Secret Confessions 0f The Enticing Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 8

  * * *

  Abigail got back to the shop three hours after leaving for the docks, having taken the scenic route back. Her lip was almost bloody with how much she had been biting it. She was no closer to a decision and was contemplating talking it over with her mother.

  She knew what Joan would say.

  Follow your heart.

  Abigail sighed. Her heart wanted to be with the Duke, but not as his mistress. So, what was she to do? Demand that he break his engagement and marry her? She could not in good conscience do that. There was no reason to think he would even consider it. Why should he? She was a mere lowly dressmaker. She had no right to the attentions of a duke. She should feel so lucky that he wanted her for a mistress.

  Only she didn’t feel lucky at all.

  Only lost, confused, and conflicted.

  The horses came to a stop outside the shop and she almost asked the jarvey to keep going. Take her home. She knew Philip might be there at this time of day, taking his afternoon nap before he ventured out into the town later in the day. He would know what she should do.

  Even as she sat dithering, her mother emerged from the shop.

  “Are you not coming in, Poppet?” she asked.

  Abigail frowned. “Don’t call me that,” she pouted, “I’m too old.”

  Her mother merely smiled, “All right then, Abby dear. Come on down and let’s get these fabrics stored before too much sunlight fades them.”

  Abigail startled, remembering her mission and why she had been at the docks in the first place. She scrambled to the ground, landing unsteadily before turning to assist the jarvey to unload her wares. Her mother was already picking packages up and transferring them to the interior of the shop.

  She took up her fair share of goods and dragged them into the shop, her steps flagging as she wallowed in thoughts of hopelessness and despair. Her mother stopped her at the door and gestured for her to put her load down.

  “Mother, we have to get this done before someone runs off with our goods,” Abigail said, forestalling whatever her mother was going to say. She knew her mother would ask why she was so low but she did not want to discuss it at present. She hurried out before Joan could say another word.

  * * *

  Joan dropped her bags inside the door of her house and went in search of Philip. She had deliberately left her daughter to close up the shop, so she would have some time to speak with Philip without interruption. She knew he had gone to see the Duke, but he had not told her what had transpired. Now with Abigail walking around blue-deviled and in high dudgeon, Joan simply needed to know what was going on.

  “Philip? Are you here?” she called, and immediately heard footsteps approach from the direction of the study. When Philip came into view, expression like thunder, Joan’s shoulders slumped.

  “What now?” she asked.

  Philip shook his head. “Your Duke means to make your daughter into some sort of light-skirt and I will not allow it.”

  “My Duke? Oh no, not mine. Abigail’s. I expect he has informed her of this, judging by how down in the dumps she is. What shall we do?”

  Philip snorted. “Kill him?”

  Joan gave him a look and he sighed.

  “I don’t know, Joan. These dukes are far too accustomed to getting whatever they want. We must persuade Abigail against this match and if the Duke is adamant, then we get her out of town.”

  “Abigail would never agree to run.”

  Philip sighed, “Then perhaps we can inform the Duke of exactly whose daughter he seeks a liaison with.”

  Joan blanched, “No! We cannot. She would be mortified if she knew and he might confront her on it. No. That is a secret we take to the grave.”

  Philip sighed in annoyance but nodded anyway, “As you wish. But we must come up with a plan because I am not letting her agree to this madness.”

  Joan nodded. “I agree.”

  “Agree to what?”

  They both startled, turning to see Abigail standing in the doorway, studying them way too shrewdly.

  “Oh uh…we were just deciding what to have for dinner.”

  Abigail’s mouth pursed in disbelief and she blinked but simply said, “Really? And what did you decide?”

  “Roast fowl,” Philip said, “I bought some for us from the inn as I knew you would be tired when you returned from the shop. Were you not expecting a shipment today?”

  Abigail nodded, “Yes, we were. I had to collect it from the docks.”

  “There you are, then. Why don’t you go and wash up and your mother and I will put dinner on the table?”

  Abigail hesitated but then nodded and took herself to her chambers. Joan and Philip watched her go before turning back to each other.

  “I hope you have that bird you spoke of, Philip, or we are to be caught in a Banbury tale.”

  Philip laughed, “Oh, ye of little faith,” he murmured, as he led her to the kitchen where a roast fowl was indeed laid out with a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese.

  “Humph,” Joan said, and turned to get the plates.

  * * *

  Percival woke early the next morning and headed to St. John’s Wood to look at cottages. His good friend Weston had informed him that it was the best place to install a mistress should one be interested in such pursuits. Percival thought it wise to secure a location while he pondered upon his next course of action. There was a very good chance that Abigail might turn down his overtures, in which case it would behoove him to turn his attentions to Lady Rosaline and going forward with the betrothal.

  The very thought turned his stomach but for the sake of the future of the dukedom he was quite prepared to step up to the mark. Marriages were not for love. They were for expedience and heirs. Lady Rosaline would give him pedigreed children that would, in their turn, increase the wealth and prestige of the Northcott name through their exploits.

  Still, he toured the neighborhood, looking for a cottage that might be for sale. It would make a suitable investment should his plans for a mistress fall through. While he normally left searching for properties to his man of business, this was one transaction he intended to take care of himself.

  After all, this is where Abigail and I shall be spending quite a bit of time. I should make sure it is suitable for us both.

  He came across a secluded cottage, its entrance lined with poplar trees, set far back from the thoroughfare with no neighbors within hearing distance. It was perfect.

  * * *

  Abigail ran into the Duke as she was returning from the market, a pigeon pasty in her hand, which she was trying to surreptitiously eat to quench her hunger. It had been an uncommonly busy day and they had not even been able to stop for nuncheon. She had used a trip to the market in search of thread to buy herself a pasty, and now all she wanted to do was eat it without embarrassment.

  But no, you could not let me do that.

  She glared at the Duke even as he doffed his hat to her.

  “Abigail. What a precipitous meeting.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Precipitous, indeed.”

  He gestured toward his curricle. “May I offer you a ride somewhere?”

  She looked from him to his carriage. “What are you doing here, so far from Westminster?”

  To her surprise, his face flushed and he looked flustered. “I…had some business in St. John’s Wood.”

  Rather than decrease her suspicions, this statement simply increased it. Oh, I know full well what titled gentlemen are about in St. John’s Wood.

  “Is that so? So you would extend carte-blanche to me while already enjoying it with someone else?” she hissed.

  She would not have thought it possible but he seemed even more flustered. “What? No! Whatever made you think that? I was merely prospecting suitable properties.”

  “Suitable properties?” she repeated slowly, “that is terribly presumptuous of you.”

  Suddenly his face was full of mischief. “I like to be prepared.”

  “We
ll, I hope you have not yet purchased this property for it is sure to go to waste.” She said and tried to stomp off in a huff. He would not let her, grasping her arm in a rather detaining fashion. Unless she wanted to make a scene in the marketplace, she had to stand there and let him turn her to face him. In spite of herself, she was rather impressed at his strength.

  “Come with me. Let me show it to you before you make up your mind.”

  She was already shaking her head even before he was done speaking. “It matters not if it is bedecked with gold and jewels and the bed is the softest in the land. My answer won’t change.”

  He sighed, shaking his head in annoyance, “All right then, at least allow me to take you back to your shop. It is quite a way from here.”

  “I am used to the walk,” she snapped, trying to take back ownership of her arm.

  “I am trying to get you used to a better life!” he exclaimed with irritation.

  She stopped squirming to glare at him, “Well, nobody asked you to. Leave me alone and go back to your affianced.”

  Instead of doing as she asked, he began walking, dragging her along with him until they reached the curricle.

  “Get in,” he ordered.

  She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his orders when he swooped down and kissed her, right there in the street! His lips on hers felt alien and yet shockingly familiar. She felt the wetness of his tongue as his lips clung to hers and she froze, unable to fathom what was happening. Her lips parted slightly and his tongue was there, licking at her top lip before he bit down slightly on her bottom one. Her whole body shuddered and she reared back, truly flustered.

  “What—?” she began to say before he scooped her up and deposited her in his vehicle. She sat frozen in shock as he jumped into the driving seat and took up the reins. She did not know what was happening, her head was spinning, and she felt faint.

  “Heeya!” Percival cried, and the horses took off at a brisk trot. Abigail could only stare at him, in stupefied silence.

  “How…dare you?” she whispered eventually as they left the city behind and ventured into the greenery of Hyde Park.

  “How dare I? Did you forget that I am a Duke?”

  “Did you forget that I am no piece of baggage but an actual person?”

  Percival laughed, further infuriating Abigail, “Oh, trust me, I could never forget that.” His eyes raked her from head to toe, lingering on her bosom and lips and Abigail found that she was flushed with fury, embarrassment, and arousal.

  Who does this man think he is? She fumed to herself.

  An inner voice, sounding strangely like an amused Philip, answered her question.

  A Duke?

  She humphed, turning away from him.

  “Where are you taking me?” she growled, “Aren’t you afraid of being seen with me in public?”

  Percival said nothing, merely urged his horse on.

  * * *

  Percival did not know what had come over him. One minute he was being a chivalrous gentleman and offering to take Abigail wherever her heart desired, the next he was a boor, forcing her into his curricle and veritably kidnapping her! He had never done such a reckless thing in his life but when she threw his offer back in his face with such contempt, he could not stand for it. He had to do something.

  And something turned out to be kidnapping.

  He had no real idea where he was taking her. All he knew was that he could not let her go without convincing her of the advantages of his proposition. Yes, she was angry now, but she would come around and everything would be as it should be. He would complete the transfer of the St. John’s Wood property on the morrow and she would move in as soon as possible. She would provide him with a haven of peace and release, and he would make her every wish come true. There was no fairer trade to be had.

  Chapter 10

  Damned Hum

  Vivian, the Countess of Huntington, rushed into her house, skirts flying unbecomingly, face flushed from her hurry.

  “Where is my daughter?” she asked her lady’s maid who had hastened to attend her as soon as she was notified of her mistress’ agitated state.

  “She is t’home My Lady. Shall I fetch her for yer?”

  “Yes, yes, Fiona, tell her to attend me in the parlor. And have Cook bring some tea with sherry in it. Maybe some Scotch cakes, as well.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Fiona curtsied and hurried off to do as she was told. Vivian sighed, walking at a more sedate pace toward the parlor. She sat down, closed her eyes, and breathed deep, wondering how she could possibly break this news to her daughter.

  “Mother?”

  She opened her eyes to see Rosaline standing in the doorway, looking concerned.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Vivian shook her head, “No, my dear. Everything is not all right. Come and sit next to me.” She patted the seat at her side. Rosaline sashayed slowly across the room, skirts swinging from side to side as she moved, her brow furrowed. She seated herself slowly beside her mother, eyes fixed on Vivian’s face.

  Vivian took a deep breath, closing her eyes and then opening them again, “I heard the most frightful bit of on-dit today…” she began.

  Rosaline covered her mother’s hand with hers. “Tell me.”

  “Your…Beau. The Duke, he…”

  Rosaline leaned closer, looking intent. “What, Mother?”

  “He…” She straightened her spine, determined to get the words out as her gaze fixed on her daughter, “Countess Castlereagh’s lady’s maid was at the butcher’s when she caught sight of the Duke in the street, having a conversation with…”

  “With whom, Mother?”

  “With that…woman. From the dressmaker’s shop. The one who was the talk of the town. He…she said he kissed her, right there in the street!”

  “No.” Rosaline said at once, “He wouldn’t.”

  The Countess regarded her daughter pityingly. “He might be a Duke, but he is also a man. Mark my words, my dear, he can.”

  “Well…perhaps she was mistaken.”

  Vivian squeezed her daughter’s hand, “I wish that were so, darling. But she was quite sure.”

  “Well, then…we must do something, Mother. We cannot let this stand!”

  “Yes, Rosaline, you must break your engagemen—”

  “Mother, no. I don’t want to do that! I shall be his Duchess. All we must do is get rid of the girl.”

  Her mother stared in disbelief, “And how do you propose to do that?”

  Rosaline stood up very suddenly, “I shall call on Lady Stanley. She’ll know what to do.”

  Vivian felt the intended dig and flinched, swallowing her spleen. She had never liked Lady Stanley, although she could not quite say why. She did not like that her daughter had gotten quite close to her as she dangled after the woman’s nephew. However, Rosaline was right about one thing. If anyone would know how to deal with the Duke, it would be his aunt, who had brought him up from a young boy to the man that he was today.

  Vivian sighed, “You will do what you must.”

  Rosaline nodded determinedly, “Yes. I will.”

  * * *

  He ended up taking her to a spot in a quiet area of Hyde Park, handing her down from the carriage even as she sulked at him.

  “We need to speak candidly,” he insisted, as she crossed her arms and looked away from him.

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  He sighed, refraining from rolling his eyes lest she turn around and see. “Well, I have plenty to say to you, and you will listen.”

  She shook her head so vigorously that the pins she’d secured it with fell out and her dark brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in luxuriant waves. His fingers itched with the urge to bury themselves in her tresses and he curled them into fists lest they do so without his permission, or more importantly, hers.

  “Abigail? Please look at me.”

  She whimpered, and he could see that her bottom lip wa
s trembling.

  “I will take you back to your shop presently, I give you my word. But please, let us talk.”

  She turned to stare at him, “You kissed me.”