One Night To Be Sinful

by Samantha Garver

  Abigail was so absorbed in the play of emotions across Calvin's face that she did not realize his intent until he moved. A startled gasp escaped her when his fingers closed around her upper arms. She stumbled on her weak knee only a moment before her legs hung weightless beneath her and her feet lifted off the hay-strewn floor. Calvin lifted Abigail until she had no choice but be eye to eye with him.

  His voice shook with intensity, and Abby felt her own body quiver in response when he said, "I would never leave you behind, Abby. Never."

  Perhaps she knew all along, since the night of the carriage accident or even before. It fully hit her then, however, when Calvin pressed her into the wall of his chest and kissed her, that this was and had always been more than an uncomplicated affair. She would have never shared her personal feelings, her entire self, with a man she could not love.

  Telling Calvin was not a possibility. The man had never expressed anything to her that suggested he might feel the same, and there were other reasons she refused even to think about. Yet he had proven himself a faithful companion in the short time they had known each other, a gentle lover who had shown her how wrong she was in believing there was nothing extraordinary in a man's touch. It was improper for her to tell Calvin he was one of her best friends, and she certainly couldn't convey her thoughts that she might be falling in love with him.

  But she could show him.

  His groan reverberated against her breasts as she sank her fingers into his hair, sending his hat to the ground. She wrapped her free arm about his nape and let her eyes slip closed as she opened herself to his kiss. His lips did not simply meet and hold hers, however, but were everywhere at once. The curve of her cheek, the soft skin of her temple; he lifted her high against him to gain access to the hollow beneath her jaw. Heat coursed through Abigail's body as his large hands pressed flat against her back and lower until her bottom filled his palms.

  Abigail jerked nervously, grabbing at Calvin's shoulders as her back encountered the stable wall. His hands had moved down the backs of her thighs and pressed up at her knees.

  "Calvin?" Alarm tinged her tone as she felt her skirts lifting and the man holding her bring her legs up around his waist. His hand was moving dangerously close to her leg brace, her very unattractive leg brace that would-she was certain-devastate the moment.

  She was pushing at his shoulders, gasping against his mouth. "Stop, Calvin! You mustn't-"

  Then his hand was running down beneath her knee, across the bulky brace as if it were nothing. Nothing.

  Calvin's fingers wrapped easily about her booted ankles, bringing them around his back. He winced when their bodies made contact, and Abigail was certain it was just as she feared, her brace was disturbing him, but she must have been mistaken. Calvin steadied her against him when she tried to shift away, brought one arm around her back and his other hand to her nape.

  "No, Abby, hold on to me." The words came from low in his throat, his lips barely moving to utter them. "Hold on."

  He used his thumb against her jaw to keep her head lifted as he pressed his brow to hers. His skin burned like fire where they touched, and Abigail could feel the heat coming off of him where they did not.

  When Calvin again covered her mouth with his, she was ready. Her thoughts were effectively shifted from her worries over that ridiculous brace to the feel of his tongue moving across hers and his hand slipping between their bodies. It disappeared under the hem of her gown, above where the smoothness of her stockings gave way to bare flesh. Then, at the same moment he slipped inside her, he pressed his thumb to that tiny bit of sensitivity he had first tested while she was bathing two nights before.

  Abigail's eyes went wide, her mouth falling agape on a breath that stretched her lungs to near bursting. Calvin met her gaze evenly, his mouth a grim line, and his nostrils flared as he waited for her to accustom herself to his intimate touch, the feel of him inside her. Very slowly, he began to move his thumb in the small circles that had nearly driven her mad beneath the water of her bath.

  Her fingernails dug into the material of the coat stretched across his broad shoulders. She heard Calvin take a ragged breath that dissolved into a groan as she rolled her hips against his fingers, wanting him to move his hand faster against her, wanting more. He bent his legs, and Abigail gasped at the slight drop. Her eyes slid closed on a moan as Calvin brought his hips up again.

  He started slow, just as he had with those all-toodelicate circles, rocking his hips up and down. Abigail's feet, crossed at the ankles, bounced against him, and her back brushed the wall. Her eyes slowly opened; heavy eyelids at half-mast as she heard the harsh sound of her own erratic breathing interspersed with whimpers she hadn't even realized she was making. Calvin's brow was furrowed as if in concentration, his teeth bared in a grimace. Whereas his whole body was taut and hard, hers grew softer and her limbs so heavy she could hardly hold her arms up.

  She felt that same vexing ache throughout her body, but where she had been certain on their first occasion together it would only get worse, Abby knew there was an impending release in the torment of Calvin's touch. She reached for it, rocking her hips faster still against his until she realized she couldn't do it on her own.

  "Calvin," she cried, dropping her forehead against his chest, "please. .

  Then his fingers shifted, from the circles that only seemed to make the wanting worse, to a long and deliberate stroke. His fingertips moved from that hidden bud of pleasure to right above where their bodies were joined.

  Abigail's back arched, her head lifted, and she cried out her release at the rafters.

  She heard the slam of the hand that had been touching her intimately against the stable wall beside her head. Calvin sank into her one last time, head buried in the curve of her neck, so her own sweat-dampened skin caught the sound of his hoarse shout.

  His legs gave out, and suddenly Abby was falling. Calvin's strong arms wrapped securely around her back as he dropped to his knees on the stable floor, she still wrapped around him and he still trembling inside her.

  "Abby...

  His breathing was hot and damp against the top of her head, but she could not bring herself to look at him. Not yet. Not when the tears were still in her eyes and she was on the verge of baring her heart. She buried her face against his chest, wrapped her arms tightly about his waist, and held on as if the sheer force of her grip would keep them together like this forever. After a moment, she was aware that Calvin's own arms did the same about her.

  He made a joke, something about how if she had been more accurate with a pitchfork, they would be on the hard ground and not a soft pile of hay. It was enough to make her giggle softly into his shirt. Whatever heaviness had been weighing down on Abigail after she had tightened her thighs fiercely about him and screamed, passed. Her forehead lifted from his chest, and he brushed her hair off her face with an open palm.

  "Where is your crutch?"

  "At the front of the stables." She pointed to where the opened doors gave way to the mounting shadows of night.

  Not without regret, not without more than a little longing to remain at the core of her forever, Calvin disengaged himself from Abigail and carried her with him as he rose to his feet.

  She fit so perfectly to him-her arm around his waist and his about her shoulders-that when he lifted the wooden crutch from where it had been leaning against the wall, he did not relinquish it to its owner. She was obliged to hold him to maintain an even gait back toward the house.

  Calvin had wanted her in his comforting embrace since he had spoken to Valmonte and inadvertently discovered the man had left her alone and certainly terrified in the icy waters of a river. The moment he found her in the stables, a wellworn gown clinging familiarly to her curves, it was all he could do not to take her then and there. His reserve had been completely shattered when she said she thought he had left her.

  Recalling the languid gleam in her lovely eyes as he pressed her into the stable wall, the way she clung t
o him as if she would never let him go, his body trembled.

  "Are you cold, Calvin?" Her tone was polite, her expression concerned as she gazed up at him.

  He shook his head and, unable to resist the urge to take her into his arms again, stopped halfway to the house. He cupped her shoulders with a gentleness he feared he had not used with her moments before and pressed a kiss between her brows. She stood there a long moment afterward, her eyes closed and her swollen lips curved.

  "Hello, there!"

  Calvin felt Abigail tense. Their gazes met then turned toward the woman who approached on horseback. Margot waved happily.

  Calvin noted, as he pushed Abby's crutch into her hand and took a step to separate himself from her all-too-intoxicating touch, the other woman appeared totally unconcerned-decidedly nonchalant, in fact-with the embrace she found her employer and fellow servant sharing. She slid easily down from the sidesaddle of the mare and reached for the satchel that hung on the horn.

  "I was worried," Margot said as she marched toward them, "I'd not make it back before nightfall."

  "You hardly did." Abigail took another step away from Calvin, and he heard her draw a deep breath. She brushed ineffectually at her hair, as if only now realizing it had spilled down her shoulders in lovemaking.

  "I have an excellent excuse for my tardiness, though." Margot propped a hand on her hip, including both Calvin and Abby in her delighted gaze. "Prior to taking my leave of the bookshop, Miss Harriet told me some very interesting news." She opened her satchel and produced a flat object wrapped in protective cloth. "Oh! Here is the sign she wanted you to consider."

  Calvin did not miss the way Abigail's hand shook as she took the wrapped parcel.

  "What is this interesting news, Margot?" he asked.

  Her eyes gleamed as they met Abigail's. "Mr. Kin-sly has disappeared."

  Calvin felt his lips curl in the darkness.

  "I beg your pardon?" Abigail sounded surprised and rather elated.

  "Not disappeared, exactly," Margot clarified. "Moira said she saw him pack up his belongings in a carriage and depart the village. He mentioned something to the gentleman with whom he boards about going to be with his family in Sheffield."

  "Goodness," Abigail breathed.

  "Goodness, indeed, Lady Abby." Margot grinned. "It appears you gave him quite the fright in your encounter yesterday."

  Calvin could sense the woman beside him tensing as grim awareness curled down his spine. "Yesterday?" He looked down at her, certain she was deliberately not meeting his eye.

  "Well, let me get this old girl into the stables." Margot reached for the reins of the mare. She glanced over her shoulder as she began to guide the animal away. "Perhaps tomorrow we can send for Timothy to come back home?"

  "Yes, of course." Abigail smiled and nodded. She offered Calvin a brief peek before wincing and turning back toward the house.

  "Abigail... ," he spoke warningly.

  "Yes, Calvin?" She pushed open the front door and stepped inside with a sigh. Setting the package Margot had given her on the hall table, she began to shrug out of her coat.

  "Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?" He rested his hands on his hips, watching her as Abby reached again for her wrapped parcel.

  She clutched it against her chest as she looked up at him. "It was nothing, really."

  "You sent Timothy away," Calvin reasoned aloud, "because you believed he was in danger from Kingsly."

  "If you must know, Calvin," Abigail sighed, "Mr. Kingsly accused him of stealing a hunting rifle that belonged to Lord Raleigh."

  "The one I took from Dobbs?" Calvin's brows snapped together when Abby nodded. "Son of a-"

  "Yes," she interrupted quickly, moving out of the foyer and toward the staircase, "we were all very upset. Most of all Timothy, who wouldn't steal a loaf of bread was he starving."

  "I dropped that damned gun in the dirt where Raleigh and Dobbs stood."

  "Kingsly had this ridiculous story that someone had seen Timothy with the gun. He acted as if he were going to take Timothy away with him." Abigail paused at the foot of the stairs, shook her head. "I would not allow it. I sent Kingsly away and Timothy to my friend's home just to be safe."

  Calvin had followed close behind Abby, but she hadn't realized it until he covered her hand with his on the railing. "Why didn't you tell me?" He was aware of the proprietary tone of his voice even as he spoke. He was certain the woman looking up at him, the one he had held quivering in his arms less than an hour before, would become indignant with his high-handed protectiveness.

  Instead, she smiled reassuringly. "There was no need, Calvin. I know you like to believe you know what is best, but I have taken care of myself for twenty-nine years. As you can see by what Margot told us, I actually do manage well on my own."

  His lips parted to tell her that what she said wasn't exactly true. He had been the one to go after Raleigh and Dobbs when they nearly shot her, he who had carried her after the accident they had caused, he-in fact who had induced Kingsly's departure.

  Gazing down into Abigail's features, still flushed from his lovemaking, Calvin caught himself. Her bay eyes shimmered in the candlelight, and her nose wrinkled a bit as she smiled. His mouth snapped closed as he lifted his free hand and traced the curve of one cheek with his knuckles.

  "You are right, of course," he said then and wasn't sure he was imagining the swelling of her breast.

  "Calvin." Abby's lashes lowered, crescent-shaped shadows appearing at the top of her cheeks. "I'm glad your home."

  "I'm glad to be home." For the first time in his life, Calvin realized he actually felt at home.

  His head bowed, Abigail's chin lifted, and Mrs. Poole cleared her throat. Calvin and the woman he'd been about to kiss jerked away from each other as if they were young lovers caught by a condemning parent.

  The old woman hardly glanced at them, however, but moved directly toward the staircase. She halted before she passed Abigail and turned back down the stairs, moving with obvious intent toward Calvin.

  He frowned when she began to brush her hand vigorously across the back of his breeches. She gave him three good swipes with her open palm and then returned to the stairs.

  "Good night then," she grunted as she disappeared up the staircase.

  Calvin looked up from the small pile of hay Mrs. Poole had dislodged from the back of his breeches.

  "Good night, Mrs. Poole," he said. He met Abigail's gaze, shimmering with amusement. "Sleep well, Lady Abby."

  She surprised him, rising up on her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, and was gone.

  Chapter 26

  The box was sitting atop her desk when she arrived in her study the next morning. It was a plain white thing, approximately a foot wide and just as tall. Abigail's brows drew together as she glanced between it and the empty doorway.

  She leaned her crutch against the desk and reached for the box. It was light and made a faint, unidentifiable sound when she shook it. Lips pursed, she slipped off the lid.

  A small sound of wonder escaped her as she reached inside and removed the hat. It was simple in form, a flat top and a wide brim of chocolate brown. The lining was silk and soft to the touch. The folded sheet of foolscap at the bottom of the box caught her eye.

  A sturdy hat for a gentleman who enjoys late night rides.

  Or a woman pretending to be one.

  -C

  Abigail moved to the nearest window, where she could make out a slight glimmer of her reflection in the glass pane. The hat fit neatly atop her skull, and she found that all her hair could be hidden within its satin hollow.

  Patrick Valmonte, during his courtship of her, had given Abby expensive items-the usual frippery expected of a doting and wealthy admirer. At the end of their engagement, she had given the diamond earrings, gold pendant molded in the shape of a heart, and delicate pearl bracelet to the Church.

  She removed the hat and held it to her breast, where her heart was poundin
g out a steady cadence, when there was a soft rap on the doorjamb.

  "Mrs. Poole," Emily said apologetically, "told me to come right in."

  Abigail turned to face her closest friend, silently reprimanding herself for wishing she had been another, like Bernice or Augusta. Someone she could speak to about the matter pressing down on her heart. The ton referred to Emily Paxton as the Queen of Ice, but Abby believed they went too far. Circumstances beyond what anyone would ever know had made Emily into the composed woman she was today. The last in the world, perhaps, that would wish to be bothered with matters of love and longing.

  "Good morning, Emily." Her smile was genuine as she moved away from the window. "What brings you by today?"

  "I was in the area, visiting the bookshop." She entered the room, removing her dark maroon bonnet. Her eyes drifted to Abigail's hands. "Nice hat."

  "Thank you." Abigail dropped the hat back into its gift box, smiling to herself.

  "Is everything all right, Abby?" Emily asked in her usual direct way.

  "Yes," the other woman replied much too quickly. Her own dry laugh made her wince before she inquired, "Why do you ask?"

  "You appear anxious." Emily went to work on the buttons of her dark coat as she sat at the edge of a high-backed chair. "The only time I've ever seen you unsettled was the night Bernice was accosted by those two ruffians." Her dark brows lifted. "It was she who told me about Mr. Dobbs taking a shot at you.

  "I'm fine." Abigail lifted a hand to where only the faintest scratch remained from the bullet grazing her ear. "Had he intended me any real harm, he would have done it."

  Emily nodded. She folded her hands in her lap. "Bernice also told me about Mr. Garrett."

  "Oh?" Abigail dropped back in her chair. She couldn't quite meet her friend's eye.

  "That he confronted the viscount about what had happened."

  "Oh." Abigail sighed with relief.

  "That he appeared to have feelings for you that went beyond the call of a servant's duty to his mistress," Emily continued matter-of-factly. "And you him."

  Abigail's heart stopped as her lashes lifted. She and Emily's eyes met across the desk: rustic brown locked with somber blue.