Page 70 of Never Dare a Duke
“I—” She broke off, and a moment later, Christopher heard her rich laugh. “Very good, Mr. Walton. But even this brandy will not loosen my tongue.”
In a moment of silence, Christopher thought he heard footsteps. A glass was set down.
“Mr. Walton—”
“You look as pretty as peach pie,” he said, his voice slightly slurred. “What about a taste? Perhaps we could loosen each other’s tongues?”
Christopher’s hand was on the doorknob.
Then he heard the faintest sound from her, and he thought it was, “Oh, Chris…” Barely a moment passed before she breathed, “If he finds out…”
“Chris?” Walton said. “The duke? You call him by his Christian name?”
Christopher slammed open the door to see Walton jumping away from Abigail. She was leaning back against the desk, hands braced behind her, as if she were trying to get away from the man.
And Christopher’s blood boiled.
“I always find out what is going on in my own home,” he said coldly. “Walton, leave the grounds immediately, and if I find you still here—”
Walton put his hands on his hips, the liquor making him bold. “What would you do, Madingley?”
“Deprive you of the employment you think you’re good at.”
“You can’t—”
Giving in to a dark impulse, Christopher caught his arm and twisted it behind his back. “You need this arm to write with, do you not?”
“Nice temper, Madingley,” Walton sputtered, then stopped struggling as Christopher pulled his arm a little higher.
Abigail straightened, but did not release her grip on the desk. “Your Grace! You must not—”
But he ignored her, hustling Walton toward the door. Christopher reached around and flung it open, startling two footmen who were talking near the business entrance.
“See that this man leaves the grounds immediately,” Christopher ordered.
He pushed Walton, who stumbled, reeling, until the two servants caught his arms.
Walton looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Nicely done, Madingley. You’ll see the results soon enough in the newspaper.”
Christopher didn’t wait to see him removed from the house. He turned around, saw Abigail standing shocked in the doorway, and caught her arm to drag her back inside the study.
When he’d shut the door, she groaned and covered her face. “I didn’t get the information you wanted.”
He stared at her, barely withholding his uncertain emotions. “Don’t you mean the informationyouwanted?” Then he pointed to the empty brandy glasses. “What did you mean to accomplish with that? Other than get yourself ravished.”
“He was talking,” she said defensively, hugging herself. “I thought if he was a bit inebriated—”
“That he’d try to kiss you?”
“No, I—”
He advanced on her. “Or is that your usual investigative technique?”
He saw her wince, knew he was losing control over himself, but couldn’t stop it all from happening. Inside, he felt angry and confused and furious that she was about to let that man—almost old enough to be her father!—kiss her.
“Nice idea, by the way.”
She stared at him in confusion.
