A Brother's Honor

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Bending toward Dominic, Abigail placed the dampened handkerchief against his forehead. “How are you faring?” she murmured beneath Newton’s enthusiastic chatter.

  “Not as bad as you think, but not as good as I wish when you are touching me like this.” His voice was not much louder than a breath, but his provocative smile spoke volumes.

  “You should remember we are not alone,” she replied as quietly.

  “Odd that I have been wishing we would chance upon such help, but now that we have, I am sorry to lose our time alone.” Before she could retort, he smiled. “You spin an intriguing tale, chérie. It causes me to wonder how many falsehoods you have plied me with.”

  “Me?” She quickly lowered her voice when she saw Lady Sudley’s amazement. “I have not been the one to spin all sorts of stories to obtain what I want.”

  “When have I lied to you?” He closed his eyes and smiled as she put the cool handkerchief over his forehead. “That is heavenly, chérie.”

  She wanted to fire back an answer, but she had none. Dominic St. Clair might be arrogant and overbearing and too handsome for her good, but she could not recall a single time when he had not been starkly honest with her.

  More honest than Father was with me.

  Abigail bit her lip and sat back against the carriage’s lush seat. She could not deny that truth, but she did not want to think of it. Father must have an explanation for why he had done what he had. But what? What reason could he have had for leaving her with French pirates?

  Dominic answered a question from Lady Sudley, but Abigail was lost in her uneasy thoughts and paid neither the question nor the answer any mind. Whether Lady Sudley spoke to her or not, she could not recall when the carriage came to a stop in front of a doorway that was swathed in light.

  When Abigail reached for the door, Dominic’s hand on her wrist halted her. The merest motion of his head warned her to remain where she was. She understood when the door was opened with a flourish.

  A lad in dark green livery bowed. His smile wavered when he straightened and saw the extra passengers in the carriage.

  Lady Sudley said, “Henry, run and let Richards know we have guests.”

  “Richards is the butler,” Dominic whispered.

  “I know that!” Abigail scowled at him. To be honest, she had guessed that, but she would not tell him that.

  With the coachman’s help, Dominic got out of the carriage. Dominic had to lean on the door, but he handed out Lady Sudley and then Abigail. Putting one arm over her shoulder, he draped the other on Edgar’s as the coachman helped them to the pair of steps leading to the carved front door.

  The door opened, and Abigail was sure they had been ushered into a castle out of a book of fairy tales. She had not been able to see Sudley Hall as they approached, because it had been swathed in darkness. The foyer was bright with lamplight, and she could not keep from staring.

  The floor was an intricate pattern of different types of wood that reminded her of the chessboard her uncle had kept ready in the front parlor for his return. A skilled artist had painted a mural in which people were gathered in groups as if for an outing, but over their heads, instead of a sunny sky, were swags of gold and green topped with a crest that must belong to this family.

  Doors were closed, giving no hint of what might await beyond them, but a double staircase curved up in boastful grandeur. At the landing where the stairs split to go to either side of a balconied gallery above, a life-size marble statue of a naked man caught her eyes.

  She knew she was flushing when Dominic laughed lowly and asked, “Do you have no appreciation for ancient art, chérie? Or mayhap you have a great appreciation for it.”

  “Richards,” Lady Sudley said, saving Abigail from having to answer the unanswerable, “have Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair taken to where they will be staying.” She smiled. “I shall have a tray sent up to you, if you will forgive the informality. The hour is so late.”

  “We appreciate your kindness deeply,” Dominic said, winning a broadening smile from her.

  “I hope you will join me and the rest of the family for breakfast on the morrow. You need only ring, and you will be shown the way to the breakfast-parlor.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail murmured. “Lady Sudley, this is an amazing house.”

  “I hope you will find it comfortable. I owe you a debt that I can never repay.” Taking off her befeathered bonnet, she handed it to a footman who appeared as if upon her silent command. “I shall have some clothing delivered to you as well, if you will accept it.”

  Abigail looked down at her bedraggled shirt. “More than you could guess, my lady.”

  “No, no. You must call me Clarissa. Your kindness has made you a part of our family.” Lady Sudley put her hands on her brother’s shoulders. “Now you must be off to bed, Newton.”

  The little boy grumbled but went with her up the magnificent staircase. With the help of two footmen, Dominic followed, Abigail trailing after them like a tired duckling.

  She ran her fingers along the banister that was wider than her hand. As she climbed, she saw even more incredible pieces of art set on elegant tables between the curved doors on the upper floor. The floors were covered with soft rugs that muted the sounds of their footfalls as they went up another set of stairs.

  Abigail forgot the splendor when she heard Dominic’s breath strain as he fought for every step. He must have injured his ankle again even worse than she had guessed. Mayhap he had been honest with her before, but she feared he had been lying about how bad his ankle was.

  One of the footmen opened a door and helped Dominic through it. Dominic waved aside the men’s help as he leaned on the door frame to enter the room. He smiled when Abigail drew his arm around her shoulder again. Closing the door, he limped with her across the large room.

  “You played your part perfectly,” he said as he eased himself down into a chair.

  “My part?”

  “You appeared completely awestruck by this house.”

  “I am!” She went to look out the curved window to the lawns that were lost in the shadows. That let her avoid looking at the large bed that would be perfect for a husband and a wife. Yet its reflection in the window taunted her. She tried to glance away at the collection of chairs and full-length glass, but her eyes kept shifting back to the bed with its ruffled coverlet and thick pillows.

  A knock came at the door.

  Abigail went to open it and realized two other doors were set in the wall on either side of the bed. One was ajar to reveal what she suspected was a dressing room.

  A woman in a gown of the same dark green as the other servants said, “Madam, my lady asked me to bring you and Mr. St. Clair these things.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail said, holding out her hands for the clothing.

  “I will be glad to bring them in for you, madam.”

  “Of course.” She waited for Dominic’s laugh, but it did not come. Mayhap because he knew the danger of showing his amusement at how she was overmastered by all of this. Stepping back, she added, “You can put them on the chaise longue.”

  “As you wish, madam.” The maid set the clothes on the pale gold chaise longue before unfolding them.

  Abigail was unable to keep her fingers from brushing the soft fabric of the nightdress that the maid placed over the arm of the chaise longue. Jerking her hand back, she glanced to where Dominic was sitting in odd silence. A single raised eyebrow and a quirk of his lips warned her that he was fascinated with her discomfort at being here with him.

  The maid hesitated, then asked, “Do you wish help dressing, Mrs. St. Clair?”

  For the first time, Abigail kept from flinching at the name. Mayhap it was because she was so shocked at the idea of having a maid help her. “No, thank you. I shall be fine.”

  “If you are certain …”

  “Yes, but thank you.” She did not glance at Dominic, for she refused to have him give her a glare to warn that she had spoken thoughtlessly again.


  “I shall be glad,” he said with his disarming smile that brought a glow to the maid’s eyes, “to give Mrs. St. Clair any assistance she requires.”

  “Of course, sir.” As the maid hurried out of the room, Abigail was certain she heard a muffled giggle.

  Picking up a clean shirt, Abigail flung it at Dominic. He laughed loudly when he caught it. “A shirt will not ease the fury that I see in your eyes, chérie.”

  “How can you say things like what you said to that maid?”

  “For two reasons. One, it is what a husband might say, and two, because I want to keep my neck the same length it is rather than let a hangman stretch it.” Abruptly somber, he pushed himself to his feet and reached for the few remaining buttons on his shirt.

  She whirled to go into the dressing room. Although she could not wait to put on the lovely nightdress and the matching wrapper, that longing was not what sped her feet. It was another craving, one that frightened her, one she could not erase from her mind. If she stayed to watch as Dominic undressed, she feared she could not control this craving to be in his arms and against his skin that had been burnished by salt and the sea winds.

  Abigail closed the door and folded her arm against the wall. Leaning her head on her forearm, she struggled to ease the swift pace of her breathing. What was wrong with her? He had not even touched her or given her one of his seductive grins, but still her skin was atingle with anticipation and her heart thudded against her breast like a wave crashing on the shore.

  She raised her head when she heard Dominic curse in French, then in English. She could not mistake the raw edge of pain in his voice. Dressing hastily, she brushed her hair back and tied it with the ragged ribbon from her old wrapper. With care, she opened the dressing room door.

  “I am not going to ruffle your sensibilities,” Dominic said, his voice still strained. “You need not lurk in the dressing room.”

  Abigail took a quick glance to assure herself he was being honest with her. He was tucking the tail of his shirt into the black breeches that emphasized his bronzed skin and lean strength. Forcing her gaze up to his face, she inched out of the dressing room.

  “You look much better,” he added.

  “As you do.”

  He gave her a bow that was a mocking caricature of his courtesy to Clarissa Sudley. “I am pleased that you approve.”

  “Why are you taking that cold tone with me?”

  “Because I do not like being dressed down each time you open your mouth. You have chided me like a chaperon who has learned her young charge has been kissing a rogue. Why are you so disquieted when I did nothing more than save the lady and her brother from a fate worse than death?”

  “There is no need to resort to theatrics.” Abigail went back to stand by the window. “If you want the truth—”

  “Always.”

  She scowled at him. “I was not raised to use people for my own ends.”

  “Nor was I.” Dominic tossed his ruined shirt on the chair, then pushed it aside as he sat with a wince. Looking up at her, he said,” But I do not intend to let this opportunity pass me by.”

  “It must be highly convenient to be able to pick and choose when you wish to be honest or not and never suffer any guilt.”

  “Why are you judging me with such a heavy hand? After all, you accepted Lady Sudley’s invitation, too.”

  Abigail faltered. She was unsure how to tell him the truth that she had feared betraying him and that she wanted him to have a doctor check his ankle. Nor could she admit that she yearned to sleep in a bed with clean linens, a bed that did not rock with the motion of the sea, a bed that was wide enough for both of them.

  She stared out the window again as she clasped her hands until her knuckles were pale. Where had that thought come from?

  “Do not worry, chérie.” Dominic patted the arm of the chair and set his right foot on a wide stool that he must have found while she was in the dressing room. “I will not be sharing your bed tonight.” His enticing smile increased the pace of her furiously beating heart. “Unless you wish me to.”

  “You cannot sleep in that chair.”

  “I have no plans to do so.”

  Abigail sighed as she went to the chaise longue. It was too short for her to lie down on, but it would have to do. “I am so tired it shall not matter,” she said as she sat.

  “What shall not matter?”

  “Sleeping here.”

  He laughed, the sound as boisterous as when he had stood on the deck in command of the Republic. “I keep forgetting how egalitarian your country is. Here, as in France, the wealthy enjoy all the prerogatives of their privileged lives.”

  “What are you babbling about?”

  Coming carefully to his feet, he took her hand and led her to the door on the far side of the bed. It was almost hidden by the drapes. He swept the door open with a grand gesture.

  Abigail stared as she had in the foyer. This room was magnificent, with light gold silk on the walls and sweeping up to the center of the ceiling to wrap around a medallion with a raised relief of cherubs and flowers. Against the far wall, a huge tester bed was draped in forest green brocade threaded with gold. When she took a single step into the room, the carpet threatened to swallow her toes.

  “Impressed, I see,” Dominic said with another chuckle.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course.” He limped to the bed and patted the covers. “Here a fine gentleman can savor the charms of his favorite mistress while his wife is cozily tucked away in her own rooms.”

  “With a single door between them?” She sniffed. “The English are obviously different from Americans.”

  His arm swept around her waist, tugging her up to his chest. As his lips brushed her ear to send sweet heat deep within her, he whispered, “You speak with such authority, chérie. Is it because you know that if you were to lie here in my arms you would cry out with joy?”

  “You flatter yourself!”

  “Quite to the contrary. I flatter you and the passion you cannot restrain.” He etched that fire into her skin as his mouth glided along her neck. When she gasped at the very moment his tongue laved the curve of her breast above her wrapper, he chuckled and captured her lips. His kiss was swift and sapped her knees until she feared she could not stand.

  With a hushed chuckle, he bent to slip his arm beneath her knees. He did not heed her warning to take care as he swept her up into his arms. He laughed again as he dropped her on the bed. Eagerly, he pressed her back into it.

  His hands framed her face as he rested his arms on either side of her. She gazed up at him. She wanted him to hold her like this, but she should not. He was her enemy, her father’s most savage foe. Would he be gentle or fierce when he held her here?

  He leaned toward her, and she closed her eyes as her fingers sifted up through his hair. She wanted to be in that magic place where the only loyalties were those of two hearts seeking joy.

  When he did not kiss her, she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.

  “Only that I am unmanned by the strength of this passion I wish to share with you, chérie.”

  “You do not seem the least unmanly to me.” When she laughed, she saw the passion in his ebony eyes flare even hotter.

  She gasped when his mouth tasted the skin at the base of her throat. Sending far from her all thoughts of the world beyond his arms, she reveled in the ripples of sensation that rolled along her as he explored her with lips and fingers.

  He pinned her to the bed, but she could not be still. The craving rippled through her like an unheard song, inviting her to be a part of this dance she had yet to learn.

  Drawing his mouth back to hers, she heard his breath strain with hers. He pulled the ribbon from her hair and tossed it aside. He twisted his fingers through her hair, bringing her even closer to him as he buried his face in it. He groaned, and she reached for him.

  With a curse, Dominic pushed her hands away. Abigai
l sat, then slid off the bed to kneel beside it. She peeled his fingers from around his ankle and repeated his curse.

  “Oh, no!” she whispered. The swelling across his ankle had returned, distending it far beyond its customary shape.

  “I believe I am a bad influence on you, chérie,” he said, his attempt at a jovial tone falling flat.

  “I believe you should stop playing the hero until you are better.” She rose and went to the bell pull. Giving it a tug, she turned. “I shall insist that Clarissa send for the doctor in the morning.”

  “And tonight?”

  “The only thing you shall have to warm you in bed will be some damp cloths around that ankle.”

  “You are cruel, chérie.” He held out his hand. When she could not halt her fingers from settling on his, he smiled. “And you are bewitching when you stand there with your hair falling about your shoulders.”

  At a knock on the door, Abigail went to it and asked the maid to have warm cloths brought for Dominic’s ankle. She closed the door. Turning back to the bed, she said, “You would be wise to ask for replacements every hour until the swelling goes down.”

  “Me?” He smiled, although his lips were still puckered with pain. “I thought you would stay to oversee my care.”

  “I shall leave that to the maid.” She chuckled. “Tonight, Mr. St. Clair, I shall be the understanding wife and sleep in oblivion in my private chamber while a parade of maids wait upon you.”

  Dominic caught her arm as she started to leave. “Chérie, if you were mine, you would never sleep alone.” He ran the back of his hand along her cheek. “You need not sleep alone tonight.”

  She took his hand in hers and lowered it from her face. “Yes, I must. Be as honest with me, Dominic, as you claim you are with everyone else. Nothing has changed. You are my enemy, and I am yours. Even if I were not, your life is your ship. There is no place for me there, only in your bed tonight and for every night until we leave England.”

  “My life is La Chanson de la Mer. That is true, but it is also true that I want you.”