Lady Abigail's Perfect Match

by Sophie Barnes

  “As you say,” he continued. “I’m kind and considerate. Wonderful even, by your account.” His knee landed on the mattress and then he placed both hands on either side of her, caging her in as he stared down into her eyes. “But I’m still not good enough for you.”

  “Toby,” she said, her voice weaker than she would have liked. “Let’s talk about this. Let’s—”

  “Do you know what I think, Abby?” His gaze dropped to the edge of her neckline and for a second, Abigail forgot how to breathe. When he looked up, he wore the most unsettling expression she’d ever seen. It was smug and full of determination. “I think you could learn to love me.”

  She barely managed to comprehend his meaning before his mouth was on hers, hard and unyielding. Dismayed and suddenly terrified, Abby grabbed at his shoulders and tried to push him away. But he was heavier than she and relentless in his assault.

  Straddling her hips, he held her down with his weight. A whimper escaped her and she clutched at his face in a blind attempt to twist him away. But her battered body was weak from the fall, and as pain arched through her, he grabbed her wrists and forced them down onto the mattress.

  With no resources left, she did the only thing she could think of and bit his lip.

  He released her instantly, and for a second, she believed she’d won. But then she saw the look in his eyes – dark, pained, and full of anger. “That was a foolish mistake,” he murmured.

  Abigail’s blood ran cold. Trembling, she tried to gauge the space between Tobias and the door. Was there any way for her to escape him without his catching her first? It was unlikely. But she had to try. So she launched herself forward only to feel his hand curl possessively around her ankle. Before she managed to leave the bed, she was yanked back. A scream broke from her throat as she landed face down, kicking and flailing.

  “Hold still and be quiet, damn you!”

  “Never!” She screamed again, praying that someone would hear and come to her rescue.

  “So be it then,” he gritted. Climbing onto her, he held her down and pressed her face into the bedclothes. She kept trying to reach behind her back, grabbing at what she supposed must be his thigh, but nothing she did made him budge. And then he was tying something around her mouth – a length of fabric. His cravat, perhaps?

  Abigail tried to scream once again but this time, only a muffled sound emerged. Eyes wet with tears, she bucked and twisted, hoping to somehow dislodge him so she could escape. But then she felt him shift, rising a little and...

  Oh God!

  A choked sob escaped her as Tobias shoved up her skirts. “This is the only way,” he said. “Once I’ve claimed you, you’ll have no choice in the matter. Nobody will.”

  Despite the raw ache gripping her arms and shoulders, Abby reached behind herself once again and tried to hit him. Dear heaven above, he was going to force her to get what he wanted. “No!” Her shout was barely audible against the fabric muffling her voice.

  “You have the most gorgeous bottom I’ve ever seen,” he said, settling one palm against it and letting his fingers sink into the flesh. He shifted again, muttered a curse, and was suddenly yanking at one of her stockings. “I told you to stay still but you just won’t listen.” Grabbing her wrists he pulled them together in front of her head and wound the stocking around them until they were tied together.

  “Please,” she tried, almost choking with helpless despair.

  “Shh...” The anger was suddenly gone from his voice, replaced by a husky whisper. He leaned over her. His lips brushed her cheek. “I wish I could make this good for you, Abby, but I just don’t have the time. So please forgive me.”

  She tried once again to move, but weakness overwhelmed her. A bone-shattering angst, the likes of which she’d never known, dug its claws into her soul.

  She closed her eyes and thought of James.

  And then the door to the room crashed open.

  “GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS off of her, you bastard!”

  Having followed a trail that consisted of two eye-witness accounts and a white silk slipper he’d found on the side of the road, James had leapt from Lance’s phaeton the moment they’d pulled up to the first inn. Only to learn, after a great deal of hollering, that Abigail and Chesterfield weren’t there.

  So he’d hired a horse in the hope of quickening his pace and left Lance to catch up as best as he could. James’s heart had pounded faster than the hooves thundering against the ground while all sorts of awful imaginings filled his head. But nothing was as bad as what he eventually found when he entered the second inn and was told that a man and woman matching Chesterfield’s and Abigail’s descriptions had indeed rented a room.

  “You mustn’t disturb them,” the innkeeper had shouted above the noise of the men who were eating and drinking in the taproom.

  James had simply headed for the stairs and proceeded to climb them two at a time.

  “They’re newlyweds and according to the husband, his poor wife took a dangerous tumble while—”

  James didn’t hear anything else. The rage pouring through him and the fear he harbored on Abigail’s behalf made it impossible for him to focus on anything else. His muscles flexed and strained beneath his skin, and his hands fairly trembled with the need to do violence.

  “Which door?” he somehow managed to ask.

  The innkeeper, who’d followed him and now wisely realized he’d better speak up or risk having James barge in on someone who didn’t deserve it, pointed toward a door at the end of the hallway.

  James stalked toward it, hands clenched and jaw set. Without breaking his stride, he raised his foot and brought it down next to the handle, producing a massive bang as the door broke away from the frame.

  With one quick scan, James took in the scene before him: Abigail, trussed like a lamb about to be slaughtered, her rumpled gown pushed up around her waist to reveal her bare buttocks, Chesterfield kneeling between her thighs, one hand on her back while the other worked the buttons on his breeches.

  With a roar that seemed to come from some primitive place deep inside him, James leapt for Chesterfield’s throat. “Get your bloody hands off of her, you bastard!”

  Chesterfield’s eyes went wide. He froze for a second, then raised his hands to defend himself. But kneeling as he was on the bed, his balance was poor, so the moment James struck him, he tumbled backward onto the floor, gasping and sputtering while clasping his neck.

  “You like hurting women, do you, you lecherous bugger?” James fell to his knees next to Chesterfield, pulled back his fist then slammed it forward with all the might he possessed. It struck its target with a loud crack. A howl splintered the air but James ignored it. Now that he was hitting this man who’d been seconds away from violating Abigail, he could not seem to stop. There was a hunger inside him that needed satisfaction, a thirst for blood that had to be quenched, and a fog in his brain that made him oblivious to anything else.

  It wasn’t until someone pulled him back and away from his target that James was able to see the mangled state of Chesterfield’s face. His eyes were swollen shut, his nose turned slightly sideways, his lip and cheek torn open, and...he didn’t look conscious. Blood was everywhere, on Chesterfield’s face and on James’s knuckles.

  Shaking, James stared at Lance who was muttering something important about his sister. A flash of bright light exploded behind James’s eyes, narrowing everything down to one point. He turned away, searching for Abigail. She was sitting up now, staring at him in stricken silence. Her skirts had been pulled down, thank God, her gag and restraints removed, no doubt by her brother. Tears streaked her cheeks as she rocked back and forth while hugging herself.

  “I’m sorry,” James croaked. “I...I...” His throat closed, preventing him from saying anything further.

  A solid hand grasped his shoulder. “You did the right thing,” Lance said, his voice tight with restraint. “And if you hadn’t, I would have.”

  James nodded and stepped toward Abi
gail, unsure if his feet would carry his weight but knowing he had to be near her. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he sank to his knees before her. And he was sorry. Not for hurting Chesterfield, but for what she’d had to go through and for not being able to help her sooner.

  Clasping her hands, he gazed into her watery eyes and felt his heart shatter. Her lips were trembling, her right cheek grazed so badly it glistened with un-spilled blood.

  A lump the size of an orange lodged itself in his throat, and his own eyes stung with tears. “He won’t hurt you again.” Bringing Abigail’s hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles, her fingers, her palms. “No one will ever hurt you again, my darling.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I swear it.”

  Her only response was a ragged breath.

  “I, um,” Lance murmured. Standing near Chesterfield, who was still passed out on the floor, he shifted as if uncertain of how to approach the subject he wished to address. He cleared his throat. “I realize this is a difficult moment, but there are some practical matters that must be handled without delay.”

  James knew he was right. So although he was far from ready to deal with the ramifications of what had occurred, he stood and faced Abigail’s brother. “I ought to call him out.” He jutted his chin in Chesterfield’s direction. “But I’d rather have him arrested, I think.”

  Lance nodded. “I’ll see to it that someone fetches the local magistrate.” He glanced at his sister, his expression going thoughtful before he added, “You have to marry right away and yet...I fear her return to London will be disastrous. People will want to know what happened and will either figure it out or draw their own conclusions. Either way, it doesn’t look good in terms of salvaging her reputation.”

  “I can take her to Arlington House. It’s not far from here and the servants there are loyal. If you can—”

  “Townsbridge.” Lance stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “You cannot think of doing something like that before she’s your wife. It’s...it’s...I mean...”

  “Would you rather we head back to the church?”

  “No. Of course not. But we could take her to Foxborough House and have the two of you marry there.”

  “I don’t want to be gawked at or pitied or questioned,” Abby muttered. “I just want privacy.”

  It was the first thing she’d said since James had arrived, and the sound of her voice, so lifeless and faint, caused his anger to rise again. “We’re going to Arlington,” he told Lance decisively. “Inform our families, if you will.”

  Lance didn’t look remotely happy but James didn’t care.

  “I’ll also have to try and acquire a special license on your behalf,” Lance said. “The one you were meant to use today won’t work in another parish.”

  Damnation. James hadn’t thought about that but Lance was right. “Fine.” Reaching into his jacket pocket he retrieved thirty pounds and handed the money to Lance. “This should help butter up the archbishop. You’ll need my father’s help, of course, in order to sign for it.”

  Lance pocketed the coins and crossed to Abigail. “If all goes well, you and James will be married tomorrow.” He bent and kissed her cheek, then turned to James. “I’ll give the innkeeper a quick account of what happened on my way out and ask him to call the magistrate.”

  “Thank you, Lance.” Seeing the hesitance in the younger man’s gaze as he gave Abigail one final glance, James said, “I’ll protect her with my life.”

  They shared a quick look then Lance was off.

  A groan came from where Chesterfield lay, causing Abigail to flinch. “Can you stand?” James asked her.

  She nodded and pushed herself slowly away from the bed. When she swayed, James quickly reached out to steady her by her elbow. “Here,” he murmured, handing her his handkerchief so she could blow her nose. Chesterfield emitted another groan and James realized he was now moving his legs. It wouldn’t be long before he was fully awake.

  As if sensing the same thing, Abigail clutched hold of James’s hand. “I don’t want to face him. I just want to leave.” Her breaths grew louder and faster. “Can we please go? Can we—”

  “Yes. Of course.” James scooped her up in his arms and marched into the hallway. A couple of brawny fellows were approaching from the stairs.

  “You Mr. Townsbridge?” one of them asked. When James answered in the affirmative, the man said, “The innkeeper sent us up to keep an eye on the troublemaker.”

  Thanking the men, James descended the stairs where the innkeeper himself was ready to assist. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “I didn’t realize the man you were chasing had kidnapped your wife. The gall of him to snatch her like that right after the wedding! I’m just surprised you didn’t kill him.”

  “I was tempted,” James said once he’d set Abigail on her feet. He didn’t correct the man with regard to their marital status since Lance had obviously lied in order to protect his sister’s reputation for as long as possible. “If you could please write to me at this address and inform me of Mr. Chesterfield’s arrest,” he said as he handed the innkeeper his card, “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” The innkeeper slipped the card into a book he kept on a tall writing desk near the front door. “I believe your friend left his phaeton for you to use and took a horse instead.”

  Relieved to hear it, James thanked the man and escorted Abigail out of the inn to where Lance’s sporty vehicle stood waiting.

  Chapter Seven

  It didn’t take long for them to reach Arlington House. An hour, perhaps, by Abigail’s estimation. James didn’t say much during the journey, which was still considerably more than what she’d managed to say. His focus seemed to be on the horses, though she did feel the weight of his gaze from time to time as she looked out over the wide open fields.

  Her tears had dried and her body gone completely numb.

  Watching birds soar through the sky while the sun warmed her face, she wondered if life would somehow go on without her, for the truth of the matter was, she knew she had died inside today. It didn’t matter how caring James seemed or how understanding. She’d trusted Tobias and he’d betrayed her in the worst possible way. He’d stolen the anticipation she’d had for her wedding night. The very idea of being bedded now, by any man, caused bile to rise in her throat. And she wasn’t sure how she would ever be able to tell James that.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t marry,” she said that evening when he came to check on her. The housekeeper, a lovely middle-aged woman named Mrs. Anderson, had shown Abigail to a pretty room furnished in pale blue colors. A maid had brought some delicious stew which Abigail had eaten while waiting for a hot bath to be drawn. Later, once she’d finished bathing, Mrs. Anderson had given her a nightgown and a robe belonging to one of the maids.

  James frowned in response to Abigail’s comment and moved toward her. When she stepped away, deliberately trying to avoid his embrace, he stilled. “Why?”

  There were too many answers to that question. Because I’m tarnished. Because I’m afraid I will always see him when you touch me. Because you deserve so much better than me. Because...

  She thought she’d gotten past being nervous when she was with James, but now, with his gaze intensely fixed upon her, her belly turned over and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Hoping to block him out, she gave him her back.

  “Abby?” His voice was soft and gentle. Careful, even.

  Getting the necessary words out was nearly impossible, so she was grateful when he didn’t push her to answer more quickly than she was able. Instead, he just waited, until she finally managed to say, “I don’t ever want you to hate me.”

  There was a pause. A long one. And then he said. “I suppose it’s only natural for you to worry that I might do so after what happened. But the truth is, nothing in the world would be more impossible for me than to hate you, Abby. Not when I care for you as much as I do.”

  He’d never told her he loved her. Then again, she’d never told him e
ither. But in that moment, she rather wished he had. Although, to be fair, she wanted him to be honest as well. And now she would have to be honest too.

  “Everything’s different now, James.” She spoke to the wall, but she knew he listened intently from somewhere behind her. “I don’t think I can...” Unable to say it, she waved one hand, as if the gesture would fill in the blanks.

  “Shh... It’s all right. Just let me be your friend for now. That’s all.”

  “But won’t you want to...” She waved her hand again.

  “Not if you don’t.”

  Air rushed from her lungs on a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Just get some rest for now and call me if you need anything.” She sensed him hesitate as if deciding whether or not he ought to say something more or possibly offer some show of affection. But then she heard him cross to the door between their two bedrooms. “I’m prepared to give you as much time as you need to recover from this. Our wedding night can wait until you are ready.”

  “What if that day never comes?” she asked. But she spoke too late and her words were too soft for him to hear.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY WENT by in such a blur that Abigail hardly had time to think of her horrid encounter with Tobias. James’s parents and siblings arrived around noon, and half an hour later one of the Foxborough carriages rolled up the drive, bringing her parents, Petra, and Lance to Arlington House.

  A young vicar who looked like he’d barely gotten out of seminary school conducted the service. James mentioned at one point that he was newly appointed, which probably explained why it took him so long to ensure the special license was up to snuff. Abby barely recalled agreeing to be James’s wife, but she supposed she must have at some point, because everyone was suddenly wishing her well.