Chapter Eleven
The following morning, Abbi confronted Lady Westerbrook in a quiet corner of the morning room. Most other ladies were still abed. “I realize that I have little enough control over my husband’s behavior. I have no control over yours, but I would ask that, at the very least, you manage discretion in your encounters.” Abbi's voice was perfectly cordial, if somewhat chilly and just loud enough to be overheard by others..
Lady Caroline Westerbrook smiled. In spite of her tender feelings for Lord Ellersleigh, she did not envy the young viscountess. It would take a strong woman to survive the reformation of such a rogue. “You misunderstand the situation, Lady Ellersleigh. While I hold your husband in very high regard, the nature of our relationship has changed dramatically, given the current circumstances. There will be no encounters between us that would require discretion.”
Abbi thought she might have liked Lady Caroline Westerbrook had the circumstances been different. Glancing about the room as if remembering herself, she took Lady Westerbrook by the elbow and steered her toward a small alcove. More quietly, she added, “Thank you for the assurances. I would also like to impart a warning to you. There are events that you are not privy to, Lady Westerbrook, and it is not safe for you to be in this house. I would advise you to leave for London today and to decline any future invitations from Lady Whitby.”
“Of course, Lady Ellersleigh. I had reached much the same conclusion myself. I spent the better part of the evening praying that the lock on my door would hold. This is not the sort of house party I am used to attending.”
“I apologize that you were drawn into such unpleasant and dangerous circumstances due to the machinations of my stepsister. Have a safe and pleasant journey,” Abbi said and began to walk away.
“He has feelings for you… more than either of you realize,” Caroline said.
Abbi looked over her shoulder, “Excuse me?”
Caroline chuckled, “Lord Ellersleigh, your husband, has feelings for you that are somewhat unexpected for him. Just as I suspect that your feelings for him are growing quite complex, as well…It’s a different thing altogether to enter into an affair with a man than to have those intimacies within one’s marriage bed. They take on a different significance when sanctioned by the church.”
“That is a bold assessment, Lady Westerbrook.”
The other woman moved nearer, and there was a sadness in her gaze, as she said, “It’s in his eyes. He looks at you in a way that he never looked at me, and in a way that he has never looked at another woman in all the years that I have known him…He is a good and honorable man, and I think he has a great deal of pain inside him. If he feels for you what I believe he does, you could heal him.”
“You have known him for a very long time, I take it.” Abbi didn’t want to ask; she didn’t mean to be sucked into gossiping about her own husband with his former mistress.
“Yes. He was a friend of my husband for many years. We were never lovers then. While Michael certainly dallied with married women, they have never been the wives of his friends. After my dear Charles had passed, Michael was a great comfort to me, but only as a friend. It was last year that we became lovers, and only because I asked it of him. I had been alone for a very long time, you see. Charles had been so sick, that we hadn’t –well, the physical side of our relationship suffered tremendously.”
“You really needn’t tell me all this.”
Caroline took Abbi’s hand imploringly. “On the contrary, I must. Michael never actually desired me. We were friends, and I am a woman who is quite aware of her looks. Our relationship was one of convenience, not passion. There is passion between the two of you, and if you will allow it, that passion can blossom into something wonderful.”
“You take a great deal upon yourself when you advise the wife of your former lover on how to be happy in her marriage, Lady Westerbrook,” Abbi said. The words were not heated, but a reflection of her confusion and Caroline interpreted it as such.
“Not so much really. I love Michael, though I have never been in love with him. I did have designs on him though. It isn’t that I wanted to marry him so much as that I wanted to be married again. I enjoyed being a wife, Lady Ellersleigh, of having a man to love and tend to,” she paused and drew a deep breath. “Loving Michael as I do, it is only natural that I would want him to be happy, Lady Ellersleigh. I believe that you could make him very happy.”
Abbi hadn't expected that the woman she'd prepared herself to despise would be warm and giving, even helpful. “I will take it under advisement.”
“I sense that you have suffered enough pain and disappointment in your own short life that you deserve a bit of happiness for yourself, my lady. God speed on what will surely be a journey for the ages,” Lady Westerbrook said with a soft laugh.”
It was too much. Abbi had her fill of the conversation and the rush of emotion that accompanied it. Hope was not something she often let herself experience. It was too fragile and far too easily dashed. To have it spring from such an unlikely source only made it more suspect. “Thank you for your kind words and your goodwill.” Abbi quickly exited the morning room.
Michael was waiting for her in the foyer; their bags already loaded into the waiting carriage. Noting the odd expression on her face, Michael asked, “Are you alright?”
Abbi didn’t really know how to answer him. She felt unsettled. She was far more frightened of what Lady Westerbrook had said than anything else that occurred. “I’m fine, just eager to be home and away from all this.”
“As am I,” he said.
During the short ride back to Blagdon Hall, Michael wondered at her strangely quiet mood but didn’t question it. Though she seemed subdued, the tension and anger between them seemed to have abated, and he had no wish to resurrect it.
~*~*~
The next morning, they left for London. Sarah accompanied them, as Michael intended to use the trip to not only research what sort of artifact it was that Lavinia and Rupert were after, but also to supplement Abbi’s wardrobe. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that plying her with gifts would completely eradicate the tension between them. But he could only hope that it would be well received as the peace offering it was intended to be. If the clothes didn’t work, then perhaps the jewelry would.
His mind returned to the vision he’d entertained only two nights before, of Abbi wearing nothing but a suite of sapphires and diamonds. He could easily imagine her wearing pearls, as well. He wanted to see her lying back on the scarlet silk that graced the bed at his townhouse. In his fantasy, she wore nothing, her glorious dark hair spread around her, a strand of lustrous pearls at her neck with a soft smile curving her lips.
Michael shifted on the seat of the carriage, the nature of his thoughts adding to the general discomfort and misery of travel. Sarah was riding in the second coach with the luggage, and he and Abbi were alone in the carriage. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, to rekindle the passion that had flared so sweetly between them before their disastrous trip to Whitby Hall and all that had transpired.
Her mood had been strangely introspective since their departure the previous morning. He could only assume that it had something to do with her conversation with Caroline. Given the circumstances, he decided it would be for the best to live with his curiosity.
“We should arrive in London sometime tomorrow afternoon,” he said companionably.
“I’ve never been. When it was time for my come out, Lavinia’s mother became ill and then shortly after that, my father. They both passed away within the year, and the following year, when it would have been appropriate to go, Lord Allerton said there was no money for such frivolities. All the while he was gaming and—well, doing what so many gentlemen about town do. It appeared there was a great deal of money for frivolity for him. Meanwhile, I had to sell off the tapestries and rugs just to keep us all fed.”
It made him angry. He knew that he had never been a paragon of virtue, but he could not imagine that he would ever have allowed a woman in his care to live so meanly. “You will have funds to see you through, Abbi. I intend while we are in town, to have an account set up for you to ensure that you will never have to be at anyone’s mercy again.”
“That is hardly necessary, my lord. You needn't make such an effort on my part.”
“I do need to, actually. I want you to feel secure, to have faith in the fact that you will never again be dependent on anyone else for the simple comforts of life.”
She didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He continued to confuse her, with his callousness of her feelings on the one hand and his incredible generosity and tenderness on the other. “Thank you, Michael.”
It was the first time she had called him something other than 'my lord' since they had left Whitby Hall. He didn’t imagine that it was related to the money, but he was grateful that he had managed to do something right, even if he wasn’t sure precisely what it was. “We’ll also be staying in London long enough to give you an opportunity to expand your wardrobe. I want to see you in something that doesn’t look like it was made for you at the age of eighteen.”
Abbi laughed, “Interestingly enough, most of the gowns I currently have were created for me at the age of eighteen.”
“Since you’ve never been to London before, perhaps we can find time for some of the entertainments it has to offer. Is there anything in particular that you would like to see?”
She blushed a bit, then said with complete honesty, “I want to see the Elgin Marbles. I know they are considered to be somewhat inappropriate for ladies, but I have always wanted to see them.”
He smiled, thinking that the Elgin Marbles, with their sensual draping and the elegantly carved figures, would work into his plans very well. While not overtly carnal, the sensuality of them would not be lost on Abbi. “I think that could probably be arranged… Perhaps a private showing after the museum closes?”
“You can do that?”
“Most definitely,” he said. “In the meantime, it is a very long and tedious trip to London.”
The tone of his voice was a clear indication of what part of his anatomy was presently in charge of his thinking. In spite of her confusion, she was not immune. But not wanting to give the appearance of capitulating too easily, she said, “Perhaps you should have a rest then, a nice long nap to pass the time?”
Michael laughed, and even as he chuckled, he reached for her hand and pulled her across the span of the seats to sprawl across his lap. Her breasts were crushed intimately against his chest, and where his thigh had slipped between hers, her gown had bunched around her knees, freeing her stocking clad calves to his roaming fingers.
He kissed her, his lips playing hers in a sensual, rhythmic dance that left them both breathless and panting. Through the fabric of her traveling gown, he cupped the lush globes of her breasts, relishing the weight of that tender flesh against his palms. His lips blazed a path over her neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat, making her shiver. Her neck arched, her head falling back and his teeth scraped gently over the delicate column of her throat. A gasp turned into a soft moan, and he took her mouth again, greedy for the taste of her sweet lips and the slide of her tongue against his own.
Within minutes, he had the bodice of her dress tugged down, revealing the rosy peaks of her breasts to him. Her gown had been pushed up to her waist, and the lush bottom that had so tantalized him was clasped firmly in his hands. He was hard and aching, wanting desperately to be inside her. As she moaned against his mouth, he knew that she felt the same. He repositioned her, so that she straddled him, her thighs cradling his rigid erection.
Abbi gasped at the intimacy of the new position. His hands and mouth had driven her into a frenzy. They hadn’t made love since their return from Lavinia’s ambush. Everything that had happened at Whitby Hall had effectively halted that particular aspect of their relationship. Though it was still far from resolved, in spite of what Lady Westerbrook had said to her, Abbi was still filled with doubts. Those doubts fled her mind, along with all over rational thought, when he flexed against her, pressing the hard ridge of his sex against her opening. His breeches could not conceal the hardness and heat of him. Even at that thought, he slid one hand between them and began to caress her damp flesh.
Abbi grasped his shoulders, needing something solid to cling to as the storm built inside her. Every stroke of his masterful fingers had her gasping and crying out, pressing more firmly against him, her hips moving rhythmically with the pace he had set. The pleasure deepened as did the desire for more, until she ached with it, needing more. She wanted to feel him inside her.
Reaching down with fingers that trembled, she freed the buttons of his breeches until he sprang forth, hot and hard. She had never touched him there, and now, as her hands moved over him, she marveled at the silken feel of him. She couldn’t stop the smile that escaped her at his guttural groan.
Seeing that siren’s smile on her face was almost as torturous as the feel of her soft hands stroking his hardened sex. “Minx,” he said. He gripped her bottom, lifting her higher until he was poised at her entrance. Some part of him realized that taking his wife, who was newly initiated into such physical intimacies, in a moving carriage was wrong on numerous levels, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “Take me inside you,” he said.
“How?” she asked, the eagerness in her voice was not lost on him.
“Use your hand, guide me into you,” he instructed and bit back a groan as she did just that. With the head of his cock between the slick folds, he lowered her slowly, gently, spearing deeply inside her. The heat, the tight clench of her around him, was a pleasure unlike anything he could ever recall. A curse hissed from between his lips and his clenched teeth.
Abbi gasped at the feel of him so deeply inside her. Her bottom rested on his thighs, and every rock and lurch of the carriage created a wealth of sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. When he moved, flexing his hips, angling her so that he pressed against that sensitive bud that sent her spiraling toward the precipice, she cried out his name. Experimentally, she tightened, flexing her own hips and his fingers on her hips tightened, gripping almost painfully. He began a rhythm, flexing into her, deepening the contact, and she countered by tightening around him, ratcheting the pleasure for both of them.
It did not take long. In only a few strokes, he felt her belly quivering and the tell-tale tremble of her thighs. He closed his mouth over hers, swallowing the keening cry as her release took her. He flexed again, feeling her inner muscles rippling around him, and his release followed. He groaned as he pumped inside her, spilling himself into her welcoming heat.
Minutes later, she was still sprawled across his lap, their clothing askew and their breathing still ragged. “Abbi,” he said, her name a breathless whisper, “You are going to be the death of me.”
“It’s only fair,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, “For you’ve left me worthless as the dead. I can’t move.”
That was perfectly fine with him. He enjoyed the feel of her against him, and though he had gone lax inside her, if she stayed where she was, it wouldn’t be long until the feel of her would rouse him again. “Then by all means, remain where you are.”
~*~*~
The following afternoon, after a night at a less than hospitable inn, they arrived in London. The trip had served to ease the tension between them. On the surface at least, both Abbi and Michael had returned to providing the appearance of newly wedded bliss.
When Abbi saw their London home, it was all she could not to gape like the country lass she was. She did refrain but only because she felt that it would be bad form as the new viscountess to be seen looking like such a simpleton. Still, the marble floors, intricate gilded moldings, priceless art and antiques all left her feeling very much out of her element. The servants were too numerous for her to recall even, but she did try. If there was any consolation, it was the fact that poor Sarah was immediately welcomed into the fold and coddled by the other servants. Abbi knew that there was undoubtedly a story there, but she didn’t know what it was.
Michael informed her that they would be dining with his friends that evening, a fact that left her feeling as unsettled as the grandeur of the house did. She felt, overwhelmed by it all. As she was ushered upstairs to her new chamber for a bath, while Michael retreated to his study to handle the correspondence that had accumulated in his absence. Abbi wondered if she would ever truly be able to grasp the running of so grand a house.
Her new chambers were no less opulent than the rest of the house. The rosewood furnishings were lovely and feminine, but not overly delicate. The bed was hung with rich silk in peacock shades, with matching drapes at the windows. The walls were papered in gold brocade, and an Aubusson rug covered the majority of the parquet floor which had been polished until it shone. Sarah was present, placing Abbi’s meager clothing into a large armoire which had likely never held such pitiful contents.
“Forgive me for saying, my lady, but I feel like a fish out of water,” Sarah said. “Everyone has been quite helpful, but I never dreamed of working in such a fine household. I ought to write my father and see if I can’t come home.”
“Sarah, if you wish to go home, we will certainly help you… But I feel like a fish out of water myself. I knew that my husband was quite wealthy, but I had not anticipated this. I can’t quite fathom living with this sort of luxury,” Abbi replied honestly.
“In that case, I’ll stay…Perhaps it will help to know there is someone else in the house just as lost as you are,” Sarah said with a smile. Her face had begun to heal a bit more. Many of the bruises were fading from the vivid black and blue to more putrid shades of yellow and green. With the swelling gone and the haunted expression beginning to recede from her eyes, it was easy to see that Sarah was a pretty girl.
“I would like that very much.”
The conversation halted as footmen came in bearing buckets of steaming water, which were added to the marble tub in the corner. A permanent fixture of the room, it was hidden behind a gilded screen. While water did have to be carried in, the tub had a drain that allowed the dirty water to run out into the city’s sewers. Sarah added sweet smelling oil to the bath. The hot water was simply bliss, and Abbi’s groan of pleasure masked the sound of the door opening and closing.
“I should probably cut it,” Abbi mused as Sarah began the arduous task of washing her hair. “Having such long hair is unfashionable, and there is so very much of it, that it is nearly impossible to style fashionably.”
“If you even think it, I will turn you over my knee,” Michael said from beyond the screen.
Abbi ducked deeper into the water, not trusting him to stay on the other side of the screen. Logically, she knew that he had seen and touched every part of her, but years of modesty were a hard thing to overcome. “What are you doing in here?”
He moved into her line of sight then, just as Sarah finished rinsing the last of the soap from the ends of her hair. “Apparently I am averting disaster. You will not cut your hair.”
“It was simply a thought,” she said. “Now, that we’ve established I am not going to cut my hair, you can leave again.”
Michael noted the blush that stained her cheeks and the fact that the upper swells of her breasts were visible above the water. “Sarah, you may be excused.”
The young maid didn’t hesitate to follow his command, and quickly left the room without a backward glance. The door hadn’t even closed behind her before he was stripping off his clothes.
Abbi leaned back in the tub and surveyed him. She might have been embarrassed, but the hot look in his eyes, and the pleasure it promised superseded any maidenly protests she might have made. The afternoon light filtered through the windows, highlighting his bronzed skin. His muscles flexed and bunched with every movement, and by the time he had removed his breeches, she was wet and aching. He had aroused her without so much as a touch.
She didn’t bat an eye when he stepped into the tub, just drew her knees up to make room for him. When he pulled her into his arms, she went eagerly, and kissed him with all the heated desire that had built inside her.
They made love slowly, the warm water of the bath lapping around them until it became chilled. When the water had cooled, he lifted her from the tub and carried her to the bed, where he continued to worship her body. After, they lay together in a tangle of limbs, the damp ropes of her hair curling about them. Michael retrieved the comb from the dressing table and began to gently work out the snarls that his hands had created.
“Your hair is too beautiful to cut… It gives you the look of some mystical creature, luring men to the depths, a siren or mermaid, perhaps.”
Abbi smiled, blushing at the praise. “You are quite fanciful, my lord.” The formal address was uttered in a teasing tone, and his answering smile told her that he took it as such.
“I have a vivid imagination,” he agreed, “And of late, you have been featured in most of my fantasies. They are not lyrical though, or allegorical. They are wholly carnal and infinitely pleasurable… Perhaps tonight, when we return home, I will share one or two with you.”
The statement accompanied by a kiss on her bare shoulder that had her shivering. “I would like that very much.”
Reluctantly, Michael rose from the bed. “If I don’t leave now, I won’t…and I promised Rhys and Emme that we would join them for dinner tonight.” He retrieved his discarded clothing, which had become damp and wrinkled. He donned only his breeches. He carried the clothing over to the bed, rifling through the pockets of his horribly abused jacket, before producing a slim box. “Most of the family jewels are stored in a vault at the solicitor’s office. I will retrieve them for you later, but this... I had this tucked away here for sentimental reasons. This necklace was favored by my mother. I would like for you to wear it tonight.”
Abbi opened the box. It was a delicate piece, an airy confection of diamonds and pearls festooned with tear drop shaped rubies. It was one of the loveliest pieces of jewelry she had ever seen, and he presented it as if he feared she would snub it. Lifting the necklace from the box, she traced her fingers reverently over the delicate setting and the precious stones. “It’s beautiful… I’ve never seen anything more lovely.”
“Yes,” he agreed, but he was looking at her and not at the necklace. The moment stretched between them until at last he turned and left the room.
~*~*~
Abbi wore the same crimson dress that Michael had given her prior to their evening at Whitby Hall. Sarah had twisted her hair back into the Grecian style and then left several loose strands to cascade over her shoulder in loose curls.
Her mother’s pearls had been woven into her hair and pinned in place. She wore the necklace Michael had presented to her earlier. The weight of it was unfamiliar on her neck, and it reminded her of him and the pregnant moment that had passed between them earlier in the day. When she thought of it, her mind would invariably turn to the musings of Lady Westerbrook. The tiny sliver of hope that conversation had sparked was quickly building to a storm inside her. She had never been one to give her emotions free rein.
The drive to Upper Brook Street was a short one, as their home was only a few blocks away. The town home of the Duke of Duchess and Briarleigh was grand even beyond the home of her husband. It dominated the street and the butler who admitted them was so painfully proper that Abbi felt immediately out of place. Even in her dress, which she knew was flattering, and with the confidence afforded her by the jewels that winked at her neck, she was not prepared to face down the highest echelons of society.
“Michael!”
Abbi looked at up at the squealed greeting and saw the incredibly beautiful Duchess of Briarleigh racing towards them. It was no mean feat as she appeared to be heavily pregnant, as well. Her rounded belly did not detract from her appearance at all. Her skin glowed with health and vitality. Her dark hair was dressed in loose curls, and her pale gray eyes gave her an ethereal quality.
Michael laughed in response and hugged her when she reached him. As she watched, he placed a hand on the swell of the other woman’s belly. Jealousy reared its ugly head again.
“Emme, I swear that you have swallowed a pony!”
She smacked at his hand, “You are as insufferable, as ever…Now, introduce me to your wife so I may warn her about all your bad habits.”
He grimaced, “Please do not. I fear she’s heard quite enough already.”
“Michael, my threat to shoot you for putting your hands on my wife still stands,” Lord Rhys Brammel, Duke of Briarleigh, said as he entered the room. In spite of the rancorous nature of the words, they were said with a smile and lacked any real heat.
Emme stepped forward to greet Abigail and said, “Ignore their banter. While it sounds ferocious, it is quite harmless. I’m Emme, and it is truly a pleasure to meet you.”
In spite of her earlier, irrational jealousy, Abbi liked her immediately. “Thank you, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”
Another woman appeared on the stairs then. She was younger but so beautiful that Abbi found it hard to look away from her. With Titian hair and wide blue eyes, there was a slight similarity in bone structure to the duchess. Any similarity ended there, however. Whereas the Duchess had been exuberant and obviously happy, there was a sadness clinging to the younger woman, a wariness in her. Abigail knew she'd endured something horrific.
“My sister, Miss Larissa Walters,” the Duchess of Briarleigh said. As the younger woman reached the bottom of the stairs, her sister put her arm about her somewhat protectively. Her smile faded just a bit and a worry crept into her gaze. “Though I must insist that you call me Emme and her Larissa. We do not stand on formality here.”
Abbi held her hand out to the young woman, “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The girl looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and then took her hand. As they shook hands, a smile began to spread over the young woman's face.
“Oh, I like that you've given him such difficulties. He needs it,” Larissa said with a slight laugh. With that odd statement and another warm smile, she moved away to greet Michael and her brother in law.
Puzzled by her, Abbi couldn't stop the frown that furrowed her brows. Sensing her distress, the Duchess spoke.
“Larissa and I come from a very unusual family... Please don't think her too odd. And if you are giving Michael a hard go of it, then cheers, for he could certainly benefit from it!”
As the party moved into the drawing room, the Duke addressed them together, “Spencer—forgive me, Lord Wolverston, will be arriving shortly.”
Abbi, her hand resting on Michael's arm, felt the tension in him and noted the tightening of his jaw. “Is there a problem with you and this Lord Wolverston?”
Michael shook his head. “Not a problem, really. We're friends though we do occasionally, or perhaps always, butt heads.”
They'd barely settled into the drawing room, Abbi next to the Duchess while her sister seated herself at the pianoforte. Michael and the Duke were conversing by the fire, their ease with one another a clear indication of their long friendship. Abbi had no friends. Lavinia had alienated nearly everyone when they were younger, and without a season, there'd been no opportunity to meet anyone with whom she might form a friendship. It was no an enviable position to be in. It left one distinctly vulnerable.
The doors opened and another man entered. He was not announced as the small gathering was shockingly informal. He stood inches above the other men in the room, the breadth of his shoulders blocking the entire doorway. The soft sigh that escaped Larissa would have been inaudible to anyone else, but as Abbi was closest to her, she couldn't ignore it. A glance at the young woman showed a blush staining her lovely cheeks and her head ducked down. So that was the way of it, she thought.
Lord Wolverston approached them, and Emme rose to hug him. He looked, Abbi thought, uncomfortable with the affection. It was not unwelcome by him, but it did appear that he was unaccustomed to it.
Emme turned slightly, her hand moving toward Abbi in an elegant gesture. “Spencer, I am very pleased to introduce Lady Abbigail Sutherland, Viscountess Ellersleigh.”
Lord Wolverston's eyes widened, his eyebrows arching upward in surprise. “I'd heard rumors, but never imagined they might be true.”
Emme's eyes narrowed. “Play nicely or you'll regret it.”
The large man's face colored perceptibly. “My apologies, Lady Ellersleigh. My remark was indicative only of my surprise and not at all toward your worthiness... or your husband's, though I daresay he got the better end of the bargain.”
Abbi wasn't quite sure what to make of him, but she was saved by responding by the Duchess rolling her eyes heavenward.
“For goodness sake! The two of you are like children... always sniping at one another just for attention. Now, go join them and behave or I swear I'll make you regret it.”
Abbi noted that as Spencer turned away, his gaze caught on Larissa, held for just a moment, and then with the slightest of nods, he excused himself to join Michael and the Duke. Curious, Abbi couldn't stop herself from asking, “Are you sure that he and Michael are friends?”
Emme grinned. “Without a doubt... Either one would lay down their life for the other, but they're both entirely too proud to admit it. Spencer is judgmental and none too civil about it, and Michael responds to criticism the same way he responds to most things... with a wink and a smile. But they have a history together that far outweighs any petty animosity.”
It appeared slightly more than petty, but Abbi refrained from correcting her.
Despite any tension between Michael and Lord Wolverston and despite Lady Larissa's preoccupation with the most recent addition to their group, the evening progressed in an easy manner. It was filled with pleasant banter and much laughter. It was only after they had moved into the dining room and the meal was drawing to a close that the conversation turned serious.
Michael revealed the events that had surrounded Lord Allerton’s death, including his suspicions that Lavinia and Rupert were involved in even more nefarious dealings. He also relayed the information he had uncovered at Whitby Hall regarding the state of their finances and where it seemed that the vast majority of their wealth had gone.
Rhys considered the matter for a moment before adding, “I seem to recall that the former Lord Whitby was involved in some sort of scandal related to ancient artifacts of a somewhat questionable nature.”
“Questionable?” Spencer said, his tone skeptical. “The man is—.” He stopped there, his lips firming into a thin, hard line. “This isn't a discussion to have in the presence of any lady, but specifically not an unmarried one.”
For the first time that evening, Abbi saw a hint of fire in the young woman. Her head came up, her blue eyes leveled a glacial stare at the slightly pompous man.
“Thank you for your concern, Lord Wolverston, but I assure you nothing that is said in here will be shocking to my already abused sensibilities. Continue, Lord Ellersleigh.”
Every person in the room grew uncomfortably quiet, watching the now silent battle of wills between a young girl and a man who dwarfed her in every way. After several interminable seconds, he sighed heavily and looked away, offering a curt nod to Michael.
Abbi exhaled the breath she'd inadvertently been holding. It was glaringly apparent that both parties were equally obstinate but pompous as he was, Lord Wolverston' was obviously as enamored of Larissa as Larissa was of him. She would be talking to Michael about that later. Perhaps some artful goading would put both of them on the right path.
~*~*~
Michael ignored the tension between Spencer and Larissa. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed their odd behavior toward one another Whatever it was, he'd let them sort it out. He'd played matchmaker for Rhys and Emme, but he imagined that Spencer would be less than pleased with any interference on his part.
With a concerned glance at Larissa, he elected to continue the explanation. While she might be an unmarried woman, she was hardly an innocent. Her life had taken some unexpected turns that had left her with far more knowledge of the evils in the world than a young woman should ever have. He explained, “Erotica… Ancient carvings and texts of an especially explicit nature. There were many ancient cults that utilized sexual acts as part of their rituals. Those held a particular interest for him, I believe. It appears that interest has been passed down to the current Lord Whitby and, by association, Lady Lavinia.”
“But it seems they aren’t just collecting the artifacts,” Abbi said, “They are also recreating the rituals themselves.”
Larissa spoke then, “They are not alone. There are many people involved in this. At least a half dozen more.”
Abbi wanted to question her, to ask how she could possibly know that. But the conversation continued around them, Larissa's assertion accepted so easily that Abbi found herself wondering what sort of household she'd been brought to.
“What do they hope to gain from this?” Rhys asked.
Michael shrugged. “What did the Hellfire Club get out of their activities?”
It was Emme who took that particular point and expanded on it, “Many people believe that objects of significant age, particularly those with violent histories, also have power.”
“Metaphysically speaking?” Abbi clarified.
Spencer made a sound that perfectly illustrated his opinion of their beliefs. “It's naught but myths and stories! They're obviously mad.”
“They may very well be mad, Lord Wolverston, but it doesn't mean what they are invoking isn't real,” Larissa said. “The evil they are engaging in certainly has enough dark energy about it to stir up very nasty things.”
Emme nodded her agreement, but her concern was clearly for the newcomer in their midst. She spoke directly to Abbigail, “I know many people have difficulty believing in things they cannot see, but there are forces in this world—,” Emme began.
Michael interrupted her. “You needn’t explain, Emme. Abbi and I both have more than a passing acquaintance with the supernatural. I forgot to mention with the wealth of other information imparted that Blagdon Hall has a resident ghost, one who appears to act as a guardian and warns of impending danger,” Michael said.
Rhys looked at Emme and said with finality, “You are not going. Not now, at any rate.” He glanced down the table at Larissa, “And you aren't either.”
Larissa said nothing, simply drank her wine and nodded slightly.
Emme smiled, “Of course not! But after the baby is born, if you’d like, Michael, I’d be happy to visit Blagdon Hall and find out what I can.”
Michael nodded and in response to Abbi’s quizzical look, explained, “Emme has the rather unique ability to communicate with spirits, much more directly than any of us.”
Abbi accepted that bit of information with aplomb, “That must be quite frightening at times. I am quite happy that my only encounter with spirits, thus far, has been the Gray Lady… But I had heard stories of her and knew her to be a benevolent spirit long before I ever saw her. Am I to assume then, that Larissa has some ability as well?”
Larissa spoke then, “My abilities are a bit harder to explain. I see both the past and the future... but only glimpses and usually not very useful information, at that.”
Abbi was still processing that when the Duke spoke.
“So, what is your next step?” Rhys asked.
Michael sighed, “I will pay a visit to the more questionable dealers and see whom Rupert and Lavinia have utilized the most, and find out what items they have expressed interest in procuring.”
“Emme and I are returning to Briarwood Hall day after tomorrow, but Spencer is remaining in tow.”
“And is bored to tears. A bit of adventure is just what I need,” Spencer added. “I'd be delighted to assist you and your lovely bride.”
“If you can refrain from killing one another in the process,” Rhys added nonchalantly, but it was clear from his expression that the rift between his two friends concerned him.
Michael grimaced but didn’t refuse the assistance. Spencer was a good man to have on hand in a fight, it was the lectures that preceded it that bothered him the most.
The remainder of the evening passed in a similar fashion. They made plans for the following day which included Rhys and Michael visiting the antique dealers in the afternoon. The morning would be spent seeing to Abbi’s wardrobe. As they left the palatial home, stepping out into the mist-shrouded night, Abbi allowed Michael to assist her into the carriage.
Once he'd climbed in beside her, she began to ask questions. “What on earth is going on between Lady Larissa and Lord Wolverston? The tension between them is thicker than this fog!”
Michael glanced at her in surprise before laughing. “Larissa has a girlish infatuation and Spencer, as ever, is being an honorable gentleman.””
“Larissa is hardly a girl...and I promise you, his actions might be gentlemanly, but his thoughts are anything but.””
Michael frowned then, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “How do you know that?”
Abbi looked at him as if were dense. “If he didn't have some awareness of her as a woman, he wouldn't make it such a point to avoid her, would he?”
Michael's frown was answer enough. It was clearly part of the equation that he had not considered. “Larissa has been traumatized... If Spencer has behaved inappropriately—What am I saying? Spencer would never act inappropriately, not with Larissa and not with anyone else.”
“You're certain of that? Even the best of men can be swayed by love... or lust.”
“Completely confident... I honestly believe his avoidance is in deference to her tender feelings... He would not feel right about leading her on. But if there's more to it—I'll speak to him.”
~*~*~
Spencer's head ached as he climbed into his carriage. He'd stayed behind, talking with Rhys, allowing the brandy he'd imbibed after dinner to catch up with him. The only thing worse than waking up with a hangover was going to bed with one. Perhaps it was his physical misery that distracted him and that left him unaware.
“Good evening, my lord.”
The small voice was achingly familiar to him. He tapped on the roof of the vehicle. “Hold, Smithers! Our departure has been temporarily delayed.”
“Yes, m'lord,” came the coachman's muffled reply.
Spencer turned up the wick of the interior lamp, ignoring the pain in his head from the light. He wanted his stowaway to bear full witness to his disapproval. “What the bloody hell are you thinking to climb into a man's carriage in the dark of night?”
Larissa shrugged, the movement sending the hood of her cloak falling backward. In the dim light of the carriage, her skin was like alabaster. “I needed to speak with you privately.”
Spencer wanted to shake her, which in of itself told him he needed to be as far from her presence as possible. No woman, in all his years, had tugged at his temper the way this slip of a girl did. “Young women of quality do not speak with gentlemen privately! It simply isn't done!”
“As my reputation is already in tatters, it hardly signifies,” she reminded him, her voice sharpening. “It's important, Spencer or I wouldn't importune you this way. Surely you know that?”
He did know. Still, it was difficult enough to face her across a room full of people who would gladly slaughter him if he acted on even one of the fantasies he had of her. It was far different to be in a small enclosed space, with only the dim light of a lamp and not a soul to protest if he were to kiss her. Or more. “The have on with it,” he said grudgingly.
“Michael is in grave danger. You mustn't let him out of your sight.”
“He's a newly married man, Larissa. I doubt he'll welcome my presence.”
She might have blushed. In the darkness, it was hard to know, but imagining it did little for his own discomfort. When she spoke, her voice was slightly breathless, which only further fueled his fantasies.
“Spencer, I'm quite serious. Tomorrow, you must beware the black coach.”
“Its London, love,” he said, the endearment slipping out, catching them both unawares. He continued, acting as if the small breach meant nothing. “There are too many black coaches to be wary of them all!”
She shook her head. “You'll know this one when you see it. It's out of place where you'll be... and they mean to kill him, Spencer.”
“Rupert and Lavinia?”
“Not Lavinia,” she said. “I only see a man who I assume is Lord Whitby... but I can't be sure. His face is unclear to me.”
“Obscured?”
“No,” she said. “It's simply not there. Like a carnival mask that hasn't been painted.”
Spencer ignored the chill her words created. “You need to return to the house before you are missed... I'll look out for him. I promise.”
Larissa rose from the bench and moved toward the carriage door, she stumbled and Spencer caught her, his arms sliding about her to steady her. It was an intimate pose, far more intimate than she was ready for. He felt her body stiffen, felt her withdraw from him.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispered.
“No. But it hurts you... when I cringe, or when I am frozen in fear, it wounds you deeply and for that I am sorry.”
He said nothing else, for she'd fled into the night, back to the solace of her lonely bed. He would be going to his own and it would offer no consolation at all. Easing back into the seat, he wrapped once more on the roof of the coach.
“Onward, Smithers!”