“Thank you.” Perplexed at what could be wrong with the strong, virile man she knew, she withdrew to the drawing room where she paced, her concern growing by the minute. She needed to speak with him.
A loud crash sounded from a nearby room.
Within moments, Winston entered, his smile gone, his jacket askew on his shoulders. “It would be best if you left, miss.”
Abigail stared at the butler, trying to determine what on earth was happening. “He refuses to see me?”
Again the butler hesitated. “He is unable to see you.”
That made her even more certain that something was wrong. “I see. Thank you, Winston.” She stalked past the butler and out the drawing room. But she had no intention of leaving.
She strode toward the library door.
“Miss Bradford.” Winston hurried after her.
She held up her hand, palm out. “I take full responsibility, Winston. You should take this opportunity to have tea, don’t you think?”
The butler shook his head, obviously unhappy with the turn of events. “He’s not going to be happy with either of us, miss.”
Abigail waited, her hand on the door knob, until Winston had taken his leave. She drew a deep breath to rein in her emotions then opened the door.
The curtains were drawn, leaving the room cloaked in darkness. The air was stale and made her wonder how long Stephen had been in there. Pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness, she moved toward the drapes and drew one back.
“Get out.” The angry words spewed from a chair before the empty fireplace.
“Stephen?” Shock held her to the spot. How could the man she thought she knew speak to her with such rudeness?
“Where the hell is Winston?” His tone was gruff and anything but welcoming.
“He’s indisposed,” she said, letting her own anger color her tone.
He scoffed. “Then you’ll have to show yourself out.” His face was hidden by the wing of the chair in which he slouched. One of his long legs stretched out before him, but he didn’t bother to rise. A nearly empty decanter and half full glass sat on the table beside him.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” She moved closer, unable to guess what had him acting so oddly.
“I am not receiving.”
“So I was told.”
“Then go!” he barked.
Curiosity drew her forward, though a voice in her head suggested she do as he bid. She stepped around the edge of the chair, but could see little of his face in the shadows. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing. I suggest you leave. In fact, I’m certain Winston would highly advise it.”
“Are you in a mood?”
“When am I not?”
The sharp tone of his voice tugged at her and against her better judgment, she remained where she was.
“Go, damn it. Get out.” He waved his hand toward the door.
“As soon as you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Bloody hell.” He bolted up from his chair to loom over her. “What part of ‘leave’ do you not understand?”
She stiffened, her heart racing as she was forced back a step. She hardly recognized him. His face was ashen beneath the stubble of whiskers. Deep circles lined his pain-filled eyes. “I understand the word quite well, thank you.”
Stephen turned away but not before she saw a flash of pain cross his features. That made her even more determined to discover the reason for his distress. He strode toward the door, jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, not even properly tucked into his trousers—a far cry from his normally neat appearance. His state of dishabille made her feel like she spoke with a stranger.
He stuck his head out the door. “Winston!” He waited a moment before trying again. “Winston! Bloody hell. The place is crawling with servants until I need one. Show yourself out.”
“You only have to tell me what’s wrong and I’ll go.”
An impenetrable wall of silence was her only answer. But he rubbed his forehead as he moved back toward her, telling her that at the very least, he had a headache.
“Stephen.”
Her soft whisper of his name struck him to the core. The dark void that held him in its grip loosened its hold for the barest of moments then came rolling back over him. He gritted his teeth to keep the blackness from spilling out on to her. What could he say to get her to leave before he said or did something they’d both regret?
Every few months, a dark gaping hole appeared in his psyche and lasted for several days. Of late, the spells had become more frequent and more difficult to fight off. When they struck, he couldn’t sleep, had no appetite, and as Winston put it, raged like a wounded bear, striking out at anyone within reach. No wonder all the servants hid.
He’d yet to determine what triggered the bouts. They had to be another side effect of the electromagnetic blast, for he’d never had the problem before. The spells descended on him in the early hours of the morning and were impossible to shake off. It was like drowning in a pit of despair. His head pounded so hard he felt blinded by it. The only thing he could do was close himself off until the demons departed.
His deepest fear was that these spells were the first sign he was losing his mind and soon he’d be left with nothing but cold, pain-filled darkness. The fear of existing in the endless black void with only a headache to keep him company was more than he could stand.
“Go. Please,” he bit out with his back turned towards her, holding his head, hoping it wouldn’t explode.
“Let me help you.” Her soft voice pierced through his darkness, beckoning him like the flickering flame of a candle.
Then hopelessness crashed through him again. “You can’t. No one can.”
“I would try.”
The pounding in his skull dragged at him. He sat back down and held his head in his hands, eyes closed. “Nothing helps,” he gritted out. “Not drink. Not sleep. Nothing.”
He felt her presence directly before him, her sweet lavender fragrance enveloping him. Her fingers tentatively ruffled his hair, sending warmth trickling deep inside him.
He opened his eyes to find her kneeling before him. Those blue eyes seemed to reach out, grabbing hold of something within him. Again, he felt the flutter of her hands in his hair, then along the tight cords of his neck. He knew he should push her away, but couldn’t find the strength. Instead, he closed his eyes and enjoyed her touch and the brief respite it gave him.
Her breath caressed his cheek and was soon replaced by the softness of her lips. “Let me help you.”
The warmth inside him grew from her whispered plea. Her fingers ran along his eyebrows, soothing his aching head. With a slow, fluid movement, she eased him back into his chair. “Will you let me try?”
He found he couldn’t deny her. Her presence alone seemed to lift some of the black cloak weighting him down. He wanted to tell her she held his very sanity in her grasp, but instead he gave the barest of nods.
She rose and moved behind him, her movements revealed by the rustling of her gown. Again he felt her fingers along his brows and nearly moaned in relief from the reprieve of his pounding head, even if it was only temporary.
“I have an idea to aid you.” Her words were soft, spoken in a soothing tone. “You’ll have to keep an open mind.”
He couldn’t concentrate long enough to guess her intention.
“Focus on the sound of my voice. On the feel of my hands. Breathe slowly and deeply. Relax.” She paused between each instruction, giving his mind and body time to obey. “Clear the thoughts from your mind until all you see is gray. Never-ending soft gray.”
The rhythmic cadence to her voice made it easy to follow her directions.
“Relax each muscle in your body, starting at the top of your head, moving down to your shoulders, to your chest.”
Oddly, his muscles twitched as though completing her instructions of their own accord. He let them, doing his best to keep only gray in his mind as she continued.
/>
“Now imagine floating before you is a crystal orb. It carries a soft, golden light.”
He could see it perfectly. It was beautiful. He wanted to reach out to touch it, but the sound of Abigail’s voice telling him to relax kept his hands at his sides. The orb turned slowly, moving gently as though bobbing on the current of a river. Its golden light reached out to him like soft rays of sunshine, warming him. He could hear the sound of Abigail’s voice but couldn’t quite capture her words.
As he focused on the orb, he caught a glimpse of something in the smooth reflection of its surface. He concentrated harder, but the image faded. With effort, he relaxed again and the image grew stronger until at last he saw a beautiful woman inside the orb. He knew she represented warmth, everything good, and all hope in his world. She smiled and reached for him, enveloping him in a comforting blanket and all was right with the world.
Her name was Abigail.
***
Abigail was scared to death. What on earth had she been thinking? Hypnotism was nothing for amateurs to meddle in. The fact that she’d read a book on the topic hardly made her an expert.
“And now you’ll awaken when I say your name.”
She hadn’t even finished the book yet. She had no idea how to bring Stephen out of this meditative state other than what she’d once seen at a performance in Covent Garden.
But she’d had to try to help him. She couldn’t walk away when he was in so much pain. It surprised her that he’d relaxed enough for hypnotism to work. He had such a strong mind that it seemed an unlikely outcome.
Now she knelt before him, looking at his relaxed countenance as he leaned back in the chair. His dark hair fell across his forehead. That delicious stubble graced his jaw. Those long lashes lay still. He appeared to be sleeping. But she couldn’t leave him this way. She’d read that much in the book. The doctor advised against using hypnotism as a method of inducing sleep as it wasn’t safe to leave people in a hypnotic state for long periods of time.
“Stephen.” She spoke his name with firm conviction, hoping it would be enough to bring him back.
Her patient gave no response. Panic whirled inside her. She waited a moment, thinking perhaps it took longer than she’d expected.
Still nothing.
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek when his eyelashes fluttered.
“Stephen.” Relief made her light-headed as his green eyes opened. She drew a long, slow breath to ease her pounding heart. “How do you feel?”
His brow creased. “What the hell was that?”
She blanched, realizing her efforts had been for naught. Her feeling of relief was quickly replaced with dismay. She’d hoped to help him and had only made matters worse. When would she learn to let things be?
“I’m terribly sorry. I—”
“Abigail.”
She looked back to see an odd expression cross his features.
He lifted his finger and ran it along her cheek, his expression puzzled. “Did you hypnotize me?”
“I believe it’s described as more of a meditative state.” The way he regarded her with such intensity unnerved her. She still couldn’t tell if he was angry or something else. “How is your headache?”
He blinked several times. “Gone.”
Relief made her slightly giddy. “And the...other?” She wasn’t even sure what to call the dark mood that had smothered him.
He seemed to take an internal assessment before answering. “I believe it’s gone as well.”
She studied his face to see if he told the truth. Though exhaustion showed in the shadows beneath his eyes, the tension in his face had eased.
His hand covered hers where it rested boldly on his thigh. Her cheeks flooded with embarrassment as she realized how intimately she was touching him, that she knelt between his legs.
Oh, dear heavens!
“I’m sure you’re very tired. I should be going now and let you rest.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, but as she tried to pull her hand out from under his, he wrapped his long, warm fingers around hers.
“Not so fast.”
Her stomach danced. Her gaze caught on the open neck of his shirt where his skin was visible. Desire speared through her as she imagined kissing the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat. Something about that vulnerable spot drew her.
“Abigail.”
Her gaze jerked up to his, certain he’d guessed her wayward thoughts.
“How did you learn to do that?”
Embarrassed, she decided there was nothing to be done except tell the truth. When he realized what a fraud she was, she had no doubt he’d be angry with her and rightfully so. “I found a book on the subject at Mr. Larson’s bookstore. The author suggested if you focus both mentally and visually, you can enter a meditative state. He advised that it can be used for pain and other ailments.”
Stephen stared at her.
“Truly. In fact, the author, a Scottish physician, used it on himself to treat his rheumatism pain.” Abigail knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “I’d thought to suggest it to my solicitor who suffers from a similar ailment, but then here you were...”
When Stephen remained quiet, she tugged her fingers out of his and rose. She reminded herself that he’d already yelled at her. Surely she’d already suffered the worst he could deliver. She shook out her gown to remove the wrinkles—anything to keep busy as she tried to think of something else to say.
Stephen stood as well. Before she could step back, he took both her hands in his, and kissed the back of each in turn. “You are an amazing woman.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you.” She was breathless with surprise at his gesture and pleased he wasn’t angry after all.
He drew her closer. “No. I would like to thank you.” He put his finger under her chin and touched his lips to hers. “Your talents never cease to surprise me.”
“I’d be happy to lend you the book if you’d like.” She lifted her mouth to his, hoping for another kiss.
His gaze held hers for a long moment, their seriousness giving her pause. “I don’t think you fully understand what you did.”
“Oh?”
“You saved me.” His words hardly had time to register before he took her mouth with his.
The intensity of his kiss caused her heart to stutter. Never had she been kissed like this, as though he branded her as his own. A tide of desire swept through her and she clung to the moment. The feel of his lips on hers, the taste of brandy on his tongue, the rough stubble along his jaw, all merged to overwhelm her. His arms held her so tightly, she was certain he’d never let her go.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His hands moved to grip her upper arms then pushed her gently back.
She stumbled, barely able to stand after the onslaught of his kiss. Her body felt cold, bereft of his warmth. His action thoroughly confused her.
He gave her a stiff smile, his jaw clenched. “I truly appreciate your assistance.” He turned her toward the library door. “You’ve given me a gift that I did not deserve, and I—” He shook his head as he escorted her into the hall.
That was it? One moment he said she’d saved him and now he was showing her out? That’s all his kiss had been—gratitude?
Before she could form a coherent word, she stood outside on the front step disoriented and very much alone.
Thomas hopped down from the carriage. “Ready, miss?”
“I suppose so.” She glanced back at the door, still unable to fathom what had happened.
So...very...odd.
***
Stephen leaned against the door and closed his eyes. He’d told her the truth. The pounding in his head was gone. The dark despair had passed. In its place was an ache that demanded satisfaction.
That he’d found the strength to put her out the door was astounding. In truth, he’d wanted nothing more than to carry her to his bed and remove her clothing layer by layer so he could thoroughly enjoy her.
He’d s
avor every inch of her luminescent skin, then press his lips to her softness, find every nook and cranny that made her moan.
He’d make her his again.
Yet after what she’d just done for him—lifted him from one of his worst bouts ever, he couldn’t repay her by giving in to his own desires.
No, he’d done the right thing.
They couldn’t possibly indulge in an affair. Nor could he offer her marriage. How could he ever be a decent husband when he risked his life on a regular basis, when he suffered from the terrible headaches and the despair that so often accompanied them?
The best option for her was to find a man who’d care for her and marry her and give her the family she didn’t yet realize she wanted.
The thought of her with a husband and babe made him ill. He feared the situation was worse than he’d thought.
Abigail was winding her way into his heart.
“My lord?” Winston’s voice came from the end of the entryway. “Are you still...indisposed?”
Stephen opened his eyes to glare at him. He had half a mind to send him packing for allowing Abigail into the library. Lucky for Winston that it had ended well. “Yes, but for a different reason entirely.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. I don’t understand it either.” He heaved a sigh of frustration and made his way up the stairs, adjusting his trousers and reciting Latin phrases along the way.
***
The next morning, Abigail made her way to Mr. Nesbitt’s office in Old Square with Thomas. They both watched for Simmons, Thomas nearly as nervous as she.
The tension of the situation was wearing on her, but she had no idea what more she could do. Until Simmons was caught, she had to make the best of it. Staying locked inside was not an option. She had a life to live, including business to conduct. Somehow, hiding away seemed like letting Simmons win.
Perhaps she should try some self-hypnosis of her own to relieve her stress. She still couldn’t believe it had worked on Stephen. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to tell him of Simmons’ appearance at the park so had settled instead on sending him a message this morning. While a cowardly way to inform him, it was as much as she could manage after the events of yesterday. Her uncertainty of how to handle their changing relationship added to her worry. She didn’t want to become overly dependent on him.
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 23