Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1)

by Grace Callaway

  In one swift move, he captured my hands. He held them pinned in a gentle grip above my head. I tugged impatiently, but I could not get loose.

  "Let me go, Hux. I need you, I need to ..." My chest rose and fell in desperate surges, the yearning in me beyond explication.

  His nostrils flared. "Ah, Abby, I cannot allow that. Not now. You will make me lose control, and I cannot risk hurting you."

  "I don't care. I want—"

  He gave me what I did not know how to say aloud. His thumb strummed a straining nipple, the bliss of that small action hitching my breath. His smoldering gaze raked over my face as he played with the erect bud, circling it, teasing it, releasing quivers of pleasure down my legs. He knew what he was doing to me; I saw it in the sensual slant of his mouth. Then he lowered his head.

  I gasped, my back arching off the couch. The hot wet caress set my nerves aflame. The shock of what he was doing faded to pure ecstasy. He was suckling my nipple, licking it; each tug, each flick of his tongue wrought a melting sensation in my belly. My lungs pulled for air as he moved back and forth from one breast to the other. With his lips, his fingers, he teased and tormented the eager peaks; I felt a flush of wetness between my thighs. Panting, I strained against his hold, helpless to him, ravenous for the delights he visited upon me.

  He shifted, and a masculine presence wedged boldly between my legs. Instinctively, my hips bucked upward, and the shock of pleasure made me dizzy. Without thinking, I did it again, whimpering as sensation bled into tension, and the need for relief grew and grew.

  "So impatient, little love," he murmured against my ear. His fingers tugged gently on my kiss-moistened nipple. The coil in my abdomen wound tighter. His caress smoothed the curve of my breast, skimmed over my ribcage. I heard the rustle of my skirts being raised, felt the wash of cool air up my drawer-clad legs. Breathless with need, with anticipation, I could not look away from the hypnotic flames of his eyes.

  "Let me give you what you need," he said. Shivering, I felt his hand upon my knee. My thighs quaked beneath the linen as the heat of his touch traveled higher and higher. "You are so beautiful, Abby. More so than I could have imagined. Let me touch you, little love. Let me warm myself by your goddess' fire."

  His voice, his circling, climbing caresses, drove me to a feverish pitch. Yes, oh please yes ... My hips strained upward to meet his touch. He found the slit in the cloth, and ecstasy jolted through me. I cried out as he stroked my most intimate flesh, as he growled with the pleasure of it. Eyes closing, I lost myself to his touch, his husky words of praise, adoration. So soft you are, so wet ... I want to touch you here Abigail, all day, all night ... I shan't stop until your sweet quim weeps with bliss, until you come for me ...

  I was sobbing, beyond control, beyond anything but the ravishing torment of what he was doing to me. Let me inside, let me touch you everywhere ... As he stroked deeper and deeper, my slick flesh gave way, stretching, opening to the firm thrust of his fingers. He filled me, took away the emptiness, leaving no room for air, for breath, for anything but the need for him. Yes, my sweet, lift your hips for me, show me how you want me, how you need me ...

  Gentle at first, the rhythm of his fingers grew quicker, more insistent. I could not get enough. My pelvis rose to greet every thrust, and I moaned as he left me. Again and again, he surged inside. Each time, he pressed deeper, bumping against places that made me shiver and gasp. His harshly controlled breath heated my ear. Take it, my darling, take it ... I could not bear it any longer, I needed to have the relief blazing just out of reach ... with one knowing stroke, he gave it me. He touched a high, quivering place, and in that instant everything in me tightened.

  The release swept over me in a blinding rush. I cried out his name as sensation exploded into waves of heat and bliss. They went on and on, swamping me, the pleasure too vast, almost suffocating. I felt him gathering me close, heard him whispering my name, and slowly, slowly my breathing calmed. Knowing he was there, that I was not alone, I drifted away at last into a sweet, dark tide.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I knew I was being carried, and I had not the strength to protest it. Feigning sleep, not so far my drowsed state, I let Hux take me upstairs to my room and tuck me between the sheets. When warm lips brushed over my cheek, I sighed as if in a dream—and mayhap it was. A rich, golden haze from which I was not ready to awaken. One in which reality hovered in the distance like a dark fog, a gathering specter ...

  A moment's respite, I thought groggily. Just a few minutes to gather myself ...

  I awoke to the sound of muted whispers.

  "I say we leave 'er be. Poor thing, she's pale as a ghost."

  "Nonsense. Nothing good comes of being a-bed at strange hours. See to the drapes—that'll rouse her soon enough."

  I opened my eyes, blinking as the room suddenly flooded with light. I tried to orient my sleep-drugged senses. Where was I, what time ...?

  Two familiar faces came into view.

  "Abby, you're awake." Ginny's round, brown eyes peered into mine. "How're you feelin', luv?"

  "Fine ... I think." I blinked again.

  Clucking her tongue, Mrs. Beecher nudged Ginny aside and placed a palm on my forehead. "No fever that I can tell, praise Mary. You must still be recovering from exhaustion. Maggie did say you looked peaked yesterday afternoon."

  "Y-yesterday afternoon?" My tongue seemed thick, felt-covered. "What day is it?"

  "Why, 'tis Sunday, near dusk," Ginny said, a wrinkle between her auburn brows. "Most ev'ryone is back in the 'ouse."

  Sunday. 'Twas inconceivable. I had slept ... for almost a full day?

  "I hope you did not over-exert yourself in our absence." Frowning, Mrs. Beecher pushed her spectacles higher up on her nose. "What have you been up to, Abigail, that has got you so done in?"

  The events of the weekend returned in a flash. The battle with the demon in the tower. Hux's revelations of his past, of Lilith. His ardent lovemaking, the indescribable bliss of his touch ... my breath hastened. Good heavens, what could I possibly say in answer to the housekeeper's question?

  "N-nothing," I stammered.

  I could tell from the glint in Mrs. Beecher's eyes that she was not satisfied with my response. Running a hand through my tangled hair, I attempted to engage my sluggish faculties.

  "Why, Abby, yer usin' yer left 'and," Ginny exclaimed. "Yer arm's feelin' better then?"

  Grateful for the distraction, I mumbled, "Yes, thank you. I suppose all the sleeping helped."

  "Nothing like rest to heal the body," the housekeeper said. "We must thank the Blessed Virgin for your speedy recovery."

  At the mention of virginity, petals of heat unfurled in my belly. I experienced a sudden, jarring uncertainty regarding my own status in this regard. In the library, the way Hux had touched me, how deep he had reached inside, how I had wanted more and more ... Blood throbbed against the thin membrane of my cheeks.

  "Your color is improving, too, now that you're alert. 'Tis as I always say: that destructive siren sloth is ever to be avoided," Mrs. Beecher said.

  Recognizing the quotation from Horace, one of Aunt Agnes' favorites, I managed a feeble smile.

  "Well, best you get dressed and come down for a good supper. Ginny will help you." Mrs. Beecher gave me one more thorough look. "You're sure, now, that there's nothing you want to tell me about?"

  I shook my head.

  After the housekeeper departed, Ginny went to the armoire to fetch my clothes. I expected her to comment on my new finery and was relieved when she did not. The last thing my jangled nerves could handle was a discussion of my relationship with Hux. As Ginny arranged the layers over me, humming all the while, I felt my insides knotting. Dear God, the deadly nature of Hux's mission. The suffering he had endured—that, like Atlas, he'd shouldered with solitary fortitude.

  Well, he was no longer alone. Not if I could help it. A sudden tremor travelled through my limbs. After everything he had shared, shouldn't I divulge my own secret, re
ciprocate the gut-wrenching honesty he had shown me? Hux of all people—he would empathize with my situation ... wouldn't he? The thought of revealing my affliction made my palms clammy. I still could not shake the trepidation, the eerie foreboding caused by unanswered questions.

  Why had I such a connection to demons, to Lilith? If I told Hux of the visions, how would he react? Would he think me evil ... would he hate me? Or would he, as one who battled darkness himself, understand me as no one else ever had?

  "'Ere we go, all done up," Ginny said.

  Quelling my inner voice, I managed, "Thank you."

  "O'er to the lookin' glass, then, so I can fix your 'air," she said absent-mindedly.

  Turning, I looked fully at her and noticed something different in her appearance. Not so much in her physical looks, but a certain added aura of ... vitality. There was a sparkle in her brown eyes, an air of barely suppressed excitement buzzing around her person.

  "What is it, Ginny?" I asked, puzzled.

  "Oh, Abby, I swore to 'im I wouldn't tell a soul—but I can't 'old it in any longer." A grin tucked into the maid's freckled cheeks. "Me fellow an' me—we's gettin' hitched!"

  "You're getting married?" In that moment, gladness for her happy state displaced my own woes. "Oh, dear Ginny, my felicitations!"

  We hugged, and Ginny led me in a mad little dance in the middle of the room. Stepping back, I looked into her pink face. "And the problems you've spoken of, with his mother. They've been resolved?"

  Ginny nodded, a bright red curl slipping from beneath her cap. "Tom 'ad 'imself a talk wif his ma. 'E tol' 'er I was as good a woman as she—an' she could either 'ave a daughter-in-law or lose a son. Jus' like that, 'e said it."

  "Oh, Ginny," I said, my heart squeezing, "Tom must love you so."

  "'E does," she said. "An' I won't be lettin' 'im down neither. I've started takin' lessons on the weekend, I 'ave."

  "Lessons?"

  "Readin', writin' ... 'ow to walk wif a book on me head," Ginny said, flushing. "There's a lady down in Chelsea who gives classes. Tom is 'elpin' me pay fer it, though 'e says I'm perfect jus' as I am." Her arms crossed. "But I don't want 'is ma lookin' down 'er long nose at me for the rest o' me life. I'll learn me letters if it kills me. That way, the old 'arpy can die 'appy knowin' I've read her bloody 'eadstone."

  I could not help but laugh. "I'd be glad to assist with the lessons, if you ever need it. But how I admire you, Ginny! It takes courage to better oneself."

  Ginny snorted. "Courage ain't got nothin' to do wif it. If you loves a bloke, you'd do anythin' for 'im—else wise, it ain't love but a poke in the drawers."

  The truth of her words struck me like a hammer. That was love, wasn't it? The willingness to do anything, to risk everything for one's beloved. Even the truth—and the pain of rejection that might follow. My heart gave a fearful flutter.

  "Why, Abby, 'aven't you ever been in love before?"

  My face reddened beneath Ginny's astute stare. Shrugging, I tried for a flippant answer. "Nothing serious—"

  "You let me be the judge o' that," she said, her hands on her hips. "Jus' what are you holdin' back on me, Abigail Jones?"

  The desire to unburden myself was alarming. But I found myself unable to form the words. To admit the shameful yearnings of my heart, which knew neither sense nor propriety. For despite the astonishing events of the past two days, he was still Lord Lucien Langsford, Earl Huxton. Still my employer, my better—he just happened to slay demons in his spare time. An abysmal thought sliced through me.

  In the light of day, would he regret having exposed his secrets to his secretary? Would he regret kissing me, touching me? Would he ever wish again to hold me to his heart?

  "While you were sleepin', 'e came in to look on you. More than once," Ginny said quietly.

  I felt a pulsing in my ears. "Wh-who do you mean?"

  "The second footman."

  My heart plummeted.

  Ginny burst out laughing. "Oh, don't be a nitwit, Abby. 'Twas 'is lordship, of course. The bloody earl 'imself. Thrice, 'e poked 'is 'ead in. After the last time, 'e took 'imself off fer a ride like the very devil was chasin' 'im."

  "Oh," I said as pleasure, ridiculous and thrilling, swept through me. Hux had come to see me. How I wished I had been awake! To see his beautiful, austere face once more, to be held in his arms, to quiver beneath his kiss ... Too late, I became aware of the silence and what it must reveal to my shrewd ex-roommate.

  "I mean, how thoughtful of the earl," I muttered.

  "Stuff it all, Abby—'tis me, Ginny, remember? I tol' you 'bout me own secret, didn't I? Least you can do is be 'onest."

  Something in me gave way. "But what I feel—'tis highly improper," I said in despair.

  "Who's to say what's proper?" came the other maid's startling reply. "Love ain't proper. An' there's nothin' wrong wif love, is there?"

  "But the differences, in our stations ... " I began.

  "I've noticed the way 'e looks at you, an' the way you try not to look at 'im. Can't blame you, o' course. 'E's got a bit o' wickedness in 'im, the master does, an' you jus' an innocent li'l thing. Now see 'ere," she said suddenly, her brows lowering, "e' han't made no unwelcome advances to you—"

  I shook my head. "No! Nothing like that. Hux would never—" Catching my blunder, I bit down on my lower lip. "I mean to say, his lordship would never do such a thing. He is a gentleman. And that is precisely the problem. He is wealthy, titled—and I am ... " I blew out a breath. "I am of little consequence in comparison. 'Tis outrageous that I should even entertain such feelings—"

  "I ne'er 'eard such rubbish in me whole life," Ginny interrupted. "If that were true, how would I 'ave landed Tom? Bein' the heir to a millinery business, 'e could 'ave 'ad any o' the local girls—but 'e's sweet on me." She stuck a finger to her chest. "A servant, raised in a no account 'ousehold wif parents what slogged 'emselves in blue ruin. But that's all toff to Tom—do you know why, Abby?"

  "Because you're wonderful," I said, sniffling.

  And you haven't visions of demons dancing in your head.

  "Because love ne'er fails. Says so in the Good Book itself. 'Twas in a passage somewhere, that teacher o' mine 'ad us read it—"

  "One Corinthians," I mumbled. "Chapter thirteen."

  "'Xactly. If God says it's so, who are you to argue?"

  I looked at her in bemusement. "I think you missed your calling in life, Ginny. You're wasted as a maid—you ought to have been a barrister."

  "Who knows where all this bleedin' book learnin' will lead?" She said blithely. "But for now, I'm 'appy to be Tom's wife. An' you should be 'appy to be in love wif a chap who loves you back."

  Oh, how I loved him. And yet ... all my insecurities came to rushing forth.

  "I—I'm certain he doesn't feel that way about me."

  How could he love me? I was plain, poor, and strange to boot. Why would he want a maid of low connections, when he could have anyone—his pick of the aristocratic beauties of the realm? Surely 'twas the novelty of having a secretary to confide in, the relief of having another bear witness to his tortured secrets that had attracted his attention. Even now, he was likely regretting his impetuous actions, whilst I ...

  I exhaled on a bittersweet pang.

  I would treasure those moments of intimacy to my dying breath.

  And even if I wasn't worthy of his love, in my soul I believed that he did need me. That in some pre-destined way we were two parts of a whole. I had been sent to help him slay his demons; all I needed was the courage to admit my own.

  "Three bleedin' times in the last hour," Ginny said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "You're blind as a bat if you don't see it. I'm tellin' you, Abby: if that ain't love, I'll eat me own cap."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The conversation with Ginny filled me with hope and misgiving both. Over supper, as the other servants chattered and passed around platters heaped with food, I ruminated about destiny. About what design the Fates had in mind as they inter
wove my life and Hux's. Surely, there was a purpose to it all. I could hear the voices of demons. Hux hunted them. Were we were somehow meant to work together, to be—

  "Care for some sausage, Abigail?" The smooth, male voice yanked me back to the present. From across the table, Derrick held two dishes out to me. His sandy hair gleamed in the candlelight, and a charming smile eased across his face. "Or buttered parsnips p'haps? Or, better yet, a penny fer your thoughts?"

  Hesitantly, I took a scoop of the fragrant vegetables. His smile did not waver, so I mumbled, "I—I was just thinking of a knotty problem. To do with, um, the library."

  "Anythin' I can 'elp wif?"

  He sounded so sincere that my brows lifted. For weeks, he'd treated me with derision. What had caused this turnabout in demeanor?

  Reading my expression correctly, he chuckled. "Reckon I've been a bit green-eyed, han't I? A fellow can't help it when a pretty girl don't notice 'im—an' then she gets put up even 'igher out o' reach."

  So unexpected was his admission that I stared at him, flabbergasted.

  "But I'm to thinkin' there's no rule wot prevents a secretary from steppin' out wif a footman, is there? An' I mus' say you're a fine sight these days in that fancy frock o' yours." His light blue eyes lingered on my mouth, and I felt a tingle of revulsion. "So, wot do you say, Abigail?"

  Casting my eyes around, I was relieved to see the other servants were too absorbed in their own conversations to pay us any mind.

  "I'm flattered, but I don't think so," I said quietly.

  His eyes narrowed, though his smile remained cajoling. "Why not? Ain't I good enough fer you?"