Authors: Laura Landon
His muscled chest became a pillow for her head.
His powerful strength became something far more dangerous.
She leaned against him and slept better in the small, cramped, bouncy carriage than she had ever before.
“Abby, wake up. We’re here.”
Ethan spoke in a hushed whisper. He was afraid he might startle her. She slept so peacefully he was tempted to have Bundy drive around London a while longer so she could get the rest she needed. But that wasn’t a possibility.
“Abby, wake up.” He ran his fingertips down her silky smooth cheek.
“Is it morning?” she asked, burrowing her face deeper against his chest.
He smiled, then nestled her closer to him and brushed back the coppery tendrils that had fallen onto her face while she lay against him. Stroking her hair was like touching burnished brass, cool and vibrant, startlingly alive. Touching her face made his flesh sing with life. “No, Abby. It’s not morning. We’re in London.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her tone filled with disappointment.
Her body stiffened in his arms as she realized what it meant to be here. It did not take her long to push herself away from him and sit up straight. “I’m sorry. How rude of me to sleep all the way.”
Ethan looked at her, and a warm molten heat swirled deep in his belly. Her cheeks burned rose-red, glowing with the bright innocence of a woman newly awakened. A heaviness settled in his loins, an uncomfortable weight that ached to be soothed.
He opened the carriage door and stepped to the ground. He was eager to put some distance between them before he revealed more of himself than he wished to. He helped Stella disembark first, then turned to Abigail. He took her hand and led her up the short walk to the town house that, according to her father’s will, now belonged to her. George held the door for them, then took their cloaks.
“Thank you, George,” Abigail said, handing George her bonnet. She stepped to the middle of the room, then stopped. She turned around slowly, as if she either couldn’t quite remember what the house should look like or was not certain she wanted to. Watching her, Ethan wondered whether memories of living here were happy. He wasn’t certain they were.
A maid introduced as Genevieve led the way to a set of doors to their right. “You warm yourself by the fire, mistress,” she said, bustling through the entrance. “I’ll bring you each a nice hot cup of tea right off. Cook says she will have dinner ready whenever you like.”
“Thank you, Genevieve,” Ethan answered. “Tell Cook she may serve as soon as we’ve settled in.”
“Very good, sir,” Genevieve said, then rushed from the room.
Ethan walked over to the windows and pulled the draperies closed. He wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt the need to isolate Abigail from the outside world. He wasn’t certain he wanted her in London any more than she wanted to be here. Bringing her here could put her in danger.
He turned to find her studying this room as intently as she’d studied the foyer. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, but the frown on her face said something different.
“It’s just been so long since I’ve been here.”
“It’s a beautiful property.” Ethan took note of the rich oak paneling on the walls, the thick Persian carpet covering the floor, and the exquisite furnishings arranged to perfection throughout the room.
“This was my mother’s. It was her home, her showpiece.”
“Does it bother you to be surrounded by what was your mother’s? Or does every memory of your mother bother you?”
She shot him a closed look, a look that told him he’d stumbled into an area of which she didn’t wish to speak. “I don’t wish to discuss my mother.”
“I took the liberty of instructing one of the lads at Fallen Oaks to care for her grave. It looked as if it had been left unattended since her death.”
She turned. Whatever the hurt, the wounds were still too tender and exposed.
She stood on the other side of the room, holding in her grasp an exquisite china figurine of a mother holding a child. “Did you know my mother?”
“No. She was ill the day I came to tell you Stephen had left. I only met with you, then later your father.”
She turned the figurine over in her hands. “She was a very beautiful woman.”
“No doubt, if her daughter resembles her in the slightest.”
She lifted her gaze to his and smiled, but her smile was bittersweet. None of its beauty or warmth reached her eyes.
“I was always a disappointment to her. Mother was the belle of Society, the center of attention. She was thirty-eight when she died, and she still attracted men like bees to honey. I was never fashionable enough, or popular enough, or courted by enough dashing, eligible young bachelors to gain her approval.”
“Stephen desired you.”
“Stephen desired my dowry.”
Ethan stared at her pale face, a face void of all expression. He wondered if he would ever find out all that had happened to make her feel this way.
“I was not cut out to lead the life my mother led. I was more content to stay at home with Father, or go with him to the shipyards to watch one of his ships dock or set sail. Mother couldn’t tolerate such common trivialities. She couldn’t believe she’d produced a daughter who did.”
“What about your father? What was he like?”
She smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face. “He was fifteen years my mother’s senior, far too absorbed in his ships to keep up with Mother’s social life. They were worlds different from one another.”
She placed the figurine back on the shelf. “It was impossible for Mother to pretend interest in Father’s ships, so he left her to her rounds of parties and social obligations, and concentrated on spoiling me. There was nothing I lacked. Nothing I wanted that he didn’t get for me.”
“And you wanted Stephen?”
She studied her empty hands.
“After Stephen left, why didn’t you return to London?”
“I do not want to discuss this.”
“I do.”
She lifted her chin. Her huge green eyes stared at him with hard resolve. “Because I did not want to. Stephen’s leaving caused a large enough scandal. Even though our engagement hadn’t been announced, everyone assumed we would marry. Then Mother became ill.” She stepped around him. “I did not want to marry after that. I still don’t.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Yes, so I’ve said,” she repeated on a sigh. “For what it’s worth. We women really have very little control over our lives. No matter what our worth, we are still at the mercy of someone else.”
“You mean a man?”
“Yes.”
“You are not without power, Abigail. More than even you realize yet.”
She stared at him, the vibrant green of her eyes filled with thoughtful questioning. “Do you still intend to use my ships to get Stephen out of debt?”
“Yes. That has been my intent from the start. Once Stephen is out of debt, it will be his responsibility to stay that way. What he does after that is his concern.”
“Why do you care what happens to him?”
“Because the estates are not just his. They were my father’s, and his father’s before him. I can’t just sit by and let Stephen lose it all.”
“Even though you will never have any of it.”
“I have never wanted it. Stephen may have it with my blessing.”
“Do you care for him that much?”
He paused. “Yes. He is my brother.”
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He will.” Ethan walked to the fire and placed another log in the flames. “This is not the first time you’ve hinted that Stephen may not return. Why do you think he may not?”
Ethan stared at her. She was visibly uncomfortable.
“It’s been eighteen months,” she continued. “Even you have to admit that is far too long to stay away. Perhaps he does not want to come back to face…”
“Face, what?”
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “His debts. The loss of his estate. Whatever else he cannot address.”
“You are indeed a lady of mystery, Abigail. You know far more than you are willing to say, and yet…” He reached out and placed his hands atop her shoulders. Her eyes opened wide.
A blistering heat warmed his fingers. “What will you do when I discover your secrets?”
“No, sir,” she taunted. “The real question is, what will
you
do when you discover my secrets.”
He reached up and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “You’re wrong, Abby. I have nothing to lose. I’m a second son. I left here five years ago with nothing except the clothes on my back and a determination to succeed. All I have amassed I have done so by my own labor and sweat. If I were to lose it all today, I still have the clothes on my back and that same determination to succeed.”
“Except now you would have me.”
He touched her lips with the callused pads of his thumb. She was so soft, so yielding. So ready to be kissed. “You think you are that much of a burden?”
“In time, perhaps you will think so, too.”
He lowered his head and leaned his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes to drink in the feel and smell of her. “Perhaps,” he whispered.
“Please, don’t,” she whispered.
He stood straight. “Don’t what?”
“Touch me like that.”
“It’s hard not to.”
He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. He expected her lips to be soft and yielding beneath his own, but instead he received none of the fiery passion he’d hoped for. None of the burning thirst or the mind-jarring hunger that would jolt every nerve and set it to singing.
He lifted his lips from hers and looked down. Her face was ashen white. Her fingers clutched the sleeves of his jacket until the cloth bunched in crinkled wads in her fists. Her chest heaved with her labored breathing.
“What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head when no words would come.
“Why are you so frightened?”
A thousand thoughts ran through his mind at the same time. Of all the secrets she harbored, this one confused him the most.
Ethan wrapped his arms around her and held her closer. Her slight body trembled against him.
For a long time neither of them moved. He knew if he opened his arms, she would run from him. He refused to let her go. He kept his hold loose, his touch gentle, never tight enough to be confining. Just secure enough for her to feel no threat.
She let him hold her. In time, her trembling ceased. The grip she had on his clothing relaxed. Finally, she moved her hands and placed them on his chest atop his pounding heart. But she did not wrap her arms around him.
“Are you that afraid of me?” he whispered.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
But it was. She was fighting for breath like a frightened animal.
“Then what is it?”
Her gaze lifted to meet his, the emerald in her eyes the deepest green imaginable. “I—I just was not…expecting you to…”
He held her, his pride not allowing him to let her go. This was the woman he would marry, the woman he would take as his wife, the woman who would be the mother of his children.
She trembled in his arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just that…”
Ethan tipped his head back on his shoulders and closed his eyes. Perhaps he had startled her. She was, after all, still an inexperienced young woman. Although he could not imagine it, perhaps Stephen had never made such advances. Perhaps she had never been kissed.
He could not bring himself to release her. She belonged here, nestled in his arms. When she pulled back to look up at him, he lowered his head and kissed her on the forehead.
A deep sigh echoed in the silence as if she welcomed this new experience, then she leaned against him again.
They stood locked in each other’s arms while the clock in the foyer ticked away the minutes. Only when George cleared his voice to tell them that dinner would be served in an hour did he release her.
He accompanied her up the stairs to her room to rest until dinner. It would take time for her to accustom herself to him.
But he had time.
Ethan Cambridge had gone to the Burnhaven town house to change for dinner. Abigail used the time that he was gone to rest and to try to calm her nerves. But all she could think about when she closed her eyes was how her body had reacted to him when he held her. When he kissed her.
She didn’t want to feel anything when she was near him, but she did. There was something about his strength that caused her to want to remain in his arms. And she wasn’t referring to his physical strength. She was more drawn to an inner strength that made her feel safe. That caused her to want to rely on him to take care of her. And to take care of Mary Rose.
But she couldn’t allow herself to give in to those feelings. She could never forget what had happened. She could never forget what she’d done.
The blood ran cold through her veins. Instead of wanting to step into his arms, she should run as far away from him as she could. Instead of considering marriage to him, she should be planning a way to escape him. And she told herself she would. As soon as she was alone for more than just a few moments. As soon as she could clear thoughts of Ethan Cambridge from her mind.
She rose and dressed for dinner, then left her room. He was waiting for her when she entered the study. He greeted her politely, and together they went in to dinner.
They ate in silence. He didn’t comment on how little she ate or prod her to eat more. It was as if he’d vowed not to make her feel self-conscious or uncomfortable about anything. As if he’d decided to give her time to become accustomed to their situation.
She appreciated what he was doing. She was not the one, after all, who was forcing their marriage. He was. The least he could do was grant her time to come to terms with the magnitude of what he expected from her—even if she had no intention of going through with a marriage to him.
“Did you manage to rest at all while I was gone?” he asked, placing another helping of roast beef on his plate and nodding his thanks to the footman who served them.
“A little, yes.”
“I’m glad. I know the past several weeks have been difficult.”