Secret Confessions 0f The Enticing Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

* * *

  “Why is your name familiar?” the Earl of Wallingside asked as they waited for supper to be brought.

  “I beg your pardon?” Abigail’s heart sped up as she imagined the news of her criminal father spreading through the ton like wildfire.

  “I feel I have heard your name recently,” The Earl said. Abigail’s face flew its colors.

  “Uh…”

  “I expect you have heard what an excellent dressmaker she is now that the season is in full swing,” Claudette cut in, saving her from embarrassment.

  The Earl was staring at her with narrowed eyes. “I expect that’s it,” he conceded.

  They passed the rest of the time discussing Claudette’s play and her talent and how well she looked in the glorious red gown that Abigail had made for her. Claudette took her aside after dinner to let her know that the Earl would be returning with them to St. John’s Wood.

  “Excuse me while I send a note,” the Earl said, moving away and summoning his tiger. They had a brief conversation, after which the Earl gave him a note. The tiger took off on foot while Claudette and Abigail got in the carriage, ready to be transported home. Abigail was not looking forward to spending the night with the widow. She really was a talkative one. But she supposed it was better than having to listen while Claudette and her Earl did whatever it was they did together.

  * * *

  Percival had retired to his club after a long, fruitless day of searching for Abigail. No one would tell him much even when offered coin for it. Either they did not know or they felt strongly protective of the girl.

  No amount of assurances that he would not hurt her had moved anyone. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe and warm. It was a cold night and no time to be sleeping rough. He could not go home, not knowing that she was safe, but he did not know what to do next.

  He had spoken to Mr. Sinclair, who had had no better luck with his own search. It was as though Abigail had simply disappeared without a trace. He tapped his finger on the polished wood of the table, trying to think where she could possibly have gone.

  “Good evening, sir,” the club’s butler said, standing before him with a tray. Percival lifted an eyebrow at the unwarranted intrusion.

  “The Earl of Wallingside has sent you a message,” the butler said, holding out the tray for him to pick up the note. Percival’s eyebrows rose even higher, but he reached out for the note anyway.

  He opened it, curiosity piqued.

  Northcott,

  Do you know a certain dressmaker named Miss Abigail Thorne? I seem to remember some on-dit or other involving you and she not too long ago. She seems to be in dire straits at the moment and I thought you might be interested to help. She is staying with a particular friend of mine at number 13 in St. John’s Wood.

  Regards,

  Wallingside

  Chapter 15

  Lost and Found

  He stopped his carriage outside number 13 and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

  What am I doing here?

  His feelings about Abigail were very mixed at the moment. He did not know how he felt about anything. Still, something compelled him to make sure she was safe. He alighted from the vehicle, then walked slowly toward the house. He knocked softly on the door and waited, swinging from side to side with nervousness. The door opened and Abigail’s friend Claudette stood in front of him.

  “Oh.” He said for lack of anything better.

  “Duke! What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for Abigail.”

  “Oh. How did you know where I was?”

  “A friend saw you together. Is Abigail here?”

  “Um, no. She is next door.”

  “What is she doing there?”

  Claudette merely looked down, her face flushed. She mumbled something that Percival could not hear.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Claudette sighed, “I needed my privacy. She is quite all right.”

  Percival remembered that Richard had spoken about a particular friend. He must have meant Claudette. He was probably in her abode right now. He took a step back, nodding his head in understanding.

  “Where is she? Which house?”

  Claudette pointed to her right and Percival nodded his thanks and set off for that house. He knew it was late to be knocking at a stranger's door, but he needed to see Abigail. He needed to know that she was well. He knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” a frail voice called from inside.

  “My name is Percival, Duke of Northcott. I am here to see Miss Abigail Thorne.”

  “Just a minute,” the voice said, and he could hear fumbling, as if someone was stumbling around in the dark, possibly looking for a match to light a candle, or perhaps they were looking for the door key. He waited patiently until he heard the lock click open. A little old woman peered fearfully out at him.

  “You say you’re looking for Abigail?” she asked.

  “Yes, is she here?”

  The woman nodded. “But she has gone to bed.”

  Percival tried to turn away, but he couldn't. “It is imperative that I speak to her.”

  The woman nodded and turned away, leaving the door open. He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him but not moving deeper into the woman’s space. He tried to look as unthreatening as possible as he waited but it was hard to contain his impatience.

  Soft footsteps coming down the hall had him straightening up and soon Abigail appeared. She stared at him, looking disbelieving.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Percival shook his head. “Your parents are worried sick. You just ran off without a word.”

  Abigail's eyes widened as her face simultaneously hardened.

  “How do you know?”

  Percival kept his eyes on hers. “Because I have been looking for you all day. They have, too.”

  She sighed, looking away from him. “I'm fine,” she said.

  He shook his head, “No, you're not fine, you are squatting in some stranger’s house. Come with me.”

  She was already shaking her head before he finished the sentence. “No.”

  He dug in his pocket holding up a key. “This house was meant to be yours.” He stretched out his hand, so she could take the key from it. “At least go and stay there.”

  Abigail eyes dropped to his hand and her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You wish me to stay at your mistress’ house?”

  “I wish you to be safe and comfortable as you navigate this difficult time.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “I know that your father was a criminal. That he ran a gang known as the Foxes, that terrorized London and its environs for years...”

  Abigail's face paled even further, if that was possible. “W-what?”

  He shook his hand with the key at her, “Let us go where we can have this conversation in privacy.”

  She glanced at the older woman, her temporary roommate, who was lurking by the doorway to the kitchen. Her eyes dropped as she pondered her options.

  “Very well,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  She turned to Maisie, “Thank you very much for your hospitality ma’am. Kindly inform Claudette that I left with His Grace, and I will see her presently.”

  Maisie nodded jerkily before disappearing back into the kitchen. Abigail collected her shawl before following Percival out the door.

  * * *

  Abigail was surprised when they arrived at the cottage. She was expecting red velvet decor, with perhaps nothing but a huge bed in the middle of the room, a boudoir like the ones she read about in all the bawdy books Claudette left lying around.

  Instead, she stepped into a comfortable looking wood-paneled room, with soft comfortable sofas facing a fireplace, an entire wall of books, a nice table to eat upon, and beyond the sitting room, a bedroom with a canopied bed.

  It was very…homey.

  She could see herself curled on the sofa on a cold winter’s night, perhaps reading a bo
ok while the Duke did the same from the leather armchair that sat across from it.

  One might look up after reading some interesting tidbit and share it with the other. She might cook simple meals in the kitchen which they would eat at the table while the Duke complained about Parliament and she…

  Well, she did not know what she would talk about. How could she go back and work with her mother after all this? All the lies and subterfuge?

  She turned to Percival.

  “My father was the leader of a gang called the Foxes, you say? I thought he was a mere brigand,” she asked rather baldly, but she had not the capacity in her to be subtle.

  Percival nodded stiffly, turning away from her and walking toward the mantel. “Your father had a gang who set upon unsuspecting people as they went about their business. They also ran brothels, gaming hells, and smuggling operations.”

  Abigail gasped. “I did not know.”

  Percival huffed. “I expect not. It does make things a bit awkward, you do appreciate that, do you not?”

  “Appreciate…that my father being a criminal makes things difficult for you? Yes, indeed Percival, of course, I appreciate that,” she said in a sharp tone, her eyes narrowed at him.

  He turned to look at her, eyebrow raised at her tone. “It makes things difficult for both of us, my dear. Unless you wish to claim that you have no desire to be with me.”

  Abigail looked away. “I cannot think about that right now. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Percival sighed, shook his head and turned toward the door, “I should leave you to rest. You must have had a long day.”

  Abigail’s eyes flicked around the unfamiliar cottage, not wanting to be left alone in a strange place with only her thoughts for company.

  “No, wait. Have a glass of port to help you on your way. You must be tired from all the driving around all day.”

  His back was rigid, and he did not turn to face her, or say a word. She hurried to the decanter and poured him a full glass of port. She brought it around to him, pressing the drink into his hand.

  “Drink,” she urged, looking him in the eyes.

  He inhaled sharply, accepting the glass from her and draining it. She took his hand, pulling him toward the sofa.

  “Come. Sit.”

  He let her pull him to the sofa and flopped down upon it, giving in to his exhaustion.

  “I am rather tired.” He murmured.

  “Well, you should rest then. Let me fetch you another drink. Have you eaten? Is there any food in this house?”

  Percival shook his head slowly, “No. I did not get around to that. I thought you might want to do that yourself.”

  Abigail nodded. “Yes, well…you just lie back and rest. Let me watch over you for a while.”

  Percival nodded, leaning his head back against the back of the sofa and closing his eyes.

  “When my aunt told me, about your father…”

  Abigail took a seat beside the Duke, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, his eyes still closed. His voice trailed off and she wanted to prompt him to continue but she knew that it must be exceedingly difficult for him to talk about this. Therefore, she sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap and waited.

  “My heart broke.”

  She jumped, startled at his words, not expecting him to speak.

  “I was disheartened at the thought that we might have yet another insurmountable wedge between us.”

  He opened his eyes, dark gaze upon her, “The thought of never seeing those moss-green eyes again, regarding me like they can see all the way to my soul…” He turned his head away. “It hurt.”

  Abigail just blinked at him, at a complete loss for words. She parted her lips, hoping that the right words would emerge, but nothing did.

  “I think that we both just need some time,” she said hesitantly. “We cannot expect to be all right with everything we have learned.”

  Percival looked back at her with a smile, “And your way of being ‘all right’ is to run away?”

  Abigail looked away, her face pale once again, “I do not know if I will ever be all right again. My entire life is a lie.”

  Percival reached out and covered her hands with his. He squeezed gently, watching her with sympathy.

  “Your parents hid something from you. They probably did it in an effort not to burden a young child with knowledge that was too heavy for her. That does not mean your entire life was a lie.”

  “I am not who I thought I was.”

  Percival straightened up, so he could properly look her in the eye. “Is that so? Are you not a talented dressmaker?”

  “Of course, I—”

  “And do you not have a mother who dotes on you?”

  “I—”

  “A guardian in Mr. Sinclair who protects you at all costs? Going so far as to threaten a Duke when he thinks that man might bring harm to you?”

  Abigail kept her mouth shut, regarding Percival with narrowed eyes.

  “Do I speak falsehoods?” he asked.

  Abigail sighed, “All of this is true. But it is built upon a lie.”

  “Is it? Which part?”

  “You do not get to tell me that my feelings are invalid,” Abigail snapped.

  Percival held his hands up, “I would not dare say that. I am simply reminding you that not all is lost.”

  Abigail looked away, feeling apologetic. “You should remind yourself of the same. After all, you still have Lady Rosaline.”

  Percival snorted. “My heart is even more pained at the reminder.”

  Abigail smiled, “My mother…when I am in the doldrums, she holds me in her arms and rocks me like a babe. If you would like, I could do the same for you.”

  Percival smiled back. “Nobody has ever held me like that in my life, that I recall. Perhaps my mother did but no one since then.”

  Abigail held her arms out in invitation. “Then allow me.”

  Percival regarded her consideringly before leaning in hesitantly and laying his head gently on her shoulder. She curled her arms around him, equally gentle, and began to rock softly from side to side. Percival gradually relaxed against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face against her neck.

  “This feels nice,” he murmured against her skin.

  She ran her hands up and down his back and said nothing. His arms tightened around her waist.

  “Your scent is intoxicating.”

  She gave a small laugh, rubbing gently at his shoulders. “You must be extremely tired if you think that. I reek of smoke, and the cloying perfume of backstage theatre.”

  He smiled, and she felt it against her skin. “Beneath that, is simply you.”

  Abigail laughed. “You are drunk as a wheelbarrow.”

  Percival raised his head slightly, so he could meet her eyes. “Sober as a judge. Perhaps drunk on you.”

  Abigail ducked her head to hide her blush. “I see that a nurturing embrace has an intoxicating effect on you.”

  “Perhaps it’s the person giving the embrace.”

  She looked away, tucking his head against her neck so she did not have to see his eyes. She felt his mouth against her flesh, moving wetly along her neck.

  She shivered, surprised at the effect his action had on her. It was as if somebody had poured fizzing heat in her veins; lighting up her skin and sparking effervescence. Her body felt simultaneously weak and liquid—he could take her and mold her into any shape and she would not be able to resist.

  “W-what are you d-doing?”

  “Tasting you.” His breath fogged on the skin of her neck, the sensation running along her nerve endings, making her shake.

  “S-should you b-be d-doing th-that?” her voice clicked on the last word.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered behind her ear, before snagging her lobe with his teeth and biting down gently.

  “Oooh,” she moaned, eyes closed and toes curling.

  What is he doing to
me?

  His tongue flicked out, wiggling in her ear and if she wasn’t sitting down, she would have fallen down.

  “Aah!” she cried, arching her head to give him greater access and to bring her body closer to his. His hands trailed downward, smoothing down her dress and filling her with the desire to have them on her bare bosom, trailing down her stomach and cinching against her waist. She wanted him to cover her with his body, and perhaps she wanted his mouth on hers, making her feel like…