Lord Bachelor

by Tammy L. Bailey

  Abby lifted her chin a little higher, feeling as if she’d scored one point against him. His gaze shifted upward, and she suddenly remembered her towel-wrapped hair. She closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t forgotten how unsophisticated she appeared. In his world, women probably came out of the shower looking like they just stepped out of a Beverly Hills salon.

  “Hmmm, what is Talladega?”

  “What?” She expected him to criticize her, say something about her unrefined ways.

  “Talladega.” He never once took his gaze from her as he reached up to unravel the towel from around her head. Damp strands fell to her cheek where he lifted his hand to pull them back.

  She held the air in her lungs, relishing in his touch. Then, he withdrew, body and soul, from her. He ambled toward the counter and leaned back, legs outstretched and his arms crossed over his ivory white button-down. “Now what was I saying? Oh, yes. Will said you have more men crash and burn around you than the last lap of a Talladega race.”

  She reared back. “He did not!”

  “He did,” Edmund nodded, before stepping past her in the direction of the bed. He found his usual spot, taking his time to smile before proceeding to bounce on it to hold her attention. While she stood there with her mouth open, he lifted her pillow and brought it up, holding it like a child would hold a stuffed animal, close to him.

  She wanted to be her pillow.

  “You cannot stay here, Edmund,” she forced out, trudging the few feet to yank her pillow away from him. He canted his head as she picked up his left hand and attempted to pull him upward. Only he didn’t even budge. Determined to force him out of her space, and out of her life before the onset of a devastating heartache, she stepped onto the bed and began shoving at his back. Her efforts were fruitless. He just sat there as if she were a gust of wind.

  While she continued to work up a sweat, he reached over and picked up Jane Eyre from her nightstand. “So, how far did you get into the book?”

  Abby twisted around, bracing her feet upon her wall and her back against his. She knew she looked ridiculous, but didn’t care. She pressed harder. “Page vii.”

  “Of course. Well, then. Let us aspire to bound out of Roman numerals into Chapter One.”

  “No. Let you aspire to…bound off my bed, out of my home, and into the night, alone.”

  He rotated toward her, upsetting her balance and forcing her straight into his lap. He held her as she’d dreamed, the last few nights more vivid than the first. Only, she’d pictured it unfolding in a different way. “This didn’t happen to be another one of your aspirations, did it?” she said in a whisper.

  His features grew taut, and then expressionless. She lay molded in his arms, the cool air grazing over one breast where her robe had come undone. Worse, the bottom hem, normally kneecap-length, had hiked up to her upper thigh.

  His eyes glinted as his gaze wandered over her with spine-tingling slowness. She watched, with shallow breath, as he fought to control the urge to touch her. Having lost her own self-will, she lifted her hand to his face, her fingers brushing against the smoothness of his jaw.

  The exclamation “No!” tore from his lips as he pulled her away from him. He then stood up and left without another word. Although she anticipated the sound, she still jumped when the door slammed shut below.

  “What the hell was that?” Abby mumbled to herself, humiliated. For a long time afterward, she remained where he’d placed her, unable to move. As her heart continued to beat at a breakneck pace, she forced herself to consider what she’d done to him to cause such a repulsive reaction. In one breathless moment, she attempted to touch him as he’d touched her. For that moment, she didn’t think of the consequences. Only, in the very instance she chose to let down her guard, he snapped his into place.

  She could only guess at the reason. Of course, she wasn’t rich, refined, or sophisticated enough for him. With her heart and mind racing in a hundred different directions, both toward and away from Lord Edmund Rushwood, she managed to pour herself some soup, taking all of three bites before getting dressed and preparing for the rest of the night.

  ****

  Edmund found a bench across from Abby’s shop and sat down. He could have gone home. He also could have done a hundred other things besides just hold her with his body tightening, expanding underneath her.

  He cursed under his breath, tempted to walk back up the stairs and kiss her until she melted back into his arms. She felt good there. Bloody good. Instead, he just brooded in this spot, watching her seductive silhouette mock him from the window.

  Above, the ghostly moon shone bright and filtered through a nearby dogwood tree. The warm, fragrant breeze did little to cool his heated skin, or tamp down his growing fascination with her. She was off limits. He understood he wanted her, his body craving every sweet inch of her. He believed if the circumstances were different, he’d spend a little time here, build a memorable experience, and then return to England. They’d meet once a year or something, until she called to tell him she’d moved on or worse, met someone else.

  His body jerked with anger. “Damn her,” he said, plowing a hand through his hair. All he needed to do was marry a wealthy woman, retain his wealth, and live happily ever after. He wasn’t supposed to fall in lust with a woman in between the process.

  He believed he needed to end this, before he lost both his mind and his inheritance. He’d no sooner reined in his rising temper when a rumbling truck squealed to a stop in front of Abby’s store. He expected a disappointed customer; however, when the scowling bartender he’d seen before exited the dusty Ford pick-up, another spark of jealousy roused Edmund from his spot.

  The post light gave away the man’s handsome features as he pressed a finger to the store buzzer. Edmund waited, surprised to find Abby bouncing toward the door, and opening it with the most wondrous smile on her face.

  The man stooped down, swallowing her in a tight and intimate embrace. At the amorous sight, Edmund’s fists tightened at his side, his blood rushing fast and heavy in his veins. Despite the internal warning to stay put or go home, Edmund, stepped onto the street toward Abby. She didn’t notice him, too busy saying good-bye to Tommy, if Edmund remembered the man’s name right, and saying hello to a handful of elderly guests, mostly women.

  Edmund thought maybe they’d come to visit Abby’s friend, Raify, until another group of cars parked along the street, a half dozen men, shuffling, one after another, inside the low-lit record shop.

  What’s going on? “Oh, who bloody well cares?” he said aloud. Well, at the moment, he did.

  Tired of speculating, Edmund traipsed to the door and invited himself into the quaint shop. In his haste to see her earlier, he didn’t even notice the drastic change. Now, he hardly recognized the place from two weeks ago.

  Shelves were shoved into corners and several overhead lights were replaced with low-watt light bulbs, setting off a romantic glow. On one side stood a group of elderly women, sipping on punch and whispering about the men on the other side of the room. Two younger women sat nearby, almost appearing out of place.

  “What are you doing here?” He whipped around to find Abby, adorned in a beige Audrey Hepburn-style dress, her silky hair tied in a tight chignon. If he wanted her before, he damn sure wanted her now.

  “I would like to ask the same question,” he managed to say through a haze of growing attraction.

  She stared at him, annoyance showing in every curve of her enchanting face. Her pretty mouth opened and he was sure she was about to tell him to go away, when he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He turned and dropped his chin to his chest.

  “Hello, dear. Are you free to dance?”

  He was amused. “Dance?” He sliced a glance toward Abby, who sent him a subtle shake of her head. “I…uh…”

  “I’m sorry, Molly, but he already asked me to dance the next one. But I hear Paul over there has been wanting to dance with you since you arrived.”

  “Ah, poo,”
Molly said, swatting the air and going back to the band of elderly women. They all pressed their foreheads together, smiling and pointing in Edmund’s direction. He began to wonder if he’d stepped into the wrong dream.

  “You don’t belong here,” Abby said beside him, her voice tinged with great displeasure.

  With a toss of his head, he indicated his many admirers. “They think I do.”

  Abby’s cheeks puffed outward. She was the most adorable creature he’d ever encountered, full of fight and confusion. He supposed he stared at her too long when she inhaled and raised her voice for everyone to hear.

  “We have a special request. Paul has dedicated ‘Lavender Blue’ to Molly.”

  Edmund was amused by the gentleman and imagined him younger, with stockier shoulders that didn’t droop with age. His legs now stiff, the man ambled across the floor to take the fragile woman by her hand. She sent Edmund a sly wink before accepting the offer. Beside him, Abby dropped the needle to a record spinning on an old Victrola.

  He didn’t think much of what Abby had told Molly until she grasped his wrist and began pulling him toward the snuggling couple.

  Chapter Ten

  Edmund stretched to whisper in Abby’s left ear. “I don’t dance.”

  She smirked at him. “And I don’t eat breakfast, so there you go.”

  He caught her delectable scent, tempted to stop and haul her hard against him so he could slide his mouth to the delicate vein pulsing in her neck. Where some women might invite him to their bed, he had no doubt she would not hesitate to slap him across his face.

  Dancing. He didn’t indulge in the activity himself, preferring to watch people make fools of themselves from afar. Nevertheless, he was dragged to the middle of the shop, his flight instinct beginning to kick in. He’d thought of an acceptable excuse to leave Abby stranded when she lifted her arms and slid them around his neck. Three-inch heels brought her mouth closer to his as her luscious breath swept across his cheek in light, delicate wisps. The longer the music played, the softer she became. She swayed against him, her hips rocking in a provocative rhythm.

  His heart drummed as her fingers played across his shoulders. Longing to get closer, he pressed his palm into her lower back. She smelled like a summer day, and he closed his eyes to drink in more of her.

  Their bodies touched now, her firm breasts stroking against his chest and lighting a firestorm of promised pleasures. His lips lowered to brush her featherlike brow as he came so close to kissing her, several times, he could feel the moisture of her breath. The song ended with a crackling hiss, and he stood back, speechless.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice shaking. “That was…” And she left it at that, abandoning him as she scurried away in her black heels toward the record player.

  He took a few cautious steps in her direction, just in case she wanted to take the albums she was putting away and toss them toward his head.

  “Abby?”

  Her shoulders lifted on a long inhale and then dropped. “I’m busy, Edmund.”

  She continued to ignore him, letting the needle fall on the revolving vinyl. She turned this time, placing a straight finger against her lips. She shifted to speak to her guests. “Okay,” she said, “Henry has dedicated the next song to Deidra.” Everyone clapped as the light smoke from a snuffed-out, vanilla-scented candle permeated the air.

  As John Lennon belted “Mr. Moonlight” into the speakers, another elderly couple stepped onto the makeshift dance floor.

  Edmund could take it no longer. “What are you running here, a singles bar for old folks?” he asked in a condescending tone. Abby sliced him a disapproving glance.

  For the next half hour, he stood in the shadows watching her replace one record with another, seeming to know which song to play for each couple. When her guests started to show fatigue, headlights appeared through the door window.

  With the patience of a monk, he waited for everyone to leave, including the silent women, who observed the entire evening with quiet caution. In a formidable mood, Edmund watched Abby’s reaction to Tommy as he escorted Molly to his truck. Like before, Tommy and Abby hugged, with Abby receiving a lingering kiss upon her left cheek. From his position, the man lifted a warrior-like warning glance in Edmund’s direction.

  Abby managed to say a few murmured words, appeasing the giant who left without incident. She’d no sooner stepped one foot into the store, when Edmund rose from his slanted position against the wall. “Are you going to tell me what you are doing here?”

  She’d barely said anything to him since their dance, and this moment was no different. She began moving furniture around and blowing out candles as she passed by them. He wondered, at this point, if he’d turned into a ghost between “Lavender Blue” and “My Girl.”

  He was at the point of leaving when Abby rotated in his direction. “Would you like to guess how long Molly and Paul have been married?”

  He drew back. “Married?”

  Abby nodded, her eyes wide and blinking. “Yes, married. You see, she has Alzheimer’s. Sometimes she remembers him, sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes this is a stroll down Memory Lane, sometimes it’s just a night out where she meets a man who just wants to dance with her. Two days a month, Tommy, Molly’s grandson, drops her off to meet other people just like her. Sometimes she has no idea that the man she dances with has been her husband for forty-six years. ‘Lavender Blue’ was…is…their song.”

  Edmund shook his head. “But what prevents her from meeting another man here?”

  She looked straight into his eyes. “How does that question not surprise me?” She paused to unbind her hair, a gesture so provocatively innocent, he had to look away. “Because, Edmund, I tend to believe, whether it’s possible or not, what the mind forgets, the heart remembers.”

  He didn’t know what to say. What she did was such a lovely thing that he couldn’t decide if words, any words, were good enough to say out loud. He now guessed the young out-of-place women were nurses.

  “I’m tired, Edmund,” Abby said on a long sigh.

  For the life of him, he didn’t want to leave her. She was so alluring in her fifties-era outfit, her stocking feet flat on the floor where she’d pulled off her high heels.

  Unwilling to grovel, he found himself outside the door, watching her click the locks in place and then tramp up the staircase, black shoes dangling on her dainty fingertips.

  ****

  After changing, Abby fell onto her hard futon and just lay there. Instead of her clean soap, the only thing she could smell was Edmund.

  Memories of their times together jolted her heart into erratic beats, leaving her a jumbled, breathless mess. She could no longer deny the fact she was attracted to him. “Oh, this cannot end well,” she groaned with her eyes closed.

  Not only did she not care if her father’s shop went under, she didn’t even care if Kendra took every cent inside the cash register. If she thought she was broke now, she couldn’t guess how poor she’d be if she lost her apartment and her only means of income. Where would she even go?

  Yet something about an alternative path to the one she traveled gave her a burst of energy. It also made her feel guilty. This place held so many memories of her parents. If she gave it up, would it be like giving them up, as well?

  It didn’t matter. What she wanted and what she could have were two different things. Best to appreciate what she’d been given, she supposed.

  She’d no sooner drifted off to sleep when a vibrating noise yanked her awake. Suspecting her phone, she felt for it, finding it on the floor. With her eyes still mashed shut, she fumbled to answer it.

  “Hello,” she said, pressing it to her left ear.

  “’Ew are you?”

  Abby opened her eyes and flipped onto her back. “Abby.”

  “Abby? You are American, no?”

  She hesitated to answer. “Yes.” Then she brought in a long breath, inhaling Edmund’s magnificent scent. Without looking, she knew whose ph
one she held in her hand.

  “Yes, I am American.”

  The caller on the other end made a disgusted noise. “Are you his maid?”

  Abby dropped an arm over her forehead. Oh, perfect. Not only did she have Edmund’s phone, but she was being beleaguered by one of his many admirers.

  “Never mind,” the girl said. “I played his maid once, too. He—”

  Abby cringed, unwilling to imagine Edmund with anyone whether she knew him then or not. “Is there something you want me to tell Edmund for you?”

  The girl clicked her tongue. “Delphine.”

  “Delphine?”

  “Oui. Tell ’im I do not wish to be ’is girlfriend any longer. Tell ’im we are through. You will feel the same, Abbeee, when you wake up and he is gone. Poof, like an…escape artist. Au revoir.”

  The loud click in Abby’s ear startled her further awake. Hoping to forget about the last few minutes, she placed the device on her bedside table. For an hour, she lay there, listening to the boards creak and her heart beat faster as she thought of Edmund. It was much later, after she’d succumbed to an enveloping dream of him lying on a round bed with a harem of women feeding him strawberries, when her nightstand jiggled beside her.

  She kept her eyes shut and reached for the device. “Hello?”

  “Hello, I need to speak to Edmund. Is he there?” asked a woman with a refined English accent.

  Abby groaned and adjusted the speaker to hear the woman better.

  “It doesn’t matter. His mother said he flew to America, so it’s past midnight there. If you have his phone, I assume he’s in the shower and hasn’t left you yet. So, if he’s still there, would you be a dear, and give him a message?”

  Abby started to answer when the woman continued, “Please tell our darling Edmund that Blaire called, and his horrid butler, Timmons, refuses to let me in to retrieve my engagement ring. The only place I haven’t looked is between Edmund’s bed and the shower.”

  This brought Abby straight up. “Engagement ring? Shower?”