Page 44 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
Abigail flinched backwards. She glanced briefly at her maid, and some sort of look passed between the women. The maid sighed, just heavily enough to be heard, and wandered about ten or fifteen paces away, pretending to inspect some roses.
It was hardlyprivacy, but it was better than nothing. Abigail turned to face him, folding her hands in front of her waist.
“Go on,” she said quietly.
He drew in a breath. “I loved her, or at least I thought I did. I thought we would get married. I made no proposal, you understand, as I had no money and had to secure my father’s permission. I suppose it’ll be William’s permission I need to marry now. His blessing, at least. What an odd thought. anyway, I digress. I was sure that I would secure my father’s permission, since she was a suitable enough girl, and Father never had high hopes for me. We’d talked about it, but nothing official was decided. And then…” he breathed out slowly, steeling himself. “And then she went to Bath for a month, with an aunt. I read about her engagement in theGazetteless than two weeks after she’d gone.”
Abigail looked down. “Oh, Alexander, I’m sorry.”
Alexander. She called me by my Christian name.
A frisson of excitement rolled down his spine, and he swallowed hard, trying to force moisture into his dry mouth. She didn’t seem to notice her slip of the tongue, and he was determined not to draw it to her attention.
“She got married,” he continued, shrugging. “I speak about it easily now, but at the time, I truly thought I would die. I think my older brother – William, that is – thought I was being silly. He’s always been more practical than me. Katherine and I are the dreamers of our family. As I said, she married, and years passed. She’s a widow now, and it seems she plans to secure my hand after all.”
“She doesn’t deserve you,” Abigail said suddenly, looking just as surprised as Alexander to hear the words coming out of her mouth. “Lady Diana is… well, I find her cruel. Beautiful, and clever, but cruel. She’ll hurt you, if you let her.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I know that. Do you think I don’t know that? I just… I don’t know. It’s odd, seeing her again.”
There was more silence after that. Alexander wondered whether he’d shocked Abigail, speaking so openly. She seemed to be working up to say something – perhaps to make an excuse and then hurry away.
To forestall the inevitable, Alexander spoke up himself, as quickly as he dared.
“I’m bringing back some flowers for my mother,” he said, holding up the basket. “I see you were admiring that bloom in particular. I can cut it for you, if you like? Help yourself to as many flowers as you like.”
She blinked, glancing at the basket. “You’re such a good son, Lord Alexander.”
He winced. “Not as good as I should be.”
Reaching out, she trailed a fingertip over the rose’s petals. “It’s a beautiful flower, and it would look lovely in my room. But I never like to cut flowers for myself. They die so quickly, and I think I can admire their beauty out here, when they are alive, instead of keeping them in vases.” She paused, glancing up at him anxiously. “Not that I mean anything against people whodokeep flowers, I just…”
“No, no, I understand. You’re a sensitive young lady, Miss Atwater.”
She smiled wryly. “Hardly. My mother believes it’s a fault.”
“Really? I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She would much rather my sister were here, instead of me,” Abigail admitted, shrugging. “And sometimes I think she was right. Scarlett would have secured a match very quickly, but me… well. I suppose I’m just a wallflower.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a wallflower. All flowers are beautiful, after all.”
Had those words really just exited his mouth? Alexander felt colour rising to his cheeks. But Abigail was smiling, gaze pointed downwards.
“Thank you. That… that means a lot,” she admitted, at last. “You’re a kind man.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a rake. A fool.”
She shrugged. “Those things are not incompatible with kindness.”
Glancing up, her eyes met his. This time, Alexander found that he could not look away. The breath stopped in his throat. The perfume of the roses, always heady, became intoxicating. Choking, almost, but pleasant.
Abigail was close to him, so close that he could almost imagine that he felt the heat from her skin. His hand inched out of its own accord, wanting to touch the smooth skin at her collarbone, to feel the silky strands of hair, escaped from the knot she’d pinned it into, brush across his knuckles. Her lips were parted, eyes fixed on his, and she was holding her breath too, and surely…
Somebody cleared their throat, loudly.
The spell was broken. Alexander blinked, hand dropping back to his side. In an instant, Abigail moved backwards.
It was the maid, of course, who had coughed so pointedly. She was currently aiming a flat glare at him.
