Page 21 of The Duke and his Hellion
“Oh, this old thing,” she said almost teasingly. “I do have to admit, I will be quite glad when the season is over. It always makes me feel like a horse at a show, ready to smile and bow and dance at the men. I would much better prefer it if we were the ones who could make the choices.”
Abigail laughed softly at this, taking care not to allow her laughter to ring through the ballroom too loudly.
“It would have been lovely,” she admitted — just as a young man she'd never seen before appeared in front of them.
“Lady Abigail, I believe?” The man said, his eyes fastened on Abigail's form. “May I have this next dance?”
With a soft sigh, Abigail relented — shooting Beatrice a tired look before following the young man, an earl according to his tall tales, onto the dance floor.
“I must say, Lady Abigail,” the man drawled boldly as the dance came to a close. “I am rather impressed with you. You've certainly come up in the world since the previous ball. Why, one might almost forget your unfortunate… antecedents.”
A frown settled between Abigail's brows at this and she slowly drew her hand from his grip, confusion painting her face.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she spoke softly, “But I do not think I quite understand what it is you mean.”
The young lord smirked as he allowed his eyes to slowly travel over her. “Well, it is just that you have made such drastic improvements in your deportment, my lady. Quite remarkable, really, given your… unfortunate… beginnings.”
Abigail's face flushed, her temper rising at this. “My unfortunate beginnings?”
The man gestured to her and shrugged. “I mean your Scottish roots,” he explained. “And added to that, the fact that you never had your mother's guidance — and have had to make do with the sister-in-law you have, who's never really fitted in here in our society…”
Abigail felt her cheeks flame with rage, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. How dare this pompous windbag speak to her in such a manner, as if she were some sort of charity case to be pitied and patronized?
“I will have you know, sir,” she said through gritted teeth, “that I am quite proud of my Scottish heritage. Furthermore, you are dearly mistaken about my sister.Her Graceis an incredible woman and I count myself fortunate to have her love and guidance in my life.”
The young lord's eyes widened in surprise, clearly taken aback by the vehemence of her response. But before he could muster a reply, Abigail turned on her heel and stalked away, her skirts swishing angrily about her ankles.
She strode out of the ballroom and into the cool night air, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she fought to control the tempest of emotions that swirled within her. How could they be so cruel, so utterly lacking in basic human decency? And to use her mother's death against her, as if it were some sort of failing on her part… to insult Harriet... It was too much to bear.
Blinded by tears, Abigail stumbled down the steps and into the garden, seeking solace among the fragrant blooms and the soothing burble of the fountains. She sank down onto a bench, burying her face in her hands as great, heaving sobs wracked her slender frame.
* * *
To say that Charles was surprised to find Abigail there would be a bit of an understatement. His treacherous heart skipped a beat when he noticed her sobbing and he gently touched her shoulder, startling her from her reverie. She looked up at him, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision, and he stood before her, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Abigail?” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “What on earth is wrong? What has happened?”
At the sound of his voice, something inside her seemed to break, and the words came pouring out of her in a torrent of anguish and rage. “These men… it is awful,” she cried, leaping to her feet and pacing before him like a caged tiger. “I cannot bear it a moment longer, the way they look at me, the way they speak to me, as if I am something less than human, some sort of curiosity to be gawked at and gossiped about.”
She whirled to face him, her eyes blazing with a fierce, defiant light. “I am proud of my Scottish roots, and proud of the blood that runs through my veins. And I will not let them make me feel ashamed of who I am, and of where I come from. As for my mother…”
Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “How dare they speak of her so callously, as if her death were some sort of inconvenience, some sort of failing on my part? They know nothing of the pain I carry, the hole in my heart that will never be filled. They are the ones who should be ashamed, not I.”
He listened in silence, his eyes soft with understanding and sympathy. And when at last her words ran out — when the anger and the pain had drained away, leaving her hollow and exhausted — he stepped forward and gathered her into his arms, holding her close as she wept against his chest.
“Shh,” he murmured, stroking her hair with a gentle hand. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Any fool who looks at you and sees less than a lady… is undeserving of your company or your tears.”
She clung to him, her fingers clutching at the lapels of his coat as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. And as he gazed down at her, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion, a longing so intense it stole the breath from his lungs.
Almost without realizing what he was doing, he dipped his head down to meet hers, his lips parting slightly as he leaned in towards her. And for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the very air crackling with anticipation as her face tilted up to his.
But before their lips could touch, before they could surrender to the sweet, inevitable pull of desire, a sharp gasp sounded from the entrance to the garden, followed by a chorus of scandalized whispers.
Charles and Abigail sprang apart, their faces flushed and their breathing ragged as they turned to face the intruders. There, framed in the doorway like a tableau of outrage and disgust, stood the very man Abigail had danced with — and behind him, nearly all thetonstood, their eyes wide in shock and scandal.
CHAPTER12
“Abigail!”
