than they were willing to waste in the waiting.
Mounting his horse, Richard wondered if Francis was having any better luck in tracking down Bertie, as the Prince of Wales was known, at any of the clubs the prince frequented. Though Bertie was something of a womanizer and a roué who the Queen openly despaired would never become a true statesman, Francis thought it might be a good last line of defense to have the prince beg their cause to his mother. But that was reserved as only a last act of desperation.
* * *
At loose ends, and aware that it was nearing the five o’clock hour, Richard turned his mount toward Hyde Park. Again, thoughts of Abby had lingered in his mind throughout the tedious day. No longer was she merely a person of curiosity, however. Today thoughts of her recalled the seductive vixen of the evening before. Their flirtation had led him without warning into an unexpected, yet surprisingly passionate embrace. That simple kiss had whetted his appetite for more. He wanted to plunder and pillage with all the fervor of his Scottish forefathers. He wanted to sink into her with all the tenderness of a besotted lover.
However, the sweetness of her kiss had shown him how truly innocent she was.
He should feel some remorse for taking advantage of her. But he could not. That brief kiss in all its madness had stirred his ardor swiftly to heights he wouldn’t have ever dreamed of when thinking of Abby just weeks before. Yet, there it was. An unimaginable desire for a lass who had become a woman while he wasn’t looking.
And she was all woman now.
Though small in stature, the feel of her petite body against his had shown him that she was a woman grown, with a body made to please a man. Her breasts were full, her waist tiny. The mere sight of her was enough to rouse a man as he considered the thought of how much of the devil there might actually be hidden inside such an angel.
Shifting in his saddle, Richard grimaced, not from the pain in his back this time, but from the pain in his groin. He would have to find a woman, he supposed to relieve the ache, for he had told Jack the truth. He did not intend to pursue Abby. Certainly, he did not intend to put his fantasies into play.
A groan escaped him as he imagined a physical seduction. The bounty of her figure when released from her corset, the breasts that had pressed against his chest, filling his hands. Closing his eyes against the image, he shook his head, calling himself ten times a fool.
He’d be leaving London again soon, no doubt. He wouldn’t dream of seducing and leaving behind any lass, much less one who he actually liked a great deal…or one whose brother had guaranteed his death should he do so.
Aye, Abby was an angel of any man’s dreams, but she was also the lass he’d known since childhood. The wee lassie who’d gone from following in his wake to towing him about with all the command of an infantry officer. She was a fighter, a commander, a virago of the first order who wouldn’t take kindly to being abandoned in such a way. An amused chuckle welled up in Richard’s chest.
All things considered; in the end he might better fear Abby’s wrath than Jack’s.
* * *
Entering the park at the Cumberland Gate, in the reverse of the normal flow of Rotten Row traffic, earned Richard a few glares. He weaved his mount around elegant displays of equipage, mounts of excellent breeding, and the stylish throng of those with both elegance and breeding, content to perambulate through the shady path along the Serpentine with hats or parasols tipped just so. Absently his gaze wandered from woman to woman, but it wasn’t until he caught sight of Abby perched atop a large gelding with Jack by her side that Richard realized he’d gone to the park unconsciously hoping for a glimpse of her.
Hailing the pair, he had only a moment to cast a rueful grin at Jack, who glower
ed a warning back, before Abby caught his full attention.
How many times would he look at her before the sight stopped taking him by surprise? Before his breath didn’t catch at her beauty?
She was dressed in bold color today rather than angelic pastels he’d seen her in before. The bright turquoise color of her linen riding habit was the exact shade of her wide eyes as she peered up at him. Those brilliant eyes were framed by her pale locks that she wore parted sharply in the center. Each side swept low along her temple and cheeks in smooth wings before looping up on the sides at her jaw with a twist into narrow braids that were then woven into the elaborate knot at the back of her head. It was an unusual style but given the Abby’s heart shaped face and doe-like eyes, seemed to suit her very well, drawing attention to those vibrant eyes. Atop her blond head, her small top hat was wound with a band of gathered chiffon veiling that spilled over the brim and across her cheek before being thrown over the opposite shoulder rather like a scarf. It seemed a rather warm day to be wrapped so but the chiffon created a soft halo about her, enhancing the angelic delicacy of her features.
He smiled broadly, as he maneuvered his horse next to hers. “Good afternoon, Abby.”
“Richard,” she offered stiffly.
She didn’t smile or greet him in any other way. Instead, it seemed that she was displeased to see him or even indifferent to his appearance, going so far as to turn away from him as she slowed her mount, dropping back.
Her reaction bewildered him. She was the Abby he’d met that first night at the Rosebery ball all over again. While that other-worldliness was enough to bring most men to their knees, he preferred the sass and fiery animation that had lit her features the previous night.
Did she think he would not? Did she believe men preferred such unapproachable perfection? Such detachment? Perhaps some men might appreciate the challenge that breaking through that icy exterior represented, he allowed. He wasn’t one of them. He tended, as most Scotsmen did, to like a lass with fire in her soul.
What a difference a handful of years made. For many a year, Abby had seemed forever in his business, always trying to get his attention. Now it seemed, he wanted hers more than she desired his.
Or perhaps, in the light of day, she was merely embarrassed by their embrace. She might believe that he thought her fast for engaging in such an intimate moment with a man she wasn’t married or engaged to. It didn’t seem in her character, as he remembered her, to be put off by protocol or propriety, but he acknowledged that it had been some years since he had seen her.
People changed. He was a fine example of just how much a person might do so. Any urges toward reckless behavior that he might once have had were long gone.
Casting an inquiring glance across the widening gap at Jack, all Richard received in return was a dismissive shrug that offered no explanation for her cool behavior. Of course, Jack was likely to prefer the indifference she was showing now when compared to their behavior on the terrace.
Determined to put Abby at ease, Richard decided not to mention the previous evening, but rather, simply enjoy the company of friends. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do so in the past few years, given his mission and more recent incarceration.
Jack cleared his throat with open annoyance, drawing his attention. His friend scowled at, but Richard could only shrug away the unspoken question. He could provide no answer as to why he’d been drawn so undeniably to Abby.
He only knew that he was.
“Any luck today?” Jack asked after a moment of conveying his displeasure in silence.
Well, that was enough to recall Richard’s attention. “Nay, none.”
“Stanhope?”
“Tight-lipped so far.”
“Rosebery?”
“Haven’t tracked him down yet.”
Abby’s interest was clear as she edged closer almost coming abreast with them once more. She’d always been one to be overly interested in the affairs of others. Such cryptic conversation was sure to lure her from her silence.
Jack released a harsh laugh. “Figures. How about Salisbury? You might as well try to go straight to the top.”
“Tried for a bit higher today, but the Queen wasn’t available.”
“Available for what?”
From the corner of his eye, Richard saw Abby bite her lip even as the question escaped her. She was curious but was hesitant to show it, to show any interest in him at all. He couldn’t help but wonder why when it was easy to see that she wanted to know what they were speaking of. When, as a lifelong friend, it was more than acceptable for her to ask.
Before he could respond, a young lad of less than a dozen years trotted up to them on a small mare. Breathlessly he handed her a handkerchief. “I found it, Abby. I told you I would.”
“Thank you, Sandy.” She offered him a warm smile, questions forgotten. “I don’t know how I dropped it.” She leaned over to take the cloth from the lad before straightening and tossing Richard a fretful glance. She fidgeted with her veil.
“Who’s this?” Richard asked.
“This is our brother, Alexander, though we call him Sandy,” Abby told him. “Sandy, this is Richard MacKintosh. He’s an old friend of Jack’s.”
“And yours,” he reminded her with a smile as he leaned over to shake the lad’s outstretched hand. So, this was the youngest Merrill. “Good to meet you, lad.”
Sandy was a big for being just eight years of age or so. In fact, Richard wagered that the lad was probably near Abby’s size if she were to dismount. He had dark brown hair and, aye, startling golden eyes.
Cocking a brow at Jack, he said, “I can see where the problems started.”
Sandy did bear a startling resemblance to his older brother…or uncle, if the truth were told.
“Aye, I can see it now, when I couldn’t years ago,” Jack acknowledged. “Today is the first time I’ve met him, did you know?”
“Really?” Richard couldn’t imagine not meeting a brother for the first time until years later. As it was, he was nearly as anxious to return home to his hoard of eight younger siblings as he was to return to Egypt to retrieve the one. “How is it so far?”
He glanced back at Abby, who shrugged, but Jack was more optimistic. “He’s a good lad, and we’re getting to know one another, aren’t we, Sandy?”
“Aye, Jack has been telling me all about the trouble he got into when he was my age,” Sandy said happily.
“Now that might take a long while.”
Richard chuckled aloud and was pleased to hear a more choked version escape Abby. She might pretend to stand apart from the world, but the lass he’d long known wasn’t one to be a stranger to humor for long…especially when it was directed at her brother.
“Very amusing,” Jack grimaced.
“And we’re not to tell Father that we met up with Jack today either,” Sandy added.
“Nay, we are not.” Jack touched a large bruise on his jaw tenderly before pulling his mount to a halt near a large oak that branched out over the Serpentine. “Sandy, I must say that I’ve long wondered if this tree might be good for a spot of climbing. You think you might give it a go, lad?”
“You cannot climb a tree in Hyde Park, Jack,” Abby chided with exasperation.
“I would never,” Jack smiled. “I’m much too old to dare. Sandy, however, is just about the right age to give it a try.”
Dismounting, Jack urged Sandy to do the same, which the boy did with enthusiasm.
Richard dismounted, as well, and rounded Abby’s mount. She was frowning fiercely at her brothers. “Come, angel. Walk with me for a bit while they have their fun.”
She glanced down at him then back to her brothers who were already testing the lowest branches of the oak. With a sigh, she relented. “Oh, very well.”
Reaching up, he grasped her around her tiny waist and lifted her from the saddle. Wee thing that she was, she weighed nothing as he lowered her slowly to the ground. He let her body slide the length of his,
enjoying the surprise that widened her eyes as her breasts brushed against his chest. Her cheeks were a rosy pink by the time her toes touched the ground.
She ducked her head, in shy embarrassment, he thought as he offered his arm. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
She eschewed the arm he offered, instead moving around to take his right arm. With the hoots and hollers of laughter from the two Merrill lads behind them, he led her along the edge of the Serpentine.
The silence between them hung heavily with none of the comfort of years past. He couldn’t imagine what had her so tense. He continued to look steadily at her, waiting for her to meet his eye while she gazed resolutely away, as if she were determined not to give him what he wanted.
Finally, it seemed that her natural inquisitiveness was too much for her to overcome, for she asked softly, “How are Vin and Jason? Moira wrote that she saw them last year before you left for Burma. Are they in London as well or did they go home?”
Her simple question jolted Richard back to reality. As it had the previous night, just a few moments with her had made him forget his mission. She made him forget about his brother, forget about Jason. Forget that there was a sister, a father, a grandfather out there who still had no idea of what had become of Jason. So many others were wondering at the fate of his other comrades.
As he wondered.
They gnawed away at him, those obsessive thoughts. He couldn’t sleep and barely ate. He needed to be in Egypt searching for them, freeing them from the rebels who held them…if they still lived. Not walking in the park with a beautiful lass on his arm as if he hadn’t a care in the world. What was it about her that made him so easily forget his purpose?
“What is it?”
Richard knew his thoughts must have been showing on his face if Abby had seen his upset so easily. Suddenly it was he who could not face her, who didn’t want to have another look upon him and see his torment. But as he gazed out over the water, the words slipped out he could stop them.
All You Could Ask For Page 9
