One Night To Be Sinful

by Samantha Garver

  "Tea!" Margot barged happily into the silence that filled the room. She set her tray, laden with cups, a silver pot, and a plate of scones, on the edge of Abby's desk. "Good morning, Emily. Three spoons of sugar, no?"

  Emily nodded politely at the other woman. "Thank you."

  "Let me have that coat and bonnet as well." The maid reached for the articles of clothing with one hand as she held out Emily's tea with the other.

  The moment Margot was gone, Abigail could feel Emily's gaze upon her again. "You know, despite the fact I am quite a novice when it comes to matters of romance," she said, "I do have other qualities that suit. I listen very well, I should think."

  "I'm afraid"-Abby blew lightly at the steam rising up from her own cup-"you'll think me ridiculous. I am certainly of an age beyond such impractical ideas."

  "I would never think any such thing about you, Abby." Emily's friendship, stark in its devotion, hinted that there were things residing in the woman's character that went well beyond her strict self-control.

  "I think..." Abigail shook her head, smiled at her own reluctance to admit her feelings even to herself. "I love him, Emily."

  "I see." The other woman's features betrayed no sign of emotion.

  "He is quite possibly the most wonderful man I have ever known. He is intelligent, and strong, and"-she faltered only slightly-"he makes me feel things that I never felt with Patrick Valmonte."

  "That's fortunate, considering what an ass Valmonte turned out to be."

  Abigail's laughter surprised herself. She did not miss the slight twinkle in her friend's eye. "The reason I am unsettled, as you so politely put it, is that I am uncertain of Calvin's feelings toward me."

  Emily's lashes drew slightly together. "I suppose it's out of the question to simply ask him?"

  "I couldn't possibly." Abigail shook her head vehemently.

  "Things are never as easy as I believe they should be," Emily said, not without a little self-derision.

  "Be honest, Emily." Abigail set her cup and saucer neatly atop the desk. "What do you think?"

  She expected her friend to bring up the discrepancies in their rank. To point out the dangers of laying one's heart on the line, leaving one open to the abuse of someone who might not feel the same. Instead, however, Emily said something that gave Abigail pause to wonder if perhaps she knew more about the true nature of love than she liked others to believe.

  "I think"-her tone was gentler than the other woman had ever heard it before-"it is human nature to love and want to be loved in return. If so many individuals across the world feel it, it cannot be so wrong."

  Abigail took a deep, shuddering breath. "Then what should I do?"

  "I have no earthly idea," Emily said evenly and smiled.

  Gazing at her friend's smile-the slight imperfection of it, Abigail believed, restraining her more than her strictness-she could not help but grin back.

  She was about to compliment Emily's talent for listening, but suggest her advice left something to be desired, when Margot screamed.

  "Good Lord!" Emily surged to her feet at the same moment Abigail was reaching for her crutch. They moved through the study door together as the sound of the scuffle down the hall increased.

  "Get out at once, " Margot huffed as they entered the foyer. Her face beet red, arms shaking at the force she was applying to them, the woman finally lost her battle with the front door. She stumbled backward, not falling onto her rear only because Emily ran forward to catch her beneath the arms.

  The door slammed back on its hinges and the man who had been battling Margot for God knew how long stepped inside, triumphant. The odor of liquor permeated the air around him, filling the space of the foyer so that Abigail wondered if the man had not bathed in it. A cold chill settled around her heart as he blinked blurrily until he was able to focus on her.

  "You are not welcome here, Mr. Dobbs," Abigail said calmly, her knuckles going white around the handle of her crutch.

  Margot steadied herself quickly with Emily's assistance then ran around the man at the door to get outside. She offered neither Abigail nor Dobbs a passing glance.

  "I don't care what ye did to that scrawny magistrate to make him leave the village"-Dobbs pointed at Emily, frowned in bewilderment, then aimed his encrusted fingernail at Abigail-"but I can't be ran off so easily."

  "All right." Abigail nodded in understanding. "Good day."

  Dobbs scowled at her amiable dismissal and stumbled farther into the foyer. His hip hit the edge of the table against the wall, toppling the vase atop it. Flowers scattered across the tabletop and water poured down its side. Emily had to step aside or the man would have brushed her with his stained coat.

  "Ye had best take your high and mighty arse out of Rutherford"-Dobbs belched, and Abigail winced as a pungent cloud of his breath wafted toward her-"if ye know what's good for ye."

  Oddly enough, not more than six feet away from the man, Abigail was not afraid of Dobbs. She wasn't certain if it was his pitiful drunken state or the fact she was no longer alone with him in the darkened woods, but Raleigh's cohort was less than intimidating. All that really worried Abby, in fact, was that she might not get him out of her home before he vomited on her clean floor.

  "Do you have a broom, Abby?" Emily inquired rather politely considering the circumstances.

  Abigail read the intent in the other woman's gaze. If they were lucky, they could shoo the cretin out like a rat. "In the kitchen."

  Emily turned to leave the room, but came to an abrupt halt when Dobbs lifted the vase he had just knocked over and hurled it against the wall a hand's width from Abigail's head.

  The other woman slowly moved to Abigail's side, her jaw set.

  "Stop this at once, Mr. Dobbs," Abby ordered, as if speaking to a child.

  His thin lips curled into a sickening grin. "I warn ye, lady, something real bad might happen if ye don't take Lord Raleigh's offer."

  "What offer?" Her brows snapped together.

  Dobbs reached into his coat pocket and extricated an empty bottle. He shook it just to be sure before letting it slip from his fingers. He reached into his opposite pocket.

  "I told ye before," he was saying, "the viscount is going to buy yer property."

  "And I told you that I would not have it," Abigail snapped, her patience waning. "Get out of my house." Even as Dobbs took another step toward her, parting his lips to speak, she caught the shadow appear in the opened doorway behind him.

  "An' what if f don't?"

  "Then I shall put you out," Calvin said. He stepped out of the glare of the sun and into the house, shoulders tense and features ruthless. His eyes gleamed as they inspected Abigail from head to toe. "You are all right?"

  She nodded, but before she could speak Dobbs began to cackle.

  "I knew yer man was back." He shifted sideways to peer at Calvin. "I saw ye last night. I had come to pay a call on Lady Wolcott an' heard ye both in the stables."

  Abigail gasped. A muscle began to click in Calvin's jaw as his gaze slowly shifted from her to the man in the middle of the foyer.

  "Saw ye," Dobbs went on, heedless of the dangerous ground on which he walked, "hiking up her skirts, going at her like she was a common whore."

  "That's enough," Emily said coldly. She reached out to hold Abigail's shaking hand.

  "Tell me, man"-Dobbs's voice dropped to a loud whisper as he offered Calvin a man-to-man wink-"didn't it hurt to have that crippled leg digging into yer ribs?"

  It was over fast; Abigail thanked heaven for that much. One minute Dobbs was laughing mercilessly and then he was lying flat on his back. Calvin stood over the unconscious man, hand still clenched in a fist and teeth pressed together.

  In the quiet that followed, Abigail was lost on a sea of embarrassment. The fact that the vile man lying in a drunken heap on the floor had watched them the night before threatened to make what she and Calvin had shared of themselves a dirty thing. It also exposed her to one of her dearest friends as n
ot unlike "a common whore."

  Emily stepped away from Abigail's side and walked on silent feet to where Dobbs lay. She glanced up at Calvin from the corner of her eye and said, "Excellent."

  "Thank you," he returned.

  Chapter 27

  As the village appeared over the horizon, Calvin thought he heard Abigail release a sigh of relief. She had chosen to sit not inside the carriage, but on the hard wooden driver's perch beside him. It had been wishful thinking on his part that she did so just to be close to him. He had counted over a dozen times since they left the estate for the business district of North Rutherford that his companion watched the road before them-searching for any hint of danger.

  She was mostly quiet, sitting beside him with the rising sun casting her face into shadows beneath the brim of her straw bonnet. The most she spoke to him had been her request that he take her to the bookshop. It was, in fact, the most she had spoken to him since the night before and long after the episode with that blackguard, Dobbs.

  Calvin had made an attempt at conversing with Abigail when the moon rose high in the sky and she was alone in the parlor. She was a solitary fig ure before the hearth as she crumpled the deed Raleigh had sent Dobbs to deliver. As if the compressed document vexed her still, she tossed the ball into the fire.

  As she watched the flames greedily devour the paper, her eyes reflected the glow and her chin lifted in a not-unfamiliar gesture of tenacity. Her voice was soft, however, barely audible when she sighed, "I grow tired of it all."

  Calvin had gone to his bed leaving his door partially ajar. He did not close his eyes until he saw the light beneath the door across from his fade to black.

  When he realized Abigail was still in no mood for shared banter on the way into the village, he began to preoccupy himself with attempting to come up with a way to be done with Lord Raleigh and his lot once and for all.

  "Calvin?"

  He hadn't even realized she was speaking to him. He glanced at Abigail from the corner of his eye before guiding the carriage in the direction of the seemingly abandoned bookshop. He was more than a little surprised that her lips had curved into a sudden smile without him even realizing it. "Yes?"

  "I asked if I thanked you, sir," Abigail repeated herself patiently, "for my hat."

  ,,it fits then?" The hat had been a last-minute idea, after he had exchanged his tailor-made attire for clothing he had borrowed from one of his servants and was departing London in a much-used hackney.

  Abby was nodding. "Very well, with enough room to hold all my hair."

  He had told the clerk at the shop the hat was a gift for his son. The clerk had eyed Calvin's clothing suspiciously before allowing him to even touch the hat-understandable considering the hat probably cost as much as the entire suit Calvin wore.

  ,,You shouldn't have spent your money on me, Calvin. There was no need."

  "I wanted to," he returned evenly. In truth, he wanted to give her something better, but expensive jewelry or another silken nightgown of the likes he had seen her in before would have caused suspicion. "Besides," he said, "what with you providing my salary, giving me a place to rest my head, three meals a day, and a coat better than any I've ever owned-I was starting to feel like a kept man.

  He grinned, but his brows drew together abruptly when she looked away. Her smile faded.

  Without even thinking about it, he reached out and covered her skirt-blanketed knee with one palm. Waited until she again looked at him before speaking. "I did not mean that with any disrespect, Abby. "

  He had brought them to a halt before the bookshop with its blocked windows, unaware of the two women who had slipped from its depths until the smaller one cleared her throat.

  Calvin had encountered the tall woman in Abigail's study. The other, who was staring with some horror at the hand draped across Abby's knee, he had never before met. He dropped off the side of the carriage, ignoring the latter's stilldismayed expression, as he moved to help Abby down.

  "Good morning, Harriet." Abigail smiled at the two, though she wouldn't meet the spectacled woman's gaze. "Isabel."

  "Abby." Harriet grinned back, lifting an open palm to shield her eyes. "Mr. Garrett."

  He returned her bright greeting with a nod. Uncertain of how to deal with the entirely too wide eyes of the smaller woman in the high-necked gown, he decided to ignore her.

  "What did you think of the sign?" Harriet asked, appearing unaware of the discomfort wafting off the woman beside her.

  "It was quite excellent." Abigail held up the wrapped parcel she had held on her lap for the journey into the village. "You did a wonderful job developing the new design."

  The other woman shrugged, embarrassed. "I just drew up an idea. A craftsman in London did all the work."

  "Do not downplay yourself, Harriet. We must hang this right away. I'm sure it will catch the eye of everyone passing through North Rutherford."

  Harriet was turning red. "Go on."

  "Shall we bring out a chair to stand upon?"

  "I said, go on." Harriet fisted her hands on her hips, her face shifting into an amusingly threatening mask.

  Abigail chuckled.

  "I'll go get the chair," Isabel offered, as if she was searching for an escape.

  "I could hang it." Calvin's gaze moved between the wrapped sign to the hooks dangling from the awning at the front of the shop. "I don't need a chair. "

  "Thank you, Calvin." Abigail smiled despite Isabel's groan and went to work on peeling the protective wrap from the sign.

  Calvin hardly looked at it until it was lifted above his head. What he first noticed was that the design was quite fantastic. At its bottom was an open book and running up the sides of the wood was a delicate line of ivy speckled with plump flowers. The inscription in the fine wood appeared to be done of pen rather than the chisel of a craftsman. PRECIOUS VOLUMES BOOKSHOP.

  Calvin froze before he had managed to slip the sign onto the hooks.

  Precious Volumes.

  P.V.

  He looked down his shoulder at Abigail. She was gazing, puzzled, at the curve of his lips.

  "What is it, Mr. Garrett?" Harriet asked.

  His eyes remained fixed on Abigail, the woman he had been so certain would never give money to an ex-lover. The woman who had, in fact, not.

  "You own the bookshop, Abby?"

  It was Isabel who cleared her throat, her stare glacial over the rims of her spectacles. "We are all investors in the shop, sir."

  He turned his grin on her, and she blinked. The sign slipped easily into place, and Calvin let his arms drop to his sides.

  "How did you know?" Abigail inquired quietly.

  Hell. He frantically searched his mind fora response, any that had nothing to do with him snooping in her personal accounts only a day after they met. Luckily, everything in his thoughts was falling into place.

  "I've never seen a woman frequent a shop as often as you did this one," he said, "especially when it is not open. I am embarrassed I did not think of it sooner." That much was true. He was astounded that his own jealousy of a man who had once been a part of Abigail's life had blinded him to everything that had been right before his very nose.

  "Oh." Something about the way her lashes drew slightly together gave Calvin a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was almost as if she was uncertain whether to believe him or not.

  "We like to keep our ownership of the store private," Isabel said pointedly.

  "Some," Harriet added, "have distinct notions as to a woman's place in the world. Married, bearing children, caring for the home. Not owning a business that sells books many believe would give those with weak constitutions a fit of the vapors."

  "I have recently developed an appreciation for females of an independent nature," Calvin said to Abigail.

  Harriet's attention drifted between him and the flushed woman before she grinned.

  Isabel disappeared inside the shop.

  He should have known, he would tell himself later wh
en he woke tied to the chair with his skull pounding. He felt nothing when he saw the woman's silhouette at the south opening of the stables. The hair did not rise at his nape, his lower body did not tighten, and his heart did not begin to beat with enough force against his ribs to make him shake. He felt nothing like he usually did when Abigail was near.

  Still, Calvin expected no one else.

  "Abby?" His eyes squinted in the gloom, the brilliant afternoon sunlight beyond the stable walls seeming to make the building itself as dark as dusk.

  "No." Katrina Raleigh's tone had a mocking quality. "Not Lady Abigail. Sorry to disappoint."

  She moved farther into the stable, and Calvin wondered at his stupidity for even imagining her shape-much too large for his taste up top and unbelievably lean everywhere else-was that of Abigail. Her features were drawn into a mask of composure, though the curve of her red lips and the gleam in her eyes were icy.

  "What do you want?" It was hard to pretend to be of the lower class, hard to keep up the guise of servitude when dealing with an individual he baldly disliked at best.

  "To make you a proposition."

  Calvin stepped out of Achilles' stall. "I thought I made it clear that I don't want anything you have to offer."

  "I think you should reconsider what you are saying, Mr. Garrett. Dealing with my cousin and I might prove very profitable."

  At the thought of Raleigh, remembering Dobbs's presence in Abigail's home the day prior, he scowled. "I don't think so."

  "No?" Lady Raleigh's delicate brows lifted. "Lady Wolcott must pay you very well if you would so easily turn away a hundred pounds."

  "A hundred pounds?" His brows lifted with an interest he knew the woman would misunderstand.

  "Yes." The word came out like the hiss of a snake. "A hundred pounds free and clear if only you do one small task for us."

  A cold fist gripped his heart. "What is that?"

  "Get her to sell Edmund the land. Convince her it would be a sound idea to return herself to London with her strange friends and brother." Katrina eyed Calvin from his boots to his shoulders. "Things our associate, Mr. Dobbs, has reported make us believe she will listen to you."