Page 42 of Never Dare a Duke
Then was Abigail here alone?
Christopher did not call out, did not move carelessly. He wanted no squeaking board to announce his presence. He stopped feeling, stopped thinking, although some distant part of him warned that he was acting more like an animal on the prowl than a concerned host.
What was she doing up here alone? Surely not still looking for a gown. Had she sent Lady Gwen away so that her friend wouldn’t see what she was really up to?
When at last he moved past a sofa, he saw her headfirst in a trunk, displaying several petticoats beneath her gown. He hesitated, knowing he should alert her, but beneath the rising petticoats, he could see her slippered feet, dainty ankles, the long line of her stockinged calves, and hint of lace at the hem of her drawers.
He should be angry with her spying, indignant that he didn’t know her true purpose in invading his family’s home.
Instead, the lust hit him with unexpected power.
He was being driven to distraction with desire for her. It was a dark and sinful thing, this obsession that swept away his common sense, made him forget the rules he lived by, foremost of which was no affairs with women of his own class.
But it was as if she was outside the boundary somehow, all because she was keeping something from him, as if lies no longer made her a gentlewoman. He’d been lied to before, he reminded himself—but not like this. Not where he felt so personally threatened for his family.
Why did she make him feel this way? Her lie was nothing major, but added to her willingness to assist him at great cost to herself and the fact that no one had heard of her…
And she was here, alone in the dark, deep into a trunk, so vulnerable to him. He was so tempted to run his hands along her hips, to—
With great effort, he mastered himself. “Find anything interesting?”
With a cry, she straightened so quickly that the jostled trunk started to close. He jumped forward to grab the lid before it could hit her, but she caught it herself, then stared up at him in surprise and dismay.
He knew he should step back. Her head was at the level of his hips, making dark lustful thoughts burn hotter.
He put his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her. “Miss Shaw, why are you alone up here? You could not find a gown?”
“Oh no, I found one long ago,” she said, sitting back on her heels, her hand still resting on the edge of the trunk.
She had a smudge of dirt across her chin, and several curls had escaped her chignon to cling to her perspiring cheeks. And suddenly, he wanted to see her hair draped around her naked body. Her skin would glisten because of what he’d do to her, how he’d make her feel.
He stepped away, gritting his teeth, mastering his control. “If you found a gown,” he said at last in a normal tone, “why are you still up here?”
She looked guiltily past him to the far staircase. “You caught me. I was trying to keep it a secret.”
It could not be this easy. “What?”
“I didn’t want anyone to know that I was looking for clues, perhaps in journals, about the ghost.”
The ghost,he thought, blinking slowly as he tried to turn his mind around. Oh, she was good. The correct innocence on her face, the slightly guilty expression, as if she were being naughty, but not too naughty.
And he didn’t believe her for a moment.
“The family journals are all in the library, as you’ve been made aware,” he said pleasantly.
“But only the servants have ever seen the ghost, so wouldn’t they be the ones to write about it?”
“Many of them can’t write.”
“I know, and it is such a shame,” she said, smoothing her hand over a notebook. “They’ll never know the pleasure and release of being able to write one’s thoughts.”
Though his addled mind wanted to take her use of the words “pleasure and release” another way, he calmed himself.
“You speak as one who writes often.”
“Oh, I do,” she said with enthusiasm. “And not just letters. I keep a journal, and write about everything that happens to me during the day. Not very exciting, I know,” she added with a laugh.
He wondered what he could discover about her in such a journal. Would he be mentioned? Or was he just a means to an end, as he was with other women?
