Page 98 of Never Dare a Duke
As the main headline was about a railway merger, she gave him a confused glance.
“Keep reading.”
Near the bottom was a small notice that made her heart pound with sudden dread. It promised another article about the duke. After the first line, she couldn’t read any more.
“Papa! How can you promise such a thing?”
He only grinned.
“And you cannot expect me to write it!”
Before he could answer, a young maid rushed in, curtsied with such excitement she almost toppled over, and said, “Mr. Shaw, there’s a fancy carriage comin’ to stop before the house. Look out the window!”
Both her parents reached the window first, but Abigail was moving with slow deliberation, telling herself it meant nothing. It was probably just some fool lost in the wrong section of London. She could see several people gaping from the pavement across the street, as well as heads leaning out windows.
She took a deep breath and looked down at the carriage. It was pulled by four of the most beautifully matched horses she’d ever seen. The coat of arms struck her with a dreadful pang, and she tried to tell herself that Elizabeth must be coming to visit.
Then she saw the tall, lean form of the duke of Madingley, and she had to put her hand on the windowsill to steady herself.
“My,” her mother breathed. “Abigail, you never told me how handsome your duke is.”
She wanted to protest,He’s not my duke!But her mouth was too dry to speak. Surely he was not coming to berate her before her parents.
But she realized to her dismay that she would even tolerate that for the chance to be in his presence again, to look into his dark eyes and remember their stolen moments together.
A minute later, the butler solemnly announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Madingley,” as if a peer visited them all the time.
Abigail scurried away from the window, not knowing if she should be writing at her table, or—
But when he entered the room, she stopped in the center of the floor, clutching her skirt in trembling fists. Her mother curtsied, and Abigail remembered to do the same.
“Miss Shaw,” he said impassively, then turned to greet her parents in the same polite tone.
“Please sit down, Your Grace,” her mother said smoothly, as if her upbringing as a tailor’s daughter had never happened. “May I send for tea?”
“That will not be necessary. And I don’t believe I can sit at the moment.”
Abigail wanted to gape at him. What was going on? His manner was polite, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. And he couldn’t sit? Was he just going to yell at her and leave?
Christopher glanced at her father. “Has she read the article yet?”
Christopher knew about that? Now she was truly confused, especially when her father smiled.
Abigail grabbed the paper off the table and kept reading. It promised news about the duke’s latest scandal, and she winced, praying that her father had not somehow discovered Christopher’s playwriting. As she continued reading, her whole body started to shake.
“What does it say?” her mother demanded.
“Somehow,” Christopher said casually, “theMorning Journaldiscovered that I planned to scandalize all of Society by marrying a lady journalist.”
Her mother gasped, but Abigail didn’t look at her. She slowly raised her gaze to Christopher’s and saw his gentle smile, and the way his eyes softened as they looked at her—softened with love? Warmth and amazement spread through her until she began to feel giddy with it.
Her father cleared his throat. “Henrietta, I believe our daughter and her fiancé require some privacy.”
Though she could hear her mother blowing her nose already, Abigail didn’t look away.
And then with two long steps, Christopher enfolded her in his warm, strong arms, and she was surrounded by the scent of him, the memory of which had kept her awake at night.
He kissed the top of her head, her cheeks, then her lips, and she laughed against his mouth and linked her hands behind his neck.
