One Night To Be Sinful

by Samantha Garver

  The other man was about to take his fist to his sister's door when he saw Calvin's open, as the latter had hoped.

  "Good God, man!" Thomas Wolcott changed his direction to turn into his friend's chamber. "What is going on about here?"

  "It's early, Thomas." Calvin shrugged casually into his jacket. "I'd have thought you had more decency than to barge into your sister's home before she even rises."

  Thomas's mouth opened, closed, opened again. He looked a lot like Abigail when his eyes went round. "How the hell can you be so calm? How can you expect me to be the same?" He strode to the window, pointed out to where the viscount's estate once stood. "I came to make sure all is going well, and what do I come across but Edmund Raleigh's home charred to cinders! I find it difficult to believe you know nothing about it, Calvin, when you smell of smoke." Thomas frowned, sniffed the air. "And, oddly enough, dead fish."

  Calvin scowled, touched the spot on his scalp that was a great deal less sore than he expected and still sticky with Mrs. Poole's poultice. "If you would be so good as to relax, Thomas, I can explain everything."

  "You'll forgive me, my friend, but I am finding that very difficult, considering. . ." Thomas rested his freckled hands on his hips, dropping his chin. His shaking head came to an abrupt halt when it was tilted toward the bed. He reached into the remaining bedclothes. "Well, what have we here?"

  Calvin said nothing, staring at the scrap of silk that dangled from Thomas's hand: Abigail's nightgown.

  When the other man faced him again, his lips had curved into a knowing smile. "I see."

  "You do?" He went forward to snatch the nightgown from Thomas's grip.

  "No wonder you are so relaxed. You found some female companionship for the night, eh? Took the edge off." Thomas's expression turned thoughtful. "Not one of the other servants?"

  "No."

  "Someone you recently met?"

  Calvin considered that, and then shrugged. "One might say that."

  "Now I understand why your eagerness to leave my sister's home has waned. I'd never thought a woman would get to you, Calvin."

  The other man did not hesitate, his fingers cinching tightly around the silken material in his hands. "She's extraordinary."

  Thomas released a heavy breath. He moved back toward Calvin, past the bathtub and its chilled contents and toward the door. "I am sorry I barged in. I was worried about Abby."

  "Abby is doing quite well."

  "Let's see if Mrs. Poole will be so kind as to make us some tea"-Thomas nodded-"and you can tell me what happened." He was waiting at the door, smiling, when the gleam of steel caught his eye.

  Calvin watched his head slowly turn toward the bathtub and then Thomas's smile slowly disappear. His brows furrowed abruptly and his face turned an unpleasant shade of red. He followed his friend's gaze to the bath and then the rug beneath it, atop of which rested Abigail's brace.

  "You bastard. "

  Calvin hadn't realized the other man moved until a moment too late. His head turned in time for him to take the brunt of Thomas's punch against his already abused cheek.

  "Thomas, wait-" The rest was cut off as Calvin was forced to dive from the other's next blow.

  Thomas released a pained groan when his knuckles made contact with one of the bedposts.

  "Don't do this." Calvin lifted his hands, ducking to escape another punch.

  The other man, smaller in both height and width, continued to close in on him. His normally jovial gaze was filled with overwhelming hatred. "You lying, depraved, son of a-"

  "Thomas, stop." The staunch order, not shouted but said with grim resolve, affected the man like Calvin's could not.

  Both men slowly turned in the direction of the door where Abigail stood in a clean nightgown, relying heavily on Margot's shoulder to hold her. Her eyes moved from her brother, who was panting with rage, to her bleeding lover.

  To Thomas she shook her head. "You do not understand."

  "You're damned right, I don't understand." His gaze rolled back to Calvin as he said through his teeth. "I thought you were my friend."

  "Thomas, don't say any more." Calvin made his voice insistent, trying to break through the cloud of fury that surrounded the other.

  Thomas took a deep breath before whispering like a man who was lost, "You were supposed to take care of her."

  Calvin felt everything inside him turn frigid, his gaze slowly moving to the woman in the doorway. He saw the moment understanding hit her, saw her features go slack and her eyes fill.

  "Abby." He tried to speak, but the word came out a croak.

  "How could you do such a thing?" Thomas was saying. I depended on you to keep her from harm, save her from that monster who was trying to frighten her out of her home. I never imagined I was actually letting a monster in it."

  Though his friend's words cut at him like a knife, his attention remained fixed on Abigail. Something broke inside him when he saw her blink and her tears disappear, her chin lift and her hands clench into fists.

  "Get out," she said, looking at the floor between her bare feet. "Get out of my house."

  "Abigail, dear ..." Thomas opened his arms to her but froze when she focused on him.

  "Both of you. I want you both out of my house." Her tone hinted at no emotion. Her gait was steady as she turned from the room.

  Mrs. Poole appeared at the empty space Abigail left behind when the two men moved in unison to go after her. "You had best do as she said, lads. Let her be."

  Calvin scowled darkly, glaring at Thomas before moving out of the room.

  "Who do you think you are, looking at me as if I've done something wrong?" Thomas ran down the stairs after him, indignant.

  "Because you did." Calvin peered back over his shoulder, past the other man.

  Mrs. Poole had put herself at the end of the stairs, her face harder than granite-a living blockade.

  Calvin strode to the front door, swung it wide. "You should have let me tell her."

  "You?" Thomas laughed bitterly, squinting in the morning sunlight. "The man who has ruined my sister?"

  "You have no idea what you are talking about, Thomas." Calvin turned on his friend, directing rage that he knew should be aimed at no one but himself toward the other man. "I suggest you back off."

  "I have half a mind to call you out for this." Thomas made a grab for Calvin's sleeve. "I won't let you abuse Abigail in such a way."

  Calvin spun around, seeing surprise register across his friend's face as he took hold of his lapels and then slammed him back into the closed door. "I would never harm Abby, you stupid son of a bitch!" Calvin stopped himself before he gave in to the urge to knock the other man into the door again and again. With effort, he released Thomas's coat lapels, his teeth clenching together as he turned away. "I love her."

  The ruler skidded; the piece of charcoal Abigail was using followed suit. The entire diagram was ruined by the jagged black slash that was to have been a small line. Abby's fist shook as she restrained the urge to hurl the charcoal piece against the wall. She sighed, dropped the charcoal atop her desk. The fine drawing paper crumbled into a tight ball between her hands-days of hard work and concentration so easily destroyed.

  Much, she inwardly reasoned, like her heart only a few hours before.

  She didn't realize she was holding her breath until her lungs began to burn. When she exhaled, her breath came out shaking.

  There was a light knock on the study door. Instead of moving inside after only that brief warning as she usually did, Mrs. Poole waited until Abigail bade her to enter.

  The younger woman could hardly read the expression on the cook's face. It was neither bitter nor sullen, but patiently concerned.

  "Mr. Garrett has returned."

  Abigail's gaze dropped quickly to the top of her desk. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. "Send him away, please."

  Mrs. Poole didn't move. "He doesn't look as if he's going to take one foot off the front stoop until he speaks with ye,
lass."

  "Tell him he can stand there as long as he likes." Abigail blinked rapidly. "I have no wish to see him."

  The other woman sighed, staring down at the toes of her well-worn boots. Abigail could only guess at what was going through her mind, and never in her wildest dreams would she imagine Mrs. Poole was recounting what she had heard earlier while standing sentry on the stairs. Listening not without due interest to the shouting of the men beyond the front door and the declaration of love from one for her employer. When her chin lifted, her expression was hard. "Ye tell him."

  Abigail stared at the doorway her cook quickly vacated.

  "Margot?" she called.

  "She went into the village to check on those servants ye put up at the inn!" Mrs. Poole's shout was her only response.

  Abigail scowled, scanning the contents of her study as if there might be some help there. Her gaze fell upon the knotted walking stick Timothy had produced for her until she could have a new crutch made and, against the wall, the small valise that held all of Calvin's belongings. She remembered asking Margot to pack then toss the thing out the front door. After sharing a surreptitious conversation with Mrs. Poole, the maid had disregarded her employer's request.

  It took some time, using the simple cane and bearing the valise, to reach the foyer. When she paused at the front door, Abigail found herself hoping Calvin had decided she was not going to come and departed the property. When she parted the door a crack to peer outside, however, midnight blue eyes met hers instantly.

  She made herself look away as she opened the door wide and set Calvin's bag at his feet. Abigail refused to acknowledge the painful squeezing of her heart, refused to let her eyes drift back to where the skin had broken across Calvin's cheek after his encounter with her brother. If she made it through the next few minutes without her heart seizing up inside her, she would be surprised.

  "Abby, I must talk to you." He made no move to take the valise.

  Abigail gazed steadily at the bag that remained at his feet. "There's nothing to discuss, Mr. Garrett. Please, take your things and go."

  "I never meant for things to happen as they did." His words were directed at the top of her bowed head. "I wanted to explain what I did, why I was really here this morning. You remember I wanted to talk?"

  She remembered believing Calvin was about to tell her he loved her as the morning sunlight gleamed in his black hair and made the skin across his broad shoulders golden. Her eyes moved from the valise to his boots. "You must go." She turned away.

  "bammit, Abigail!" She stumbled when he grabbed her, but was instantly steadied by his hold on both her arms when he spun her round to face him. "For once"-his shout dropped to a whisper as his gaze explored her face-"can't you try not to be so bloody stubborn?"

  "How dare you ?" She slapped at his hold, knowing it was a mistake even as she looked up into his beloved features. "At least I admit to what I am. I never pretended to be anything different."

  "Abby, I never set out to deceive you as I did." Calvin shook his head. "You must understand." He reached out to touch the curve of her cheek. "You said you loved me."

  Long ago, she had taught herself not to cry. The pain in her heart as she stood in the doorway of her home was a thing beyond that which she had felt with a broken leg, fighting off a strain of pneumonia. Abigail's eyes filled despite her efforts to hold steady. She jerked back from his touch.

  "I told a man I believed to be my friend that I cared for him, but now I don't know who you are."

  "Abigail, whatever you might believe because of your brother bringing me here, you must know that I am your friend." Calvin's hands had clenched into fists at his sides. He shook his head. "Something greater than that, I should think. If you weren't being so blasted obstinate-"

  The sound that came from Abigail's throat was partially a laugh, partially a sob. "I'd rather be stubborn," she said, "than a liar." She flinched at Calvin's reaction to her words. He looked as if he had taken them as a physical blow. She took a breath, steeling her insides against the man who towered over her, the man she still loved.

  "If you see my brother, sir"-she lifted her chin, not knowing a single tear was trickling down her cheek until she felt Calvin's gaze follow its jour- ney-"do not hesitate to let him know you did not fail in your service to him." Her smile trembled. "You took excellent care of me."

  Chapter 3 r

  "My lord, you've a visitor."

  Calvin continued to gaze steadily into the flames.

  "My lord?"

  He blinked, remembering where he was. Who he was.

  "Who is it?" Calvin kept his voice neutral, not hinting at the hope that came to life inside him.

  `Wolcott, sir." The young doorman, Nigel, shifted nervously in the drawing-room doorway. Most of the household staff had been ill at ease with the dourness that had settled around their employer like a fog since his return. "Lord Wolcott."

  "Tell him I shall call on him later." Calvin hunched further into his wing chair, hands wrapping tightly about his brandy snifter. What the hell did he expect? The woman who loved him, to whom he had lied, to come running into his arms? "I am not in the mood for company."

  "That is no way to treat a friend." Thomas stepped around the doorman and moved confidently to the chair beside Calvin's.

  Calvin glanced at Thomas's dark rose jacket and brown breeches from the corner of his eye. "A bit much for a friendly visit."

  Thomas chose to ignore the other's tone. "Another soiree tonight, you know. For Jeanette." He eyed his friend's plain breeches and shirt. "Did you not get your invitation?"

  "I received it."

  "Then you forgot the party was tonight?"

  "I did not forget."

  "Plan on making a grand entrance later in the evening?"

  "I'm not going."

  Thomas sighed, following his friend's gaze to the hearth. "You've heard nothing from her?"

  "No," Calvin returned grimly. "Have you?"

  Thomas shook his head. "It's been barely two weeks though."

  "How long should it take?"

  "Perhaps three ... or four"-Thomas shrugged"months."

  "She will never speak to me again."

  Thomas laced his fingers in his lap, cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Calvin. Sorry I got you into this mess in the first place."

  "We've been through this already, Thomas. I care not to go into it again." He looked at his friend, who was gazing at the hands in his lap. "You should go. You'll miss your sister's party, and someone beneath her might ask for a dance."

  Thomas chuckled at that, pushing up from his chair. He was halfway to the door before he halted. His chin lifted, though he did not look back at Calvin. "You know, Jeanette always gets nervous dancing. She was never very good at it. It was Abigail who was teaching her how; before her accident, I mean. I think it helps Jeanette just to see her sister there in the ballroom when the dancing starts. It relaxes her, and Abby knows it. She never misses any ofJeanette's parties."

  Calvin lost his focus on the flames in the hearth.

  "Never," Thomas said again.

  Abigail peered under the table in the hall, frowned, and straightened.

  "I believe we already checked everywhere downstairs, Abby." Margot bustled out of the cloakroom, dark velvet draped across her arms.

  "I know," the other woman sighed. "I just wanted to be certain."

  "He'll turn up sooner or later. He always does." Margot paused to straighten the length of pale ribbon she had laced through Abigail's hair. "Here, now. Let's put this about your shoulders." She unfolded the cloak, moved around the smaller woman.

  Abigail's eyes caught the gleam of the candlelight against the soft velvet. The material was dark, but not black: a painfully familiar shade of midnight blue. "I think I should like to wear something else, Margot."

  "Nonsense." The maid shook her head. "This cloak matches your gown and will keep you nice and dry if it begins to rain."

  "My black cape would sui
t." She jerked when the cloak was put about her shoulders, engulfing her body much the same way a gaze of a matching hue had wrapped around her heart.

  "Abby, this cloak is just fine. We must make haste. Miss Paxton's carriage is waiting."

  "I do not want to wear it. "Abigail did not need to catch the shock that passed across the other woman's features to feel instantly contrite. She bowed her head as Margot took the garment from around her shoulders and returned to the cloakroom. She reappeared a moment later with a cloak of black satin, not meeting her employer's gaze as she put it in the other's place.

  "I'm sorry." Abigail caught Margot's hand as the other was straightening the cape. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

  "No matter." The older woman was smiling again, her eyes filled with knowing sympathy as she moved to open the front door. "Had I known you hated the cloak so, I would have burned it."

  Abigail had found a little of her own smile at that. It continued to curl her lips as she reached Emily's carriage.

  "There was really no need of you to go to such trouble," she said by way of greeting. "It was very silly to come all the way from London just to take me back again."

  The woman who had been waiting outside the coach with her driver waved a hand in dismissal. "I know Timothy dislikes the traffic in Town. Quite the opposite, Hildegard loves to travel."

  The burly woman who had been holding Abigail steady as she moved up the carriage steps grunted her agreement.

  "Good evening, Abby." Isabel smiled from where she sat inside.

  "Isabel." Abigail nodded in turn as she sat across from the other woman. A moment later, Emily was sitting beside her and the door slammed closed. The inside lantern swayed to and fro as the vehicle moved forward, illuminating Isabel's anxious expression and Emily's closed one in turn.

  "Well"-Isabel took a deep breath-"I hear you had an interview for the new opening in your household?"

  "Yes." Abigail folded her hands in her lap. "A Mr. Jennings from the village."

  "You hired him?"

  Abigail looked down at her hands. "I did not."

  "Did he come with no references?"

  "Actually, his references were excellent."