Page 72 of Never Dare a Duke
At one time words had been his friends; he could write his thoughts, working them out with pen and paper. But even that was denied him.
And he could not stop thinking that Abigail was no longer bound to Society—or the rules he’d created for himself to keep women, and scandal, at bay.
Or had he simply given up trying to be perfect?
At dinner that evening, Abigail appeared in a plain gown that seemed designed to hide the magnificence of her figure, but it didn’t succeed. And he couldn’t stop looking at her, the focus of all his turmoil. But she wasn’t the source of his problems in the past; he was. She simply wanted to uncover them.
Some part of him had thought she might flee, had even set up well-hidden observers just in case under the pretext of their watching for Walton to return. Wasn’t she off to write her precious story, like Walton was? Christopher would have stopped her, of course, but his precautions had been unnecessary. She hadn’t tried to leave.
And why hadn’t she been frightened away by Christopher’s conduct, his rash proposition? He didn’t know what to make of her behavior—and his own confused thoughts. He kept hearing the sweetness of her voice when she had told Walton what writing for the newspaper meant to her. Words were important to her, and Christopher could not forget that, nor did he like how much he understood it.
He also found himself suspicious of the reason she’d given for the crazy idea of hiding her identity, thus exposing Lady Gwen to risk. All because she wanted to prove herself to her father? Her look of despair when he’d discovered her betrayal had seemed about something deeper than that. But he’d been too furious to question anything. He had her at his mercy, could do as he wished with her.
Could even take her to his bed.
He remembered her moan when he’d kissed her, the gentle trembling of her hand on his chest, as if she could barely restrain herself. As if she felt the same things he did.
He wiped one hand down his face in confusion.
Abigail did her best not to watch Christopher, but she couldn’t help stealing the occasional glance at him, knowing that the others expected it of her.
She kept waiting for him to look smug, as if he knew he had her trapped in his power. But he didn’t. He seemed…distracted, and of course she knew he was worried about Walton.
He didn’t have to worry about her. She’d seen the footmen following her at a distance when she moved through the house and the others stationed about the grounds. On Christopher’s orders, of course. He was not going to allow her to write her story. And she didn’t have the heart to write it, regardless of what it meant to her future—to the future of her father’s newspaper. She would have to start all over, find a new idea.
Why didn’t he just put her out of her misery and reveal her? She’d failed her part of the bargain, after all. If this agonized waiting was her punishment, it was a good one. As the women went into the drawing room, leaving the men to their cigars and brandy, Abigail risked one last look at him. Would he tell the men of her foolishness? Ways to answer him and yet protect Gwen kept crowding her mind. He seemed to be leaving her to simmer in fear and worry, for he didn’t even meet her gaze.
Did he think her turmoil would somehow help, him? She could not forget his words,If anyone is going to bed you, it’s going to be me.As she settled onto a small chair near the hearth, she ignored the ladies’ animated discussion about the coming end to their ghost hunt and who might win. Such thoughts seemed so trivial when a man like Christopher had blatantly said he wanted to take her to bed.
She remembered the woman she was trying to become—an independent woman who didn’t need a husband to support her.
And an independent woman could take a lover—discreetly, of course.
She turned her face away from the chattering women as if afraid what they might see in her expression.
Why was she considering sleeping with him? He desired her against his own best judgment and seemed angry with himself for it. Although that hadn’t stopped him from coming to her rescue when the pursuit of Walton had gotten away from her.
But if she agreed to his proposition, he’d think the worst of her—that she was trying to buy his silence. Somehow, her ruse to have him teach her about men had become a goal she couldn’t put aside.
And then the men joined them. Christopher was smiling boldly at something Lord Keane was saying, and in that moment, he met her gaze.
What she saw there both frightened and fascinated her. And in another moment, it was gone as he turned away from her. There had been fire in his eyes as he beheld her, as if he remembered their kisses as well as she did.
Chapter 19
Abigail was not asleep when she heard her door open late that night. She did not even think of being afraid. The moon streamed in her open windows, and Christopher walked into the pale light. He looked boldly down on her, and she wondered how she looked to him, her nightgown covered by only a sheet in the summer warmth, her hair pulled back in a simple braid.
He was dressed in only trousers and shirtsleeves, with his collar open to reveal the lines of his throat. His dark hair was mussed as if he’d run his hands through it. Even his bare feet made her shudder.
He stared down at her with eyes that had lost their cool, composed expression. “I’ve come to fulfill the bargain we made,” he said in a low voice.
She sat up slowly, wanting to catch the sheet as it fell into her lap but at the last second deciding against it. Her nightgown was plain and covered her almost to her throat, but the knowledge that it was all that stood between them made it seem like nothing.
“Which bargain?” she whispered.
“The one where we agreed that I would show you what it was like to be with a man.”
He started to unbutton his shirt, and she stared hotly as his chest was revealed to her, taut flesh covered with a scattering of dark hair.
