Amanda Scott (30 page)

“Scold? Why should I scold you, sweetheart? You are the one who has been abducted, after all. I shall not scold you for becoming angry.”

“Well, I should think not,” she retorted indignantly. “It was a dreadful thing to have done, sir.”

“You have already rung that peal,” he reminded her. “I let you say everything on that head that you could think of to say, and every word was as near the truth as can be expected under the circumstances. If you will recall, I have sufficient cause to know exactly how you felt.”

Though she did not believe for a moment that anyone as big as Abberley—and male, besides—could possibly understand how helpless she had felt at the mercy of four masked men, she realized she would be as likely to gain satisfaction by railing at the moon as by trying to explain the matter to him, so instead she demanded to know how he had found it possible to subject her to such terror as he himself must have felt.

“Because Aunt Celeste’s undeniably ruthless tactics served a useful purpose at the time,” he replied, “and I hope mine will do likewise.”

“What purpose do you have in mind, sir? Surely, you do not think to force me into marriage with you.”

“I trust that you will agree to marry me before you leave this room,” he said in that same conversational tone.

“You are as demented as Annis,” she informed him roundly. “You cannot possibly force me to marry you by such a tactic. I collect that my abductors were Muston and the same crowd that waylaid you. Surely, you do not believe they will keep my whereabouts a secret from Aunt Celeste?”

Abberley shrugged. “I can deal with Aunt Celeste.”

Margaret’s lips twitched despite her annoyance. “I wish I may see the day,” she said dryly.

There was an answering gleam of humor in his eyes as he said, “We may all live and learn, as she would say. Look here, Marget”—he took a step toward her, his hands firmly at his sides—“I shan’t force you to do anything you don’t wish to do. I resorted to drastic measures only because I knew I had to shake you as Aunt Celeste had shaken me. You do love me, I’ve seen it in your eyes and in the way you greet me when I have been away from you. But when you refused me, it was clear that you were not simply being coy in the manner of fashionable ladies who want to hear further declarations. I was certain that for me to have said more then, or even later, would have been disastrous and would have caused you to entrench yourself more deeply than ever in the foolish belief that you are not meant for marriage.”

“It is not a foolish belief,” she said doggedly, once more looking at the second button of his waistcoat. “How long do you think that you, who have always jumped from one woman to another like a child in a dormitory leaping from bed to bed, would be satisfied with me alone?” When he burst into laughter, she had to raise her voice for the last six words in an attempt to make him hear her, but since he was still laughing, she could not be at all sure he had. “Adam? Adam, stop that. What on earth did I say that was so funny?” she demanded, reaching for his arm in an attempt to make him heed her.

He bent to catch his breath, but he was still chuckling and tears of laughter glinted in his eyes. “Ah, sweetheart,” he said at last, “you have much to learn if you can ask me that with a straight face. Think about what you asked me and how you phrased the question.”

She did, and she realized her choice of words had been unfortunate, but she did not blush and she did not look away from him this time. “The point is still relevant, sir,” she said.

“Aye,” he responded, reaching to grasp her gently by the shoulders, “but I was never in love before. The others bored me. I’ve known you all my life, and I know you won’t do so. For that matter, I think I’ve probably loved you all my life. Lord knows my protective instincts have always gone wild when I’ve been around you.”

“You were just missing having a little sister, sir, no more than that.”

“Yes, it was more. When did I begin what everyone chooses to call my ‘raking?’ Do you remember?”

“How should I?” she asked reasonably. “You were off to London long before I was, you and Michael.”

“Yes, we made our come-out together some eight years before you made yours,” he agreed. “Was Michael a rake?”

“No, of course not.”

“Was I?”

She thought about that for a moment before she realized that she would most likely have heard something about his behavior if it had been altogether different from Michael’s. “All I ever heard,” she said slowly, “was that the two of you and a number of others, when you were undergraduates at Oxford, made nuisances of yourselves at Melton Mowbray. I remember Papa was annoyed with you both over the cost of the damages, but I don’t remember that there were ladies involved.”

“There weren’t. Take my word for it. That was just a bit of bobbery and nothing more than any undergraduate gets up to. That was before the time I’m speaking of, anyway, and since you cannot know anything much to my discredit, I’ll tell you to your face that I didn’t begin my so-called raking until you made
your
come-out.”

“Me! What did I have to do with that?”

“You treated me like another brother, that’s what. Fobbed me off if you wanted to dance with someone else and expected me to dance attendance on you at your every whim, but it was perfectly clear that you didn’t have a single romantical notion in your head where I was concerned. Besides, you soon enough fell tail over top in love with that idiot, Culross.”

“Frederick was not an idiot,” she said. “He was a very nice young man.”

“I apologize, love,” he said quickly. “I should not have said that.”

She sighed. “No, but I think you and Aunt Celeste, too, are likely in the right of it. I have been thinking about him, and I think I fell for him more after he was so tragically killed than before. Is that possible?”

The look in his eyes was serious now. “Quite possible. You agreed to let him pay his addresses to you before he left in such a bang to make his attempt to rout Boney, and then when he was killed in the attempt—and at Waterloo, at that, making him a dashed hero—well, I think your reaction was perfectly normal.”

“Perhaps.” She looked at the earl, but her thoughts hovered for several moments upon Frederick Culross. Was it indeed possible that she had somehow formed the conviction that she had loved the young man out of some romantic bit of whole cloth? To be sure, he had been very handsome, far more handsome than Abberley, for example. Many young women had sighed over him and had flung their caps at him. Was she merely flattered that he had selected her? Surely not, for there had been others who had chosen her who were higher born, wealthier, and perhaps even as handsome. But none of them had proposed to her on the eve of departing to fight the dreaded enemy, Bonaparte. None of them had figured so dramatically in those fervently exciting, terrifying days after news of Bonaparte’s escape from Elba had reached England. And she had promised none of the others that she would wait for his return so that he could resume his pursuit of her hand. Still, the fact remained that although she had agreed to allow him to court her, she had not fought Michael’s decision to postpone any announcement of a betrothal.

Abberley had remained quiet for some moments, letting her think, but now he reached toward her, his hand just brushing her upper arm before he let it fall again. “Marget, he didn’t have to go. He had already sold out.”

“That didn’t matter,” she said quietly. “He was recalled and felt he had to go. He believed strongly that the Duke would need him.” She tilted her head a little to one side and raised her right hand to touch the place on her left arm that still tingled from Abberley’s touch. Strange that she could not remember tingling when Frederick had touched her. He had kissed her once, too, the night before he had gone away, but she could scarcely remember anything about the kiss except that it had happened. When she thought about Abberley’s kisses … Warmth suffused her cheeks, and she moved to turn away from him.

His hands came to her arms again, gently. He would not let her look away. “Will you not tell me what you feel in your heart, sweet Marget?” he asked, his voice low.

She opened her mouth to tell him again that she was not suited to the married state, but before she could voice the words, a memory of her thoughts and feelings during the dreadful ride in the barouche stormed back into her mind and made it impossible for her to tell him she couldn’t love him.

“Tell me,” he said gently.

She raised her eyes to his. “I do love you,” she said, “but I am still afraid of my own feelings. So many times—”

“No,” he said, laying a finger to her lips, “don’t say the words, for they are very foolish. You told me once that I was assuming that I had a great deal of power, to think that my actions affected the Fates in any way. And you understand that for Lady Annis to blame the Fates for her actions or for their lack of success is ridiculous and stems from nothing more than her own reluctance to take responsibility for what she has done. Yet you still persist in believing that one has only to be loved by you to be doomed, that your very happiness tempts the Fates beyond what they will resist.”

“Put that way, it sounds foolish, I know,” she admitted, “and I don’t think I have actually thought about it in so many words lately. Once I saw that what you were blaming yourself for was not your fault but more a wish that you might have been able to change what happened to Michael and to Timothy, I guess I began to realize that my own beliefs about myself were constructed on shaky ground. Still, it is hard to ignore the fear, Adam.”

“Your fears stem as much from habit as from anything else,” he said. “Indeed, many people suffer from a fundamental fear of happiness. But for either of us to think that we personally, have any great influence over the tides of destiny is certainly foolish, even presumptuous. Besides, my dear, the damage has been done if all Fate requires is your love for someone. We might as well enjoy the time that precedes my doom.”

There was laughter in his voice, and she could not help feeling the lighter for it. She knew he was right. Over the past weeks, having come to understand him better, she had also found a deeper understanding of herself. And the same seemed to be true with him. Odd, she thought, how much easier it is to see others’ faults than to see one’s own. She believed him now when he said he loved her. How else could he have brought himself to use such rough and ready tactics with her? He had certainly never done such a thing before, even when she had displeased him. He had always been gentle with her. But looking at him now, she was not by any means certain that he would always be gentle in the future. Nor was she shocked by the notion that he might not. Indeed, the thought seemed to stir that tingling in her midsection again, to make her more aware than ever of his nearness, of the expression in his eyes when he looked down at her.

Margaret licked her lips carefully. “You are right, sir. I have allowed certain fears and worries to cloud my thinking. Perhaps, if you will give me time to consider the matter carefully—”

“Marget, cut line,” he ordered crisply, his hands less gently now upon her shoulders. “Do you love me or not?”

She looked at the waistcoat button again. “I do love you, Adam, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ my girl. I wasted a deal of time by not making more of a push years ago to secure your affections.”

“You always had my affection,” she protested.

“Silence, brat, you know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Yes, but you didn’t know you wanted more than mere affection. You said as much before,” she pointed out more reasonably.

“Well, I was a fool to believe I only thought of you as a sister,” he retorted, “and not to realize before now that you mean a great deal more to me than that. But I do know the truth now, Marget, so will you please marry me?”

She hesitated, her eyes beginning to twinkle. “That depends, my lord, upon how far you intend to carry this abduction of yours. I am persuaded that my reputation must be sorely compromised already. After all, those men who waylaid the carriage must know that you have me at your mercy. If I stay up here much longer, alone with you like this, I shall no doubt be forced to accept your very flattering proposal.”

“Stuff,” he said with a chuckle. “Not that I wouldn’t be willing to do whatever was necessary, mind you. Do you wish to be seduced, Miss Caldecourt?” He leered at her, his hands still firmly on her shoulders.

“You would force me?”

“If you like.”

Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “I don’t believe you, Abberley. You have spent the greater part of our acquaintance protecting me. I don’t believe for a moment that you would …”

“Would what?” he asked, still smiling but more gently now, when her voice trailed away. His right hand had begun to wander down her arm, leaving little tingles of pleasure in its wake. When she didn’t answer him and let her gaze lock with his without making any effort to look away, he bent his head nearer to hers. And when her soft lips parted slightly, he took advantage of their invitation, kissing her first gently, then more possessively, until her arms had gone around his waist and she was responding to his caresses with all the passion that had lurked so deceptively beneath the surface until now.

A moan escaped her when his hand cupped her breast, and his fingers moved gently across its tip, setting fire to the nerve endings. Her own hands were moving, too, exploring the contours of his body, enjoying the play of hard muscles beneath his soft shirt. His hand moved to the fastenings of her spencer, and seconds later to the bare skin above the lace edging of her gown. It was not a particularly low-cut bodice, but the touch of his fingers there was exciting, and Margaret yearned to feel his bare skin beneath her own fingertips. Without thought she began tugging at his shirt.

The banging on the door might have been going on for some time. She wasn’t sure. There did seem to be an echo in her subconscious of the noise she was hearing clearly now.

Abberley bent his lips to the soft bare skin of her neck and right shoulder.

“Adam, someone is at the door,” she said.