Page 55 of The Duke and his Hellion
“Thank you for this evening,” she said suddenly, glancing up at him. “I think it was the first time in my life that I felt truly… free.”
Charles smiled down at her gently. “You are welcome. I wanted to remind you that being a duchess doesn't mean you have to change who you are inside. In fact, I believe,” he continued as they turned down an alley, “That it is your spirit that will make you an exceptional duchess.”
Abigail looked up at Charles and her heart skipped a beat. The silvery light softened his features and once again she realized that her husband was truly handsome.
Slowly, as though it were part of a magnificent dream, his hand moved to rest on her waist and her heart started racing madly in her chest. She licked over her lips slightly, her eyes moving to study his features.
Charles, seemingly feeling her gaze upon his features, looked down, his eyes meeting hers. “Abigail,” he murmured, his voice soft. Abigail felt her heart begin to race as he leaned in — his face now mere inches from hers.
She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips.
Then, suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the alley and the pair sprang apart quickly — startled to see a cat darting away from an overturned dustbin.
The loaded moment had faded and Charles cleared his throat. “I suppose we should ah, probably head back,” he said, his voice strained.
Abigail nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As they made their way back to the manor, though, she was more aware of her husband's presence than she had ever been before.
CHAPTER27
“Iwas thinking we ought to go for a stroll through the market today,” Charles suggested one evening, a couple of days after their turn at the inn. Abigail looked up quickly.
Unbeknownst to her husband, the evening adventure had changed the way she viewed him. Of course, she admitted only to herself, it may have hadsomethingto do with the almost-kiss in the alley. The moment had awakened something within her — a flutter of emotion that she was not quite ready to name.
“Of course,” she muttered now, following him to the carriage without hesitation. The carriage ride was awfully quiet, and Abigail took the time to study her husband. It felt as though she noticed new details about him every day. Today, for example, she noticed that his eyes were not merely deep blue. There were specks of light blue in them, reminding her of the sky on a cold day.
“Abigail?” Charles called once the carriage came to a halt, and she jumped. “We are here,” he teased, “but I fear your mind is rather far from the market.”
“Not at all,” Abigail said with a soft laugh. “I was just… thinking.”
He lifted a brow, though he said no more as he offered her his arm to help her out of the carriage. Abigail's heart raced happily when he led her through the market arm-in-arm.
Still, Abigail could not help but notice the appreciative glances in her husband's direction — in fact, it seemed like the women in the market barely noticed her presence at all.
“Your Grace,” a plump woman selling apples called out, her cheeks flushed as she offered Charles a bright smile, “Won't you try one of my apples? They're the sweetest in the market, you know…”
Charles smiled politely and accepted the fruit with a gracious nod. “Thank you, Miss Hodges,” he said simply. “They do look delicious.”
“They are certainly lovely,” she insisted with a wink in his direction and Abigail frowned. Abigail glanced at him furtively. “She seems… friendly,” she remarked, trying her best to keep her voice light. Charles chuckled.
“Miss Hodges? She's always been that way. Her apples really are the best in the market though — she ought to have offered you one too. Here…”
He handed her the shiny apple without a second thought and Abigail took it absently, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. It was nothing, surely. Just a friendly shopkeeper.
“Oh, Your Grace,” another voice drifted towards the pair and Abigail frowned when a beautiful blonde leaned forward as they passed, her eyes fixed on Charles. “I have some freshly baked bread here… warm and soft,” she purred, her eyes slowly trailing over him with familiarity.
“Thank you, Beth,” Charles said with a stiff smile, “but not today.”
Almost every stall, Abigail found with a flicker of irritation, held another woman who looked at Charles shamelessly.
“Morning, Your Grace,” a plump woman with rosy cheeks beamed when the pair stopped at a flower stand. “I was just wondering when we'd see you again,” she said and Charles laughed graciously.
“Morning, Mrs. Wilson,” he said and looked down at Abigail. “Mrs. Wilson always has the most beautiful flowers in the market.”
Mrs. Wilson giggled, a sound incongruous with her matronly appearance. “Oh, Your Grace, you know just how to make a woman blush,” she said and Abigail lifted a brow.
Was it her imagination, or was the woman batting her eyelashes at Charles?
As they continued their stroll through the market, Abigail could not help but notice the vast number of women vying for Charles's attention. A young lady 'accidentally' dropped her handkerchief directly in his path, gazing up at him through lowered lashes while he retrieved it. A widow swooned when he helped her with a heavy basket, her hand lingering on his arm for far longer than was necessary.
