The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

by Rachel Van Dyken

  The minute her lips touched his, he pushed at her and cursed. “Abby, I swear sometimes…” Cursing again, he ran his fingers through his glossy black hair. “You want to know why everyone treats you like a child?”

  She could already feel the tears pooling in her eyes.

  “It is because you have no grasp on reality. You refuse to see people as people. You see everything as a chess game. Little pieces you can move however you want. Your only goal is to win the game. You tease, you flirt, you play—without a care in the world for whom you might hurt in the process. You want to stop being treated like a child? Stop acting like one.”

  Swearing again, he scowled and stormed back into the house, leaving Abby outside in the cool night air. Tears rained down her face until her vision was blurry. The worst part was not that she had been lectured. No, the unbearable part was the sickening fear that Rawlings, the dark and cynical Rawlings, was right. And she didn’t deserve him.

  Chapter Ten

  Why is it that this author is constantly seeing Lord Rawlings storm off as if he’s being chased by the devil himself? Not that this author would completely discount that development. Alas, it seems the Earl of Rawlings finally has something to run from. His past perhaps? Or maybe he’s afraid of his future. This author waits with bated breath.

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  Phillip nearly knocked over a vase as he stormed into the room where the men were discussing politics, women, and other earthly pleasures.

  “Whiskey?” Sebastian held out a snifter.

  Phillip threw back the entire contents.

  “How is she?”

  “Aggravating, irritating, pig-headed—beautiful to distraction.”

  Sebastian looked away. “You do realize you’ve just described both Emma and Abigail—though the look in your eyes tells me it’s the youngest that has you so put out, which is a good thing considering I’ve hit you once before for kissing my wife.”

  Phillip snorted. “Yes, and you nearly beat me to death, so I think we’re even. And of course, I was talking about Abigail. The girl could drive any sane man to drink…”

  “Or perhaps distraction?” Sebastian added.

  Phillip swallowed, feeling his body tighten as he answered hoarsely. “That as well.” How his friend was able to see beneath his calm demeanor was beyond him. Feeling caught, he dared to look Sebastian in the eyes. Amusement twinkled in the Angel Duke’s face as he walked to the sideboard and refilled both their glasses.

  He had only visited her on the balcony to say thank you for standing up to that old bat, the dowager. Upon hearing her defense of him, he felt grateful and indebted. That is, until he saw her attacking her own dress and then lunging at him.

  “Be careful, Phillip. She’s very young.”

  “And immature.” Phillip grabbed his glass. “I would never touch her, Sebastian, you have my word.”

  Sebastian was silent a moment. “It’s a little early to be making promises you might not be able to keep.” With a nod, Sebastian left Phillip to ponder his wise words.

  ****

  That night, as Phillip slept alone in his room. A haunting figure of blue silk continued to intrude in his dreams, and then a woman so beautiful it hurt would crook her finger and smile at him. He would whisper words of devotion, love, protection. Anything to make sure she would stay with him forever. But she always faded back into the mist. He would wake up sweating, aroused, and irritated.

  Promising his body rest, he would close his eyes only to be visited yet again by the same siren—Abigail. What was it about her that drew him so? She was all of those things he had said and more, yet he was inexplicably drawn to her. Waiting for just a glimpse of her smile, constantly entranced by her fluid movements. Unbearably uncomfortable because he was wound tight as a drum each time she was near. Even with his rejection, she continued to speak well of him, though he didn’t deserve it.

  He rose from his bed with a curse just in time to see the sunrise. A vision that only a year ago would have been viewed upon returning from a gambling hell after another failed attempt to gain money instead of marrying before his birthday.

  Pity that he just now noticed the beauty of the sky. Orange streaks burst through the horizon, announcing the day. He walked out the balcony of his room. He breathed in the morning air, and although still restless from his sleep, he found that he was able to smile a genuine smile.

  ****

  Abigail woke up early. After her failed attempt to kiss Rawlings, she had tearfully taken to bed in hopes that it would in fact swallow her whole. What had possessed her to do such a rash thing? Desperation? Did she need his love and acceptance so bad she would force herself on him…twice?

  As much as it hurt, she realized she needed to move on. It was not fair to Rawlings, and as the guilt from his words subsided, she came to the conclusion that he was right. It pained her to admit it, and she felt a fool. But she could not continue to control people around her as if they meant nothing. She resolved to apologize to Emma and offer to return the dresses before the ball at Almack’s tonight.

  Closing her eyes, she prepared herself for battle and was rewarded with the most beautiful sunrise she had ever laid eyes on. It seemed to speak of new beginnings, something she thought Rawlings needed, but found she needed it more. How easy it was to find fault in others yet not see the trouble inside your own person. She thought she was his savior.

  When he was, in fact, hers.

  ****

  Abigail waited patiently for Emma at breakfast. Upon entering, her sister burst into tears and apologized…to her. Shocked, Abigail hugged Emma and waited for her to stop blubbering before she spoke.

  Finally, Emma took a seat next to her but still grasped at her hands. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I despise fighting with you.”

  Abigail felt tears sting her eyes. “Emma, it is I who should be sorry. You were right. You were all right.”

  “All?” Emma looked up.

  “Yes, you and Sebastian.” Rawlings as well, but she did not want to admit that they had been alone. Nor did she still desire to trap him into marriage. “I really shouldn’t have lied or deceived you. I love you, Emma, and it is also the reason I am going to pay a visit to Bond Street and notify Madame that I will not be needing the dresses after all.”

  “Don’t.” Emma’s grip tightened. “I overreacted. You should keep the dresses, Abby. I just wanted you to apologize for being deceitful. I won’t tell Father. Just don’t let it happen again.”

  Abby nodded and hugged her sister. Though her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes were puffy, she was a beautiful sight.

  Sebastian entered the room, took in the tears and smiles, and then promptly exited.

  “Crying females make him nervous,” Emma commented. “It seems I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, the poor man.”

  Sebastian walked back in and headed straight toward Emma. Without a word he bent down and kissed her forcefully on the lips. Abby was too shocked to look away. She watched the exchange with her mouth gaping open.

  “I love you, Emma,” he kissed her again. “Forever and always, even when you get teary-eyed and emotional. Always you and me, my love.” He traced her chin with his large hand and walked away.

  Emma looked at Abigail and blushed. “I’m so sorry. Normally, he isn’t that…”

  “Scandalous?” Abigail lifted her eyebrow and smiled. “It seems he’s recovered from his aversion to crying women, dear sister.”

  Emma blushed to the roots of her hair and changed the subject, but Abigail was still thinking about how Sebastian had kissed her sister. Could she be that blind? This whole time she had wanted something like Sebastian and Emma had. She thought that by kissing Rawlings it would happen. But the kisses she had given him paled in comparison. They were worthless next to what Sebastian and Emma had just shared. It made her wonder all the more how she was to find someone to love when her heart belonged to another person entirely.

  ***
*

  Phillip knew the second she had stepped into the room. Not because some sort of heavenly being whispered into his ear, “She’s here,” but because men of all different shapes and sizes began crowding. And after seeing the list of available debutantes, he knew it had to be Abigail they were fawning over.

  Just as he was getting ready to avert his eyes back to his dancing partner, the sea of admirers parted. He caught a glimpse of her and cursed.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Lady Rosalind, the Marquess of Whitmore’s betrothed, looked at him through sooty black lashes.

  “I, er…”

  “Rawlings, Rawlings, Rawlings.” Lady Rosalind shook her head. “You’d think a man with your reputation would at least have a way with words.”

  He shot her a dirty look. In the one night since he’d known her, Lady Rosalind had not only stepped on his feet, but cursed—yes, cursed at her own betrothed for being such a swine He asked her to dance to protect the girl from scandal, but now he was having second thoughts. It made sense that this daring redhead would be one of Abigail’s best friends. Something he was not aware of until the blasted girl started listing every single one of Abby’s positive attributes. Suffice to say that was when Phillip felt the very strong urge to weep. So, he did not feel at all guilty for glaring at the insufferable woman, and was increasingly glad he would not be the one to marry her. It seemed dear Abigail had found a twin in mischief.

  “One should not curse in front of a lady.”

  Phillip laughed. “I’ll be sure to hold my tongue when I’m in the presence of one.”

  “Oh, la!” Rosalind feigned irritation, but he knew the woman was stronger than flint. “Out of curiosity, who may I ask has put that delightful mask of jealousy on your face?”

  “Jealousy?” When would this dance end? “I’m wearing nothing of the sort.”

  “Right. And I am overwhelmed with joy at being matched up with him.” She nodded her head in the direction of Whitmore, who was presently groping at his latest mistress.

  Both Rawlings and Rosalind shuddered and shared a laugh.

  “He isn’t as bad as he seems.”

  Rosalind scoffed, “Are you his defender then? And you’re wrong, he’s much worse than he seems. But, do not worry a fig for me. I will do just fine.” Phillip stared into her steely blue eyes and believed her every word. “Now, what were we talking about?”

  “The weather,” Phillip lied.

  “And I thought you were more intelligent than to lie. If you won’t tell me I’ll just have to ask Abigail.”

  The sound of her name gave him away, for his hand tensed, only slightly, on Lady Rosalind’s body. She bit her lip in triumph.

  “That was not playing fair, my lady.”

  The dance ended, but before the pairs parted, Lady Rosalind leaned in and whispered, “Women rarely play fair, my lord.”

  The next hour was spent with a series of wide-eyed debutantes who not only seemed curious as to why the devil was at Almack's, but how he had gained an invitation. Phillip himself had been curious about the same thing, until Lady Jersey and the Dowager Duchess of Tempest both smiled and winked in his direction. It seemed the patronesses loved gossip as much as anyone else, and Phillip was ripe for the picking. Everyone appeared to be curious about him, as if he was some new species just discovered. He half-expected someone to start drawing his portrait with as many glances he received.

  It was due in large part to his appearance. Being clean shaven and dressed in finery, as well as not breathing fire on grandmothers and the blind, must have done his reputation some good. But, in all of Almack’s, there still was no woman who gained his attention.

  Well, it was not completely true, but the one woman who managed to gain his favor also had the attention of every other male—even some of the married ones. And although he wouldn’t mind dancing with the girl, it was his job to protect her, so he watched as closely as he could.

  Phillip’s control was splendidly in check right up until Whitmore approached Abby and held out his hand for a dance. She seemed to stiffen and then looked next to her at Lady Rosalind, who appeared ready to attack. But Whitmore tugged at Abigail. Nearly tripping, she followed him to the floor.

  Phillip watched helplessly as Whitmore’s hands moved seductively down her spine toward her backside. Quickly, Phillip scanned the room for Sebastian. He found him deep in discussion with Renwick on the far side of the room. With the crush, it would be impossible to reach him. Knowing he had to take things into his own hands, he continued to move through the crowds until Abby would be able to make eye contact with him.

  “Look at me, just look at me,” he whispered out loud.

  Her alarmed gaze locked with his. She shook her head once, conveying a message. And then the minx laughed as Whitmore stormed off.

  She made her way toward a disturbed Phillip. “Was it my imagination, or did Whitmore just storm off in the middle of a dance? How did you get him to leave you?”

  Shrugging, Abigail took his outstretched arm. “I merely told him I had heard it announced that his brother had returned from India.”

  “Inspired.” Phillip laughed. “Can you imagine what Whitmore would do? He’s been blasted cocky since the announcement of his brother’s death. Didn’t even mourn the man, just relished the idea of inheriting the title and Lady Rosalind.”

  “Yes, I saw her dancing with you. She is such a dear friend.”

  Phillip smiled. “Yes, I am aware.”

  “What has you grinning so much, Rawlings?”

  “Pay me no heed. It has been a strange night. Are you thirsty, my dear?”

  Abby squinted her eyes, possibly trying to decide if Rawlings was indeed going mad. This was the most he had smiled in years. “Yes, some watered down lemonade would be nice.” She grimaced but was obviously hot. The room was crammed to its gills with people.

  “Ah, no champagne?” he challenged.

  Whispering, she leaned in. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Probably not, but you should tell me regardless,” he admitted.

  “I’ve never had champagne.”

  “Never had—”

  “Shhh! Rawlings, everyone will hear you!”

  “Doubtful. This crush is worse than expected. Well, we shall remedy the situation immediately. Follow me.”

  Like two small children sneaking off, they tiptoed around the corner, passing several serving trays with champagne flutes. Phillip discreetly grabbed two and motioned for her to be quiet. It wasn’t the first time he had stolen champagne and probably wouldn’t be the last. His reputation did come from somewhere, after all.

  Abigail was giggling as she grasped his hand tightly. Phillip managed to keep his excitement at bay. Her fingers, so delicate and small, seemed somehow right as they fit into his hand. His fingers tingled, and he cursed himself for allowing such an innocent gesture to completely undo him.

  He pulled her out the back of the assembly hall into a small room, which appeared to be the cozy space meant for coats. Handing her the flutes, he took a moment to check their surroundings and looked into her eyes. In hindsight, it was a terrible mistake on his part. Green pools of excitement sparkled back at him, hitting him straight in the gut and aiming for his heart.

  “To your first drink of champagne.”

  Abigail smiled shyly. “And to my first experience sneaking off at a ball with a known rake. I do hope it went unnoticed. I should hate to be named in that dreadful Mrs. Peabody column like some people I associate with.”

  “Touché.” He laughed. Unable to keep himself from grinning ear to ear, Phillip watched her with amusement. Who knew that an innocent toast would bring a young lady so much joy? Or maybe it was the excitement of sneaking off at Almack’s. Regardless, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  She tilted her head back to drink the last of the contents in her glass, giving him a glorious view of her neck and throat. He wanted to reach out, to touch her smooth skin, to kiss that vulnerable
neck. Was it possible that this girl was more seductive when she wasn’t attempting to seduce him or ruin herself?

  His hands trembled as he downed the contents of his glass.

  “The bubbles tickle my tongue.”

  Phillip began choking. Abigail hit him on the back. “Are you ill, my lord?”

  “Fine.” He coughed. “Just fine.” Taking into account her compromising position, his restraint was extraordinary. “I believe that’s enough champagne for now. Don’t want to bring you back to Sebastian completely foxed.”

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

  “For…drinking champagne?” Phillip took the empty glass from her shaking hands. “Abby, what the devil do you have to be sorry for?”

  “I didn’t mean to kiss you. I mean, I meant to kiss you, both times. I was just trying…oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sorry, Rawlings, truly. Will you ever forgive me for being so wanton? For trying to deceive you? I truly couldn’t stand for it, if you thought me selfish and immoral, even though I know I have been of late.”

  Phillip selfishly desired to order her to be wanton, but only in his presence. He also desired nothing more than to kick himself for making her feel so ashamed after their kiss. Yes, he had been angry, but not as much at her as at himself for behaving so badly.

  He reached out, grabbing the blasted piece of hair that seemed to constantly go against the grain. To be spitefully where it was not allowed to be. Very much like Abigail. Perfectly imperfect. Irritating and invigorating. “You have nothing to apologize for, save the fact that you should never throw yourself at men like me.”

  “I don’t. I mean, I will not, and I haven’t done any such thing.” Abigail’s lip trembled. Why did the action give the appearance that she was upset?