Two more morning calls had followed, unprecedented attentions on his part but as Abigail forbore the usual whirl of social functions, he had no choice but to go to her.
To no avail; the wretched girl remained out of his reach.
Turning from the window, Hanwood uttered a soft curse. ‘Enough of this! Damn the chit, she
will
see me!’ He strode from the room. ‘Have my phaeton brought round immediately.’ He told a footman and, slightly alarmed by the look on his master’s face, the man hurried to obey.
When the Earl drew his phaeton up to the curb in Half Moon Street twenty minutes later he handed the reigns to his groom. ‘Walk ‘em,’ he instructed tersely. ‘I will return shortly.’
His mood was as bleak as the grey sky above, temper that had been simmering for weeks threatening to explode. He rapped at the knocker and Hudson, the butler, opened the door and eyed him with mournful regret. They’d been here before. ‘Is Miss Abigail Margate at home?’
‘She is not receiving today, milord.’ It obviously pained Hudson to say so.
‘Is she home?’ Hanwood repeated impatiently.
Hudson hesitated. Usually callers could be fobbed off with the knowledge that those they were calling upon were not receiving visitors but Lord Hanwood had proved to less than amenable to negative news. ‘Milord, she will not see you.’
For a long moment Hanwood stood on the step, staring at the butler. ‘The devil she will not!’ Without ceremony, he pushed past the man and stepped into the hallway
Hudson was moved to protest. ‘Milord!’
‘Where is she, Hudson? Upstairs?’
The elderly servant opened his mouth, completely nonplussed. ‘Lord Hanwood, Miss Abigail is not receiving visitors!’
‘She is today.’
Striding up the stairs, he flung open several doors before discovering Abigail, white faced and furious, in a small boudoir that overlooked the street below. She had risen to her feet at the sound of his voice and now stood trembling with a mixture of emotions. Hanwood smiled grimly at the sight of her. ‘So there you are.’
‘What do you think you are doing, breaking in like this?’ She demanded breathlessly. The words might have said one thing but she was feeling something else entirely. The sight of Lord Hanwood’s tall, commanding figure sent her emotions into a tailspin of heady pleasure.
‘Evening up the account? I seem to recall you made free of
my
house.’ She flushed at his words. ‘Why will you not see me?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious!’
‘Believe me, Miss Margate,
nothing
is obvious where you are concerned.’
Hudson had arrived and stood in the doorway, bristling with indignation. ‘Milord, you must leave.’
‘I beg to differ. Be so good as to leave Miss Abigail and I alone for five minutes.’
‘Please stay where you are,’ Abigail returned breathlessly.
Hudson looked from one to the other, clearly torn between duty and civility. ‘I will fetch Lord Margate,’ he said, selecting the best compromise available.
A soft curse exploded from Hanwood. ‘It seems to me,’ he said savagely, ‘that I am never going to be allowed to be alone with you! Unless…’
Abigail, dismayed at her heart’s involuntary leap of delight when Hanwood had burst through the door, was terrified her very real pleasure at the sight of him would betray her. She had been applying a ruthless tourniquet to what she had decided was a schoolgirl infatuation by depriving herself of the sight of him completely. His entrance couldn’t have been more untimely. ‘I do not
want
to be alone with you. I insist you leave immediately!’
‘Well if you insist them I suppose I must. If you will excuse me, Miss Margate.’ The words were just as they should be but Abbey quickly discovered that Hanwood’s actions in no way married up to them. She watched incredulously as he walked towards her with purposeful intent.
‘What do you think –‘ she broke off with a small shriek when he swept her up, draping her unceremoniously across his shoulder before turning and heading for the door. ‘Are you mad? Put me
down
!’
‘And allow you to hide behind the brick wall of society again? Oh no! I am done with attempting to follow the conventional. Let us see how we fare if we throw it out the window.’
Hanwood descended the stairs and walked out the front door while Abbey pummeled his back with small, ineffectual fists. The groom, who’d been keeping his Lordships pair of grays warm, turned his head, eyes widening at the site of his master with a young female slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Hanwood unloaded the incensed Miss Margate onto the seat of the phaeton, keeping one hand firmly on her while he climbed up next to her. He looked at his groom and raised an eyebrow. ‘Unless you mean to lead us George, you can give me the reins now.’
George returned to his senses with a start and handed his Lordship the reins, scrambling to climb up behind as the phaeton leapt forward from the curb.
‘You must be completely mad!’ Abbey clutched a hand to her uncovered curls while the other tried to straighten her tangled skirts. She wasn’t dressed for this, her lilac cambric morning gown totally inappropriate for driving out. The thought made her lips twitch involuntarily. She was being kidnapped and she was concerned that her outfit wasn’t up to scratch. She knew she should be scandalized – no, she
was
scandalized! – by his Lordship’s behavior but there was no gainsaying the excitement that crackled through her veins like wildfire. His Lordship might have suddenly run mad but she couldn’t feel anything but astonished delight! ‘This… this is ridiculous!’
‘Agreed.’ Hanwood gave her an oblique glance, ‘The fact that I have to kidnap a woman to have a conversation with her
is
ridiculous. But as I have had little luck with following the rules of this damnable social dance I think now is the time to break them.’
‘What do you mean?’ Abbey demanded uncertainly. It occurred to her that the Earl had lost his reason. He was certainly
acting
irrationally.
‘I mean that if the only way to have a private conversation with you is by forcibly removing you from the social niceties that seem determined to keep me away, then so be it.’
‘But people will see us!’ People already had. The occupants of other vehicles, people on the street; most of society was familiar with Hanwood’s dashing get up and heads were turning, watching them go by. ‘What will they think?”
“To be frank, Miss Margate, I have rarely cared what people think of me.’
‘How fortunate for you. I, on the other hand, have no choice but to care!
‘Then let me offer my apologies.’
‘And you will take me home?’
‘No.’
Abbey bit her lip. The low buzz of excitement that fizzed along her nerve ends at this unexpected encounter with the man she had not been able to banish out of her thoughts for weeks was intoxicating. She knew it was improper of her to feel that way. But the deed was done now, his impetuous behavior undoubtedly branding her as immoral even if it were none of her own doing and the knowledge made her feel oddly… liberated. ‘Where are you taking me?’
For a long moment, Hanwood was silent, then, ‘Somewhere we can be alone together.’ He turned and offered her a somewhat crooked smile, ‘Be easy, Abigail. And trust that I mean you no harm…’
We can be alone together…
The idea of being alone with Hanwood aroused the most extraordinary feeling of anticipation within Abbey. When it became obvious that he had no intention of returning her home, she had fallen silent although her thoughts continued to race. Her awareness of the hard body next to her made her own tingle alarmingly, small shockwaves of heat dancing across her nerve ends. It was difficult to keep her eyes on the road ahead, even more difficult to conceal the soft flush that infused her body and she could only pray that if he noticed, he would attribute it to anger rather than her own inappropriate desires.
Hanwood might be her abductor but the real danger, Abbey reflected nervously, lay within her own treacherous self.
He took her to a small estate that was but a half an hour’s drive from town - a pleasant place set among secluded grounds. As the carriage rattled down the long driveway, Abbey saw the house. It looked deserted, windows covered. Hanwood seemed to sense her bewilderment. ‘The estate of a cousin who is currently abroad. Here, Miss Margate, I think we will be quite without interruption.’
Her pulse leapt like a wild animal on the fly, a delicious sense of fear and excitement roiling in her belly like dark smoke. She had no idea what he hoped to achieve by bringing her here under such outrageous circumstances. If it was Cecile’s letters, surely he must have no expectation of ever seeing them again. It was more likely that he intended to punish her, discredit her in society and condemn her to a shameful return to Derbyshire, a place she would be unlikely to emerge from again. Men such as Lord Hanwood were unused to losing. His frustration at being bested by a mere woman must have grown since Lady Embrey’s ball to the point where he had behaved like a madman.
Instead of drawing up at the front door, Hanwood continued around to the back. He handed the reins to his groom. ‘Take them to the stables, George.’ Climbing down, he held out his hand to Abbey. When she remained unmoving, his eyes glinted up at her, danger in their dark depths. ‘Oh come now. I know I put you up there but must I bring you back down again?’
Conscious of the silent groom, Abbey reluctantly gave Hanwood her hand, trying to ignore the jolt of pleasure touching him generated. Even with her feet back on the ground again, she felt as if the world was spinning around her, giddy with emotions she could not put a name to. He retained her hand in his own, tucking it into the crook of his arm while leading her to the door. He didn’t let her go, even when he reached up to retrieve the key from atop the broad lintel over the door. Abbey proceeded him inside, uncertain what to expect; what she found was a kitchen, very much like any other she had seen. Hanwood closed the door behind him meticulously before leading her further into the house. All was in shadow, drapes drawn, much of the furniture under covers. He took her into a small salon and at last released her, pulling a sheet off a chair and gesturing her towards it. ‘Will you not take a seat, Miss Margate? It is freezing in here. I will make a fire.’
‘How delightful.’ Abbey said, voice ironic.
He gave her a look. ‘I would appreciate it if you would remain in that chair.’
‘Under the circumstances, I can hardly run away. It is some way back to town and it would be difficult for me to return by myself.’
She watched him as he set about creating a fire with surprising efficiency. His habitual languor had quite disappeared and he moved with a graceful economy of movement that drew her eyes, fascinated by his innate masculinity. Fit and lean, there was none of the flabbiness that characterized many of the nobleman who considered ordering new boots to be the height of industry. Hanwood’s impeccable tailoring was merely a glove that disguised the well-muscled body beneath. After depositing her in the chair, he hadn’t looked at her again; instead he focused on the business of making a fire, introspective and silent. Within minutes he had a good blaze drawing in the hearth. Ten more, and it would begin to take the chill off the room. For some moments Hanwood knelt on the hearthrug, watching the leaping tongues of flame before turning his head to look at Abbey. Tension crackled in the room along with the kindling while the light from it gave the room a disturbing intimacy that made Abbey’s flesh prickle with a fresh wave of awareness.
‘I had believed, when I brought you here, that I merely wished to talk,’ he said softly, ‘Just… talk to you. I swear I had no other intention.’ His smile, when it came, was without humor. ‘Men are fools, are they not?’
Abbey repressed the desire to loosen the buttons of her lace collar. It was odd how the room seemed suddenly airless and overheated. He rose to his feet and came to stand before her chair, holding out his hand. Almost without thinking, she put her own in it and he drew her up to him, standing so close that his coat grazed the fabric of her dress. ‘I deluded myself into thinking that I meant no ill and yet here you are,’ he breathed. The naked hunger in his face should have shocked her but instead it warmed her far more than any fire ever could. ‘Alone with me once again. My poor Abigail… I fear we are both undone!’