What a foul amount of irony it was that the woman he hardly liked was laying herself out on a platter and the one he wanted more with each passing day held him at arm's length.
When he turned, Katrina blocked the opening in the stall. She ran her gloved fingertips below her neck, where a great deal of skin was exposed in her low-cut bodice.
"It's stifling in here."
"Then you should go."
Katrina's lips pursed in a pout for only a moment. "Did I upset you with what I said about Abigail? I didn't mean to. It's just"-the woman's smile had returned as her chin lowered-"there are paths a woman can choose to take, very exciting journeys, when she is physically capable."
Calvin did not disguise his actions as he started at the toes of Katrina's boots and let his gaze travel the length of her. By the time he reached her torso, her breasts were heaving. He stepped closer to her, and she lifted her face.
"Some paths have been used more than others," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get a lot of work done before I take my lady to London this evening." He brushed against her as he passed through the stall, but there was nothing lingering in the encounter. Calvin ignored the sound of her boots stomping away as he moved in the opposite direction.
He didn't realize the other woman was standing there, in the shadows of the corner near the building's entrance, until he was almost on top of her.
"Abby?" He came up short.
"Funny," she said. "Lady Raleigh never came to visit Tuttleton." She held out a covered plate. "I thought you might want to eat before we go. I had Mrs. Poole put together an early dinner."
Calvin took the plate, not knowing why he should feel so guilty. Abigail's eyes flickered in the gloom before she turned away and pressed all her weight into the half-opened stable door. "Abby, I wasn't-"
"I have to get ready, Calvin." She did not look back as she walked away from him. "Perhaps we can talk later."
He did not try to speak to her again, just stood there with the warm plate she had brought to him. An action, he was certain, most ladies did not perform for their servants.
He watched Abigail as she moved quickly back to the house, the wind sending waves through her skirts and exposing the slightly uneven sway of her hips. Calvin's jaw tightened to the point he thought his teeth would crack when he saw Abby's head lower and the woman lift a hand to the lower half of her face.
"Don't be petulant, Katrina." Edmund Raleigh took his cousin's chin in his hand and turned her away from the mirror. "Tell me what happened."
"Nothing, Edmund." Katrina rolled her eyes. "We spoke for barely five minutes. Then he was off to do her bidding."
"You found out nothing about him?" Raleigh let his hand drop.
"No more than what I already knew." Katrina ." turned back to her full-length mirror. Except. . She paused in laying her dark hair over her shoulders.
Raleigh lifted his brows at her reflection, waiting. They made a perfect pair in the oval of reflecting glass: elegantly dressed, handsome, and wealthy. Nothing at all like Lady Abigail in her unfashionably cut gowns and the butler who bore the self-importance of a man who served no one.
"I think there is something unusual going on between Garrett and Lady Wolcott, or at least he would like there to be." Katrina made a face. "There is something about his tone when he talks about her. It makes one ill."
Edmund's lips curled into a smile, his plump cheeks rounding. "So that is what has gotten you out of sorts."
Katrina snorted, her delicate nostrils flaring unbecomingly. "I've seen men fawn over women before."
"Yes," her cousin acknowledged, "but usually they do so over you and not an aging spinster with a misshapen leg. You made an offer no man can refuse, and Garrett did." Edmund's eyes gleamed. "That must have been quite a blow to your ego."
"Don't be an idiot. What do I care of what -a servant thinks of me?"
"Especially when you know you are beautiful," Edmund said deep in his throat, his hand lifting again to run along the curve of her breast. He watched her face in the mirror as Katrina's eyes slid closed. "That was as far as your conversation went?"
"He left," she said absently, concentrating on the feel of Edmund's hand as it covered her breast and squeezed. How dare Garrett turn down her veiled offer? She was exquisite. "Said he had a lot to do before he took his lady"-her lips curled around the word like an insult-"to London."
Edmund kissed the pale and cool skin of her neck, her jaw, then flicked his tongue across her ear. Into it he spoke. "They are going to London, you say?"
It was unnerving if the word was accuratehaving him wait for her at the end of the stairs. Abigail began down the carpeted steps quickly, not realizing he was there until his gaze lifted and hers dropped. In the light of the downstairs tapers and the sconces mounted on the wall behind her, she saw Calvin focus on her kidskin slippers and move his survey upward over her raspberry-colored gown. Her steady gait only faltered a little under his close scrutiny before she lifted a gloved hand to the rail and continued down the stairs.
Her cheeks felt warm where the spiral curls Margot had carefully shaped brushed against her skin. Abigail couldn't walk away from the last step, as Calvin didn't budge where he stood before her. She stared at his neck for a full minute, waiting, then finally let her gaze lift though her chin did not.
It was what he had been waiting for.
"You are beautiful, Abby."
In the silence that followed his guttural words, Abigail could hear her own breathing shudder in her chest. It had been so long since she had received such niceties from a man, she forgot how to respond. She considered answering in kind, as she was certain Calvin-clean shaven, the hair brushed back from his forehead still damp and smelling of soap-looked better than any man she would see at the soiree later that night.
"I had Margot get your cloak," Calvin said before she could manage a reply. He turned to lead the way toward the foyer. "It looks like rain."
"Oh?" Suddenly the fissures of sensation that had been trickling down her spine became cold nips of an invisible needle. She opened the front door, blinking nervously as she glanced between the clouds moving across the night sky and the carriage waiting in the drive.
Abigail jumped when Calvin set her black cloak across her shoulders. Her worry must have been evident in her expression as she glanced back at him, because he did not remove his hands, but gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze through the soft velvet.
"Would you rather not go out?"
The controlled gentleness of his tone irritated her for reasons she knew were irrational.
"I'll be fine." She ignored the forceful winds that tugged at the ends of her cloak and made the material billow in waves around her as she walked to the carriage. Abigail only got the cab door opened before Calvin slipped an arm beneath her legs.
She peered up at him as, in lieu of putting her arms around his neck, she folded them beneath her breasts. "There really is a better way of doing this."
He did not look at her as he moved up the carriage steps. "I prefer holding you." His tone hinted at an intimacy beyond helping her to her seat.
Abigail's hands gripped the edge of the cushioned bench as soon as Calvin set her atop it. She was silent as he carefully laid her crutch on the floor at her feet. He looked up at her as he straightened, and she was grateful for the shadows that shielded her from his intent stare before he dropped out of the cab and shut the door after.
She fell back against the cushions and released a heavy sigh as she listened to the sound of him taking his place behind the reins. She did not, however, hear him signal the horses into motion or the first thuds of hooves in the loose soil of the drive-the rumble of thunder above was much too loud.
Her hands shook, less than fifteen minutes later, as she tried to light one of the lamps swaying from a hook in the wall. On her third try-as Abigail struggled to ignore the foreboding sounds that suggested they were riding directly into the storm-the wick within the lantern bega
n to glow. She sighed, fell back into her seat, and then scowled when the light quickly died. Her heart stopped when a brilliant flash of lightning succeeded where the lantern had failed and brought the inside of the carriage to light. Her concern grew, but not for herself.
Abigail lifted her open palm to bang on the wall that separated the cab from the driver's perch. Before she had a chance to ask Calvin if he wanted to turn back, she heard the sharp crack: not thunder but splintering wood.
Her heart leapt up to her throat as she heard the horses cry out in alarm then felt the carriage lurch. Abigail slammed into the wall, her teeth snapping together sharply as her skull made contact with the wood. She bounced up off her seat in a whisper of skirts, looking down at the hard floor below with sickened awareness.
"No ..." It came as a whimper as she reached out for anything that might stabilize her. She caught the lantern, but it snapped off its hook a heartbeat later, and, despite trying to catch herself on her good leg, Abigail went down on her knees. As her right leg twisted beneath her, her brace allowing no give, deep-rooted pain returned to each nerve that ran through her leg. Blackness curled at the edge of her vision, and in it followed the cold tones of countless physicians, the pitying whispers of strangers, and her own agonized scream.
Chapter 18
Calvin threw himself from behind the reins before the carriage came to a complete stop, his heart slamming against his ribs as his feet hit the packed earth and he ran back to the cab door. He opened the door on a flash of lightning, and a violent wind caught the thin wood and slammed it back against the wall of the carriage.
Abigail was a pool of raspberry silk and black velvet on the cab floor. Her arms, gloved to above the elbow, stretched out across one of the seats. Her fingers dug into the cushions with enough force to nearly tear the fabric. Her face was hidden behind disheveled curls, her forehead pressed to the edge of the seat.
"Abby?" He took the stairs in one great step.
"Are you all right, Calvin?"
Her voice, uncharacteristically weak and trembling, cut into his heart.
"I'm fine. Lady Abby-"
"Good." She shifted only slightly and he saw her back jerk with pain. "Please, leave me alone."
Calvin had to bend, hunching his shoulders and bowing his head as he moved nearer to her. Through the thunder rumbling overhead, he thought he could hear the ragged sound of her breathing.
"Leave me be!"
Her enraged voice almost stopped him. Almost.
"Like hell I will." He reached for her.
"Don't," Abigail hissed, her muscles so taut they quivered as he wrapped his fingers around her arms.
He knew she was hurt-it was evident in her huddled frame and voice. Yet he could no more leave her to suffer on the floor of the carriage than he could go back in time and fill in the rut that had put her there. Finding his way through the material of her cloak, he put an arm just beneath her breasts and squatted with his knees on either side of her.
"Hold on, Abby." His lips touched her ear as he spoke the words.
Her hands lifted to the arm wrapped around her, but only to try to pull it away.
Calvin ignored her silent attempts to dissuade him and straightened his legs, lifting her with him. He did not carry Abigail out of the carriage, but eased himself backward into the seat opposite the one she had been holding to for dear life. She came easily into his lap, the base of her leg brace thudding distinctly against the floor. He heard her take a sharp breath, felt her hands squeeze painfully into his arm. Then her body shuddered and she was turning, giving him a brief glimpse of her face.
Gone were the rosy cheeks of less than an hour before and the beautiful glimmer of her eyes when she was coming down the stairs to him. The flesh beneath her cheeks was sunken in as if the pain had physically drawn her. Abigail's skin was pale, her bottom lip bright red where she had clasped it between her teeth, and her eyes shone with tears. Calvin saw all this in the heartbeat before she buried herself against him.
For the first time since he had met her, he was stunned into immobility by Abigail's behavior. Calvin sat stiff for perhaps a full minute, feeling nothing but her uneven breaths against his neck and the softness of her curls tickling his jaw. Her fingers had come up to his shoulders and twisted the wool of his coat in a fierce grip. It felt not unlike the hold she had on his heart as she fit so perfectly to him.
The stiffness swam out of him quickly. His head lowered until his lips were against the part in her hair, and his arms came up to wrap tightly around her back.
"It's all right, Abby," he said soothingly above her ragged breaths. "I have you."
"I apologize, Calvin," she said through her tears. "I shouldn't-"
"Don't." His jaw muscles worked fiercely.
"It hurts," she breathed.
"I know." Calvin lowered one hand to her injured leg, pressed it lightly to her thigh through the material of her skirt. He instantly wished he hadn't. The touch surprised her, made her leg jerk abruptly, and she released a pain-filled whimper.
"Sorry." Calvin immediately returned his hand to her back. "Sorry."
"I was frightened." She trembled. "More than I should have been, perhaps."
"Because of your accident?"
The top of her head bumped his chin as she nodded. Her erratic breathing had begun to steady itself, and she was no longer as stiff in his arms. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder, and though it was impossible, Calvin could have sworn he felt the heat of her tears through his coat and shirt.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
It took her nearly a full minute to decide. "No." She shifted against him again until her cheek lay against his chest. He could feel her gaze lift to his face. "What happened?"
"A hole in the road, almost as deep as the carriage is wide. I didn't see it in time. One of the wheels broke, I think."
"You are sure you're unhurt?"
He looked into her upturned face, cheeks wet with tears and brow furrowed in concern for him. Calvin used his fingertips to brush away the last of the dampness. Abigail's skin turned a becoming shade of pink.
"How are you?"
She sniffed delicately. "Embarrassed."
"Don't be. Your leg?"
"Sore." She scowled down at her bent leg as if to scold it. "I landed on my knee, where I had my break." Her gaze slowly moved upward, and she gave a start as if only now realizing she was atop Calvin's lap.
He didn't hold her back as she shifted off of him, though he was sorely tempted to do so. Since her silent tears had evaporated, the warmth of her bottom pressing so snugly against him had become appealing.
She braced herself with a fierce grip on the doorjamb and rested all of her weight on her good leg.
"May I ask you something personal, Abby?" He retrieved her crutch from where it had been lodged between the seat and the wall at the jostling of the carriage. ... ... .. . .. . . .
Abigail had been peering wearily up at the clouds swarming above them through the opened door of the carriage. "Yes?" She glanced back over her shoulder at him, her chestnut curls bouncing in the wind.
"Where was your fiance when you were in the accident?"
He found himself staring at the elegant line of her nape when she turned away. "I did not notice where he landed."
Calvin's brows lifted at that, and his head bent as he moved closer behind her. "He was in the phaeton with you?"
There was a sharp crack of thunder before Abby said softly, "He was driving."
Calvin's strong dislike for the man Abby was going to marry three years before had commenced shortly after he'd met her. The pure, unadulterated jealousy had intensified his disliking for Patrick Valmonte when he found he had been the first to touch Abigail-to feel her wrapped tightly around him.
Hearing that the man had been driving the phaeton and might very well have caused the accident that injured her, he thought that perhaps along with his father ... No. There had never been another man he did not kn
ow whom he hated as much as Patrick Valmonte.
"Yes," Abigail said, staring at the splintered remains and jagged chunks of wood littering the ground, "I'd say it is broken." She tried to keep her tone light, not looking at the man standing so close beside her as she struggled to overcome her embarrassment.
The pain had been awful, but she was certain she could have maintained a modicum of dignity had Calvin not put his arms around her. The agony of her abused leg had been all too reminiscent of the pain of the accident. The fact someone had come to her immediately and took her into a comforting embrace had shattered something inside her. Something that had been born as she lay alone in the icy waters of a river with a carriage crushing her leg.
Her knee throbbed steadily as she glanced both ways of the narrow road they had been traveling. The wind whistled through the trees that bordered the pathway, as steady as the ominous clouds that had collected overhead.
"You should get back in the carriage," Calvin said, still gazing at the hole in the earth as if he knew something she did not. "It's beginning to rain."
Abigail made a face. "Should we try to make it back to North Rutherford?"
"It's about ten miles back." Calvin put his hands on his lean hips, the wind tossing his dark-asmidnight hair and the edges of his coat. His eyes squinted a little as he surveyed Abigail from head to toe, thoughtfully. "I could carry you that far."
"Absolutely not!" she gasped. "I can walk with you.
Calvin scowled. A drop of rain caught in his thick lashes, and for a moment Abby was transfixed by the shimmering dot against his dark eyes. "You cannot walk that far, not after your knee was bruised. I will not tolerate it."
Abigail ignored the possession in his tone. The raindrop now clung to the end of a single lash. She was absently aware of similar beads of water sinking through her hair to her scalp and alighting on the skin of her nape. "I could wait in the carriage for you to return," she offered, not particularly caring for the idea herself.
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