A Perfect Gentleman

by Candace Camp

  “Ask me what?” said a voice from the doorway.

  Both Abby and Prescott whirled around to see Graeme standing in the door, his expression one of polite inquiry. Red flooded Abby’s cheeks. How much of their conversation had Graeme heard? Her mind was suddenly, stubbornly empty of any answer to his question. She was sure she must look the very picture of guilt.

  Fortunately, David was less at a loss. “Just a question about the British Museum. I had suggested we might go there one day, and Abby wondered if she would enjoy it.”

  “I am sure Lady Montclair would find it quite interesting.” Graeme looked at her. “She has a great deal of curiosity about all sorts of things.” He strolled farther into the room. “I see you decided to take me up on my invitation, Mr. Prescott. I trust you find Lady Montclair well.”

  “Yes.” Prescott gave him a nod as stiff as Graeme’s stance. “I was pleased to see her in good health after her ordeal.”

  “It sounds worse than it was,” Abby said lightly. “All in all, I only swallowed a bit of nasty water.”

  “I’m sure there was a good deal more to it than that.” David gave her a tight smile. “I shall take my leave of you now. You must not tax your strength.” He directed a pleasant nod to her and a lesser inclination of the head to Graeme. “Good day.”

  Graeme watched the other man walk away, then pivoted slowly back to his wife. He regarded Abigail for a long moment, then said, “Now . . . why don’t you tell me the real story about yesterday evening?”

  The cold composure on his face, so unlike the warmth they had shared last night, took her aback. She had the uneasy feeling she had missed something, taken a wrong turn. “The real story? I already told you—”

  “Lies are what you have told me. Or perhaps it’s half-truths. Omissions. But I know you have not told me what you know.” As she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand as if calling a halt. “And do not tell me it is none of my business. You are my wife; you say you want to be the mother of my child. Last night I had to pull you out of the Thames. Then I had to whisk you away from the scene of a crime before the police could find you there. I would say that makes it very much my business.”

  “Graeme!” His hard tone struck her like a blow. “Surely you don’t think I was doing anything criminal!”

  “I don’t know what to think. Clearly you’re involved in something that is worth killing a man over. It would have been two murders if I hadn’t managed to chase you down in time.” He whipped around and walked away, then strode back. “I needn’t ask you the identity of the man you were meeting; I know that.”

  “You do?” Abigail gaped. “How?”

  “I went to the police this morning. I told them it was I who had gone to meet the fellow, arriving in time to see him shot and his killer flee. They had no trouble believing I was meeting him, you see, since he was my father’s man of business.”

  “Oh.” The blood drained from Abigail’s face.

  “Yes, the self-same person you were discussing with Mr. Prescott when I entered.”

  “I didn’t know his name,” Abby said quietly. “I told you the truth.”

  “About that. I want to hear the rest of it. Why were you meeting Milton Baker last night?”

  “I told you. He said he had information for me.”

  “Information about what?” When Abigail hesitated, Graeme took a long step forward. “Don’t lie to me. Or I promise you, this is the end of our ‘arrangement.’ ”

  “Graeme!”

  “Don’t you understand? How can I possibly be with you in any way if I cannot trust you? How could I allow you to raise my child? You said you were not like your father, that you are not engaged in underhanded schemes. Yet from the moment I saw you, you have kept things from me, received secret letters, crept out to clandestine meetings in the most unsavory parts of the city. I want the truth. What sort of scheme are you embroiled in? Why did you come back to England?”

  “I came back to England for the reason I told you,” Abigail snapped. “Your grandmother wrote me. She suggested I come here; she talked about all the years that had passed and how you must have an heir. I had already been thinking about my life and the changes I wanted—just as I told you. That’s why I returned.”

  “How does Milton Baker come into it?”

  “He doesn’t have anything to do with my returning. I swear it. After I arrived—in fact, it was the very evening we met again—I found a note lying on the floor of my room. It had no signature. It said that I didn’t know the truth behind my marriage.”

  “The truth behind your marriage?” Graeme frowned. “What truth is that?”

  “I didn’t know! Obviously this person believed he knew something I didn’t, something I would pay money to find out.”

  “And did you?”

  “I was going to. That evening you came to see me after your fight with Mr. Prescott, another note was slipped under my door, as you saw. He told me to meet him if I wanted to discover whatever this ‘truth’ was. So I went; that was when you followed me the first time. He was frightened away when he saw you.”

  “Instead you met him last night. He sent you another letter?”

  “No. He was waiting for me in the hotel corridor near my room.”

  “Milton Baker?”

  “I presume so. He didn’t tell me his name. I didn’t see his face, either. He came up behind me and grabbed me, and I couldn’t—”

  “He attacked you?”

  Abigail took a step back, startled at the sudden fire in his eyes. “No—I mean, he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He just hooked his arm around me so I couldn’t turn around and see his face. At the end he turned and ran, and all I saw was his back.”

  “Yet still you went to meet him? By yourself? Haven’t you any sense?”

  “He said to come alone, and I didn’t want to risk scaring him off again. Besides, it was clear he had no intention of harming me. He could easily have done so when in the hotel, but he didn’t. He wanted money, and he wouldn’t get any if I was dead. Anyway, who should I have taken with me? I thought of Mr. Prescott, but I didn’t want him—or anyone—to hear some awful thing about my marriage.”

  “Prescott! What about me? Don’t you think I might have some interest in the matter?”

  “I didn’t want you to know!”

  “Why?” Graeme clamped his hand around her arm. “What did you want so much to hide from me?”

  Abby jerked away. She glared at him, trapped. “I didn’t want you to learn that your father was a thief! That’s what.”

  chapter 16

  “What?” Graeme’s voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on hers.

  “Mr. Baker told me your father embezzled money from a charity he was involved in. That is what I didn’t want you to hear. I thought I could keep him silent by paying him, and there wouldn’t be any scandal. You wouldn’t have to find out what your father had done.”

  “You were trying to spare me embarrassment?”

  “Yes, of course.” Did he really distrust her so much he believed she wouldn’t try to save him from pain? “I know how important your name is to you, how little you want scandal attached to it. I thought I could ward it off by paying him, and you would never have to know. Your memory of your father wouldn’t be tarnished.” She simply could not reveal the part her own father had played in it. If Graeme knew her father had encouraged Reginald to embezzle the money, he would be furious. She feared he would turn away from her forever, as he had threatened just now.

  “Abigail . . .” He cupped her face in his hands. He gazed down at her, an odd look on his face. “I already knew.”

  “You did?” Now it was her turn to stare.

  He nodded, his voice thoughtful. “So you didn’t know . . .”

  “No. I was aware your finances were poor and you were faced with losing the estate. And that matters were worse because your father had bought a lot of that stock my father sent crashing. But I had no idea Lord Reginald had taken the m
oney from a charity. Obviously, it would have made your situation more desperate. You would have had to replace it immediately, before anyone found out. It’s no wonder you felt imprisoned and angry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I apologize for accusing you of lying.”

  The tenderness in his gesture filled her with warmth. “Well, I was trying to hide it from you. But I promise, I never had any intention of harming you.”

  He kissed her with equal gentleness on her lips. When he lifted his head, there was a look in his eyes that turned the warmth inside her into a blaze. For a moment she thought he would kiss her again. He stepped back to a respectable distance, glancing toward the door. Graeme, of course, would never be so lacking in propriety as to kiss his wife in a room where anyone might walk in on them.

  Abby suppressed a sigh and turned the conversation to a neutral topic. “It seems odd that someone would have shot that man. Why would anyone be harmed by my paying him to keep silent? I was the one who wanted to shut him up.”

  “I suspect that if Baker was trying to extort money from you, he might very well have been playing the same game with others. Maybe someone else was not so willing to pay as you.”

  “I suppose so. And maybe it was an accident that the man pushed me into the water. Or he feared I had seen his face—though I don’t know how I could have.”

  “Perhaps. Still, I think you should be careful—promise me you will not leave the house alone.”

  “Very well. I won’t.” Her spirits rose a little at the note of concern in his voice. “Graeme . . . did Mr. Baker have a wife? A family?”

  “I don’t know him well. I used a different agent. But I believe he was married. Why?”

  “I’d like to call on his wife. Do you know where he lived?”

  “No, but I can find out.” He looked at her quizzically. “You want to offer your condolences?”

  “He was there because he was giving me information.”

  “You think you are to blame?”

  “No, not to blame, but . . . I feel I owe him something. I was about to pay him when he was shot. I am sure his wife needs the money.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And he did give me information—not that there’s much I can do with it, for he died before he could tell me the rest.”

  “The rest? What do you mean?”

  “He was vague, so I fear it’s useless. After he told me about the embezzlement, he said it was ‘what everyone believed’ or ‘what it appeared to be.’ Something like that. As if there was more to it or people were wrong. He said he would tell me when I gave him the money, but then he was shot.”

  “Are you thinking my father might not have embezzled the money?” He shook his head. “I fear Baker was simply saying what he hoped would cause you to give him more money. My father himself told me he had lost the fund’s money and he had to replace it before anyone knew.”

  “Oh. Well, still, I want to give his wife the money. Her life will be harder now. And there might be a chance she knew what he meant. There may not be anything more to the story, but if there is, wouldn’t you like to know it?”

  “Yes. And I cannot but admire your generous heart.” He moved closer. “You are very different from the person I imagined.”

  Her eyes twinkled up at him. “Given what you thought of me, I am glad to hear you say so.”

  “I have been wrong and unkind.” Graeme brushed a curl back from her cheek. “I have not shown much of that same sort of heart.”

  “You came to my aid, not once but twice, however little you liked me. I think that says a great deal about your nature.”

  “I will take you to see her tomorrow.” Graeme remained only inches from her, gazing into her eyes. “But right now, I think you should go to bed. After your ordeal, you need to rest.” He circled her wrist with his hand, gliding it up her arm.

  “Alone?”

  “No, I think not. You are doubtless still weak.” He turned, his hand on her arm propelling her forward, and leaned down to murmur in her ear, “You will require my assistance.”

  A breathless laugh escaped her. “I believe you are right.”

  They took the stairs at such a pace as to belie any claims of tiredness. Abigail started toward the bedroom Molly had shown her earlier, but Graeme whisked her into his room instead. “ ’Tis far too likely that my nemesis is in there. I’m not risking that.”

  Abby laughed. “Molly?”

  “Yes, Molly. She’s more Praetorian Guard than maid.”

  “But what shall I do without the services of a maid?” She turned to show the long line of buttons down the back of her dress, smiling archly at him over her shoulder.

  “I shall be happy to serve you.” Graeme nuzzled her neck, sending bright sparks shooting along her nerves. “In that way . . . or any other.”

  “I hope you are more careful than you were last night. I’d rather you not lay waste to all my clothes.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” His low chuckle reverberated through her. “But I promise I will take the utmost care.” He began to work his way down her back, his fingers brushing enticingly against her skin. “Though I cannot imagine why you choose dresses with so many buttons.”

  “Perhaps it’s to challenge you.” She felt the flare of heat in his hands at his words, and she smiled to herself. It was embarrassing to have him undress her; he was so much a stranger to her. Conversely, it filled her with a sizzling excitement.

  “Mm,” he said in a meditative voice as he stroked a finger down the length of her back. “It does that.” He bent to press a kiss to the skin of her back where her dress now gaped open. His hands slid around her waist and up to cup her breasts. “But it’s frightfully easy to get distracted from the task.”

  Abby closed her eyes, luxuriating in the sensations his hands and mouth aroused. “You’ll never become proficient that way.”

  She felt his smile upon her flesh. “That depends on the area in which you want to be proficient.”

  His fingers circled her nipples slowly as his mouth explored the nape of her neck, the twin pleasures rippling through her. Somehow the soft barrier of cloth between his fingers and her own sensitive flesh made the sensation even more erotic. Abby let her head loll back, resting against him, exposing the side of her neck. Graeme was quick to take advantage, his lips moving down her neck and across to her shoulder. His mouth was hot and seductive, tightening the coil of desire in her.

  He lifted his head and returned to the remaining buttons on her dress, and now his fingers were swift at the task. The dress slid farther down as the fastenings gave way, and Abby made no move to hold it, until it hung loosely from her wrists. Graeme slid his hands down her arms, sending her dress to the floor and igniting shivers wherever he touched her.

  He went next to the top of her corset. “Hooks now, I see.” His fingers were nimble. “You are well-armored. I feel as if I’m storming a castle.”

  Abby laughed, and he jerked the last hook free. The stiff form fell away as he ran his hands beneath it, caressing her. “Ah, this feels much better. You should leave that off always.”

  “None of my dresses would fit.”

  He pulled her chemise up and off over her head, and his finger went to the red creases left by the stays’ ribs. “I don’t like to see your skin marred.”

  Graeme turned her around, tracing the lines. His lids drooped lower as he studied her.

  “Beautiful.” His voice was thick. He cupped her breasts, thumbs gently stroking them to hardness. “I could look at you all day . . . if I did not want so much to taste you.”

  He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, and kissed her. Slow. Deep. Hungry. He worked his lips against her, used teeth and tongue to arouse her. Abby felt him swell against her, hard and pulsing. When he raised his head, his eyes were dark and slumberous, his mouth softened.

  “Abigail.” He
said her name as if trying it out to see how it felt. His hands moved slowly down her body. “Abby.”

  She leaned toward him, and he met her, his mouth hot and eager. He sank his fingers into her hair, popping pins loose and sending her tresses tumbling. He fumbled at the ties closing her undergarments, divesting her of bustle and petticoats. One tie knotted, and she felt his fingers clench in frustration, followed by a snap that meant the ribbon had been torn from its moorings. Abby didn’t care. She loved the feel of his eagerness, his haste, just as she reveled in the heat radiating from his body and the faint tremor in his skin where she touched him.

  He walked her back to the bed, his mouth roaming her face and throat. His arms beneath her buttocks, he lifted her, his mouth moving down to fasten on her breasts. Abby bent her head over his, her hair falling down around them like a curtain, as she caressed his shoulders. She tugged impatiently at his jacket, and he set her down to tear off his jacket and unfasten his clothes.

  Abby helped by reaching down to the buttons of his trousers. She felt the muscles of his stomach jerk as her fingertips slid beneath the waistband, and she hesitated, thinking she had made a misstep, but he breathed, “No, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  His flesh pressed against the material as she moved down the line of buttons, and experimentally she delved inside, sliding her hand over the smooth, throbbing flesh. He let out a low noise, his hand reaching down to guide hers. She could hear his breath rasping in his throat, fast and hard. Emboldened, she moved farther, slipping between his legs and taking the heavy sac in her palm.

  Graeme put his hands on either side of her face, raising it to his, and he kissed her deeply, shuddering as she stroked him. He pulled away, shoving down his hampering garments and kicking them free. Lifting her, he tumbled her back onto the bed and covered her with his body. Braced on his elbows, his hands cupping her head, he continued to kiss her.

  He had managed to unbutton his shirt but hadn’t gotten so far as to pull it off, so that it hung open and loose. The bared skin down the center of his chest was pressed against her; she felt the hard line of his bones, the firm padding of muscle, the tantalizing prickle of chest hair upon her flesh. Abby slipped her hands beneath the sides of his shirt, tracing his ribs and exploring his back. Everything she did seemed to heighten his passion.