Page 64 of Never Dare a Duke
But he’d suspected her for several days now. Could Walton know more than he did?
“You’re Lawrence Shaw’s daughter. What did your father do, send you to work on a story that only a woman might be able to get from a duke?”
Work on a story?Christopher thought to himself in disbelief. Lawrence Shaw? And his brain, usually so analytical, suddenly put the clues together: Lawrence Shaw was the owner and publisher of theMorning Journal.
“I am not—” Abigail began.
“Do not deny it,” Walton interrupted. “Are you here investigating the same story I am?”
“What story?” she demanded.
But Christopher heard the urgency in her voice, and at last, he could no longer deny the truth. Abigail was here under false pretenses, intending to write a story, the same as Walton was.
And since she’d come up with every way possible—including temptation—to stay close to Christopher, he knewhehad to be the focus of her interest. And to think, only a moment ago, he had thought she was trying to protect him. No, she’d been protecting her story all along.
“I am not confiding anything inyou,” Walton said coolly. “We’ll see who comes out the winner in this contest.”
Christopher barely got off the path in time, sliding between tall shrubberies as Walton hurried back toward the house.
For a moment, Christopher felt overcome by the sickening blow of her betrayal. It had taken him his entire life to win respectability, to know people were looking at him as a force in business and politics, rather than the cause of the next foolish scandal in his family’s long line of them.
And Abigail wanted to expose everything. From the beginning, she hadn’t fitted in, with her self-confidence, her certainty and intelligence. She was a woman who knew what she was, and what she wanted.
What had she discovered already?
He heard her walking past him at a brisk pace, and he emerged only to grab her arm and drag her back into the cool darkness of the overgrown plants.
Chapter 17
Abigail almost screamed as a hand gripped her hard. But as she was drawn through the shrubbery, feeling a long scratch across her arm and leaves brushing her cheeks, she saw the dark, angry face of the duke.
And she knew that he’d heard everything.
She hadn’t imagined the pain would hurt so, but she found her eyes stinging as she looked up at him. He grabbed her hard by both arms now, staring down so contemptuously at her. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart, to regret what she’d done. Even knowing her lies would someday be revealed, she’d made her choice to investigate him.
She’d just foolishly assumed she wouldn’t see his face when he found out. She’d been wrong about everything.
“You’re a journalist,” he said coldly, leaning down into her face.
She didn’t cringe although she wanted to.
“Do not bother to deny it,” he commanded before she could answer. “I heard everything. Lawrence Shaw’s daughter, are you?”
Her mouth was so dry with fear that she had to lick her lips even to speak. And that seemed to incite him, for he gave her a little shake.
“Do not try your seduction on me! It will not work anymore.”
Baffled, she said, “I am not trying to seduce you! That has never been my intent. And you can attest to how many times I have stopped our—our private moments from going too far.”
“You’re only proving yourself a flirt and a tease. Now tell me the truth! Try to explain how you’ve used me for your own selfish gain.”
“Not for my own gain!” she shot back, indignation fighting her feelings of humiliation and despair.
“Then you admit you’re using me.”
“I—” How could she lie to him anymore when he’d discovered the truth? It was too late—and she owed him that much. “Yes,” she finally breathed, feeling as if she wilted in his grip.
If he released her, she might fall in sudden exhaustion. How long had the secret been eating her up inside? From the beginning?
