The day suddenly didn’t seem quite so rosy. Joseph confused her, caused her to wonder exactly what it was he wanted from her. Their marriage had not only provided him with her dowry, but also freed up his own money. That had been their agreement. He would get the money he needed for his school, she would get the respectability of marriage, home, and one day a family.
She certainly hoped he wasn’t planning on changing the rules. She’d made it perfectly clear when he’d proposed. A friendship, a partnership. Fondness perhaps, and yes—contentment. But she had no intention of opening up her heart again.
…
Joseph sensed Abigail’s withdrawal. He felt as though he were walking on thinly layered ice. It had all seemed so easy at the beginning. Their agreement had made sense. If not for his impromptu visit to Manchester, he would have finished his business in London, and returned with enough donors to build his school. One day he would have taken a wife, but that had certainly not been on his mind that morning.
Now he found himself married to a woman he’d relegated to the back of his mind years ago as unattainable. A woman he could easily fall in love with, if he hadn’t already. But she wanted no part of his love.
“Mr. Fox.” Joseph was brought out of his musing by a shrill, feminine voice behind him.
He turned to see Lady Durham hurrying toward them, her face flushed. He and Abigail paused to allow her to join them.
“I just heard that you were shot, Lady Abigail. My goodness, how terrible for you. Are you recovered?” Lady Durham took Abigail’s hand, her face a mask of concern.
“Yes, I am fine. Thank you, Lady Durham.” Abigail smiled warmly.
“Do you have any idea who did this terrible thing?” The woman leaned in farther, causing Abigail to move back a step, bumping into Joseph’s chest.
She shrugged. “Most likely a careless hunter.”
Lady Durham stepped back with a sigh. “I am so very happy that you are fully recovered. As I’m sure Mr. Fox is.” She smiled brightly at him.
“Indeed.”
“Well, I shall be on my way. I wish you continued good health, Lady Abigail.”
Abigail dipped her head gracefully. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you for your concern,” Joseph added.
…
Later that evening, a soft knock on her dressing room door drew Abigail’s attention from her place at the window. In the scant moonlight, she could see the well-tended garden with the meandering pathway that continued out of her sight, ending at the orangery. “Yes?”
Joseph entered the room, dressed in a red and brown print banyan. She had realized that he intended to resume lovemaking. If his heated gazes hadn’t forewarned her, the constant touches as they sat at dinner, and later in the library while he enjoyed a brandy, had made it perfectly clear that his forced celibacy would come to an end tonight.
He’d been the consummate gentleman while she’d been recovering, solicitous and accommodating. Although they’d slept in the same bed the entire time, he had ended each evening with a kiss to her forehead, and then had rolled over to sleep. Or at least he had given the impression of going to sleep.
With the pain in her arm settling into a constant ache the last few days, it had taken her a while to fall asleep each night. She’d been aware of Joseph’s restlessness, his thrashing, and the lengthening of time each night until she heard his deep breathing.
“You look particularly lovely this evening.” He sauntered toward her, the banyan separating as he neared, drawing her eyes to his muscular legs, dusted in brown hair. Her stomach clenched with expectation, and her heart sped up. Disconcerted at how much she’d missed his attentions, she reminded herself that once she found herself with child, she would insist he uphold his part of their agreement.
But could she?
Joseph stopped a mere few inches from her and cupped her face in his warm, large hands. “I’ve missed you.”
“I haven’t been gone.” Her attempt to bring levity into their exchange faltered when her voice came out raspy and breathless. Good heavens, his mere touch weakened her knees so that she needed to grab onto his arms to keep herself upright. His strong arms, warm and firm, the muscles shifting under her palms as he moved his hands down, pulled her closer.
He leaned his forehead on hers. “I want you so much, but I’m concerned for your injury.” He scattered kisses along her jaw, her neck and the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Please tell me you’ve healed enough.”
“Yes.” She moaned softly, and slid her hand up, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I believe I have.”
“Thank the Lord.” Suddenly, she was lifted into the cradle of his arms, and he strode to the bed, laying her gently down, then stretching out alongside her. “If I hurt you, please let me know.”
She hummed her answer and pulled his head down for a searing kiss. All thoughts of pain, keeping Joseph from her bed once she was with child, and life in general, seeped from her mind as his roving hands left a trail of fire in their wake.
Sliding her nightgown from her shoulders, he blazed a trail of kisses from her collarbone to her navel before moving up her body, nibbling on her skin. His tongue caressed her sensitive swollen nipple, and he suckled hard—she felt the pull all the way to her core.
He raised his head and stared into her eyes, his hand drifting over her curves. “I love the feel of your skin under my hands. It’s like silk. I could do this all day.” His eyes darkened, a fine sheen of perspiration covering his body. His hand moved to her lower back, and he eased her close, rubbing himself against her core.
The strength of his body robbed her of breath. She brushed the hair back from his brow, wondering what it was she saw in his eyes. Hunger—absolutely. He desired her, there was no doubt. But something else in his look frightened her. The tenderness, the longing for what he wanted from her that wasn’t only physical. Something she would forever hold back.
His gaze drifted to her lips. Her concerns forgotten for the moment, her entire world narrowed to Joseph’s mouth and hands. She was enveloped in his scent, the heaviness of his body pressing her into the mattress. He shifted, his fingers playing at the entrance to her body, sliding in and out of her feminine heat.
After several minutes of this torture, Abigail’s body tensed as she reached for the ultimate pleasure that she knew only he could give her. Her legs moved restlessly, she pressed against his hand. “Please.”
“As you wish, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear, running his tongue around the delicate shell. His knee edged her legs apart, and within seconds he slid into her. Her eyes drifted closed at the fullness that filled her body and soul.
No!
She couldn’t allow her soul to be part of this. It was the satisfaction she desired, the waves of pleasure that she knew would wash over her.
Joseph braced himself on his elbows above her, leaning his forehead down to touch hers. His breath was warm on her face and smelled of the brandy he’d had. She licked her lips and he groaned, anchoring her head with his hands, and took her mouth in a possessive kiss.
She moved in rhythm with him, reaching, stretching, striving for her release. The sound of their panting filled the room, their bodies, slippery with passion, moved together as if they’d practiced this dance for years.
Within minutes, Abigail tightened her leg muscles as wave after wave of pleasure flowed over her. Before the last wave left, Joseph threw his head back and growled as he gave one final thrust.
He collapsed alongside of her, careful of her wound. She moved her arm to run her fingers over his back, her muscles no stronger than water. Joseph mumbled something into her neck, but she was drifting off to sleep before his words ended.
…
Abigail had been sleeping soundly for more than an hour, snuggled up against Joseph’s side as he lay awake, studying the canopy over his head.
He was in love with his wife.
Instead of the glorious feelings that should have brough
t him, he wrestled with the knowledge that she would never love him back.
Could he spend the rest of his life loving a woman who would always hold him at arm’s length? Who he would always suspect wished another man in his place?
A rush of determination gripped him. He’d never been a man to accept what fate had thrown in his path. In this case, fate had provided him with the wife of which he had only dreamed. Whatever it took, he would win her love.
Chapter Ten
Joseph held Abigail’s chair as she took her seat at the table. Sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting the breakfast room as if a thousand candles burned. The cheerful room always lifted her spirits when she entered. Even on gloomy days, the lack of trees outside the windows allowed sufficient light.
Her insides tightened as she cast him a fleeting glance to gauge his mood. Hopefully, their shared pleasure hadn’t encouraged Joseph to believe their relationship would change. Was she foolish to believe they could share their bodies and the pleasure it brought them, and still remain no more than friends?
Many ton marriages were no more than business arrangements, with husband and wife producing the needed heir and spare before they went their separate ways. They would live in the same house, share meals and occasional entertainments, but mistresses and lovers were common.
It was the type of marriage she’d always scorned, since her parents had had a love match as did her brother, Drake. She and her sisters had been adamant about waiting for a man they loved and who would love them back.
How ridiculous she’d been.
Joseph pushed his empty plate away and took a sip of his coffee. “What are your plans for today?”
“I thought perhaps a trip into town to open the boxes that were delivered yesterday?”
“Of course I want to join you, but I have a tutoring session this morning. Can you find something to keep busy with until after luncheon?”
“Yes. I wanted to meet with the gardener to go over some plans I have for the area behind the orangery. That is, if it meets with your approval.”
“This is your home now, Abigail. You may do as you see fit.”
Her home. An odd little jolt of pleasure shot through her. “Thank you. Then shall we plan on a trip into town this afternoon?”
Again that smile. “Yes.”
She excused herself and left the room to gather her gloves and bonnet from her bed chamber.
Once outside, Abigail breathed deeply of the warm fragrant air as she headed toward the garden. Tying the wide ribbons of her bonnet under her chin, she wandered the path in search of Edward, the gardener. Despite being the only employee to care for the grounds, the area was well tended, the flowers in full bloom.
The sun beat down, causing beads of perspiration to form on her forehead and upper lip. Earthy scents, mixed with the enticing aroma of honeysuckle and roses, followed her as she strolled the herbaceous gardens. Enjoying the morning, she allowed her thoughts to wander.
Joseph was a considerate man, and a generous lover who made sure of her pleasure, allowing for her inexperience. When she thought of the years she had spurned completely acceptable suitors because she wanted love, it all seemed rather childish. Love, indeed. Fairy tales her mother had read to her and her sisters as children.
It mattered not that her brother had found love with his wife. She shoved to the back of her mind the image of how they gazed upon each other. Almost as if they spoke a silent language known only to them. Well, she and Joseph would have a mature marriage. A relationship built on common goals, respect, and perhaps even affection.
One day, there would be a child or two for them to shower their love upon. Of course, if she planned to ban him from her bed after she conceived, there would only be the one child. Perhaps when she decided the time was right for another child, she would sensibly and in a very sophisticated manner advise him that he could resume visiting her bed. Yes, it would work well.
Satisfied at her plan for how their marriage would go on, she picked up her pace and headed to the back of the orangery where she spotted someone rounding the corner of the building, most likely Edward.
She turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt. The gardener was nowhere in sight. Funny, that. She was almost certain she’d seen someone. She placed her hands on her hips and turned in a circle to survey the area.
The heavy door to the garden shed swayed in the breeze. Perhaps he’d gone in there to fetch something. Swiping her hand across her forehead, she continued on.
“Edward?” she called from outside the shed.
Only the slight creak of the door as it swung back and forth acknowledged her. She stepped into the garden shed, the coolness of the space a welcomed relief. Blinking several times in an effort to see more clearly, she picked her way down the aisle with shelves of tools and other garden implements arranged on the walls.
Despite the spaciousness of the garden shed, it was obvious to her restored vision that Edward wasn’t here. She jerked and swung around when the heavy wooden door slammed shut, the sound echoing in her ears. The scant light from the doorway disappeared, leaving her with a feeling of being trapped, without enough air. Strange, it had hardly seemed windy enough to cause the door to slam shut.
There didn’t seem to be any point in lingering here, and truth be known, the darkness and confinement made her uneasy. She made her way carefully to the door and pushed, surprised to find it immovable. Leaning her shoulder against the worn wood, she gave it a good shove, and only managed to hurt herself. She stepped back and studied the door while she rubbed her arm.
Drat! The latch must have fallen when the door slammed shut. A quick glance around the garden shed confirmed no windows. She tamped down her rising panic at being trapped. The building was far enough away from the house that she could pound all day and unless someone was right outside, they wouldn’t hear her. She put her lips to the crack between the door and the doorjamb. “Help!”
That was when the pungent odor of smoke drifted to her nostrils.
…
Distracted from his paperwork, Joseph checked his timepiece once again. The mother of the young man he tutored had sent a note around that he had contracted a chill and would remain at home for the morning. With the extra time on his hands, he decided to tend to some of his correspondence, but his thoughts kept wandering to Abigail.
He turned in his chair and studied the beautiful morning outside. Sunlight poured through the leaves on the large oak tree outside his window, casting dappled patterns on the lush summer grass. A slight breeze ruffled the honeysuckle bursting forth along the pebbled pathway. Bright sunny days were not all that common in England, so perhaps he should dispense with his paperwork, and join Abigail outdoors.
Edward came into his view as he pushed a wheelbarrow from the direction of the garden shed to the small vegetable garden Cook used to grow herbs. Any minute he expected to see Abigail join him to go over her plans for the garden.
When she didn’t appear, he rotated his shoulder muscles to ease the tension from sitting at the desk, and resumed reading his letters. After realizing he’d read the same paragraph three times, he dropped the paper back on the desk and turned once more toward the window.
Edward was on his knees, but Abigail still had not joined him. Perhaps she’d already concluded her business and decided to enjoy the fine weather with a stroll. As he watched the gardener work, the man suddenly stood, and raising his hand to block the sun from his eyes, stared off into the distance. He leaned in farther, then turned toward the back door of the house. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted something Joseph didn’t hear. The man then took off running toward the direction he’d been studying.
A knot of fear settled in Joseph’s stomach. He bolted from his chair and strode to the door. Within seconds he’d reached the end of the corridor and flung open the back door.
Smoke billowed up from behind the orangery. The only structure back there was the garden shed, which Edward
would have been able to see from his position in the garden. The kernel of fear spread, leaving his heart pounding.
“Fire!” Edward’s second shout had Joseph running down the stairs and leaping over flowers as he crisscrossed the garden, ignoring the footpath. He turned the corner of the orangery to see flames licking the front of the shed. Edward was hauling a bucket of water from the well. His two footmen ran up and they quickly formed a line.
“Abigail!” Joseph roared, looking frantically around.
She was nowhere in sight, and he hadn’t passed her in his race from the house. It was possible she had gone back inside before he’d left, but every nerve in his body screamed that she was trapped in the shed.
“Abigail!” Once more he bellowed, but she didn’t appear.
“Edward, have you seen Abigail yet this morning?” Joseph asked, his voice breathless from panic and his sprint from the house.
The gardener didn’t stop tossing water on the garden shed as he answered. “No, sir. Not this morning.”
Good God, she’s in that shed.
Everything inside his body came to a screeching halt as fear slammed into him, almost bringing him to his knees. Then, spurred by energy he’d never before possessed, he quickly scanned the structure, trying to decide the best way to get her out. He couldn’t get in through the front door since it was still engulfed in flames, which were starting to spread to the south wall of the shed.
“Edward, I need an axe,” he shouted.
“Near the woodpile at the end of the garden,” the gardener yelled as he tossed another bucket of water on the flames.
With no windows to climb through, he had to break into one of the walls before the entire structure went up in flames. Fortunately the garden shed was quite old, and although sturdy, years of weather had taken its toll on the wood.
Joseph dashed to the woodpile and retrieved the axe. Sweat poured down his face and his heart pounded in his ears as he drew back with a growl and slammed the axe into the back of the shed, as far away from the fire as he could get. He would tear the whole damn thing down with his hands if he had to in order to get Abigail out.
The Lady's Disgrace Page 10