Page 91 of Never Dare a Duke
He gave a laugh that sounded rusty, then began to touch her, loosening her bodice and corset so that he could reach her breasts. She pulled his shirt out of his trousers to touch his bare skin, felt the tension of his muscles as he restrained himself. With kisses and caresses, he readied her for him, and she reveled in his wildness and his desire. He was inside her faster than she’d imagined, groaning his need of her, teasing her breasts with his lips, guiding her pace with his hands on her hips. They came together in a wild rush of pleasure, kissing to stifle their moans of release.
Panting, Abigail leaned against him. “Oh, my, perhaps you should be upset more often.”
To her shock, he stood up, still holding her inside him. She gripped his hips with her knees until he brought them both to the sofa, then he sank back against it. With a sigh, she slid off him and sat back into the corner so she could see him. He buttoned his trousers.
“You are quite the expert,” she said, trying to ignore the rising tension of what she was about to tell him. “I didn’t even remove my drawers.”
“Whoever designed them saw many uses for the slit in the fabric.”
Christopher could tell he’d shocked her, for her face reddened, and he couldn’t help but laugh. She was very good at distracting him, amusing him, trying to make him feel better. He knew that soon enough he would have to confront the mess of his life, but for right now, here in his sunlit study, he only wanted to look at Abigail.
“Let me tighten your bodice in case we have a visitor.”
She gave him her back, and when he was finished, she turned to face him again. Her expression softened.
“I didn’t want to be a journalist for stories like that,” she began quietly, gesturing to the newspaper on his desk, “much as you may think otherwise.”
He thought he would tense as the painful subject came up again, but he was too curious about what she would say.
“When I was a little girl, I was in my father’s carriage when he had to stop at a factory that was central to a story that one of his journalists was working on. He talked to me like I was an adult, telling me of the children who had to work long hours in that factory, and how it was up to the newspaper to show their plight so that something could be done to help them. I saw what those poor children looked like, no older than I, dirty and bedraggled and exhausted. That article helped change lives. I devoured the paper each night, reading the letters to the editor and the report of the discussion in Parliament. I was so proud of my father because he did more than just donate money to charities. He and theMorning Journalwere trying to make London a better place.”
He could almost see her as a too-curious, intelligent little girl. Where some women would be happy knowing that their lot was not so terrible, she wanted to make things better for others. He didn’t know if he’d ever met another woman like her. He put his hand on her thigh, opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head.
“Let me finish, Chris. I told you this story to show you how important a newspaper is in society, and how hard I worked to be good enough to write for it.” She took a deep breath. “And so I’m going to write a story to counter the one about you in theTimes.”
He blinked for a moment, stunned, feeling the rise of his anger—his infamous temper—sweep over him. But he’d spent ten years learning to control himself, and he would not let even this ruin what he’d accomplished. She didn’t understand what she was saying.
“No,” he said slowly, with deliberate force. “I won’t allow that.”
“Oh, Chris, by saying nothing in rebuttal, you make everything worse. You can trust me! I can make this work, show the world that you’ve become a decent man, regardless of what happened in your youth.”
“You would just feed the fire. I won’t have it.”
She drew away from him a bit, pulling up her knees as if she wanted to hug herself. There was hurt in her voice as she said. “I won’t write about your play. I’ll show you as the man I know.”
“Don’t do this, Abigail,” he said, feeling the coldness in his voice settle into his heart. “You will be betraying me.”
“I will not!” She shot to her feet as if she had to pace out her frustration. “Why can’t you let others help? Or is it all about control? After all, perhaps you want to see your play performed because you can manipulate to your heart’s content.” Her voice softened. “It doesn’t always have to be you saving everyone. Let me do this for you!”
He stood as well, knowing that he was trying to intimidate her. But he hadn’t been able to do that with Abigail. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”
She flinched as if he’d hit her, and though he felt a momentary guilt, his anger and feelings of betrayal overrode all else.
“Well, considering we can never see each other again after this house party,” she said, “then I guess I’ll have to live with that. But I have to do what I think is best.”
“You mean best for your father’s newspaper.”
Now those wide eyes glistened with tears. “How can you—no, I understand why you’d think that. I never thought you could really trust me, not after everything that’s happened. But I’m writing this, Chris, although it’s obvious you won’t allow me to interview you. I’ll make it work, you’ll see.”
She walked past him, holding her head high.
“I could keep you here,” he said tightly.
Without looking back at him, she said, “I don’t think you can.”
And she was right, damn her to hell.
Chapter 23
