Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 11

  “It isn’t my fault Lord Brighton concocted some crazed plan to force me into marriage.”

  He cursed himself once again. If only he’d watched Brighton closer. “What plan?”

  “He said my stepmother and several others would soon find us in a compromising position so he’d be forced to propose and I’d have to accept.”

  Stephen wanted to shake her, to make sure she realized what a near miss she’d had. “Why would you go outside by yourself in the first place?”

  She glared at him. “The same reason you did, my lord. To escape the crowded ballroom.”

  It was hard not to sympathize with her when she stated it like that. “Next time, take an escort with you. If not Brighton, Simmons could’ve been waiting in the garden for you.”

  She gave an unladylike snort. “At times, an escort is impossible. My head hurts.” She pressed her hand to it again.

  “Not as much as Brighton’s.”

  “There is some comfort in that.” She looked up at him. “Thank you. I’m not certain what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”

  How remarkable that she wasn’t appalled at the beating he’d given Brighton, that she hadn’t turned and run when she’d witnessed the violence of which he was capable. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind on their conversation rather than the flood of emotions coursing through him.

  “You’d be engaged. To an idiot.”

  “I would’ve refused.”

  “The choice wouldn’t be yours,” he argued.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we live in modern times.”

  He shook his head. “You underestimate the power of society and its opinion of you and your entire family. Ruination is no easy path to walk.”

  “Yet here I am alone in a carriage with you.”

  “No one saw us.”

  As she winced again, Stephen’s anger softened. “You’re right. This is not your fault. That lies squarely with Brighton. But you must be more careful.” He lifted his hand to cup her cheek.

  “Brighton is not the first to try to manipulate me.”

  “Nor will he be the last.” He wanted to say that she was a beautiful, eligible woman whom any man would be lucky to call his wife. But he kept his words to himself.

  She sighed and rested her cheek in his palm. “It’s very tiresome to be on guard from such things. Especially at my age.”

  The thought of some man putting his hands on her enraged him all over again. He closed his eyes for a moment to tamp down his anger. “You are far from on the shelf. I’d suggest you find a husband who can offer you protection.”

  “I don’t intend to marry.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I believe we have time.” He gently brushed a strand of her hair off her cheek, wondering if she trusted him enough to share a part of herself.

  “I have a rather unique...endeavor,” she whispered after a long pause.

  “Oh?” He couldn’t imagine what endeavor would prevent her from marrying.

  “I—I make investments.” She dropped her gaze as though she didn’t want to see his reaction to her confession.

  He frowned, still not quite understanding. “Investments? Of a financial nature? As a hobby?”

  “It’s not a hobby,” she retorted, her irritation obvious. “My father did not leave us in the best of financial circumstances when he died. With no male heir, his title went to my uncle, who is not the generous sort. We needed income.” She shrugged as she looked back up at him. “I have a gift for picking successful ventures, you might say.”

  “You are clever, aren’t you?” That fit perfectly with what he knew of her. Intelligence shown like a beacon out of her blue eyes.

  She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “Men do not appreciate discussing such things with a woman. A husband would never allow me to continue my work. I assist not only my family, but our servants and a few other acquaintances as well. Plus he could take all the money I’ve earned for his own purposes. I cannot allow that.”

  He rubbed his thumb along her soft cheek. “The right man would understand. Perhaps even help where he could.”

  “Not the men I’ve met. Lord Brighton is a good example.”

  “He’s a poor example of a man.” He shook his head, wondering what other secrets she had.

  “I intend to build our wealth so we can provide a dowry for the twins. And I want to advise others on how to invest their money. Do you know how many widows there are who have no idea what to do or how to do it? They stuff their money under the mattress or in an old teapot because they don’t know what else to do.” The passion in her voice was undeniable.

  “I had no idea,” he admitted. He’d never thought on the subject overmuch.

  “At any rate, I have no intention of marrying as a husband would spoil my plans.”

  “I don’t agree with you but I do respect your desire to help others. Did your parents’ marriage lead you to this conclusion?”

  “No, but I’ve come to realize theirs was the exception. Uncle Reginald is horrible to his wife and she says nothing. Uncle Herbert writes out a schedule for Aunt Lottie. I find it all quite ridiculous. Women have no rights once they marry.”

  “So you’d like to keep your freedom.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Those blue eyes implored him to understand.

  “What sort of things would you do without the restrictions a husband might place on you?” He was curious to hear what she’d say. He’d never met a woman who said and wanted the things she did.

  “I would—” She hesitated for a moment, lowering her lashes, then lifting them again, staring at his mouth. “I would kiss you and not worry over the consequences.”

  His heart stopped. He could only watch as she drew closer, slowly, haltingly. Her breath fanned across his cheek. Yearning welled through him until at last her lips found his.

  He’d been so sure he was strong enough not to let this happen again.

  But no.

  He’d underestimated her power over him. Her lips were soft and warm and pressed gently against his. Her golden light was so appealing compared to the darkness he often endured.

  She eased back to look into his eyes. “I don’t want to remember Brighton when I go to sleep tonight. I’d much rather dream of you.”

  Unable to deny her request, he took her mouth with his, until she sighed and her whole body relaxed against his. Though his desire for her was almost painful in its intensity, he held back, reining in his passion. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her with care, offering comfort.

  She grimaced in pain, arching her back.

  Stephen loosened his hold. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.” It made him want to pummel Brighton all over again.

  “My back. My head. Damn that man.” Abigail grasped his arms as he released her. “Don’t let go. Please.” She laid her head on his shoulder and burrowed. There was no other word for it.

  “No. I won’t let go.” His heart squeezed as he uttered the promise.

  A soft tap sounded at the carriage door, and Stephen heard his footman’s voice. “I’ve delivered the message, my lord. Shall we proceed?”

  “To Miss Bradford’s residence, please.”

  Soon the carriage swayed. Abigail remained in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, her lavender fragrance teasing his senses, her soft form pressed against his.

  He did the only thing he could—he held her gently and told himself to let tomorrow take care of itself.

  Life took twists that one never expected—like holding the very person you could never have.

  ***

  The next morning, Abigail snuggled deeper into her pillow, reluctant to rise. She was sore from the bump on her head and the bruises on her back, physical reminders of last night’s events.

  Emotionally she felt far worse. Humiliated, angry, and somehow more fragile than ever before. She’d always believed herself strong and capable, but never had she go
ne through what she had last night.

  The new feeling of vulnerability made her question her hopes for the future. Part of her wondered if her mother and Stephen were right. Perhaps she should consider marrying. A husband would provide protection. It was highly unlikely that she’d ever have to worry about being accosted if she were married.

  A knock sounded at her bedroom door before she could ponder exactly why the idea held so little appeal.

  “Come in.”

  Irene peeked in, concern evident in her expression. “I came to see how you’re feeling.”

  A mixture of fear and embarrassment poured through Abigail. Had her mother found out what had truly happened? Then Abigail remembered Stephen telling his footman to deliver the message that she was ill. Relief made her light-headed. She’d prefer no one learn what had occurred.

  “Ah—better I think. A little tired and a bit of a headache still.” That much was true, she thought as guilt tapped on her shoulder.

  Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and studied Abigail with a critical eye. She put a hand to her forehead. “You’re pale, but no fever. Why don’t you rest in bed this morning and then see how you feel?”

  The comforting presence of the woman who’d been both her mother and friend for so many years brought a lump to her throat. For a long moment, she was tempted to let her tears flow and tell her everything.

  “What is it, Abigail?”

  Yet all the years of protecting her could not be overcome so easily. Instead, Abigail found herself asking, “Did Lord Brighton speak with you?”

  A knowing smile came over Irene’s face. “As a matter of fact, yes. Did he say something to you?” The hope in her voice made Abigail squirm.

  “I realize you only want what’s best for me,” she said, trying to find some way to make her mother understand, “and that you’d like for me to marry. But I do not welcome his interest.”

  “But—”

  “Please don’t encourage him.” Though tempted to tell her exactly what the lord had done last night, she couldn’t see a purpose to it. “I don’t care for him at all. He’d be the last man I’d want to spend any time with, let alone the rest of my life.”

  “I see.” Irene stared at her, obviously trying to read between the lines. “I realize he isn’t young or handsome, but he is wealthy. He could take care of all of us. You’ve carried the burden of that for far too long.”

  Frustrated, Abigail tried to think of a way to make her understand. “We can take care of ourselves. We don’t need a man for that. Especially not Lord Brighton.”

  “Did he do something inappropriate?”

  “Yes, and I told him in no uncertain terms his advances were not appreciated.” Not that he’d listened to her, but there could be no doubt he’d received Stephen’s message. “I believe he now understands my feelings on the matter.”

  Irene frowned. “I hope nothing I said made him act rashly.”

  She took Irene’s hand. “I wish you’d understand that I don’t want to marry.”

  “I only want you to have—”

  “What you and Father had, I know, but what you shared was so special that I doubt many people have that chance.”

  Irene squeezed her hand. “As long as you promise not to completely rule out marriage if the right man should come along.”

  Abigail smiled, unable to keep the image of Stephen from popping into her mind. He made her heart beat faster, of that there was no doubt. She’d told him of her interest in financial matters and he hadn’t batted an eye. But she didn’t think he was interested in marriage any more than she. “Yes, I promise, as long as you promise not to encourage anyone else to approach me.”

  “That’s fair.” Irene leaned forward to press a kiss on Abigail’s temple and squeeze her shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly, dear. Stay right here and rest. I’ll have Eloise bring up some warm chocolate.”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  Sophia and Olivia arrived with the hot drink and sat on either side of her for a time, concerned that she wasn’t feeling well. Their presence gave her such comfort, but when their governess arrived, they departed, leaving her alone with her thoughts again.

  As she enjoyed the chocolate, Abigail couldn’t help but imagine the story Lord Brighton would circulate for his injuries. The idea of running into him next week or even next month made her feel worse.

  Would he try something again? She shuddered at the thought. Last night had been a narrow escape. If she wanted to remain independent so she could continue to manage her family’s investments and help others manage theirs, vigilance needed to be her constant companion. The next time, Stephen wouldn’t be there.

  She’d be forever grateful to him for rescuing her otherwise she might be betrothed this morning. She frowned, trying to remember what he’d said as he’d carried her to the carriage. Something about how he’d seen Brighton’s ill intent. Whatever had he meant?

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes, embarrassment heating her face as she thought of her forward behavior in the carriage. Then she realized she didn’t care. She’d do it again if given the chance. Stephen was unique as was her reaction to him. She might never again meet a man like him.

  Strong.

  Virile.

  Passionate.

  And she mustn’t forget dangerous. The manner in which he’d dealt with Brighton with such ease made her shiver.

  Dangerous indeed.

  He kept a distance between himself and others, and that was something with which she was familiar.

  She would never again risk losing someone she loved. She’d decided that soon after her father had been killed. The pain of losing him had been unbearable. While she refused to turn over all her hard-earned income to a husband, her decision to never marry hinged even more on her desire not to be hurt again.

  To date, she hadn’t met anyone who’d changed her mind. In fact, the men she’d encountered confirmed to her that she wasn’t meant for marriage.

  A marriage of convenience had never been an option she’d seriously considered. Convenient for whom? Certainly not for her. Besides, her stepmother and the twins still needed her.

  Yet without the protection of a husband, she was vulnerable to what Lord Brighton or any other hopeful suitor imposed upon her as Stephen had said. A dismal thought for certain.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

  “Miss? You have a visitor,” said Eloise with a smile.

  Dread filled her. Surely Lord Brighton wouldn’t have the gall to come. “Who is it?”

  “Lord Ashbury.”

  The air left her lungs in a whoosh. How unexpected. Her cheeks flooded with heat. Her heart beat furiously.

  “Shall I have Ponsford send him away?”

  “No! No.” She sucked in a breath. “Tell Ponsford I’ll be down shortly.”

  “Of course, miss. I’ll be right back to assist you.”

  As soon as the maid shut the door behind her, Abigail scrambled out of bed, breathing deeply to calm herself. “Oh, dear!”

  What on earth was Stephen doing here? Her mind spun at the possibilities. A flutter of longing curled deep within her.

  Abigail put a hand to her forehead to see if she had a fever after all. She must be coming down with something. No other excuse explained the heat flooding her entire body.

  Shoving the unfamiliar feelings aside, she hurried to her wardrobe, wondering what to wear. She still hadn’t been able to decide by the time her maid returned. “Which one, Eloise?”

  “Perhaps the yellow? You look lovely in that.” The maid pulled out the gown to hold it for Abigail’s inspection. Her brown eyes twinkled with excitement, making Abigail realize how unusual the situation was.

  Rarely—no, never—did she have male visitors.

  “Excellent idea. Did you see him? How did he look?” Abigail asked as Eloise assisted her with her stockings and chemise.

  “Ponsford? He looks fine, miss.”


  “Not Ponsford. Lord Ashbury.”

  “Oh. I didn’t see him. Ponsford had already showed him into the drawing room.”

  With quick efficient movements, Eloise fastened her corset then reached for her camisole. Finally she drew the gown over Abigail’s head and began to arrange her hair.

  “I hit my head last night,” Abigail said as she touched the bump, “so please be careful.”

  “Oh, miss, that’s a terrible goose egg! No wonder you have a headache this morning.”

  With a gentle touch, she arranged Abigail’s hair into a loose chignon. “There you are, miss. You look lovely.”

  Abigail studied her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. Her face was pale and shadows marked her eyes, but little could be done about that. She drew a deep breath to calm herself, surprised to realize she was trembling. Surely Stephen was only here to make certain she was recovering from the previous night’s events.

  Very kind of him actually.

  How odd that ‘kind’ was a word she’d use to describe him despite the violence she’d witnessed last night.

  Uncertain what to expect, she made her way down to the drawing room where Ponsford stood immobile in front of the closed door. The butler made no effort to open it for her.

  “Are you going to let me in?” she asked warily.

  “Do you realize the identity of your visitor?”

  Abigail narrowed her eyes, wondering where this conversation was going. “Lord Ashbury?”

  Ponsford raised a brow—the right one of course. “I do believe he’s the very person we agreed it would be best if you avoided.”

  Abigail had forgotten that. “Oh. Yes. Well...”

  “He is a dangerous man, miss,” he whispered.

  The image of him beating Brighton came to mind. “That’s true, but he’s helped me tremendously.”

  “He located Simmons?”

  “Not yet. He might need assistance with that.”

  Ponsford looked down his nose at her. “That shouldn’t require your involvement.”

  “Well—”

  “I don’t believe it wise to associate with him.”