“This is my older brother, Julian Wollstonecraft, Viscount Tensbridge,” Garrett said.
Besides threads of gray at his temples and those attractive little lines fanning out from his eyes, he hardly looked to be a man in his forties. He was certainly as self-contained as she remembered. The viscount bowed. “Mrs. Hughes, Miss Hughes.”
Abbie reached into her reticule and pulled out the note, then held it toward Garrett’s brother. “Alberta asked me to deliver this to you, my lord.”
He took it, and warmth flared in his eyes. Oh, my. No cool standoffishness there at all. Alberta had placed her name on the outside of the note, and he reacted at seeing it. Alberta was indeed correct in surmising that there was something between them. What a development. He met her gaze. “Thank you.” Tensbridge opened the note and scanned it with them still standing there. A small smile formed at the corner of his mouth as he folded the note and tucked it in his jacket pocket.
They entered the parlor, and Abbie was struck by its coziness. A fire blazed in the large stone fireplace; the furniture was modern, as were the colors. Instead of the usual burgundy or dark green, this room was done in creams and different shades of blue, from the walls to the large rug. A blue floral settee sat at the front of the room, a marble-top table in front of it. Surrounding the table was a circle of plush, blue bergère chairs, ideal for conversing. On the table sat a huge silver serving tray, complete with a three-tier stand loaded with all manner of sweets. Also on the tray were a silver teapot, china cups and saucers, small plates, and linen napkins. The butler and a young footman stepped forward to take the ladies’ coats, hats, and gloves.
“Would you do us the honor of pouring, Mrs. Hughes?” the earl asked.
“Of course,” she murmured, not used to being in such august company. Hopefully her hand would not shake. Once seated, she commenced pouring while the men loaded their plates with various treats.
“Go ahead, Megan. Take what you want. May I call you Megan?” the earl asked.
She nodded, then tentatively reached for a plate and laid four small frosted cakes on it. “My lord, are you related to the authoress of Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley?”
Abbie was shocked that Megan had started the conversation. She took a quick glance at Garrett, and he met her gaze and held it, heat simmering in his eyes. Then he slid his gaze to his daughter and he smiled, pride clearly reflecting in his handsome face.
“As a matter of fact we are, albeit distantly,” the earl replied. “She is my fourth cousin; her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, was my third. Alas, the branches of the family are not close. However, she did send me signed copies when it was first published. Have you read it?”
Megan smiled and nodded. “At school, my lord. I liked it.”
“What did you like about it?” Tensbridge asked.
Megan paused, as if forming her answer. Abbie could not be more proud that she was holding her own with an earl and a viscount. “The science at the core of the story. It makes sense, using an electrical current. It makes it believable and all the more shocking. I know it is thought of as a gothic horror, but I found it to be a tragedy. I felt sorry for the monster. He only wanted to be loved.”
“Well said.” Julian nodded.
“Yes, a good description of the book. Would you like a signed copy of your very own?” the earl asked.
Megan turned toward her on the sofa. “Could I, Mama?”
“Yes, you may.”
Megan looked at the earl. “Thank you very much, my lord.”
“Excellent. We will locate one tomorrow morning; I’m not sure what library it is in.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “You have more than one library?”
“We do,” Garrett replied. “I can give you and your mother a tour of the hall, including the libraries, after tomorrow’s breakfast.”
Megan glanced at Garrett, then looked away. “Thank you, sir.”
To give Garrett credit, he didn’t let the conversation end there. “Do you ride, Megan?”
Abbie could tell Megan was all nerves talking to her…father, more so than with the earl or the viscount. Her daughter nodded while shoving a piece of chocolate frosted cake into her mouth. She swallowed, then said, “My father owned a couple of horses. He bought me a mare for my twelfth birthday. I ride her when I can, when I am not away at school.”
At the words “my father” a pained expression flashed across Garrett’s face and regret— and perhaps guilt—stabbed Abbie’s heart. She had denied Garrett of being the one to gift her with a horse. Yes, but with good reason. Under the dire circumstances, Abbie made the only decision that she could. An unmarried young woman who found herself with child had few options.
Garrett cleared his throat. “We have the finest stables in Kent. In fact, I breed horses. There is a particular sweet mare who would like to make your acquaintance. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?”
Megan looked to her, and Abbie nodded encouragingly. Make an effort, Megan. Please.
“Thank you, Mr. Wollstonecraft. I would like to ride.” Again, a cool response. It would have to do.
Polite conversation broke out, the earl questioning Megan about her home and school and Julian asking her about Standon and Hertfordshire in general. Through it all, Abbie felt Garrett’s intense gaze on her. She dared not meet it, for every emotion churning inside her would be clearly visible if she did.
“There is a portrait of your grandmother, Moira, in my study. I will show it to you tomorrow,” the earl said to Megan.
“Oh, may I see it now, my lord?” Megan said, her eyes alight.
The earl stood. “Of course. Come with me.”
The viscount stood as well. “I have a note to reply to. I’ll see you all in the morning.” He bowed and followed the earl and Megan out of the room.
They were alone. Abbie was flustered and shakily placed her empty cup and saucer on the table.
Garrett rose and sat next to her on the sofa. “Think of the years we have wasted.”
All the compassionate emotions she’d been feeling dissipated. “And that is my fault, I suppose?” she snapped.
He clasped her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. Her insides tumbled at his touch. “I say again: You should have come to me.” She bristled, about to retort, when he said, “But would I have handled the situation in a mature manner? At eighteen I was impulsive, wild, not in control of my emotions. My father would have insisted on a marriage had you shown up at our door. I would have agreed. But would I have grown to resent you? Would I have even allowed myself to love you and Megan, or would the specter of the curse have destroyed it all?”
“Hasn’t it destroyed it all anyway? You keep yourself hidden away in the stables, avoiding life. Avoiding love. To what end? To die alone?” she cried.
“You sound like my blasted father,” Garrett barked. “It is my choice to be alone, just as it was yours to marry a stranger. I don’t regret my decision.”
Abbie pulled her hand from his, sick to her core. So much for placing bitter thoughts aside. Damn him and his stupid curse! “And I don’t regret my decision. Did I think of you while my husband made love to me? Not once. I had completely erased you from my mind.” Abbie did not like the spiteful turn this conversation was taking. Hurt obviously still lurked on both sides.
Garrett frowned. “You lie.”
She did, a little. At first she’d thought of Garrett, but time had dissolved him into mist and memory. “With all the many women that came after me, I will guess you did not think of me once. Why would you? I was merely the first in a long line of willing women succumbing to your charms.” How petulant of her, but she did not care.
He shook his head. “There haven’t been as many as you imagine, but the ones I have been with paled in comparison to you. None of them came close. You were always there, haunting me with every thrust, ev
ery kiss. You haunt me still.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Garrett.” She did not know what else to say, although the thought of him with other women, however few, cut deep.
“Do you truly believe that I did not think of you out there, somewhere in the world, lying in another man’s arms? Moaning softly as you did with me? Urging him deeper, faster, as you did with me? Scoring his back with your nails as you cried out?” He clasped her arms and brought her closer. Their mouths were inches apart. “You said that you adored him, this man you married. Did you love him as you did me? Tell me the truth. Did you find the idyllic ecstasy we found in each others’ arms? Tell me.”
Abbie trembled. She couldn’t lie. Not about this. “I did not love him. I wanted to so very much—if any man lived who deserved to be loved, it was him.” A gulping sob left her throat. “Elwyn knew about you; I told him everything. He was well aware that I still loved you, but he told me he was grateful for the affection that I did show him. He was wonderful and kind and I couldn’t love him.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I enjoyed his lovemaking; we had a steady physical relationship up until he became sick, a year before he died. Elwyn was affectionate and giving. No, I did not find the ecstasy that we had shared, but I found something else. Constancy. A generous soul, a man who loved me unconditionally, accepted me, flaws and all, and did—”
Garrett covered his mouth with hers. The kiss was demanding, fierce, and desperate. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and she opened for him. With a ragged groan he took possession, exploring every inch of her mouth. The kiss was tender, then wild. Everything she remembered, only heightened. The flame that had simmered on low flared to life as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands grasped her breast, and she groaned in response as his stroking thumb made her hardened nipple ache. “I want you, Abbie. I never stopped. Never.”
The sound of voices approaching broke them apart. Good Lord, they were both flushed, with swollen lips, and… Garrett stood abruptly and faced the window. There was no mistaking his erection. Quickly brushing the few tears from her cheeks and smoothing the front of her dress, she then reached for a biscuit and nervously began to nibble on it.
A moment later, the earl and Megan entered the room. The earl’s eyebrows shot up and Abbie’s cheeks flushed further, because by the expression on his face, he had no doubt guessed what had passed between her and Garrett, as the air crackled with sensual energy.
“Oh, Mama. I must show you the portrait tomorrow when we have the tour. I look very much like the countess, though she is much more beautiful.”
“Not necessarily, my dear,” the earl said. “You have a little more growing to do. In the next couple of years, your beauty will shine all the more.”
Megan gave the earl a warm smile. Already they had formed a bond—how surprising. But then, Megan had never had a grandfather in her life before. Abbie stood. “It has been a long day, my lord. If we may be shown to our rooms?”
“Yes, at once. There will be a buffet-style brunch at about ten in the morning. Hope you brought your appetites, as breakfast is our favorite meal here at Wollstonecraft Hall. I have a maid who will see to your needs. She did such for Riordan’s wife, Sabrina, over the past several weeks.” The earl moved to the door and a footman entered. “Show Mrs. Hughes and her daughter to their rooms. Good night, ladies.”
Garrett turned his head slightly. “Goodnight, Abbie, Megan.”
* * * *
“All right, Son. The ladies have departed. What is going on?”
Garrett remained facing the window. His damned erection was still at half-mast. “Not sure what you mean, Da.”
Oliver laughed. “Come and sit.”
With an exasperated sigh, Garrett did, but growled when he observed the amused expression on his father’s face.
His father reached for a raisin biscuit. “You were kissing her, weren’t you? Quite vigorously, I would guess. The passion still exists between you. What do you plan to do about it?”
“Do? What can be done, with the curse—?”
“Hang the damned curse for the moment. The woman you loved—and no doubt still love—and your daughter stand before you hale and hearty. No tragedy has befallen them.”
“Did you ever stop to think they are ‘hale and hearty’ because I have been apart from them all this time? Now that we are in the same vicinity, the curse will return in full fashion…” The earl laughed, and Garrett’s quick temper sparked. “Do not laugh at me. You more than anyone know what havoc the curse can wreak. I watched Lady Gwendolyn rot away from childbirth infection. I watched baby Sarah gasp for every breath. I watched Fiona slowly die of a heart ailment. Factor in my mother’s death? Yes, it made a damned impression.”
His father ceased laughing. “No child should be exposed to such tragedies. But you cannot let it rule your entire life.”
Garrett snorted. “You haven’t remarried, neither has Julian. Deep down, you believe it exists. Admit it.”
“I married three times. I did not allow the curse to deter me or rule my life, not to the extent you are doing. As far as Julian is concerned, did you see the expression on his face when he was given the note from Alberta Eaton? I will be starting a correspondence with Miss Tuttle. If we both believed in the curse as fervently as you, wouldn’t we have pushed these lovely women aside?” His father crossed his arms. “Perhaps nothing will come from these attractions, or perhaps we will fall in love for the last time in our lives. I am willing to find out where this will lead. Are you? Or will you toss that beautiful woman away once again? I’ve seen the way you gaze at each other. The love is there, ready to be rekindled. Do not be hasty and dismiss it.”
Garrett grabbed handfuls of his long hair in frustration. “I honestly have no idea how to proceed.”
“Follow your nephew’s lead. Curse be damned—marry the woman you love. Riordan has shown more courage than any of us.”
Garrett glanced up at his father. “And if something should happen to his bride, what then?”
“We face it together, as a family. As we’ve always done. And, Garrett: Megan and Abigail should be a part of this family. Deep down you know it.”
“We’ve both changed, Da.”
“Suggest that she extend her visit. I have selfish reasons, for I wish to know my granddaughter better. Already I find her to be a delight. See where this leads. You’ve been alone long enough.”
Well, his family had never shied away from discussing difficult subjects or emotions. The man spoke sense as always. “All right, Da. I will ask them to stay longer, but it is up to Abbie.”
He hoped to hell that he was not making a mistake. The last thing he wished was to place Abbie and his daughter—or his lonely heart—in jeopardy.
Chapter 8
Since the air held a determined chill, Garrett decided that their ride would encompass the perimeter of Wollstonecraft Hall, but no farther. While he rode Patriot, Megan sat on Jade, the gentlest mare in the stables, and Abbie rode a chocolate brown gelding, Ivanhoe.
The conversation was sparse but pleasant. Megan still acted uncomfortable in his presence; he couldn’t blame the lass. She answered him when he directed conversation toward her, but did not initiate any toward him. He wasn’t sure how to bring her out from behind her protective wall other than to be himself.
“I forgot how impressive the property is,” Abbie stated.
“It is even more so when all is in bloom, if you recall, especially the roses and hydrangeas. Remember the afternoon we spent picking cherries?” Garrett replied.
Abbie flushed prettily. “I do remember that you ate them all before we had a chance to deliver them to the kitchen.”
Actually, Garrett recalled feeding them to each other in the hayloft. It had soon turned sensual, with Abbie slowly sucking on the succulent fruit while he held it out for her. It led to a particularly vigorous bout
of sex. Garrett shifted in his saddle at the heated memory.
“Do you have other animals or pets, Mr. Wollstonecraft?” Megan asked, pulling him from his erotic and inappropriate thoughts. My God, she had asked him a question. His heart swelled with joy.
“Not as such; this is not a working farm. My late grandfather, the old earl, had chickens, but Da did not like the odor enough to keep them. We are strictly a horse breeding operation, although we do have two goats that live with some of the horses as companions.” Garrett pulled on the reins to slow Patriot. “Beyond the stables there, is the breeding shed.” Garrett pointed toward a cluster of buildings. “And the large building with the conical roof is our indoor paddock, where we train and exercise. As for pets, we did have a number of housecats through the years. When I was younger my Scottish grandfather gifted me with a beautiful Scotch collie during one of my summer visits. The dog passed about six years ago, and I meant to travel to Scotland to procure another, but have yet to do so.”
Though he and his grandfather corresponded on a regular basis, Garrett had not visited the Mackinnon side of his family since taking on the combined duties of estate manager and land steward.
“Is it like a sheepdog?” Megan asked.
“Both are herders, but a Scotch collie is somewhat different from a sheepdog, in that they are little larger and have thicker, longer hair. Collies are intelligent, and extremely loyal.”
“You should get another,” Megan stated.
“Perhaps I shall. Very soon.”
“What was her name?” Megan asked.
An actual conversation with his daughter, the first one ever. Although there was barely a trace of warmth in her tone, at least she was speaking to him openly. His heart squeezed with emotions he could not name. “‘He’ actually. I called him Laddie. Appropriate, considering his birthplace.” Garrett sighed wistfully. “I miss him still. He went with me everywhere. As I said, loyal to a fault.” And good company when loneliness crowded in, especially after he’d sent Abbie away.
Scandal with a Sinful Scot Page 9