Page 9 of The Duke and his Hellion
“Perhaps I am misunderstood,” he answered quickly and Abigail laughed softly to herself.
“Your Grace, she countered quickly, “I do not believe for a second that there is anyone on this earth who doesn't at least attempt to understand you.”
As they approached the house, Harriet stepped out to meet them, a small smile playing about her lips as she took in the sight of Abigail and Charles walking arm in arm. “How was your lesson, Abby?” she asked, her voice light and teasing. “Did His Grace impart any pearls of wisdom?”
Abigail laughed, a blush staining her cheeks as she met her sister-in-law's knowing gaze. “Oh, one or two,” she said airily, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Though I suspect there is still much for me to learn.”
Charles chuckled, bowing low over Harriet's hand. “Indeed there is, my lady. But I have no doubt that Lady Abigail will prove an apt pupil. She has a quick mind and a fearless spirit, two qualities that will serve her well in the ton.”
Harriet nodded, a flicker of worry crossing her face before she smoothed it away with a smile. “I am sure she will, Your Grace. But do remember... she is still my sister, and I will not see her come to any harm, no matter how well-intentioned your lessons may be.”
Charles met her gaze steadily, a solemn light in his eye. “I understand, Your Grace. And I give you my word, I will treat her with the utmost respect.”
Harriet flashed him a quick smile and linked her arm with Abigail's as the three walked back to the manor.
The relief that had been building in Abigail vanished when they made their way towards Charles's carriage — only to see another one coming to a halt in front of the house.
Abigail watched anxiously as Hugh's carriage moved closer to Charles's and her heart raced wildly within her chest. She knew her brother well enough to know how he'd feel about this and she glanced at the man next to her. She had to get him out of here — and soon.
CHAPTER6
“Well, Your Grace,” Abigail spoke quickly, her eyes darting towards the approaching man. “It was lovely to have you and I shall see you soon.”
Charles laughed, though confusion was etched upon his face. “My lady,” he stopped her with lifted brows. “Is it just me, or are you in quite a hurry to rid yourself of my company?”
Abigail's face flushed, but there was no time for hurt feelings. “No, no,” she reassured him. “I merely understand that you are a busy man, Your Grace. No need to keep you longer.”
She watched anxiously as Hugh stopped to speak to one of the footmen, practically yanking at Charles's hand in an attempt to lead him past her brother without any interaction.
“My lady,” his surprised voice stopped her as they came to a halt in front of his carriage while Hugh was preoccupied with the roses. “At least allow me to bid you farewell.”
Abigail felt her skin heat up as he brushed his lips against her hand once more. “Take it as another lesson, my lady,” Charles said softly, his gaze meeting hers. “Never let a gentleman leave without a proper goodbye.”
Abigail's heart rushed wildly in her chest — for a second she was certain he'd insist on staying even longer, but then he boarded the carriage without another word.
As Charles's carriage pulled away, Abigail's heart sank. She watched with growing trepidation as Hugh strode towards her, his face a thunderous mask of anger and disapproval. Beside her, Harriet tensed, her grip on Abigail's arm tightening fractionally as if to steady them both against the impending storm.
“Abigail,” Hugh growled, his voice low and dangerous as he came to a halt before them. “What in the world was the Duke of Grouton doing here?”
Abigail lifted her chin, meeting her brother's gaze with a defiant spark in her eye. “He was offering me guidance, Hugh. Helping me to… fit in with the ton. Be accepted.”
Hugh's brows drew together in a fierce scowl, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. “Guidance?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with scorn. “Accepted? Are ye truly willin' to go to any lengths at all to fit into thiston? This society that doesn't want us? Are ye so desperate for acceptance to be made a fool of by a rake, lass?”
Abigail felt her cheeks flush with indignation, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “How dare you?” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger. “How dare you imply that I am some helpless damsel, incapable of making my own decisions or discerning a man's true intentions?”
Hugh shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Ye do not know him, Abby. The Duke of Grouton is a notorious rake. He'll say whatever it takes to get what he wants, and then he'll discard ye like yesterday's news. And theton… thetonwill watch ye attempt to change yourself to fit them, only to hurt ye in the end.”
Abigail opened her mouth to protest, to defend Charles and his intentions, but Hugh cut her off with a sharp gesture. “I won't have it, Abigail. I won't stand by and watch ye ruin yerself over some fleeting infatuation with a man who is entirely beneath ye.”
At this, Abigail's temper flared, white-hot and searing in its intensity. “Beneath me?” she echoed, her voice rising to a near-shout. “Who are you to decide who is and is not worthy of my attentions? Who gave you the right to dictate my choices, to control every aspect of my life?”
Hugh's face darkened, his jaw clenching with barely contained rage. “I am yer brother,” he ground out, each word a clipped, precise incision. “Yer guardian and protector. It is my duty to ensure that ye make the right choices, that ye do not throw away your future on some reckless whim.”
Abigail let out a harsh, humorless laugh, tears of frustration and hurt pricking at the corners of her eyes. “My choices?” she repeated, her voice cracking with emotion. “What choices, Hugh? The ones you make for me? The ones that keep me trapped in this gilded cage, forever beholden to your whims and your expectations? Why is it that you pretend not to care about the ton, though you are so quick to conform to the expectations when it comes to your say overmylife?”
“Abigail,” Hugh let out with a sigh, reaching to take her hand. “I am merely trying to protect ye — I have lived, I have seen…”
Abigail jerked away from his touch, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “You're not protecting me, Hugh,” she whispered, her voice raw and aching. “You're smothering me. And I can't... I can't bear it any longer.”
