by Meara Platt
But she was eager to learn.
Would he teach her?
No! No! She couldn’t let this man distract her. “My lord, you are to be commended for behaving honorably… for the most part. You should not have lifted me over your shoulder to carry me upstairs.”
He appeared amused by her attempt to berate him. “Would you have come willingly?”
She sighed. “No, I suppose not. I’d just met you. I didn’t know whether you were more dangerous than those drunken oafs.”
He was standing close to her once more. She felt the soft whisper of his breath against her ear. “And now, Abigail? Would you come willingly if I asked you now?”
Oh, heavens! Yes. Was there a doubt? She licked her lips that suddenly felt parched. “Does it matter? I’m already here.”
His smile turned wistful, perhaps mirthless. “So you are. The little rabbit in the wolf’s lair.” He drew away and rubbed his hand across the back of his sinewed neck. “Come on, little rabbit. Let’s get you home before this wolf has a change of heart and eats you for dessert.”
CHAPTER THREE
TYNAN HAD JUST walked downstairs to see if Coventry or Wainthorpe or any of the other earls in their circle had shown up this evening, when Wainthorpe walked through the front door. “Perfect timing,” Tynan said, drawing him aside before he’d had the chance to remove his hat and gloves. “I need a favor. Some urgent business has come up and I must leave for a couple of hours.”
Wainthorpe’s gaze drifted to the top of the stairs. Abigail had come out of his room and was now spying on the two of them. Well, she was merely peeking at them out of curiosity. There was nothing clandestine going on, other than his wanting to get her home unnoticed by anyone at the club.
That plan was now shot to bits.
Wainthorpe gave a throaty chuckle. “Who’s the partridge with the beautiful eyes? I gather she’s your urgent business.”
“She’s no one you need to know about.” Bollocks, I’m not sharing Abby. She’s mine. “The blasted girl has a mind of her own. I told her to stay out of sight.” He frowned at his companion. “Keep your hands off her. She’s innocent.”
“Am I to believe you had her all to yourself and did nothing about it? What’s wrong with you? Having an off night?” Wainthorpe held up his hands in mock surrender when Tynan growled low in his throat.
“You may have your fun at my expense another time, Wainthorpe.” Tynan needed him to take over his duties. “Will you watch the club while I’m gone?” Not that any of them had much to do other than remain close at hand in the event an unfortunate incident arose. This was a tightly run pleasure club. Guests were banned for life if they misbehaved.
Well, they all misbehaved.
The point was to be discreet about it and not cause a scene.
Wainthorpe gave a curt nod. “Yes, but watch yourself. It’s the innocent ones who will cut you down at the knees.” He didn’t ask how Abigail got here or why. Tynan appreciated his companion’s respect for privacy. He’d have to tell the Earl of Coventry about her though. He was their patron, their father figure, and would demand answers.
Tynan had no hesitation confiding in Coventry. Indeed, in telling any of his fellow earls, for he would need their help to keep Abigail’s brother away from the dangerous pleasures offered next door. He already had the beginnings of a plan in mind, but was not ready to share it with Abigail or anyone else yet.
He knew the Wicked Earls could be counted on to do whatever he needed them to do when the time came. Although they kept their connections quiet, they all took their club membership and the responsibilities it implied quite seriously. The W emblem discreetly pinned to their lapels or on the stickpins adorning their cravats could just as well have been a B to stand for brotherhood.
He and Wainthorpe made a quick inspection of the gaming hell, the private card room where the higher stakes wagering took place, the dining room, and the hallways that led to the private chambers where games of quite another sort took place. “All appears under control,” Wainthorpe said. “Go on, I’ve got it covered.”
Tynan mumbled his thanks and hurried toward the stairs. A woman he recognized as a marchioness emerged from a nearby room. Her gaze turned predatory when she saw him striding down the hall. “I’m cold, Westcliff. Care to warm me up?” She thought to tempt him by allowing her robe to fall open, baring her breasts to him.
“Can’t tonight, m’lady.” Not that he would have done so on any other night. The marchioness enjoyed multiple companions and he wasn’t the sort to share. Or take another man’s leavings. No buttered bun games for him. He kept walking. Bollocks. Was Abigail still peeking on the stairs? He ran up them two at a time, his heart in his throat, although he didn’t know why he should be so worried about her delicate sensibilities. She’d gotten herself into this fix, even if it was for noble reasons. He was no monk. The girl could not be so dense as to think he was.
He strode in and stopped dead in his tracks.
Abigail’s slender body was bathed in a silvery beam of moonlight, her shoulder casually propped against the wall while she gazed out the window onto the street below. But it was what she held in her hand that caught his attention, and what she was doing with it that had his heart now pounding like thunder in his chest.
The blasted peacock feather.
She ran it slowly across her cheek. Her head tipped back slightly and her eyes fluttered closed as she slid it slowly… sensually, down her neck.
Sweet merciful heaven.
“Abby.” He cleared his throat, wishing he hadn’t promised to keep his hands off the girl. Stupid idea. His body was in torment. He wanted to put his hands all over her.
He closed his eyes a moment, hoping to expunge the wicked thoughts whirling in his head. Indeed, he wanted this girl with a hunger he’d rarely felt before. The ache to hold her in his arms, to explore the wonders of her body with his hands and lips… even with that blasted feather… was new to him, and he wasn’t certain that he liked it.
Was she purposely doing this to him?
Bollocks, he knew she wasn’t.
Which made his torment all the greater.
She turned to him, a vision illuminated by the moon’s silver glow. “Lord Westcliff, I didn’t hear you come back in.”
“Tynan.”
“Precisely.” She cast him the softest smile. “I had no idea peacock feathers were so soft.”
“Give me that.” He strode to her side and took it out of her hand, practically tossing it across the desk. He ought to have tossed it out the window, but she’d probably find it and retrieve it, and then she’d be playing with it in his carriage during their ride to her home. She’d tortured him enough for one evening. “It isn’t yours.”
“I know. I wasn’t hurting it.” She frowned at him. “I wasn’t going to steal it, if that’s what has you worried. Why are you so protective of that feather, anyway?”
“I’m not.” He took her by the elbow. “Let’s go.”
He peered out the door and down the hall to make certain no one else happened to be about. He did the same as they walked downstairs.
All clear.
By the giggles he heard coming from the room that the marchioness occupied, he realized she’d found a partner or two to indulge her in her games of pleasure.
He moved Abby along before she heard more than was appropriate for her innocent ears. As soon as they stepped out of the club, she tensed and gazed up and down the street. “Do you think those men might still be lurking about?” she asked.
“No, they’re gone.”
She nibbled her lip. “How can you be sure?”
He forced his gaze from her lips before he foolishly kissed her. “Our footmen chased them off.”
“They did?” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank them for me, please.”
He nodded and helped her climb into his carriage. His heart began to pound a hole through his chest the moment he circled his hands around her waist to help h
er up. He’d touched women before and far more intimately.
This girl felt different.
She felt like heaven.
She sank back against the plush leather squabs, watching quietly as he climbed in after her and took the seat across from hers.
“My lord–”
“Tynan.”
“Indeed. Do you think we might venture next door and–”
“Not a chance.” He knocked on the roof to signal his driver to take them to the Whitpool townhouse in Mayfair. The carriage jerked forward when the driver snapped the reins. Abby almost fell onto his lap, but she caught herself in time.
Too bad.
“You’re not going anywhere near that den of iniquity. You’re not ever to go near it or even think about going near it again.” He frowned to emphasize his point, although it was too dark in the carriage for her to see his face beyond its shadowed contours. He could barely make out the soft curves of her body, or the angry rise and fall of her bosom as she inhaled the crisp, October air while debating whether or not to tell him just where he could shove his commands.
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll take your suggestion under consideration.” Her clipped tone revealed she wished to do quite the opposite of thanking him.
He wanted to laugh at the tactful way she’d just told him to go to hell, but this was no frivolous undertaking. She’d almost been assaulted tonight, he could not allow her to continue her foolish quest. “Abigail, that house is too dangerous even for me. It may have started out as an artist salon, but no art displays or poetry recitals take place there now. It is an opium den.”
She sat quietly for a moment, then sighed. “You’re right, of course. We’ll deal with Peter when he comes home. I won’t go there again.”
They fell into a longer, companionable silence.
He did not need to see her or touch her to feel this girl’s presence. Her nearness was enough to put his senses in a mad spin. Her occasional sigh was enough to send his iron control careening off a cliff.
He was eager for their ride to end. The subtle scent of roses on her skin had now mingled with the warming air in the enclosed carriage and was setting off ridiculous fantasies in his brain. He’d known the girl less than three hours… not even two hours.
How could she be having this effect on him?
She was not the usual sort of young woman he encountered. In truth, she was an unexpected breath of fresh air.
He could feel her hopeful innocence surround him.
Not too sweet. Not cloying.
Just intoxicating.
“Tynan,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as the carriage rolled down the street. She spoke so softly, he almost didn’t hear her. “Thank you for everything. No matter what happens next, I’ll never forget your kindness this evening or your offer to help me with my brother. I hope you won’t wake up in the morning and realize you’ve just made a foolish mistake. I’ll forgive you if you decide never to see me again. But I want you to know how grateful I am for your generous offer of assistance.”
She’d called him Tynan. Finally. He didn’t know why it mattered so much. “Abby, I gave you my word and I’ll keep to it.”
“I don’t want you to. I mean… I want you to, but not if it is a burden to you. It feels so good just knowing that you offered and that I would not be struggling alone. I needed that support today. I’d reached the end of my rope and could not have managed another moment. You caught me as I was about to break into a thousand pieces. But I won’t break now. I’m put back together for a while longer. A good long while. So… thank you.”
The girl may as well have clamped his heart in a vise and twisted it. Repeatedly. If he’d ever considered abandoning her, the thought had now fled his mind. He was determined to help her. Saving her brother was now his sacred quest.
Bollocks.
He knew better than to believe he could do it.
He’d try though.
He wanted a happy ending for Abby, but didn’t think it was possible. He would be there to console her when the worst happened. It wasn’t a question of if. He knew her brother was too far gone.
“Tynan, is there anything I can do for you to repay this favor?”
She didn’t know what she was asking. Yes, she could do something for him. Spend a night of pleasure in his arms. Give herself to him, body and soul. He’d never ask it of her, for he was afraid that one night would surely turn into a thousand nights. Then a thousand more. And another thousand more. Would he ever tire of this beautiful innocent?
“There is one thing you can do for me, Abby.”
“Anything,” she said, far too eagerly and casting him a disarming smile.
“Spend the day with me tomorrow. I’ll come around to pick you up at noon. James and Sophie have invited me for lunch. I’d like you to meet them as soon as possible.”
“Your cousin, the Earl of Exmoor, and his wife?” Her smile turned to one of genuine delight. “I’m eager to meet them, but won’t it be rude of me to arrive at their doorstep unannounced?”
“I’ll send word for them to add you. They won’t mind. It will just be the four of us. It’s important that you meet them. James will be able to help us get into Peter’s thoughts. He’ll understand what Peter is going through since he went through bad times himself. Sophie rescued James. I’m hoping she’ll have some good advice for us as well.”
He felt the soft touch of Abby’s hand as she leaned forward and placed it over his. “I’ll be ready.” She kept it on his a moment longer before drawing it away. “Oh, my home is just around the corner. Have your driver stop here and I’ll climb over the wall. I don’t want my neighbors to see me.”
Tynan rapped on the roof.
The driver tugged on the reins and drew the horses to a stop. “I’m coming with you. You said the trellis was loose. I’m not leaving until I know you’ve made it safely up to your bedchamber.”
He grinned into the darkness when he heard her little huff. “Very well, but I can manage this part. I purposely wore my sturdiest boots and this practical gown.”
“The gown isn’t practical. It has too many buttons.”
“Only down the front,” she said. “I am adept at unfastening buttons.”
He gave a throaty laugh as he opened the carriage door. “So am I.”
It took her a moment to grasp the import of his words. “Well… I’ll just keep that in mind.” Despite the coolness of the night air, he could feel the heat of her blush. “I didn’t realize you’d noticed my… buttons. You’ve had years of practice coaxing ladies out of their gowns, no doubt. But if… Tynan, please promise me you’ll keep your hands off my… um, buttons.”
He leaned forward and gently cupped her chin in the palm of his hand. “I’ll do no such thing. I give you fair warning, Abby. I gave you my word as a gentleman tonight. But no man is ever a true gentleman. If I catch you traipsing about at night on your own again, all wagers are off. I will have my way with you next time.”
“What exactly does that mean? Have my way with you.” She climbed out of the carriage and waited for him to follow. “It’s a ridiculous expression.”
“Its meaning is obvious. I shouldn’t have to explain it.” He helped her over the low wall that separated the Whitpool townhouse from the street, silently cursing the lightning bolt of heat that shot through him when he placed his hands on her waist. “Where is your bedroom?”
“Over here,” she said in a whisper, taking his hand to guide him toward the trellis.
Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could make out more than vague shapes under the moon’s bright glow. But Abby didn’t have to know it. He liked holding her hand. He wished to do more, but was not about to act upon his urges.
“Good night, Tynan.” She gave his hand a light squeeze, then hiked her gown to her knees and began to climb up the trellis. She was graceful, for the most part, except when it came to heaving herself over the sill and into her room. He heard her grunt se
veral times, and then he heard a thump as she toppled inside.
“Gracefully done, my little rabbit,” he whispered with a chuckle. He shook his head, knowing he should not be enjoying this unusual girl’s company as much as he was.
She stuck her head out, and he noticed that she was rubbing her brow. “I’m fine. Just a little bump.”
“You landed on your head?”
“On my forehead,” she insisted, as though it made a difference. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again. Oooh, I feel like Juliet at her balcony, looking down upon her Romeo. Will you spout odes to me?”
“No, you little nuisance. Get inside. Go to bed.” He made his way back to his carriage without giving her another glance.
“Bollocks, that girl is trouble.” He thought of Abby as his little rabbit, but in truth, he was the one in danger of being snared by her beautiful, brandy eyes.
Bah! I’m a wolf. I eat rabbits.
So why did he feel that Abby had just taken a big bite out of him?
CHAPTER FOUR
ABIGAIL AWOKE TO the sun spilling onto her bed and warming her cheeks. She could tell by the height of the sun over the rooftops that she’d overslept. “Tynan,” she muttered, tossing the covers aside and hopping out of bed. She wanted to look her best when he came around to pick her up.
“Did you say something to me, Miss Abigail?”
“Oh, Sally! I hadn’t noticed you there. No, I was just mumbling to myself.” Her maid was sitting quietly in a corner of her bedchamber, sewing the hem of the gown she’d worn last night.
“I don’t know how the fabric came undone, Miss Abigail. I noticed it as I was preparing your wardrobe for today.” The girl shook her head and sighed. “One would think you’d been climbing trees. There’s bits of grass and leaves stuck to it, but I could have sworn it was clean when I stowed it away.”