by Candace Camp
“No, I’m sure not.”
“Abby, I don’t know what to say. It upset you to see her; I understand. I would change it if I could.”
“Of course. There’s no need for you to be concerned.” Abby paused. “She is not very like me, is she?” Why did she keep poking at this bruise on her heart?
“Laura?” He smiled a little to himself. “No. You’re not alike.” Graeme started toward her. Abby took a hasty step back, and he stopped.
“I quite liked her.” For all her effort, Abby’s voice was brittle. “I can see why you love her.”
His eyes widened. “Abby! I’m not having an affair with her. Is that what you think? I swear to you, I have not even seen her in years. I’m not. I won’t. Ever.”
“I know. It would damage Miss Hinsdale’s reputation, and you would never do that. You told me so. I believe you.”
“Well, of course, but—”
Abby rushed on. “I am just sorry, so sorry, that you had to give up the woman you love.” Her throat closed, and she felt traitorous tears welling in her eyes.
“No, don’t cry.” Graeme’s voice was alarmed, and he reached out, wrapping his hand around her arm. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault. I don’t want you to be unhappy or to think that I regret it.”
“You don’t regret it?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and turned away. “Really, Graeme, there’s no need to lie. We both know you didn’t want to marry me. You hated the idea. You were in love with Laura, and it’s easy to see why. She is perfect for you. She would have made you a wonderful wife. If it were not for my father, you would have married her.”
“I couldn’t have married her. The estate was desperate for money and she was penniless. I should never have said what I did to you that night. I was just so furious at your father’s threat that I—” He stopped abruptly.
“Threat!” Abby stared at him, shaken out of her misery for the moment. “What do you mean? My father threatened you?”
“Well, with, uh . . . bankruptcy. Losing everything. The estate and . . . everything.”
“You’re lying to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why? What did he do?”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, raking a hand back through his hair.
“Graeme . . . damn it. I want the truth.” Abby’s eyes blazed. “Tell me what my father did to you.”
“He knew!” Graeme snapped. “There. Are you happy? Thurston told me if I did not marry you, he would reveal my father’s embezzlement.”
Silence hung in the air between them, as solid as a wall.
“What?” Abby felt as if the air had been knocked out of her. She sank down on the vanity stool.
“Abby, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I know you love your father.”
“No wonder you hated him! And you believed I was part of it. That I knew, that I was forcing you—” She let out a choked noise and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“No, please, I—” He stopped, looking torn. “Don’t cry.”
Abby ached for him to deny it, but he could not, of course. He had believed it. He’d told her so.
“No wonder you despise me!” She could no longer hold back her tears. They poured forth, her words coming in sodden, breathless spurts. “I see now why you hated me. Why you shoved me out of your life. I’m surprised you didn’t shove me out a window, as well.”
“Abby! No.” Graeme started forward, his face stamped with concern. “I don’t despise you. I—”
“No!” She leapt to her feet, holding out her hand to stop him. “Please, don’t be kind. I could not bear that. He ruined your life. I ruined your life! I am so, so sorry.” She broke down finally, covering her face with her hands, her body racked with sobs.
“Abby, please—” Graeme reached out for her.
Abby whirled away. She would be lost if he touched her. “No! I cannot. Just leave me. Please.”
“I can’t do that. Abby, I—”
“Leave her alone!” They both whirled at the sound of Molly’s voice.
Abby’s maid stood in the doorway, a small tray in her hands. She slammed the tray down on the dresser and charged over to Abigail. Wrapping her arms around Abby, Molly glared at Graeme. “Haven’t you done enough damage? Go away and let the girl be.”
Graeme’s eyes sparked. “Don’t tell me what to do. She is my wife, and—”
“That doesn’t give you license to hurt her.”
“What? I have never lifted a finger against Abby. And you can bloody well pack your—”
“No! Stop!” Abby wrenched away from Molly and positioned herself between the other two, facing Graeme. “I can’t stand this. Graeme, please . . . please, just go.”
Graeme started to speak but stopped, clenching his jaw. Letting out an explosive, wordless sound, he strode toward the connecting door to his room. He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, his eyes on the key in the lock. He turned to look at Abby in disbelief. His face smoothed out, and he pivoted, striding through the open door into the hallway.
Abby stood looking after him.
“Here.” Molly came to her, sliding her arm around Abby. “Don’t fret. What did he say to put you in such a state?”
“It wasn’t his fault.” Abby pulled away from the older woman. “It was . . . I can’t talk about it. Go on to bed, Molly.”
“But—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I just want to be alone.”
Molly hovered, looking doubtful, but finally sighed and said, “You drink your cup, now, and go to bed.”
Abby nodded. And, at last, she was alone. Abby glanced around the room. It seemed huge and empty. Mechanically, she sat down, staring into the glowing coals of the fire. She was numb, unable to think, her head aching from the bout of tears and her body drained of emotion.
She had been so happy the past few days, and now her life lay around her in ruins. What a fool she had been to put herself in this situation. She had been so stubbornly, blindly certain she could forge a new life for herself. She had even hoped it would include Graeme as well as a child.
But how could anything good ever come of a marriage built upon distrust, anger, and contempt? Graeme’s love for another woman made it unlikely enough, but now that she really understood why Graeme had married then rejected her, she despaired of their union.
It was no wonder he had hated the thought of being shackled to her. She understood why even now, when she returned, he had fought so hard against being her husband. Only her threat of divorce had made him agree to her proposal.
And what did that say about her? Was she any better than her father? She had not intended her offer of divorce to be a threat. Divorce had seemed her only chance at happiness after Graeme turned her down. But that didn’t change the impact of her statement. Given Graeme’s abhorrence of scandal, divorce had been a very heavy hammer, indeed.
It horrified her, appalled her, to see this glimpse into her nature. No matter what he had said in the face of her tears, Graeme must despise her. How could he not? Even though she had not been party to her father’s blackmail, she was solely responsible for her own coercion. Abby’s life lay like a dark abyss in front of her. There was nothing she could do to make up for the wicked things she and her father had done to Graeme. All she could do now was give him his future. She quailed at the thought of giving him up. But, she reminded herself, she had never really had him. It had been a delusion she’d created.
She could not sleep. Abby sat up for hours, wrapped in her thoughts, and when at last she dragged herself to bed, she could not rest. Finally, toward dawn, she fell asleep, only to wake up two hours later, feeling sick, as well as sick at heart.
Molly brought her tea and toast. It was her morning routine to combat Abby’s nausea. She peered into the cold cup of chocolate sitting on the dresser and gave a loud sniff of disapproval, then set down the tray beside it and thrust a piece of toast into Abby’s hand.
Abby hadn’t the will to resist despite the wa
y her stomach roiled at the thought of eating.
“Och, you’re looking like death warmed over,” Molly told her.
“Thank you so much.”
“No doubt you stayed up all night, worrying over that man.”
“I wasn’t worrying. Just examining my actions. I’m a selfish person, Molly.”
“Hmph. And who isn’t, might I ask? If you think that that one”—she stabbed her forefinger in the direction of Graeme’s room—“doesn’t think of himself first and foremost, you’re dead wrong.”
“I forced him to accept me.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Oh, no doubt you dragged him unwilling into your bed. I’m sure that if you were cross-eyed and bald, he would have done exactly the same.”
Abby made a face at her and sat up slowly, relieved when her stomach lurched only once, then calmed. She accepted another piece of toast. Most mornings, after a bit of toast, she went downstairs and joined the others at the breakfast table, her stomach settled enough to face the prospect of food without blanching—even though she ate little of it.
But today the thought of facing Graeme and Lady Eugenia, even the drab Mrs. Ponsonby, was too much for her. She must talk to Graeme, but at least she could do so later, when he was alone in his study. She ate another piece of toast to appease Molly and pulled herself out of bed.
Her hands were icy, her stomach a fierce knot, as she went down the stairs to Graeme’s study, relieved not to meet anyone along the way. She paused outside the door. Graeme was sitting at his desk, one elbow on it and his head propped against his hand. There was a paper on the desk in front of him—hopefully nothing important, for he was making aimless circles on it with a pencil, frowning all the while.
Abby drew up her courage and stepped inside, closing the door after her. At the sound, Graeme looked up and popped to his feet. “Abby—Abigail.”
When had he started calling her Abby, she wondered. She had not noticed. But clearly he wanted to retreat from that intimacy.
“I wanted to talk to you.” She laced her hands in front of her to conceal their trembling.
“Yes. Of course. Sit down.” He started around the desk to politely seat her, but she waved him back.
“No, there’s no need. This won’t take long.”
“Very well.” He stopped, his expression careful, the wide desk stretched between them.
“I came to apologize for my father.”
“No, please, there is no need, I assure you.”
“Don’t.” Abby shook her head. “I don’t want English courtesy. It’s time for American plain speaking. What my father did was inexcusable. I swear to you that I would never have agreed to the marriage if I had known it. There is nothing I can do to redress the wrong he did you. Neither of us can change the fact that we are married without causing harm to your family’s reputation.”
Graeme stiffened. “You want to change our marriage?”
“I want to do what I can to make amends to you. Not only for my father’s actions, but also for what I—” Abby stopped and swallowed hard, then plowed ahead, determined to get out what she had come to say before tears overcame her. “I deeply regret the wrong that I have done you, as well. I was selfish and headstrong. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but that doesn’t make it right or good. I should not have made the demands I made of you.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “So . . . I am releasing you from our agreement.”
chapter 25
Graeme looked at her blankly. “What? What agreement? What do you m—” Graeme stopped as a blush tinged Abby’s too-pale face. “Oh. That.”
“Yes, that. We no longer have to live together as man and wife. I will move out of the house and—”
“So that’s it?” He went taut as a bowstring, a hot, fierce light flaring in his eyes. “Just like that. You’re walking out. First you decide you want to have a real marriage, so you push your way into my life. And now, now when you think it doesn’t suit you after all, you’ll sail right out again, go running back to New York.”
“Don’t pretend you ever wanted me here,” Abby shot back. “It was all duty to you, nothing more.”
“I see. And did I fail in my husbandly duty? Did I mistreat you in any way? Deny you anything? Offer you any disrespect?”
His sarcastic tone galled her. “Oh, no, you were the very soul of courtesy.”
“But of course that meant nothing to you.”
“Why are you acting like this?” Abby cried out. “Why are you being so difficult about it?”
“Maybe I’m tired of being so bloody easy!” Graeme turned aside. He took a breath and after a moment, in a flat tone, he went on, “What about this child you said you wanted so much? Have you lost interest in that, as well?”
“No.” She grasped the back of the chair next to her, fingers digging into it for support. “But there’s no longer any need for—I am—I think I’m pregnant.”
He whirled back. “What? You’re—really?” A smile started on his face, and he took a quick step forward, then stopped. “Oh. Yes. Well, I see.” He paused. “I—um, are you certain?”
“Yes, almost positive. I—all the signs are there. So, as you can see, there is no longer any need for us to . . .”
He nodded, once again turning and moving away.
Abby watched him, her eyes filling with tears. She had to leave before she gave way. Swallowing hard, she said, “Good-bye, then.”
“No. Wait.” Graeme spun back around. “Don’t leave. You cannot—you promised you wouldn’t take my child away.”
“I’m not returning to New York. I meant that I would get a house here in London.”
“No, this is where you bel—where my child belongs. He—or she—should be raised in his home, with his family around him.”
“It would be rather awkward, don’t you think?” How could she bear that? To be around Graeme every day, so close to him and yet so removed, a constant reminder of all that she’d hoped for and could not have.
“I don’t see why.” His face was as remote, as coolly polite, as when she had first known him. “As you said, we had an agreement. We each got what we wanted. There should be no anger, no recriminations, surely.”
“I suppose not.” Graeme was right; she had agreed to remain here when they first struck their bargain. The fact that it would be more painful than she had realized did not give her the right to renege on her promises. Most of all, no matter how awful it would be to live with Graeme, the prospect of living without him was worse. “Very well. I’ll stay.”
He gave her a short, sharp nod. “Good. That’s settled then.”
They stood for another long, awkward moment. Abby turned and left the room.
Graeme sank down into the chair behind his desk, stunned and disjointed and so tangled in conflicting emotions he could not bring himself into any kind of order. He had been in a state of turmoil ever since seeing Laura last night, unsure of what he felt, what Abby felt. Unsure of everything, really, except that the incident had upset Abby and that he felt somehow guilty and in the wrong—and vaguely resentful, too.
He had gone after Abby to try to explain that he hadn’t known Laura would be there, but their conversation had only made it worse. Why had she asked him whether she was like Laura? The question was so absurd he’d almost laughed. Abby was so tall and statuesque, so . . . healthy. Raven hair and those bewitching green eyes. Nothing at all like Laura’s pale delicacy. God knew, as much as he had loved Laura, he had never felt for her that driving, madness-inducing hunger he had for Abby.
Laura was so British and ladylike. Calm, soft-spoken, careful. There was none of Abby’s impetuosity or flaring emotions or lively sense of mischief. Well, perhaps Laura did possess a similar sense of humor, though more understated and sly. And there was their stubbornness—and wouldn’t Abby have loved for him to tell her that? Their strength. Courage, steadfastness. Very well, they were alike in some ways.
But that was beside the point. The
important thing was that he had said no, she wasn’t like Laura, which surely was the right answer. No woman liked to be compared to another woman, especially a former love. Yet his answer had not appeased Abby in the slightest.
Then he feared that Abby had leapt to the conclusion that he was having an affair with Laura, but apparently that had caused her no concern—no doubt Abby thought him too dull a fellow to have strayed. Or perhaps she just thought him too enthralled by her own seductive charms for his eye to wander, which was rather maddening even if it was true.
But then why was she so upset? Graeme hadn’t the least idea.
He had apologized for putting her in an awkward position. Not that he had really put her in it—he would have avoided the party like the plague if he had known Laura would be there. And, damn it, how was he supposed to have known that, anyway? He didn’t ask for a guest list. It wasn’t as if he’d planned for Abby to run into Laura. He hadn’t made them sit there, mending skirts and chattering away as if they were bosom friends.
And, anyway, despite the fact that he could not see how he was to blame, he had apologized for it. Her tears panicked and confused him. He tried to comfort her, but she would have none of it. She turned away from him as if he were a veritable villain. She locked her bloody door against him!
Graeme regretted letting it slip about her father’s blackmail. He knew it must have hurt and shamed her that her father had behaved despicably. But Graeme didn’t want, didn’t need, an apology from her. It was her father who had forced his hand, not Abby. He had long ago told her he didn’t believe she had been part of the scheme.
As for Abby wronging him—well, yes, she had maneuvered him into her bed. And he had been furious at her, sure that her talk of divorce was a threat. But how could he resent her for something that brought him such pleasure? He knew her now, was sure she had not acted maliciously. It had torn his soul today to see her tears. He’d wanted to take her in his arms and soothe away her pain and regret, to assure her he was happy, not angry.