She truly could have, he realized as the reality of the damage settled in. A blow to the head such as either of those might have been enough to kill her. She might easily have been lost forever, and he wouldn’t have known. He would never have known her as the woman she was today, would never have known how she could make his heart and body quiver with longing. Richard would never have known how precious she was to him.
His arms tightened around her as the revelations became clear and after a few moments, Abby stopped pushing against him and sank into his embrace with a sigh. For a long while he held her like that, thankful for her life.
Then he recalled what he had heard below stairs.
“I think perhaps that Oona and our sisters have done you a great disservice.” He broke the silence, stepping away. “I had the misfortune of overhearing your stepmother’s words to you when I arrived.”
Abby’s cheeks reddened with shame.
“She’s a spiteful bitch who cannot countenance that you’ve grown more beautiful than she,” he said flatly. Jack had told him that the woman had long been envious of her stepdaughter’s beauty, what better way to counter it than by diminishing Abby’s natural self-confidence, taking away what Richard thought was her most attractive quality? “She thinks to belittle you into feeling less than perfect, by expounding on flaws that are insignificant. You don’t truly believe such nonsense, do you?”
She shrugged but it was enough to incense him.
“Good God, angel! You cannot be serious?”
“Everyone thinks so, Richard, not just Oona.”
“Everyone? Like who?”
“My sisters.”
“Jack tells me that Sara and Catharine are empty headed pieces of fluff who are just as superficial as Oona raised them to be.”
Again, she shrugged, but this time he could make out just a hint of a smile. “Jack can be very blunt.”
“I’m sure that Jack and I both see the same thing when we look at you, Abby. Nay, don’t look away from me again. Don’t hide from me. The only thought that crosses my mind when seeing those scars is that you could have been killed. That is all, but in truth, it doesn’t matter what I think or what anyone else thinks.” He traced the line once more. “It only matters what you think. When you see those scars, are you as thankful for your life as you should be, angel? Or do you see what you think everyone else does?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?” he pressed. “Do you see the hideousness Oona taunts you with, or do you see what anyone with a lick of sense sees?”
Abby stared at him so blankly that Richard gnashed his teeth in frustration. “It’s a simple question. Come, tell me. What do you see?”
She just shook her head, and finally, he realized what was missing in her room. There was no mirror to be found, not even over the vanity.
“Are you serious? You’ve never looked?”
“I’ve looked,” she quickly denied but he could hear the half-truth in her words.
“When?” he asked, then repeated more fiercely. “When, Abby? When did you look? Last year? Last month? When?”
“It’s none of your business!”
“When?”
“When it happened!” she replied at a near screech, all of her pain and frustration finally coming to the surface, before she dropped her face into her hands.
“Then I think perhaps the greatest disservice is the one you’ve done to yourself,” Richard said more softly.
Pulling away from her, he looked about the room before moving into the attached dressing room, returning moments later with a large framed mirror in his hands. He knew there had to be one about. Any leased residence after all would have been fully furnished for its tenants. He set the mirror on the dressing table and leaned it back against the wall. Abby was still on the other side of the room, so he went to retrieve her, taking her by the hand and forcing her to the table.
He turned her toward the glass, his hands firmly on her shoulders to keep her there.
“Look in the mirror, Abby, and tell me what you see.”
Chapter 22
Love looks not with the eyes
but with the mind.
~ William Shakespeare from A Midsummer’s Night Dream
Abby knew the mirror was right in front of her but couldn’t bear to open her eyes. She knew what she would see, the scars on her hip and side were a ready clue to what awaited her. If that weren’t enough, the lingering stares, the painful winces of the people she met told her clearly enough. Richard might think that Oona had done her a disservice by making sure Abby was aware of how bad she looked but she did not agree.
Those not-so-gentle jabs had more than prepared her for what her London Season had delivered in abundance. Oona had made it clear that no man would be prepared to wed her without the powerful lure of a dowry, and she was right. She was certain even Harry Brudenall, as likeable as he was, had an ulterior motive for pursuing her.
“Abby, open your eyes,” Richard commanded again from just behind her.
“I cannot bear to,” she whispered through trembling lips.
“Abby?”
A single tear slipped down her cheek. “You don’t understand! You can’t know what it’s like to have people look at you with horror. When all you have is a small claim to beauty with little else to recommend you, to have it taken away from you. All I have left is everyone’s pity!”
“Why do you need anyone else’s when you have your own?”
Her eyes opened wide with astonishment before releasing her breath in a rush. “You’re right, of course. But it happened to me. It ruined my life!”
“Nay, it didn’t, but you are. You’ve got beauty, though I know that even if you bothered to look in that mirror you wouldn’t see it. It not just physical. You’ve far more beauty in your soul than I.”
“The physical is all people care about, nothing else.”
“You won’t even look?”
Eyes tightly shut again, she shook her head stubbornly. “No.”
“Then look at me instead.”
Yes, that she could certainly bear.
Abby opened her eyes and met Richard’s in the mirror. He was so beautiful, inside and out, despite his rotten words regarding his soul. All the MacKintosh lads were lovely to look at, of course, but to her mind he was the most compelling. Though the merriment of youth no longer lingered on his face, the slightly drawn countenance she saw showed a man of character, a man who cared for others more than himself. She loved that about him.
She loved everything about him.
She studied him as he watched until she met his eyes once more.
“Now look at you.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles and her eyes were unwillingly drawn to the spot where her skin flamed before fading with a tingle. “What do you see?”
The scar was blatantly visible as his hand dropped away. For the first time in five years, she looked, seeing nothing else. It was like a beacon to her, pulsating against her flushed skin.
Nothing could be so awful. No wonder everyone stared.
“Do you know what I see?” he asked when she did not answer. The question prompted Abby to again shut her eyes tightly as if to brace herself for his criticism. “I see eyes like the sea, green and blue, and so churning with feeling that sometimes it’s difficult to look away from them. When I do, though, I see a woman who mystifies me with her beauty.”
“How can you say that?” she choked out, tears filling her eyes at his lovely words.
Richard was silent for just a moment before whispering softly into her ear, “We all have scars, angel, some more visible than others. Some on the outside, some on our souls.”
“It’s hideous.”
Even as she said the words, Abby knew it wasn’t as awful as she’d always feared. Certainly not as bad as it had been years ago. She studied it once more, trying to be objective. Granted, it was no sliver of a scar, no fine line, but the swelling she
remembered was gone. The bruising had faded. The scabbed, puckered tear had healed over the years until only a wide, glossy smooth, white crescent against the blush of her cheeks remained. Looking at it made her recall the pain of the impact but not the revulsion that had filled her before.
“It is hideous. Everyone knows it,” she insisted, though her words had lost their heat.
“You want hideous?” he challenged. “Look at this.”
Richard yanked his shirt out of his trousers and lifted it, presenting her with his back. For a moment, Abby was too taken aback by the sight of his dark skin to even notice what he was showing her. On his lower back to the right was scar about the size of a guinea. It was grossly textured but nothing in comparison. Then he turned.
“The exit wound,” he added quietly.
To her mind, it appeared as if a small animal had attempted to claw its way from Richard’s body. It was very red and angry, but, of course, it was a recent wound. The flesh was mottled and rigid from the bullet’s tearing departure. For all the physical damage, he couldn’t help but be amazed that he’d been able to avoid internal damage as the bullet tore through him.
And thankful.
She saw the wound but thought only of him and his suffering…his miraculous survival. Hadn’t he asked if she saw the same when she looked at her own scars?
Was that all he truly saw? Was it all she should see as well? A second chance?
With a swallow, she pulled unbuttoned her tight cuff to the elbow before rolling it up to show him the perfect horseshoe mark on her arm. With raised brows, Richard shed his jacket and rolled up his own sleeve to reveal a wide white line across his upper arm that stood in stark contrast to his dark skin.
“Saber.”
Abby tugged her sleeve from her shoulder and showed him the scars on her shoulder. They were a particularly vicious trio of wide, shiny moons.
“Horse.”
He gave a little snort of dismissal, his eyes rolling with sudden humor. Tugging off his cravat, he loosened his collar to reveal another jagged wound on his upper chest.
“Shrapnel.”
A reluctant smile tugged the corner of Abby’s lips before she thoughtlessly tugged up her skirts to her thigh and thrust a hip toward him to display the series of ridged, half-circles that marred the skin above her silk stockings.
“Very large horse.”
Richard, however, did not share in her humor. His eyes no longer alight with amusement. Instead, his green eyes darkened as he studied her flesh.
Richard stared down at Abby’s exposed limb with a sudden surge of hunger. For a woman so tiny, her slim leg was surprisingly long and muscular. Her sheer, pale pink silk stockings hugged every curve and dip right up to the lacy garters tied just above her knee. Then came the creamy expanse of her thigh, soft and silken. He swallowed painfully looking at that limb, clenching his fists to keep himself from reaching out and caressing the inviting flesh.
“Perhaps it would be best if…I believe I made my point.”
“Is something wrong?”
There was confusion in her voice but when he looked up at her face once more, he had the misfortune of doing so just in time to watch her tongue dart out to wet her lips with innocent allure. He bit back a groan.
It had been too long.
Long enough that almost any woman would do but to have a woman like Abygail Merrill baring her flesh to him was almost too much to bear.
“All those years we spent together, I never saw you as more than a child, more a lad than a lassie. You were like just another brother at times. It took seeing you again after all this time to see the woman in you. You stunned me from that first moment we met again.”
“Really?” Her voice held surprise and more than a little disbelief. For which part of his ill-considered confession, he had no idea.
Yanking his cravat back around his neck, he turned away. “You should tidy yourself.”
“Do I truly stun you?” She made no move to fix her bodice though she did drop her skirts once more. “You didn’t even recognize me.”
“That’s because you didn’t look anything like the scamp I remembered,” he told her, once again surprised by his candid admission. He was even more astonished to hear himself continue, “I’d never seen anyone look so angelic, so perfect.”
Abby shuddered at the word and turned away. “Don’t say that.”
“Why ever not?” he asked. “You are a vision to behold. Each time I lay eyes on you, I’m taken aback by your exquisiteness.”
Taking her arm, he turned her back to face him. When she tilted her head back to look up at him, his hands reached up of their own accord to gently cup her face.
“You may believe as you like, but you’re wrong. Any man worth his salt would see only the beauty you are. This,”—He brushed his lips across her forehead and cheek—“is nothing. I cannot even see it in the shadows of your radiance.”
Abby trembled as his lips touched her scarred flesh, but his words made her quiver even more. Did he truly mean his words? They were more poetic and heartfelt than anything she’d ever heard from him before, but then she’d never been the object of his seduction. She wanted to believe him though. Wanted to cling to those words.
“Richard.” Her voice trembled with longing.
“I should leave now.”
He was embarrassed by his words. Yet she felt certain that he didn’t necessarily regret them. He did find her beautiful and abruptly she felt beautiful and powerful, as well. Or perhaps powerfully uncertain.
“Richard?” She ran a hand up his chest, savoring the heat of his skin radiating through the linen of his shirt. His heart beat rapidly against her palm. The pace matched her own though his breathing hitched at her touch.
She wanted to do something to show him how touching his words were, how far they went to heal her. A kiss, perhaps, but his head was tilted back, high and away from her. Out of her reach and his body was a tense as steel, as if he could will her touch away though he made no effort to remove himself.
With few other options, she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth to the opening of his shirtfront, her lips meeting the hot flesh of his hard chest.
“Abby,” he whispered, his brogue suddenly more pronounced. “Watch what ye do, lass.”
It was a warning but even as he said it, Richard’s hand slid into the hair at the back of her head. He urged her head back farther to look at him. His mossy green eyes were turbulent, his brow tightly knit. He looked angry, but…not, Abby thought. Then his gaze shifted to her lips and she knew. She knew he was thinking about kissing her and knowing no other way to issue the invitation, closed her eyes and stretched up against him.
“My God, angel,” he breathed with a groan. His fingers curled into her scalp. “Do ye ken what yer about?”
“Yes, Richard. I’m hoping you’ll kiss me,” she confessed softly. “If you don’t want to, that’s all right but...”
His mouth descended across hers, effectively cutting off her words. Abby thrilled as their lips met, filling her with the same heat, that same passionate urgency she had felt the other night. Slipping her arms under his loose shirt, she skimmed her hands along his hard stomach and around his back, reveling in his groan of pleasure. His skin was hot and smooth beneath her palms. She lifted her hands to his chest, pushing his shirt up as she went. With a grumble, he released her before shedding his waistcoat and shirt in short order. She marveled at muscles that rippled across his chest and abdomen. It had been many a year since she’d been so privileged to see his bared chest. He’d changed over the years, filling out the lean frame from lad to man. If his recent imprisonment had resulted in any weight loss, she would be hard pressed to find where it had been lost.
He was beautiful in form, broad and powerful.
She reveled in the strength of his muscles flexing as he reached lower, boldly cupping her bottom and lifting her against him, capturing her lips once again.
“Oh, Richard
.” She sighed when his mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck. His chin chafed lightly against her skin, prompting Abby to run her fingers along his jaw, exploring the roughened texture of an unseen beard. She loved the feel of it abrading her palm but wanted more—oh, so much more.
Curling her fingers into his hair, she urged his mouth to hers once more. Parting her lips, she invited him to explore her as she longed to discover him. With a groan, Richard capitulated, his mouth plundering hers until her head was swimming. A low moan came from deep within her. A sound of longing and surrender.
Richard must have recognized it for what it was, for he laid her back on her bed and lowered himself on top of her. The hard pressure of his body above her a sharp contrast to the soft yielding beneath her. His hands, freed from holding her up, came up to her shoulders, pushing her dress down allowing his teeth to rake across her collarbone and his lips to caress the soft flesh of her swelling breasts.
“By God, but I want ye, angel.”
Chapter 23
I can resist anything except temptation.
~ Oscar Wilde from Lady Windermere’s Fan
Richard couldn’t deny his thickly worded confession, nor could he deny that her reflexive response to wrap herself about him and draw him even more tightly against her lithe body thrilled him.
“It surprises me, knowing ye as long as I have. It amazes me with its intensity. I feel rash and impulsive when just days ago I had thought I had no recklessness remaining in me anymore. Yet here I am aching with want, with desire.” He punctuated the words by pressing his hips against hers, drawing her attention to his rampant hardness. He wanted to take her, lose himself in her, but his conscience nagged at him. Unable to stop that tiny voice from niggling at him, he added more calmly, “But I cannot have you, I know. Nor should I want to. You are too innocent, and I promised your brother. He would kill me on the spot, if he saw us now.”
“Jack doesn’t rule my life.”
All You Could Ask For Page 13
