Page 68 of Never Dare a Duke
“We are not leaving,” Abigail said grimly. “And he thinks that I misled you, and we will keep it that way.”
“But, Abby—”
“No! I insist. I could not live with myself if you suffered for what I’ve done.”
“I won’t suffer.” Gwen’s voice softened, and she leaned her head against Abigail’s. “But he is not making you leave?”
“No.” Abigail winced at how weak and unsteady she sounded. “He insists that I must help him discover the story that Mr. Walton is investigating. And he’s right; I do owe him that much. Then…I don’t know. But I don’t want to leave. I’m so close to finding out the old scandal!”
“With his open knowledge of your intentions?” Gwen said doubtfully.
“I know, I know. But I have to do something, Gwen! My father will lose everything, after all he’s done to help people. If I fail, there won’t be a newspaper for me to inherit. Oh, I know, it’s foolish of me secretly to wish that I could be the one in my father’s place someday.”
“No, Abby, it’s not!”
Abigail whispered, “And the worst thing is, now that I’ve…kissed Chris, I am so afraid that in my father’s haste to secure my future, he’ll try to make me marry someone I don’t love.” Now that she knew something of passion, she could not imagine being so intimate with someone she didn’t care for. For the rest of her life. It made her shudder with despair. At last, she stood up, and Gwen’s arm fell away. “I have to go. Chris—the duke—will be waiting for Mr. Walton and me.”
She barely heard Gwen’s whisper of “good luck.” It was time to fulfill her end of this dreadful bargain—and hope that she could use it to sway the duke.
Chapter 18
For Christopher, the hour seemed to pass with excruciating slowness. He remained with the men in the billiards room, not concentrating when he played, losing badly. Walton was not here, and he imagined the man watching Abigail, wondering what she was up to.
Just as Christopher was.
At last, the wondering got to be too much for him, and he excused himself and went to hide in his study. Would she be able to succeed in bringing the suspicious journalist there?
Of course she would—it was the duke’s study, after all. Christopher made certain that his desk contained only minor papers pertaining to the estate. He didn’t want to look like it had been cleared deliberately. And then he closeted himself within the bathroom, steadying the washstand as he bumped it. There was no window, and he could not risk lighting a candle.
He left the door very slightly ajar and tried to ease the tension within him. This was almost over. He would survive this close call and be more cautious with strangers in the future.
How much more cautious could he be, he thought wryly, without barricading himself inside a house and never leaving?
When he heard a distant knock on the study door, he stiffened.
After a moment, Abigail said, “Your Grace? Is anyone here?”
There was movement, then a door closing.
“Impressive,” said Walton. “I did not think it would be so easy to breach the duke’s private study.”
“It is not easy,” she said, “but the staff knows me after almost a week here.”
Christopher winced at how light and playful Abigail sounded, as if it were all a game to her. He could not forget the sadness and defeat in her eyes when he’d last seen her. Which was the real Abigail?
“Why bring me here?” Walton continued. “Surely you are not planning to allow me to investigate the duke’s papers.”
“Of course not. I just wanted a place where we wouldn’t be disturbed. Would you like a glass of brandy? Only the finest in the Cabot household.”
Christopher thought he heard the faintest hint of tension in her voice, and he gritted his teeth. She had to make this work.
He heard nothing for several minutes except the clink of glass.
Walton said, “Ah, that is good. Join me?”
That wouldn’t be a smart idea.
“Itisgood,” Abigail soon breathed.
