Page 76 of The Duke and his Hellion
He blinked, coming back to the present. “Yes,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Yes, I am fine. I was just... remembering.”
“Remembering what?” Abigail asked, moving closer to him.
Charles swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and confess everything — his love, his hopes, his dreams for their future. Instead, he said, “I spent a lot of time here as a child. It was... it was a special place for me.”
Abigail's expression softened. “Tell me about it,” she said gently.
Charles smiled serenely and pointed up to the rafters. “You see that? That is where I used to hide from my tutors as a young boy. I had a habit of sneaking treats from the kitchen while reading my favorite books. They never found me — and if they did, they chose not to let on. It was just… a place where I could find peace. From everything.”
He turned to face her with a wry grin and she looked up at him, her eyes earnest. “I am glad you have those memories,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.
“I hope,” he responded, his voice low and earnest, “that you will have special times here too, Abigail.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with an emotion Charles could not quite name. “I am sure I will,” she whispered.
The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made Charles's skin tingle. Abigail's lips parted slightly, and he found his gaze drawn to them. He leaned in, his heart pounding in his chest.
Just as their lips were about to meet, a loud crash from outside startled them apart. They turned to see a gardener picking up a fallen rake, looking mortified at the interruption he'd caused.
Charles cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to look at Abigail. “We should... we should probably head back to the house,” he said, his voice rough. “It is nearly time to leave for the park.”
Abigail nodded, a becoming blush staining her cheeks. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, her tone almost regretful.
As they made their way back to the manor, Charles could not help but feel a pang of regret. He had been so close to kissing her, to showing her how he felt. And from the way Abigail kept glancing at him, her eyes dark with an emotion he dared not name, he suspected she felt the same way.
At the foot of the grand staircase, they paused, facing each other. “I'll... I'll see you at the park, then?” Abigail said, her voice soft.
Charles nodded, fighting the urge to pull her close. “Yes,” he said. “Be careful, Abigail. And if you need me…”
“I know,” she said, a small smile playing about her lips. “You'll be there.”
Charles lingered for a moment and had a sudden mad thought to stay at home instead, and tell her to do the same.
“I must admit,” Abigail said softly, as though she were sharing a secret, “A part of me does regret agreeing to meet my friend in the park. I…”
Relief rushed through him and he smiled down at her. “Me too,” he admitted. There was nothing more to say, he thought. They were on the same page, or at least nearing it.
Perhaps it was too soon, too intimidating to put into words quite yet… but something had grown between them.
And perhaps, he thought, as he boarded his carriage and waited for hers to pull away first, perhaps she too was interested in nurturing whatever it was.
CHAPTER37
As Abigail settled into the plush seat of the carriage, she was woefully unable to shake the twinge of regret at not traveling with Charles. Still, she reminded herself, this meeting with Beatrice was important — and she did not want to anger the other woman by arriving on the arm of her husband. She still could not understand why Beatrice had such dislike for Charles.
“Are you comfortable back there, Your Grace?” the driver called from his perch, drawing her from her musings.
“I am, thank you,” Abigail replied, smiling at the weathered old man’s kindness. “Forgive me, but I do not remember us being properly introduced. What is your name again?”
“Tom, Your Grace. Tom Hawkins,” he said with a tip of his hat. “I have been driving for the Grouton family for nigh on thirty years now.”
Abigail leaned forward, intrigued. “Thirty years? That is quite some time. I suppose you know Charles… His Grace… quite well, then.”
Tom chuckled at this, a warm grandfatherly sound. “That I do, Your Grace,” he said gently. “Watched him grow from a mere babe and a mischievous lad into the fine young man he is today.”
Abigail’s nerves about her meeting with Beatrice dissipated at this. “What was he like as a boy?” she asked quickly, unable to contain her curiosity. Tom laughed at this.
“Oh, he was more than a handful, make no mistake,” he said, though his tone was fond. “Always getting into scrapes, that one. But he had a good heart, even then. Never forgot a birthday, always had a kind word for the staff. Why, when he was just a lad, he asked my Mary to teach him how to make a cake for my birthday.”
