"That was different." Abigail couldn't quite hold the other woman's gaze, well aware Bernice's affair with Black had been all they spoke about until they were certain of the earl's intentions toward her.
"It's true we have moved on to other concerns." Harriet shrugged. "It is somewhat disheartening to one's own lack of a liaison when you are certain your best friend most likely shares intimate embraces with the man she loves every blasted night of the week."
"Sometimes twice." Bernice grinned.
When the others laughed, Abigail could not bring herself to refrain from joining in.
"It is unseemly," Abigail said when she had sobered enough to do so, "to even attempt such a thing. "
The others fell quiet as well, save for Augusta. She smiled gently as she spoke. "I have never seen you fret over what others think of you. If anything, I've witnessed you relish in proving everyone wrong in all they imagine that you cannot accomplish, by doing so much with your life."
"Proving that I can care for myself without the aid of a husband or my good brother is one thing. Tempting ruination is another." Toying with the silken ribbons of her bonnet lying across her lap, she said, "He is a man under my employ, and I"her lips curved in a half smile-"I am the town spinster."
"Opinions of those who believe you a spinster simply because you are an unmarried woman of nine and twenty should mean less than nothing to you." Bernice glowed in her pale yellow-and-pinkpatterned dress. "They are exactly the kind of people who often miss out on the most wonderful friends."
"Whoever would find out, anyhow?" Harriet brought up what Abigail had never thought about. "You live in the middle of nowhere and have only a few servants. I have only met the man once, but from what you and Bernice have told us of Calvin, he does not seem to be the sort to share his personal affairs with others."
I hardly know anything about him myself, Abigail acknowledged inwardly.
"After everything that happened with Valmonte," she said aloud, "I never imagined I would even want to share the company of a man again, let alone . . . " She turned her gaze out the opened carriage window.
"We shouldn't have said anything." Bernice's hopeful expression crumpled. "I'm sorry, Abby."
Without even knowing she was going to until the confession parted her lips, Abigail said, "Last night, I ran into Calvin when I was wearing only my nightgown." She took a deep breath. "He told me, very crossly I might add, that I should never do so again because it made him ... want to do things."
The women's mouths fell open in unison.
"This morning he said much the same thing to me again, even though"-she couldn't bring herself to look at the others anymore-"I was dressed as you see me now.
"What did you do?" Augusta asked.
"On both occasions, I must admit, I ran away." She let her eyes travel back to read her friends' expressions. "After both occasions, however, I felt sinfully pleased with myself."
Not a single look of judgment or disapproval crossed the others' features. In fact, their lips curved in rather sweet and all-too-knowing smiles.
Bernice leaned forward, resting her hand atop Abigail's braced knee. "Though our attempt was rather lacking in polish, we wanted to let you know that if you did decide you enjoyed Calvin's company and wished to establish a relationship with him, we will not judge you."
"But we will insist you tell us all the details," Harriet clarified.
Chapter 16
Dinner that evening was a terrible affair. The tension around the table was a near-tangible thing; it hovered over the beef brisket Mrs. Poole had made like a thick fog and pressed down on Abigail with invisible weight. She was as certain that she wasn't the only one who felt it as that she was the one who had in all probability caused it. Actually, she decided as she downed most of her wine in one swallow, it was her friends' fault.
If they hadn't put to voice what she had been carefully not thinking about, Margot wouldn't be sharing dinner conversation mostly with herself, Mrs. Poole wouldn't be demanding to know why Abigail was pushing her food around her plate, and Timothy wouldn't be looking up from his own meal and blinking with puzzlement. Amidst all this, things were even worse for Abigail herself. She decided to blame that on Harriet, Bernice, and Augusta as well.
When Calvin had come to join them for dinner, she had been unable to meet his eye-whether because of their last encounter that morning or the conversation in the Blacks' red and ebony carriage, she was uncertain. She could feel herself as the object of his attention, however, as he sat across from her. The clink of his silverware drew her gaze across the table, and she found herself watching the deft movements of his fingers around his fork and knife. Once, she tracked the journey of a sliver of potato to his lips, watched as his lips parted then closed over the tines of his fork, was mesmerized by the flexing of his jaw muscles as he chewed.
When he abruptly stopped, her eyes flashed upward and met his through the soft glow of the candelabra set between them. His face showed no emotion, his gaze unreadable, as they faced each other.
Abby had excused herself before dessert was served, though Mrs. Poole had made her favorite fruit salad. She pressed her back to the closed door of the parlor once she was safely inside and released the breath she felt like she had been holding since dinner began. Stabilizing the erratic beat of her heart only through her willpower, she moved to the closest place to sit-the pianoforte, near the opened window.
The bench was cushioned, and she fit to it with a sad sort of remembrance. Her fingers ran over the keys, playing a familiar tune at less than half its usual tempo. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cool wood, remembering. She saw herself in London, not at the home she had shared with her brother and sister after their parents' death but in the expansive parlor of the Valmonte family.
She laughed as her fingers pounded at the keys of the family's piano, and above the sound of both her laughter and the music she could hear Patrick's clapping. On a whim she shot to her feet, knocking the bench over with a bump of her thighs, grinning, as her fast-paced waltz became a country jig. When the song reached its end, she looked up, smiling with wisps of her hair falling from the barrettes her younger sister had carefully placed in it.
Patrick walked toward her, no longer clapping, but smiling. He held out one elegant palm, his beautiful green eyes shimmering. "Dance with me. "
"There's no music, " she said breathlessly.
"That never stopped us before. " His lips curved in a perfect smile.
Abigail's eyes went from being loosely closed to tightly shut as she tried to hold back tears that had not threatened in a long time.
"What is the matter with me?"
"Besides being too stubborn for your own good," Calvin said, "I would say nothing at all."
At the sound of his voice, old feelings scattered, to be replaced by those that were a great deal more difficult to deal with. Abigail's head flew up, and she stared at the man who had appeared silently in the room, closing the door after.
He did not look apologetic for interrupting her solitude, but said, "Margot and Mrs. Poole have turned the topic to female undergarments. Timothy and I made a run for it." Without waiting for a response, he stepped farther into the room, his gaze shifting to Abigail's hands, limp on the piano keys. "Do you enjoy playing?"
"I used to." She drew her hands into her lap. "I'm afraid I'm not very skilled at it any longer."
"What you were playing when I came in sounded nice." He reached out and pressed down one of the ivory keys. A low note rang out from the chords and shook the instrument.
Abigail noticed his hands were long, his fingers tapered and his palms calloused. When he had touched her bare arms the night before, it hadn't felt like the occasions when Patrick Valmonte had. She couldn't say the fact displeased her.
"I apologize, Lady Abigail"-Calvin's blunt words cut through her thoughts-"for what I said to you this morning and last night. Sometimes, I forget. . . ... ..... . . . . . . . . .
&
nbsp; Abigail blinked at the last, and then shook her head. "Think nothing of it, Calvin. I hardly remember anything at all," she lied.
"Then why were you so uncomfortable at dinner?"
She almost gave a physical jerk. She peered at him from the corner of her eye and said, "It would have been polite not to mention it." She shifted on the bench, wondering where she had left her crutch.
"I do make an effort, Lady Abby." Calvin knelt and straightened again, holding the length of wood. "But it is difficult for me to feign interest in things that bore me and pretend to be unaffected by that which I find intriguing."
"Mrs. Poole was right." Abigail did not look at him and made certain her fingers didn't touch his as she took her crutch. "You do have a peculiar way of talking."
"I paid someone," he said plainly, "to teach me how to speak correctly."
"Why?" She paused in rising.
"It made me more suitable, I thought, for my new station in life."
Abigail asked, "When you went to work for my brother?"
His gaze shifted, and when he spoke she thought she saw the muscle in his jaw work. "Yes."
"Your coat looks as if it fits well." Abigail eyed the garment briefly before moving across the room and farther away from Calvin. In fact, the jacket Moira had made fit him perfectly. The material clung to his broad shoulders but not to the point of near-bursting. The sleeves reached completely to his wrists, and the sides narrowed at his slim waist. The dark wool did nothing to make the man who wore it appear lighter. His skin was dusky from the sun and drawn taut over sinew.
"It does." She could feel him watch her move and felt as if her leg was dragging even more than usual under his scrutiny. "Abby?"
She had made her way to one of the tall windows in the back wall, where she pretended to look into the night beyond though all she could see was the reflection of herself and the room behind her. Calvin was gazing intently at her back. "Yes?"
"You are certain I did not frighten you?"
There was something touching and ever so slightly amusing in his earnestness. If he only knew how his words and touch had made her feel....
"I am certain, Calvin." She managed a smile as she said, "In truth, it was something my friends spoke to me about today that has me out of sorts."
"And what was that?"
Abigail saw her eyes go round in the pane of glass before her. It was not Calvin's boldness at asking such personal questions-she had found she'd grown accustomed to his audacity some time ago. It was the fact she had set a trap for herself.
"Nothing, really." Her laugh sounded forced to her own ears. "Silly rubbish."
"Something," Calvin countered, "that upset you."
"Oh, I'm not upset. Just a little flustered." She winced at her much-too-bright tone.
"What did they say to you, Abby?" Her heart stopped when she saw him begin to move across the room behind her. "I must admit the idea that anything in this world can fluster you is interesting. "
"I'm not all that unapproachable, Calvin." She rolled her eyes.
"No," he chuckled, "but you do try."
Abigail propped her free hand on her hip to scowl at his reflection.
"Did they say something about Raleigh?"
"No."
"Did it concern the bookshop you frequent?"
"No."
"About me?"
Abigail's hand tightened about her crutch. "That's absurd. What could they possibly have to say about you?"
"Lady Black did witness our quarrel yesterday morning." Calvin stopped not far behind her. His hands, she saw, had curled into fists. "Perhaps she told the others and they believe you should rid your home of my presence."
The shout of laughter that escaped her was genuine. "Quite the opposite, sir." She shook her head, seeking to rid herself of the demons haunting her by bringing them out into the open. "If you must know, they actually believe that I should consider having a love affair with you."
If anything, it was worth saying just to see the generally unruffled man stare at her in shock.
Abigail laughed at his expression. Her amusement died quickly, however, and her smile trembled when his eyes took on a distinctly thoughtful cast.
Abigail cleared her throat. "Isn't that preposterous?"
"Is that what you think?"
She frowned, not certain when she had lost hold of the conversation. "Yes."
"Because you are a woman of rank and I am nobody?"
"Because you are under my employ," Abby insisted. "I cannot imagine what people would say about it."
"Ah, you do not like me then?"
A passerby might have found their relaxed exchange about such a personal matter amusing.
"Calvin, if I did not like you, I would not have you in my home."
"You did not enjoy our kiss?"
Abigail gasped, spinning around only to realize he had moved in closer still. She was forced to look up into eyes like blue storm clouds.
"No," he said slowly, shaking his head as his gaze dropped to her parted lips, "I am positive you liked it."
His only touch was that of his lips on hers. He did not hold her arms, did not put his arms around her back and pull her toward him. Calvin was giving her the room she might need to run, but running was the last thing Abigail wanted to do. The warmth of his lips, the pressure of his mouth on hers, was even better than she remembered. She felt as if the kiss held her as her legs quivered and her hands began to shake. Abigail curled the fingers of her free hand into the lapels of Calvin's new coat. He groaned, as if that had been the sign he'd been waiting for, and lifted a hand to cup the back of her head. His mouth slanted across hers and his lips parted. She felt the moist tickle of his breath and then a violent shiver when his teeth closed gently over her bottom lip.
"I must admit"-his lips continued to brush hers as he spoke-"I am inclined to agree with your friends' scheme."
Abigail should have stepped away, made space between them, left the room if need be, but did not. She only shook her head. "It is madness."
"Why, Abby?" The hand that had been cupping the back of her skull slipped down to wrap about her nape. His thumb gently brushed the back of her ear. "We are adults; we can do what we want."
"If anyone found out, I'd be ruined." She let her head fall forward, her forehead resting in the clean hollow of his neck.
"I would not let that happen." Calvin's hand dropped lower; his palm moved down her spine and pressed her to him. She felt parts of her burn as her breasts came into contact with the hard wall of his chest. Through her gown and chemise, his jacket and shirt, she could still feel the heat of him. "I would make it good for you."
The intimate kisses they had shared had been incredible; the idea of something that went beyond those embraces brought back memories for Abigail. Realizing the implication of her words, she said, "Since the end of my engagement, it is one of the few things I do not miss about being in a relationship."
"You and Valmonte?" Calvin's hot breath stirred the hair at the top of her scalp. His intent was apparent.
Abigail took a step back, not meeting his eye as she nodded. She didn't want to explain her reasoning at the time or her belief that Valmonte would be the man she loved for the rest of her life. A week after she had shared herself with him, he had caused the accident that nearly killed her.
"If you do not miss it," Calvin said, "then he did not do it right."
Abigail's chin slowly lifted as he released her. Amazingly, his lips were curled upward as he took a step back.
"If you change your mind, Abby"-he inclined his head, his expression serious-"you can find me in the bedchamber across from yours. Feel free to barge in at any time of night without knocking." He turned away, walking toward the door. "I have been having trouble sleeping, anyway."
"Calvin?" She wasn't sure what it was-his complete lack of concern over the fact that she was a woman of a less-than-unsoiled reputation, the gentleness of his touch on her nape and back, or his words-but
something caused an odd sensation inside her. It went well beyond the passion ignited at their kiss. Deep in her breast, her heart stopped pounding heavily and started to tremble, like the fluttering of butterfly wings.
He lifted a single brow, looking back over his shoulder.
"You can be infuriating at times, sir," she told him from where she still stood near the window. "Arrogant beyond words and almost-no. You are obstinate." Abigail took a deep breath, and, when she felt her heart perform that strange quiver again, she smiled. "You most certainly, however, are not a nobody."
Chapter 17
"You made quite an impression"-the voice was familiar-"on my cousin, you know." Katrina Raleigh's silhouette blocked most of the afternoon sun where Calvin had left the rear stable door open. She waited until he put down the bale of hay he'd been carrying and was looking at her. Then she entered. Her hips swayed more than necessary as she stepped toward him. "You were all he could talk about after the incident with Lady Wolcott."
"Good." Calvin made no effort to hide his dislike for the other man. "Then he won't forget to stay away from her."
Katrina was garbed in a blood red riding gown with matching boots, gloves, and bonnet. Looking at her, Calvin couldn't help but recall what Abigail wore when she went riding. He smiled.
Katrina's lips curved in reply to a signal he had not sent. "You seem awfully protective of her, Calvin." Her eyes moved to where his neck was exposed between the opened top buttons of his shirt, then as far down as the waist of his breeches. She looked up at him from beneath her brows. "It's adorable, the way you take care of a woman all alone in the world."
"She's not alone." Calvin reached for the hay bale again, hefting it to Achilles' stall. "And she doesn't need my protection. She does well taking care of herself."
"You must admit"-Katrina followed him-"there are tasks that are insurmountable to a woman with her physical limitations. Things she cannot do that other women can."
Calvin's brows snapped together, but he remained silent. He eyed Achilles while setting the hay within the animal's stall and thought the horse met his gaze with a shared amount of disgust.
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