Definitely not the couple’s first kiss. Or else the butler was awfully forward for a man of his reserve.
“That’s enough of your tomfoolery, Arthur,” Abby heard Mrs. Graham murmur. “Now go on and scribble in that notebook of yours. Plenty of time for the other business tonight when we can be private.”
Abby jerked back from the door, but not before she heard him say, “I’m counting the moments, lass.”
Vaulting across the room, Abby settled herself before the fire to dry her hair just in time. Mrs. Graham walked in and blinked to see her mistress sitting there with her brush and comb. “Oh, done bathing already, are you?”
Abby had to fight back her smile. “Yes. Where’s Marguerite?”
“It wasn’t her.” A faint flush spread over the woman’s cheeks as she turned away. “It was only one of the other servants, bringing something from his lordship for you.” Mrs. Graham came over to hand Abby a small velvet case.
All thought of Mrs. Graham and Mr. McFee vanished as Abby opened it. Her heart caught in her throat. “Heavenly day,” she whispered as she drew out a jewel-encrusted vinaigrette pendant.
“Look at that engraving,” Mrs. Graham said in awe. “And the chain, my lady, the chain! Why, it’s got to be gold.”
“It could be bronze chased in gold.” Nonetheless, the gems on the little container looked suspiciously costly. She tamped down her ready delight. Trust Spencer to find the perfect gift to tempt her.
Taking the vinaigrette, Mrs. Graham examined it with a shrewd eye. “Aye, it’s gold, all right. And I’m near to certain these is emeralds. His lordship asked me this afternoon what gown you’d be wearing for dinner, and I told him the green one. No doubt that’s why he sent Mr. McFee…er…that is, the servant up with this.”
Abby frowned. That wasn’t the only reason. “Spencer is the most infuriating, manipulative, and arrogant male to ever drive his wife purposely insane.” She thrust the case at Mrs. Graham. “I know why he sent it.”
“Because he’s courting you.”
“Trying to seduce me is more like it.” She worked her comb through her tangled hair. “That’s why he ‘accidentally’ brushed my fingers every time he handed me a hymnal at church yesterday. And why he’s always touching my arm in the carriage when he reaches to open or close the window.” He hadn’t violated their agreement once by trying to kiss her. No, his seductions were more subtle. But every bit as effective.
She’d actually caressed her own breasts in bed last night and imagined it was Spencer’s hand on them. For shame!
“This isn’t mere seduction, love—these are emeralds. They must cost a fortune.” She removed something from the case and held it out to Abby. “At least read the note.”
With a sigh, Abby took it and read aloud, “To my lovely wife, for the next time you faint in my arms. This belonged to my mother.” Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, the man is wickedly clever. He knew if he bought me jewels I’d accuse him of trying to buy my affections. So instead he finds an appropriate gift that’s not only costly but belonged to his own mother—” She swiped away her tears. “He means to persuade me I’m part of the family now. Even if I’m not.”
“You could be.” Mrs. Graham reverently returned the pendant to its case. “If you weren’t so stubborn.”
Abby bit back the impulse to tell Mrs. Graham the whole sordid tale. She’d already told the woman that his lordship had asked her to stay as his wife, but she hadn’t explained why she balked at accepting his offer, other than to complain about his faults of character. Going into detail would mean revealing Spencer’s secret, which she had no right to do. Especially when her servant was about as discreet as a signpost.
When Mrs. Graham set the case in Abby’s lap, Abby wanted to scream. “You only support his lordship’s suit because you want to stay in England yourself,” Abby said bitterly, “so you can be with your Mr. McFee.”
Mrs. Graham gaped at her. Then her eyes narrowed. “Spying on us, were you?”
“It’s not like the two of you tried very hard to hide what you were doing.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Mrs. Graham pouted. “A little harmless kissing is all. I think I got a right to that after all my years of service.”
Feeling instantly contrite, Abby reached over to pat her arm. “Of course you do. Don’t mind my grumbling. I’m pleased you’ve found somebody after all these years, really I am. But don’t let your own happiness blind you to the truth about Spencer. If I stay married to his overbearing lordship, he’ll order me around from dawn to dusk.”
“Most men do. A sensible woman just ignores their jabbering. She nods and says, ‘Of course, my love, whatever you want,’ then does as she pleases.”
Unfortunately, doing as she pleased wasn’t an option for Abby. She couldn’t make Spencer adopt children or take a risk. He had to decide for himself to do those things. Which he would never do.
Because that would mean his trusting something—someone—beyond his control. “I don’t fancy a union where my husband is always trying to control me.” Abby tossed down the comb to pick up her brush. “And that’s what marriage to Spencer would be like.”
Mrs. Graham took the brush from Abby’s hands and dragged it soothingly through her hair. “Can you blame the man for trying to control things after the life he’s had?”
Abby caught her breath. Could Mrs. Graham know of Spencer’s sterility? Surely not. Spencer said he’d never told anyone. “What do you mean?”
“He’s had nothing but tragedy, poor man, and all of it beyond his power to stop. His mother died when he was still a lad. Then his father took a wife—too young a wife, if you ask me—and they commenced to be miserable. His lordship finds his own place in the army and is making something of himself when his oldest brother dies. Now he’s the heir, whether he wants to be or not. So even though he’s got a career he likes—if Mr. McFee is to be believed—he’s expected to put it aside.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No, by then he’d started fighting the fates. First thing he did after his brother died was become a spymaster.”
“You knew about that?”
“I did.” Moving around to the front of the chair, Mrs. Graham urged Abby’s head forward so she could brush the hair out from underneath. “Arthur…I mean, Mr. McFee…knows all about his lordship. Been with the Law family since the boy was in leading strings. Saw it all—the stepmother running off and the father dying of shame over it.” She brushed harder. “One more thing his lordship couldn’t prevent.”
Not to mention the accident that happened about that time and ended all of Spencer’s hopes for children. The woman did have a point—what a lot of tragedy for one man to suffer.
“Suddenly,” Mrs. Graham went on, “he’s the viscount himself, with an estate and a rascal of a younger brother to manage, not to mention his duty to his country that he don’t want to give up. It’s hard to handle all that if you don’t order people about. After a while, you get used to it. You feel safer making everybody follow your rules.”
“Yes.” Abby couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. “Because he doesn’t believe they’re capable of thinking for themselves. They can’t be trusted to run their own lives.”
“Oh, lass, don’t you see? The man is afraid to trust what he can’t control. All the things he couldn’t control gave him grief. So when he comes upon a sweet lady like yourself, who he don’t know what to make of, he’s plumb flummoxed. But that don’t mean he won’t come round in the end. Once he gets to know you better.”
The door opened and Marguerite hurried in with Abby’s gown, effectively ending the discussion.
Still, Mrs. Graham’s words lingered in Abby’s head the whole time the two women were helping her dress for dinner with Spencer. If she could be sure that Spencer would come to his senses eventually, she might stay around just to be with him.
The problem was, what if he didn’t? What if she committed to him only to find he could never com
mit to her? She would give up any possibility of children.
But did it really matter if she never had a child to cradle in her arms, to teach and spoil and love? She sighed. Of course it mattered. Still, a foundling child would be enough for her. She could love any babe she took into her caring, whether she’d borne it herself or not. Maybe in time she could convince Spencer of that…
The way his stepmother had convinced his father to do as she wanted? Abby swallowed. Spencer was his father’s son—once he plotted a course, he didn’t change it easily. And did she want a marriage where she was forever waiting for him to trust her?
That was the question. And an hour later, as she and Spencer sat down to dinner, she was still no closer to answering it.
Nor was he making it easy, with all his sly seductions. “I see you’re wearing the pendant I sent up,” he said.
“Yes.” She’d let Mrs. Graham and Marguerite talk her into it. But judging from his hungry gaze trailing down to where her breasts cradled the heavy vinaigrette, that was a mistake.
“It looks perfect on you,” he said in that husky tone that roused her blood fever every time…
She swallowed. “Thank you.”
Though the man was all the way at the end of the dinner table, nearer the door, she could feel his gaze as hot on her as if it were a caress. She tried to ignore it as the footmen brought the oysters, tried to concentrate on her food.
But she found herself casting him furtive glances every so often. And when during one of those glances he forked an oyster, then swirled it in melted butter the way he’d swirled his tongue over her breasts the other night—
“You’re not eating your oysters,” he said, a knowing smile touching his lips. “Worried about the effect they might have on you?”
“What do you mean?” Mesmerized, she watched as he ate the oyster and licked butter from his lips. The way he’d licked at her lips, then parted them to—
“Some say oysters are an aphrodisiac.”
“What’s an aphrodisiac?”
“Something that arouses a person’s passions.” He ate another, and a drop of butter landed on his chin. After wiping it with his finger, he sucked it off his fingertip. The way he’d sucked her tongue, the skin of her neck, her aching nipples—
Curse him. “Really?” Defiantly, she stabbed an oyster with her fork, then thrust it into her mouth and chewed, hardly tasting it. “That’s ridiculous. I never noticed any such effect. Oysters usually give me dyspepsia.”
That didn’t deter him for a second. His mouth crooked upward. “Well, if you have dyspepsia later, just let me know. I’ll be happy to rub your belly for you.”
And your breasts. And your thighs. And the delicate, needy flesh between them.
She jerked her gaze away. Heavenly day, now she was doing the seducing for him.
The rest of the meal went no better. If she watched him eat, she imagined all the naughty things his mouth could do to her. But if she didn’t watch, she imagined that her bread glistening with butter was his bared chest glistening with sweat, that the beef roast was his thick thigh, that the erect sausage…
She snorted. Erect sausage, indeed. But when dessert arrived, a quivering mound of custard with a cherry in the center that looked exactly like a nipple, she’d had enough.
“Excuse me,” she murmured as she rose from the table. “I…um…don’t want dessert. The oysters, you know.”
She hurried for the door, but before she could pass Spencer, he reached out to grab her arm and tug her onto his lap.
“What on earth are you doing?” she hissed with a furtive glance at the servants.
“Rubbing your belly.” His expression teemed with wickedness. “To help ease your dyspepsia.” He cast the gaping footmen a warning look. “Leave us. And tell the rest of the staff that anyone venturing near the dining room before I call for them will be dismissed forthwith.”
After the servants vanished, she tried to wriggle free, but he wouldn’t let her. She glared up at him. “How dare you imply to them that you and I are in here—”
“What? I don’t know about you, but I’m merely soothing my wife’s indigestion. And since that requires my holding you in a scandalous manner, I thought you might prefer to have them gone.”
“A likely story. I warned you that if you so much as attempted to steal a kiss—”
“I’m not attempting anything.” His large hand covered her belly, then began to knead it in slow, sensuous motions. “I’m merely banishing your dyspepsia.”
She sucked in a breath when he splayed his fingers wide over her lower abdomen, the warmth of his flesh feeding the warm ache between her legs. “You…you know that’s not all you’re doing.”
“What a suspicious mind you have. Here I am, trying to be courteous, and you suspect me of having an ulterior motive.” His hand swept up and down now, once, twice.
But when it brushed the underside of her breast on its third circuit, she caught his hand. “That’s because you do. And I won’t allow you to break our agreement—”
“You said nothing about my not being able to touch you.”
“I implied it.”
“You said, ‘If you so much as attempt to steal a kiss.’ That leaves enormous room for interpretation, my dear.” He shifted her on his lap until she sat forward with her back pressed to his firm chest. Then he started rubbing her belly with his other hand.
A sudden surge of memory hit her…of that night in the study when he’d held her like this and caressed her and turned her to putty…
She groaned, hardly noticing when the hand she’d been clasping slipped from her grasp. Now he stroked her belly with both hands, side to side, up and down. “Surely it…violates the…spirit of the rules for you to touch me like this.”
“Like what? In a manner meant to ease your discomfort?”
“Well, no, but—Wait a minute, stop that!” Exactly when had the sneaky wretch begun unfastening the buttons of her front-opening gown? “That is definitely not—”
“I’m only making you comfortable.” He went on unbuttoning. “This gown is much too tight on your stomach. It’s no wonder you have dyspepsia.” He swept his hand inside to boldly caress her belly through her chemise. “Besides, I can rub it better if I don’t have to contend with layers of fabric.”
“If you think I’m going to let you…” She trailed off with a moan when his hand suddenly dropped down to stroke her right between the legs. “That’s not…my belly…” she protested weakly.
“Sorry, my hand slipped.” He danced his fingers sensuously up her abdomen.
Put them back, she thought, then cursed herself for her weakness. But the man was both clever and persistent, a combination she found incredibly seductive. Besides, if he wanted her so badly that he’d risk these dangerous touches when he knew she might run off to Clara’s any minute…
“The problem is your chemise, you know,” he went on smoothly. “We really should open it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait to hear your reason for that bit of cheating.”
“I’m merely saying it prevents me from seeing where I’m putting my hand.” Now that her gown gaped open from neckline to thigh, he easily tugged the ties of her chemise loose. “Let’s just move it out of the way, shall we?”
An uncontrollable urge to laugh bubbled up inside her. “You are incorrigible,” she said, fighting to maintain her resistance and losing rapidly.
“I’m only trying to be helpful.” He swiftly opened the short placket of her chemise. “That’s what a good husband is supposed to do, isn’t it?”
“A good husband is supposed to honor his wife’s wishes,” she said dryly.
“Precisely. Surely you don’t wish to suffer from your dyspepsia.”
When his hand slipped inside to fondle her breast, she shoved his hand down, then shifted back around to sit across his lap and eye him sternly. “I thought moving the chemise out of the way was meant to prevent your hand from slipping.”
“My hand didn’t slip.” A smile ghosted over his lips as he again cupped her breast. “From what I understand, indigestion often causes pains in the chest as well as the belly. I thought I’d take care of those, too.” With a roguish smile, he thumbed her nipple, blatantly, erotically.
The beginnings of a laugh escaped her lips before she squelched it. “Next you’ll be telling me that indigestion sometimes causes pain in one’s privates.”
“Now that you mention it—” he began, sliding his hand downward.
“Spencer Law,” she said, trying to sound severe as she caught his hand and drew it out of her chemise, “you know very well I wasn’t suggesting—”
“Of course you were.” He stuck his other hand inside her chemise. “And I’m more than willing to help.”
Stifling a chuckle, she grabbed that one, too. “What if I tell you I lied about the dyspepsia? Will you stop this?”
“Certainly.” Eyes twinkling, he tugged his hands free of her grip, but only to start unbuttoning his waistcoat. “However, it seems that I suddenly have dyspepsia. And since I was kind enough to help you in your hour of need…”
She couldn’t help it. A laugh boiled out of her. “You have got to be the most persistent, exasperating—”
“And helpful.” He leaned forward enough to shrug off his coat, then his waistcoat. “Let’s not forget helpful.”
She gave up. What woman could stand firm in the face of such blatant and egregious manipulation? Especially when he was manipulating her in the very direction her heart wanted to go.
Not to mention her body. Now that he had her thoroughly aroused, she wasn’t about to let him leave her unfulfilled. “By all means, let me be helpful, too.” She reached for the buttons of his trousers. “Just tell me where it hurts, my lord.”
Clearly realizing that he’d won, he gazed on her with a look that mingled triumph with rampant need. “Everywhere.” He dragged his shirttails free of the trousers she was unbuttoning, then grabbed her hand and slid it up underneath to cover his chest. “Here.” He slid it lower over his abdomen. “And here.” His eyes slid closed as he pressed her hand beneath his gaping waistband. “And definitely here.”
Married to the Viscount Page 30