Page 13 of Scoundrel for Sale
“Thank you,” he murmured, his gaze softening.
“But,” she added, casting a significant glance down toward the bulge in the front of his pantaloons, “I am no longer an ignorant virgin. We both know that you’re not entirely indifferent to me.”
He blanched, glancing down and then scanning their surroundings, presumably looking for a pillow or some such to hold in front of his groin. Finding nothing of use, he had to settle for untucking his shirt. “Never mind that.”
“Oh, I mind it. I mind it very much. And although I am willing to let you go, I will only do so after you’ve explained the reasoning behind your bizarre behavior.”
“You’re imagining things—gah!” He dodged as best he could within the confines of her arms as she slowly raised her lips toward the slope of his jaw. But mixed in with the panic, she could see desire, raw and hot, flood his eyes.
“You’re right,” she murmured, her lips an inch away from the spot where his pulse throbbed in his neck. “You don’t want to make love to me, not even a little bit. And all of this is completely normal.”
His eyes took on a pleading look. “Please don’t make me tell you.”
“Tell me.”
“But I-I—” She blew softly on his neck, and his whole body shuddered. “I promised your brother.”
Her brother? That didn’t make any sense. Hart couldn’t have anything to do with this.
He’d been dead for six years.
The word promise scratched at the back of her brain. He’d promised Hart he would see her married to George. That was the only promise Gabe had made.
Or so she had thought.
Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his. “What did you promise my brother?”
Gabe’s eyes were sad. The only time she’d seen him look so defeated was when they lowered Hart’s body into the ground four years ago. When he spoke, his voice was the merest whisper. “I promised him that I would never touch you.”
Chapter 5
That idiot.
Abbie loved her brother and missed him every day.
But what an absolutely cod-headed thing to have done.
Gabe was now staring at the floor, dejected. She wanted to sweep her hand along his jaw and raise his eyes to hers, but of course, he was terrified of her touch. So instead, she said, “Look at me, Gabe.” Once he complied, she asked, “Hart made you promise you wouldn’t touch me?”
He nodded sadly.
“When was this?”
“It was—” He squeezed his eyes closed. “It was at Salamanca.”
“On the battlefield?”
“Yes.”
There was a roaring in Abbie’s ears. “After he had been shot?”
He opened his eyes, and his gaze was tender. “Yes.”
“So it was a deathbed promise?” Her voice was rising because that just wasn’t cricket, but she forced herself to modulate her tone. “He asked you to make him a deathbed promise?”
“Yes.”
“About me?”
