One Night To Be Sinful

by Samantha Garver

  From the corner of her eye, Abby thought she saw the old woman's wrinkled cheeks shade. The corners of her mouth twitched as her gaze moved back to the man who sat across from her. The glow of the tapers set at the center of the table made his skin golden and the flash of his teeth white when he grinned at her. Abby quickly sank her fork into her vegetables.

  "Any sightings of Harry, Lady Abby?" Margot had no idea the amount of relief she brought her employer when she began the conversation.

  Abigail swallowed, shook her head. "I think I might try the attic following dinner."

  "You might not have to search that far up, m'lady." Mrs. Poole spoke over a mouthful of fish. "Either we have a very large rat, or he's been in my pantry sampling everything from the turnips to a sack of wheat flour."

  "Did he leave footprints?" Abigail's heart lifted at the thought that she might be able to track down the missing animal.

  "Paw prints, dear," Margot chuckled.

  "Not that I saw." Mrs. Poole sank her teeth into a roll.

  Abigail sighed.

  "What"-Calvin spoke for the first time since beginning the meal, setting his fork down as he did-"exactly is Harry, might I ask?"

  "A rabbit."

  "Unusual animal to keep for a pet."

  "Abby saved his life, she did." Margot was eager to tell the story.

  Calvin lifted a brow at Abby. "Did she?"

  Abigail felt suddenly self-conscious, her lips closing around her forkful of fish.

  "His mother had been caught in a trap, was already dead when Abby found them. Poor little fellow had curled up beside her on the cold ground. He was just a tiny thing when she brought him here. Had to make him eat and everything."

  "You keep traps?" Calvin directed the question at Abigail.

  "No." Her answer came swift and disgusted.

  "One of Lord Raleigh's." Mrs. Poole reached for the platter of fish, her plate already empty.

  "He accidentally put it on your land?" Calvin's tone was curious, almost testing.

  "It was no accident, I am certain." Abby had lost her appetite at the remembered sight of the beautiful rabbit almost decapitated by the steel claws of the trap and the nonexistent weight of her kit when Abby carefully cupped him in her palm. Since that day, she and Tuttleton had begun to take rides about the property, searching for instruments of death.

  "Lady Abigail-"

  Whatever Calvin was about to say in a rather earnest tone of voice was brought to a halt when Abby released a startled cry. The sharp crack of sound pierced through the walls and a sudden flash of light burst through the dining-room window.

  "Thunder." Timothy eyed his employer worriedly from beneath his bangs.

  Margot said quickly, unnecessarily, "The storm has been brewing for some time."

  Abby nodded, ignoring the interested gaze of the man sitting across from her as she reached for her sherry. As she lifted the glass to her lips, her hand trembled.

  It was going to be a long night.

  He was looking for the rabbit. Though the hour was late, he had been unable to sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the flickering bursts of light across the ceiling as the storm reached its crescendo. By the time the thunder was rumbling off to the west, he had climbed from under the bedclothes and was slipping into his boots. Calvin's attempt to find the ever-ellusive Harry was genuine. He had first searched the library and then the kitchen, where the animal had last made his presence known.

  He was still looking for the rabbit, he told himself staunchly as he opened the door to Abigail's study. A nagging sense of his real intent sat at the pit of his belly.

  The room had not changed since his interview there, save that the chair in which he'd sat was repositioned near the wall. Calvin set his taper on the desk and moved around the room. As he peeked behind the curtains, he wondered about making some call to the rabbit then realized he had no idea what sort of noise would beckon a rabbit the way a whistle might a dog. He got down on all fours to look beneath Abigail's desk, and as he straightened, his gaze moved with intent he didn't attempt to hide over the items littered across its top.

  Taking up most of the desk-weighted down by pieces of charcoal in various states of use, a ruler, and compass-was a drawing. No, not a drawing, Calvin decided as he moved around the table, but what appeared to be some sort of design. Though he was interested in the nature of the detailed drawing, Calvin had more pressing matters on his mind. His gaze moved to two leather-bound ledgers set atop each other at the corner of the desk.

  He lifted the corner of the first book to neatly penned script. He flipped through a few of the pages, finding mostly to-do lists and a few mismatched notes, one of which said simply, ASKEMILYABOUT S. BLACK The last penned page was a list of men's names and beside each a few words that, Calvin presumed, referred to their character. He suddenly realized this had been Abby's list of applicants for her butler's position. He chuckled as he read a note about a gentleman who stared at her breasts for an indecently long amount of time, then decided that if one had to stare at something, the front of Abby's bodice could be pleasing.

  Calvin carefully moved the notebook to the side and reached for the one beneath it. It was Abigail's account book; that much was clear from the moment he opened it. He ran a finger down the even lines of print and monetary figures, his brows lifting when he saw how much was put out for the wages of Abigail's servants. Each value posted was explainable, going out for food toward the horses or the house; a great deal was spent on books and soaps, add-ons to the renovation of the stable that Calvin assumed had been after the fire. There were two postings, however, of a withdrawal from her accounts that went well over one hundred pounds each. The only description of the funds spent came in the initials, P.V.

  Calvin frowned, doing a second quick survey of the registry, then returned the book to the desk. He made sure to place the other leather-bound ledger atop it before reaching for the taper he had brought with him. He closed the study door, deciding upon the best method of getting a note to Thomas to ask him if the initials meant anything to him. He had reached the end of the staircase, lost in his thoughts, when he heard her scream.

  Though he had no reason to be so certain, Calvin knew the cry had come from Abigail's room upstairs. He took the steps two at a time, his taper flickering wildly then going out as he reached the upper landing. Tension coiled down his spine as he moved quickly to the door of the woman's chamber. Then the door beside it swung open.

  "Don't, lad." The old woman's words were no more than a whisper, but they stopped Calvin in his tracks. "She'll be all right."

  Calvin scowled at Mrs. Poole in her frothy white nightgown and untied sleeping cap. He was irritated that the woman appeared so calm when something unnameable clawed at his insides. Worry, he finally realized, such as he had never felt for another human being since he had been born on the streets of London.

  He lifted a fist to knock on the door.

  The cook's hand was cold when she caught his wrist. "Ye'll embarrass her." When Calvin blinked, she released her hold on him. "It's the storm. Whenever it comes, you may be certain that m'lady will have one of her dreams."

  "Dreams?"

  "A nightmare"-Poole waved her hand dismissively as she turned back to her room-"memory- what have you." Her point made, she closed her bedchamber door.

  Calvin stared at the door of Abigail's chamber as if he could see through it. He finally registered the old woman's choice of words. "Memory," he whispered into the darkened hall and frowned when he heard a muted thud ... the distinct sound of Abby's crutch hitting the hard floor as she walked.

  Chapter 7

  "Funny," the woman in the bleak gray gown said without a hint of humor touching her dark gaze. "I thought I was the bitch."

  "You are, Emily." Harriet Mosley was one of only four women not intimidated by the other. She smiled. "Abby is a betch. Your title is still intact."

  "Good to know," Emily Paxton said without emotion.

  The other
two women in the library burst into laughter. In the gleam of the early afternoon sunlight, Abby even thought she detected a soft glint in Emily's eye. She was glad her friends had come, she decided then, though she had doubted her mood when they arrived an hour before. She hadn't slept well, and the fact was evident in the shadows beneath her eyes and her somewhat lacking disposition. As with the days that often followed her nightmares, she had kept herself removed from most of the individuals in the house.

  "So this is why you did not come into the village yesterday?" Emily was saying from where she stood near the empty hearth.

  "I'm afraid so." Abby moved toward her desk. "I have started a tally, so to speak, of my grievances against Lord Raleigh. The next time I do venture into the village, I will pay the magistrate a visit and make a formal complaint."

  Harriet frowned. "Did you say you thought you saw the magistrate hunting with Raleigh the last time the viscount had one of his parties?"

  Abby's nose wrinkled. "Yes, but Mr. Kingsly must take my complaint whether he is a friend of Raleigh's or not. That is his job." She chose to ignore the dubious glance her friends shared as she dropped her gaze to the top of her desk and frowned.

  "If you like, Abby, I might be able to assist you in this matter," Emily offered.

  "Pray tell." Harriet's eyes rolled. "Do you have plans of accosting Lord Raleigh as you did Lord Black?"

  "That, Harriet, was a totally unrelated matter. I was mistaken in my judgment of Black's character. I have no doubt that Raleigh is a scoundrel." A muscle flexed in Emily's jaw. "Exactly the sort of man I know how to deal with."

  Blinking, certain that everything was in its place atop her desk despite the sudden feeling of unease that had hit her, Abby looked up. "I think I have the matter under control for now, thank you."

  "Where exactly was the slander put, Abby?" Harriet rose to her full and considerable height, walking to the window where it looked out over the stables. "I did not see it when we rode up, and there's no sign of it on this side of the building either."

  Abby sat in her chair, preparing to share her de signs with the other women. "It was on this side," she said, then smiled with appreciation, "but Calvin did an excellent job of repainting the wall."

  "Calvin? "

  Abigail looked up and saw that both womenone still standing at the fireplace and the other returning to her seat-were watching her.

  "Mr. Garrett," she explained. "He has taken over, as much as anyone can, Tuttleton's old position."

  "I see." Harriet dragged her chair nearer the desk, looking over Abby's designs. "These are your new blueprints for the shop?"

  "Yes." Abby nodded. "There are a few final touches to be made. That's why I needed a second opinion."

  "We are ready to help you, Abby." Emily walked to the desk, her back rod-straight as she gazed at the plans. "I cannot imagine we would come up with anything that surpasses your ideas."

  Abigail grinned, the remnants of her poor night the echoing screams of horses and her own frightened whimpers-finally gone. "I'm so glad you came."

  Emily's lips were twitching dangerously upward when she met Abby's eye. Then the knock at the study door diverted her attention.

  "Come in," Abby called, expecting Margot with tea.

  The newcomer bore a silver tray laden with cups and an engraved serving pot, but it was not her maid.

  "Margot went to chase after a shadow she thought looked like Harry," Calvin said. He looked distinctly uncomfortable standing in the doorway that his wide shoulders almost filled, bearing the brunt of two intrigued stares. He had awoken late again. His hard jaw was unshaven and his black hair looked as if its only combing had come from his fingers. "I brought your tea."

  "Thank you." Abigail considered the overall look of uneasiness her butler wore as he walked stiffly to her desk. She wondered briefly if he had never served tea before.

  He set the tray on the edge of her table, meeting the gazes of her friends evenly, as if daring them to slander his serving.

  "These are two of my best friends, Calvin," Abigail said. "Emily Paxton and Harriet Mosley."

  "Mr. Garrett." The women nodded in unison.

  "Ladies." He straightened, turning his attention back to Abby. His lips barely moved as he asked in a rather dour tone, "Do I serve you?"

  Abby felt like laughing. The picture that had formed in her mind of the man doing such a thing tickled her. "I think we can manage, thank you."

  She thought she heard Calvin sigh before turning back to the door and leaving the room a lot faster than he had come.

  "Your new butler?" Harriet did not look at Abby.

  "Mr. Garrett."

  "Emily?" Harriet said.

  "Yes?" The other was staring at the closed door like Harriet, but whereas the other woman's eye gleamed with unveiled interest, hers was rather thoughtful.

  "Remind me, when we get back to the shop, that I would like to look up what buttlering exactly entails. "

  He stood on the edge of the field, hands folded on his hips with the wind pressing his too-small shirt against his chest, the ends of his jacket against his thighs. His eyes gleamed dark blue where they did not reflect the cacophony of colors spread out before him. It was obvious some sort of harmony needed to be made of the jumble of plants if it was to look anything like the gardens impressing the ton.

  "Where the hell do I begin?"

  Calvin's focus on the seemingly insurmountable task at hand was diverted by a rhythmic cadence carried through the earth below his feet. His attention moved from the overgrowth of shrubbery, his head slowly turning so that he might watch the horse approach. Its rider was a woman sitting sidesaddle. The ribbon of her jaunty hat trailed out behind her, the skirts of her matching riding gown rippling against the mare's side.

  Calvin's brows drew together. The woman had come from the property bordering Lady Abigail's. He was dimly certain it was she who had ridden beside Raleigh on the only occasion he saw the man. Despite the genuine, slightly sultry smile that curled her full lips, Calvin had only one thought when the woman brought her mount to a halt no more than four feet away.

  Rouble.

  "Greetings, sir," the woman said breathlessly. Her breathing made her full breasts rise against the opened buttons at the top of her velvet coat. Lying within the crevice made between each full globe was a large diamond set in a string of pearls.

  "Good afternoon." Calvin kept his voice emotionless. He did a quick survey of the woman's face. She was beautiful, with high cheekbones, a small nose, and pale skin. The self-assured gleam in her emerald green eyes suggested she was not unaware of her physical attributes.

  "I am Lady Katrina Raleigh." Though she had time to rest, her voice remained breathless.

  "Lord Raleigh's wife?"

  "Heavens, no." She laughed, and Calvin found the artificial sound grating on the nerves. "He is my cousin."

  Calvin continued to watch the woman, silent and waiting.

  Katrina Raleigh blinked, as if surprised that he had not read her mind. "And you are?"

  "Garrett." It was all he dared to offer. He did not recall ever having met the viscount but wanted to take no chances that the man would recognize his name. Calvin was still unsettled about the intent gaze of Emily Paxton earlier in Abigail's study.

  Lady Raleigh did not ask him if he was a friend or relative of Abigail's. Something about the way in which her perfect gaze traced his dirty breeches and shirt-pausing a little too obviously at his hips and shoulders-expressed that she already understood his place.

  "The name sounds familiar," she said, and Calvin felt the hair at his nape rise. Then her black brows lifted. "Do you have family that may have worked for the viscount?"

  "I couldn't say." Oddly enough, it was the truth.

  "Well," the woman gave Calvin a final, languid once-over before looking at him through her thick lashes, "I just thought I would introduce myself." She tugged on the reins of her mount but had only turned a little away before she met Calv
in's gaze again and sank her teeth into her bottom lip. "Perhaps we shall meet again, Mr. Garrett."

  "Perhaps." Calvin inclined his head, but a bitter taste filled his mouth as he watched Lady Raleigh trot away. She reminded him of a woman he had known several years before, and the comparison wasn't flattering.

  Releasing in one deep breath the tension that had settled in him the moment the woman made her approach, Calvin turned back to his earlier task. His jaw setting grimly, he knelt and began to yank at the overgrown weeds crowding around his feet. He was on his third handful of thick stalks and fiercely green leaves when he heard the shout.

  "Mr. Garrett!" Then, more loudly and filled with what sounded a lot like horror, "Calvin! Stop!"

  He turned in the direction of the cry and decided that Abigail moved quite fluidly despite her braced leg. She came from the back of the house, her gait eating up the space between them in haste and her normally tranquil features clearly exposing her surprised unease.

  "What," she gasped, "what are you about, sir?" She was breathing as rapidly as Lady Katrina had when she approached. Her chest heaved, but only the slightest glimpse of her soft breasts pressed up above the lace border of her striped bodice.

  Calvin, unimpressed with the bounty put on display by the other woman, found himself having to draw his gaze away from below Abigail's neck to focus on her face. Her cheeks were pink and her lips set ever so slightly apart, the latter striking him as even more interesting than the careful smile Raleigh's cousin had worn. He was reminded of only two days prior, when he had held Abigail in his arms-much to the woman's dismay. Her lips had been parted then, and something as vaguely wicked as the emotion curling about his spine at that time rushed into his lower body.

  "I've finished polishing the silver"-he had to clear his throat when his voice came out coarse"and sweeping the floors. I helped Timothy with the horses. For want of anything else in need of my attention, I thought I'd work on your garden." He glanced down at the sunflowers that almost reached her hips. "Forgive my bluntness, Lady Abigail, but it is sorely in need of care."