All You Could Ask For

by Angeline Fortin

  “Nay, but my honor tends to rule mine.” Richard dipped his head for one last kiss, glorying in the feel of her soft lips against his, pushing aside the urge to ignore his good sense and carrying on without a care. Was it truly wrong to seek some pleasure? To find joy, if only for a few moments, in her arms?

  Guilt raised its ugly head while his arousal tamped it down. However, his mind demanded that he focus, and with a sigh, he rolled unto his back. Unable to resist, he pulled Abby along with him until she was atop his chest.

  Willing away the last bit of desire, he took a calming breath. He needed to remember why he was here. This wasn’t it. Or was it? He’d been longing for Abby for days, longing for a reason to see her. Was this all just a convenient excuse to kiss her again?

  No, it was so much more than that. She was so much more than that. Brushing her hair back from her cheeks, he tenderly framed her face in his hands.

  “Abby, this is not what I came here for.”

  “I didn’t suppose so,” she answered, but he could hear a touch of defeat in her words, drawing his attention back to her.

  Raising his head to capture her lips for a brief but passionate kiss, he dropped back on the pillow with a rueful smile, bending an arm up behind his head so that he might better see her.

  “In truth, I’ve been wanting to do that again since the night on the terrace, but I truly came here in search of a sympathetic ear.”

  Abby’s expression softened. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she then rested her hand lightly against his cheek. “Beneath that teasing, I can hear the worry in your voice. Have you made no progress at all, then?”

  “None. None at all. I must confess all this political skullduggery has worn my patience thin.”

  His free hand, which had been absently caressing her hip, fisted, suddenly as tight with frustration as his voice was. In terse words, he covered his lack of progress over the past few days. Rosebery’s refusal to get involved, since he currently was not holding an office, CB and Stanhope both still blaming one another for the War Department’s lack of intelligence on the matter, and Richard’s inability to get in to see the Queen.

  “Francis was finally able to talk to Henry Matthews, the current Home Secretary. There is really nothing in the man’s position to allow him any voice on the matter, but still…Matthews was sympathetic, of course, but there is nothing he can do that we aren’t already doing. He did offer to assist Francis in his divorce petition, though.”

  “Good news for Francis,” Abby said with quiet approval. “Matthews was instrumental in the cross-examination of Sir Charles Diike in that scandal of the Campbell divorce last year. He will be a tremendous help, I think.”

  Richard stared at Abby with a mixture of amusement and amazement.

  “What?” she asked innocently. “I do read the papers, you know.”

  “You were always a bright lass,” he conceded before adding, “So what suggestions do you have for me, lady brilliance? What shall I do next if I am to have any hope remaining?”

  Self-consciousness forgotten, Abby crossed her arms casually across his chest before resting her chin on them so she could face him comfortably. Her eyes, where they could not meet his for all the days past, were steady on his. The position was intimate but held a comfortable note of long friendship as well. She stared at him thoughtfully while Richard toyed absently with a lock of her hair.

  “Have you tried Cranborne?”

  “Who?”

  “Viscount Cranborne,” she told him. “James Cecil. He is one of the young gentlemen I’ve been introduced to this Season. He’s really quite kind, I think, and very nice…”

  “Abby…”

  She huffed but offered a grin. “Cranborne is the Prime Minister’s son. You might know him, perhaps. You’re of an age.”

  Richard searched his memory, picking through those years so long ago when he had frequented the gambling halls that catered to young men of the ton. “James Cecil. I think I remember him. You’re right, he’s a pleasant enough chap but I can hardly appeal to him for help.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “He might be able to get you an interview with his father.”

  “He’s an Oxford man.”

  “Are you quite serious?” she asked in disbelief, lifting her chin in disbelief. “You’re going to allow a university rivalry stand between you and your brother?”

  With a sheepish grin he shook his head. “It is not I, Abby. I’m saying that Cranborne would be unlikely to grant me a favor when Cambridge handily trounced Oxford in cricket while we were both at university.”

  “Richard, really.”

  “Nay, I’m quite serious,” he protested. “It was a humiliating defeat.”

  Abby shook her head, muttering under her breath, “Men! How about Arthur Balfour then? If he is an Oxford man, it was long before your time and he is the Prime Minister’s nephew. Not quite as good as a son, but close nonetheless.”

  Richard thought about it with a nod. “He’s the secretary to Scotland now as well, I think. Brilliant, Abby, really, quite brilliant. Thank you.”

  Lifting his head, he kissed her tenderly and earning a lovely blush in return.

  “I can also tell you that Balfour is hosting a garden party the afternoon after next,” she offered in a whisper, though her eyes sparkled brightly. “Will that earn me another kiss?”

  “As many as you like.” He cupped a hand behind her head, drew her down for another, more leisurely kiss. “Ah, angel, what would I do without you? You’ve helped me in ways you’ll never know this afternoon. Now, if only you knew the Queen.”

  Abby blinked, feeling the fool for not thinking of it earlier. No, she wasn’t acquainted with the Queen, but she knew someone who was. Someone who was also a bosom mate to the Commander-in-Chief of the Queen’s armies. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It might work, but the possibility of failure was too strong to mention it and give him false hope.

  “What is it?”

  She focused on Richard once more, casting him what she hoped was a seductive smile as she ran a finger lightly across his lower lip. “Nothing. I am glad I was able to distract you from your troubles, if only for a moment.”

  “In truth, I feel quite guilty for straying from my mission,” he said gruffly. “But how can I deny that you’ve become the most alluring distraction for me?”

  Abby felt her blush rise but her confidence did as well. How curious it was that all her worry, her self-consciousness was gone. His honest appreciation of her seemed to have easily banished the torment that had lingered about her for so long.

  “You’ve become a most welcome diversion from a tedious Season, as well.”

  He cast her a grin before urging her down for another searing kiss.

  * * *

  A knock sounded at the door, immobilizing them both. Lips still met, they stared into one another’s eyes, frozen in place.

  “Abygail?” Another knock before the knob rattled. Oona’s strident voice raised a pitch. “Why is this door locked? Abygail, you must answer. Lord Aylesbury is below and waiting for your ride.”

  Pulling away, Richard cast Abby a fierce frown. “What? You can’t go riding with him!”

  “Why ever not?” she asked with some amusement, as she pushed off of him…and off the bed, as well.

  “Because he…he’s…” Richard floundered, raking a hand through his hair with some frustration. “You’re not planning on marrying him, are you?”

  She eyed him curiously, trying not to be distracted by the alluring sight of his bared chest, as she straightened her bodice. His intensity evinced enough interest to send her hopes soaring skyward. This entire afternoon had boosted even her wildest dreams, changing a moment she had anticipated with dread into an exchange that exceeded her wildest fantasies. Still, it was just a moment. He hadn’t mentioned anything further, so she thought it best not to allow him too much confidence. Still…he was interested.

  She wavered, and finally settled fo
r the truth. “He has not asked.”

  Richard’s frown only deepened. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  With a sigh, she decided on even more honesty. “It had been my intention to never wed.”

  A moment of relief flooded him before her words fully registered. Whatever did she mean by that? “Why not?”

  “Because of…” She waved a hand vaguely around her face.

  Disbelief and pure anger washed over him. Anger, not at Abby, but at all those who had ever made her feel unworthy. Still, that she believed it!

  “I am tempted to take you over my knee.”

  Hands on her hips, she thrust out her chin in challenge. “I’d like to see you try!”

  Richard pounced toward her, sending her stumbling backward in surprise. He dove toward her, catching her about the waist. With a squeal, she was swung nearly over his head in a whirl of skirts and petticoats before he brought her down none-too-gently on the bed and dropped down on top of her.

  He chuckled at her startled expression, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I have always defeated you in feats of strength.” He brushed a gentle kiss across her lips.

  Abby melted into the kiss, her fingers skimming across his cheeks tenderly. “You have always defeated me,” she murmured her agreement softly. Her heart pounded in her chest, bursting with love.

  Nuzzling her neck, he whispered huskily, “Don’t go.”

  “Give me a reason.”

  “I don’t like the fellow.”

  Abby chuckled, though her heart melted just a little more. His jealousy—though he might not recognize it as such—was empowering. Cradling his head in her arms, she nipped his earlobe playfully and murmured into his ear, “Not a good enough reason.”

  Another knock, more urgent this time, shook the door. “Abygail Merrill, I know you’re in there. Either open this door right this instant, or I will have Cortland knock it down!”

  “I have a key, mum,” the butler responded.

  Abby looked at Richard and stifled a giggle before calling out, “I am changing, Oona. I will be straight down.”

  “Nay, you won’t,” Richard hissed fiercely, holding her tightly.

  “Yes, I will!” She squirmed out from beneath him and snatched up his shirt and waistcoat, tossing them to him. “You need to leave so that I might change.”

  “How do you suggest I do so?” He jerked a thumb to the door. “Your evil stepmother awaits just beyond those doors.”

  Abby glanced meaningfully toward the window, which faced the rear of the townhouse, and back at him.

  “Nay.”

  “Oh, yes,” she insisted, pushing him along the way. “It’s your only choice unless you’d like to compromise me completely.”

  “There are many things I’d like to do to you,” he answered roguishly. However, compromising her wasn’t one of them, he allowed. Abby had been provided enough negative attention recently without him adding to it. The last thing she needed was a scandal of any sort. “Fine, I will go. For now. When will I see you again?”

  “We’re to St. Audley tomorrow for the duke’s picnic and ball,” she told him. “We shan’t return until the next morning.”

  “Is Aylesbury going?”

  “Richard…”

  “Is he?” he persisted, finally acknowledging that it was envy, pure and simple, that ate at him. He didn’t want Abby near the fellow. He wanted her near him, as close and often as possible. “Promise me you will not dance with him.”

  “Richard!” She laughed with a shake of her head. “You need to leave.”

  “Not until you promise not to dance with him.”

  Placing a gentle hand on his chest, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly. “I will only promise you that you have nothing to fear of Lord Aylesbury. Is that good enough?”

  Grunting in begrudging assent, he raised the sash, throwing up the window. “I’ll be off then, but Abby? No waltzes!”

  Chapter 24

  I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures.

  None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.

  ~ Jane Austen from Persuasion

  Later that night

  “A word with you, Father, if I might.”

  Abby peeked her head into the small study her father had claimed as his own when they’d come to London. The simple room, with its white painted shelving and pastel rug, was a far cry from the ancient glory of his study at Glen Sannox House. Perhaps it was the décor or the proportion of man to space, but Haddington looked larger and more dominant than ever.

  She wouldn’t let sudden uncertainty of that moment deter her mission, however. Richard’s admiration of her, of her spirit and of her person had given her more confidence in herself and in her future than she’d felt in years. In years past, she had never so much as asked her father to pass the saltcellar.

  Today, she planned to do so much more.

  Richard had given that to her. He had returned her faith in herself. He had taken the role that her friends always had. For years it had been their presence—their prodding—that had emboldened her and given her strength.

  Now it was Richard. Richard who made her feel powerful. Richard who gave her daring.

  She felt she could stand tall and boldly face—figuratively and literally—anything…or anyone with the confidence she’d known in years past.

  In return, she wanted to give Richard something back. He was plagued by uncertainty and the fear that he wouldn’t be able to save his brother and the others in his unit. It was easy to see that the worry was consuming him and that he wouldn’t be able to move on with his life until he found them. She wanted to give him what he’d come to London for, and her father might be the last person in London who hadn’t yet given Richard his flat denial. To give him what he needed, Abby was prepared to beg…on her knees if necessary.

  And if her father still refused…Abby took a deep breath, shaking away the thought. He would not. Hopefully, he would do the right thing.

  Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to play her final bargaining chip.

  “What is it?” Haddington grumbled without looking up.

  “I’ve come to ask for a favor, Father.”

  “Have you now?”

  Her father sounded slightly bored at the request, but Abby knew she must have piqued his interest, at least marginally. In her entire life, she couldn’t remember asking him for anything, with the single exception of asking him not to wed Oona so soon after her mother’s death. He had ignored her then.

  She could only hope that he wouldn’t ignore her now.

  “You might be aware that these last several weeks the Earl of Glenrothes and Captain MacKintosh have been petitioning for assistance to initiate a rescue mission to retrieve Vincent MacKintosh and Jason MacKenzie from Egypt.”

  “It so happens that I’ve heard something of the sort.”

  “From Prince George, I would wager,” Abby dared to guess.

  “Aye, what of it?”

  She took a deep breath. It struck her as wrong to ask anything of her father. But for Richard…for Richard she was willing to do anything.

  “I know you’ve long been bosom friends with His Highness. I recall him being a guest at Glen Sannox more than a few times when I was a child.” Haddington didn’t offer any comment on that but only waved his hand impatiently for her to continue. “I want you to have him send a regiment—no, the whole bloody army—into Egypt to find Jason and Vin.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Why should you need a greater reason at all beyond the fact that they are being held prisoner?” she asked incredulously at his blatant disinterest. This was not going well. “You’ve known them their entire lives.”

  “Wastrels all,” he grumbled. “No one of the entire generation has been worth spit.”

  She stood agape at his harsh words, at a loss for an adequate rebuttal. “They are the sons of men you have claimed to be you
r dearest friends!”

  “Good riddance to them,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Too bad Jack wasn’t with them.”

  “Father!” Abby stared at her sire, horrified. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, but when she spoke, the words were probably the most ill-considered of her life. “My God, what a bitter old bastard you’ve become!”

  “Ye’ll no’ be talking that way to me, daughter!”

  No, she shouldn’t be, but she was beyond caring. “It seems someone must. How can you say such a thing? About the sons of the two men you most admired? About your own son?”

  “My son betrayed me.”

  Again, there was that rush of boldness, that feeling that she couldn’t hold her tongue. The rightness that she shouldn’t even try. So much had gone awry in her life in recent years, most of it because of the choices her father had made. No one had ever told him that he was wrong, no one had ever dared. However, she was feeling very daring just then.

  “You’re right, Father, your son did betray you, just not the one you thought!”

  Haddington’s eyes burned into hers, as if he was astounded that she would dare speak of the scandal herself.

  “That’s right, Father! I’m going to say it aloud, that thing we dare not speak of, but it’s about time someone did. It wasn’t Jack but your precious Cullen who shagged your whore of a wife. Everyone knew it. Everyone! Yourself included. You disowned your honorable son in favor of a coward who still can’t admit the truth of it to you.”

  “Hold yer tongue, lass! I willnae believe it!”

  “Then you’re a bloody fool,” she said bluntly, refusing to cringe before the fire in her father’s eyes. There was no stopping herself now. It was no longer just Richard she was fighting for, but Jack as well. It was for herself, her constant struggle with Oona. It was everything Oona had done to them all. “I think you knew all along. It was bad enough that your young, bonny wife betrayed you, but to discover that it was with your favorite son was just too much to accept. So, Sandy has those gold eyes, it was easy to blame Jack instead of placing the blame where it belonged. Those eyes could have come from either one of Margaret Montgomery’s sons, and you know it! But, no, you just saw those eyes and assumed it was Jack. You never gave him a chance, even though he denied it from the start. You banished him from your home and that was that. Then it was too late, and you have too much pride to apologize. You’ve taken that anger and you’ve taken that hate and let it fester in you for the past ten years. You’ve rained that bitterness down on everyone except the two people who deserve it most, and then you cater to as if you have no will at all.”