Baron of Blasphemy Page 3

  Her eyes widened even as she appraised him. They continued to dance, silence falling between them again. But she nibbled at her lip until finally she spoke again. “You came for me?”

  He nodded, drawing her just a touch closer. “For our match.”

  She stiffened underneath his touch. “Our match. Of course.”

  He knew that had been the wrong thing to say. Because he wanted the match not for her but for himself. He’d already admitted his needs, not hers, motivated him. Otherwise, he’d have stayed home or gone to the gaming hell. He avoided society for a reason. Not only did he not like the ton or dealing with society’s snobby elite, he wasn’t particularly good at it. “Did you know that I am the second son?”

  Her eyes crinkled as she looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  He cleared his throat. “My older brother died three years ago, leaving me to take his place as the Baron of Blackwater.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she answered, her hand giving his biceps a squeeze.

  He shrugged. Should he tell her that there had never been any affection between him and his sibling? That he felt guilty for not mourning his brother? He didn’t covet the title, never had. In fact, he wished it was a burden placed on someone else. But shouldn’t a man be sad when his brother was gone? “Thank you. We weren’t close.” He hesitated, assessing her reaction, but she only looked curious. “He was much older than me.”

  “How much older?”

  “Seven years,” he answered. “He was off to school by the time I was toddling about and by the time he returned to take the title, I was a student at Eton.”

  He’d only realized later that his brother was as mean as their father. As a child, he’d imagined his brother being kind and caring and once William came home, they’d unite against the tyrant who ruled them.

  In reality, after his father’s death, his brother had slipped into the role of bully who lorded power over him and his mother with great delight.

  She gave him a half smile. “A life without siblings…how freeing.”

  He cocked his brows. “Trust me. I was far from free under my father’s rule or my brother’s and now...” No, he was weighed down by his duty to the title.

  She gave a tiny nod. “I don’t want you to misunderstand. I love my sisters. Very much.”

  His heart turned in his chest. He could see the affection between them. Underneath the bickering and frustration. “I understand.”

  “But,” she paused as he swept her about in a circle again. “They think they know what is best for me at all times. No one tells them what to do. Why must they dictate every aspect of my life right down to the man I am supposed to marry? Why don’t I get to make choices the way they have done?”

  He saw her point. He didn’t particularly like being told what to do either. “Have you considered marriage might be freeing for you, after all?”

  Her brows lifted. “It could be.”

  He stared down at her, surprised by her answer.

  But she ignored his look and continued on. “If I marry the right man.”

  Ahhh…he understood. The music died and the dancers stopped. He knew what she’d say next…the Baron of Blasphemy was not the right man. Even knowing what she’d say, he wasn’t finished with this conversation. Not even close.

  Looking over his shoulder, he started for the doors to the terrace.

  She looked back too. “Where are we going?”

  He placed his hand at her back. He liked the way the curve felt in his hand. “Outside. We need a moment.”

  “Tongues will wag.”

  “They already are.” He didn’t break stride as he kept moving toward the doors with his arm about her.

  She smiled then and relaxed as he guided her through the doors. They required a bit of privacy because negotiations were about to begin.

  Chapter Four

  The cool night air hit her skin, causing Abigail to shiver. Or was that the large man next to her?

  She had to confess, he’d thrown her a bit off kilter this evening.

  Because he seemed to understand her.

  And he’d been willing to listen too.

  And now, they’d made a lovely escape, if only for a bit, from that torturous party.

  They walked among a few other guests, the noise from the ball filtering out into the night from the row of open doors. But soon, Blasphemy led them into the shadows and down a secluded path.

  “Where are we going?” she asked a bit breathlessly. She’d never been alone with a man like this before. Should she be nervous? She trembled as she studied his profile in the dark. She was a bit afraid, but not of him…

  His free hand reached for hers as they slipped through two bushes, the branches creating a hushed silence about them.

  “This should do,” he said quietly. “We’re going here.”

  “Why?” she asked, hoping for a better answer.

  He looked down at her, his arm still wrapped about her waist. “I wish to discuss what it is you want, and what it is I want, and how we might move closer together.”

  “We’re fairly close,” she replied. “I can feel you breathing.”

  He chuckled. “That is an excellent start, but I was referring more to a closeness of mind. Particularly on the subject of marriage.”

  Her brows shot up as he tightened his hand on hers. She allowed him to settle a bit closer. “We’re here to discuss marriage?” Her mouth curved up at the corners. “I’m in the garden, hidden in a hedge, in the dark of night, with a known rake, and he wishes to discuss matrimony.”

  She’d been tucked against his side, but he pulled her around so that her front pressed to his, his hand sliding up her back to her bare shoulder. Delightful sensations tingled along her skin. “I offered to show you some of my rakish benefits earlier, but you declined.”

  She tsked. “How will you take me seriously if I just start allowing you all sorts of liberties?”

  He reached his gloved hand up to trail his fingers along her cheek before softly cupping her jaw. “I take you very seriously, Miss Abigail Carrington. You are a force to be reckoned with.”

  Those words softened her. She wished to be taken seriously, and receive the respect her other siblings seemed to achieve effortlessly. Because sometimes she wondered if her sisters were right. Had her father’s favoritism been a hindrance?

  Blasphemy’s words assuaged some of her fears, and she appreciated that he understood, but before she could thank him, he bent down and brushed his lips against hers.

  The touch was gentle and brief, a light sweep of his mouth that was so faint, it might not have happened at all.

  Except tingling spread from her mouth all through her body. He held her against his large, muscular chest and when she gasped, hers pressed against his.

  He kissed her again, firmer, harder and she melted into the touch. Into him. This was divine.

  He lifted his head then, his thumb brushing across her lips. “You tasted as good as I thought you would.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, his words sending another shower of tingles all along her skin. “You’ve thought about the way I would taste?”

  “Indeed,” he said, his breath whispering over her cheek. “And it was even better than I pictured. Sweet but citrusy too with just a touch of…” he paused, “clove.”

  Her tongue darted out to touch her own lips. He’d picked up all of that? “You are…”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Clever?”

  “Dangerous,” she replied, attempting to step back. He was a rake, after all, and she was very quickly falling under his spell. He’d ply her with kisses and pretty words and then she’d agree to whatever he wished. She should have known. She took a more definitive step back and pulled out of his arms. She’d allowed him too many liberties. But as she stepped back, she tripped on a loose stone under her left foot.

  He tightened his grip in an instant, bringing her back against him. This time, however, his muscles were taut, and the
y rippled against her.

  She gasped as she grabbed his shoulders. Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes wide. Why did he have to be so…masculine? It would help her to make a stand if he were less appealing.

  He gave her an arrogant grin as he bent toward her, her body bending back. “See? A husband can really come in handy.”

  She tightened her grip on the fabric of his sleeves. “So in a few years when I happen to trip again, you’ll be there?”

  “Indeed.” His smile widened. “And when you need your fire banked, or your horse saddled…”

  She wrinkled her nose. “With all due respect, Blasphemy, a groom could—"

  “Not that name.” His smile disappeared as his brow furrowed. “That’s not the name of a husband.”

  She gave her head a bit of a shake. “It’s what everyone else calls you.”

  “Not you,” he said. “My name is Chadwick, but my mother called me just Chad when I was a boy.”

  “Chad?” It suited him. Strong and pleasing. But then her gaze narrowed. Did he think a different name would make her forget his reputation? “Will the rest of the world continue to call you Blasphemy?”

  He lifted one shoulder, attempting to look casual but she felt the tension in him, taut in his stomach and the hard band of his arms still wrapped about her. “I’m not certain. I’m rather new to this.”

  “Fair enough,” she muttered, pushing his arms away to straighten up. “Did you bring me out here to kiss me? Because if so…”

  “No, actually,” he answered, not letting her go. “I understand that you are tired of being told what to do. It’s a problem I have a great deal of experience with.”

  “I see.” She didn’t. Not really. Was he referring to his brother? His father? She’d like to ask him more about the childhood he’d alluded to. But she wasn’t here to get to know him.

  “I wanted to assure you that you will have choices in our match.”

  That made her forget her musings about his past. “What sort of choices?’

  “Whatever you wish. Bash made the match, but you and I can decide the terms. What is it you want from me? What would make you content in our union? Think on it.”

  This was not the conversation she’d expected. She swallowed as she stepped to his side once again, slipping her hand into his elbow. He was trying to please her, and she did appreciate that. Very much. But she’d already been clear about what she wanted. She had to have a man’s affection because she needed proof…proof she was worthy. “Chad,” she said softly. She’d been just about as sharp as she was able in their last two conversations, but she wanted to temper these next words. She appreciated what he’d offered. She really did. “But I already told you. What I am searching for is love.”

  * * *

  Love?

  The woman was daft.

  He looked down at her, her face drawn into sympathetic lines. No, she wasn’t. She was intelligent and she was strong enough to stick to her point even after that kiss.

  Bloody hell, that kiss had been far better than it should have been. It had been a light brush of the lips. He’d kissed a nun with more passion than that. Granted, she’d been a very naughty nun, but still…

  The light touch of his mouth to Abigail’s should have bored him. Instead, every muscle in his body had tightened like a bow string, ready to release.

  She’d fit snuggly against him, her lovely scent wrapping about him.

  He wanted to kiss her again and again.

  Instead, he was being rejected for love.

  He tried not to let out a rumble of frustration.

  What was love?

  A myth. A fiction.

  There was sex. There was mutual need inside and outside of the bedchamber. He’d care for her needs. Keep her safe.

  He’d give her a title…

  Then his gut twisted as he realized why he didn’t like his nickname on her lips. Being the Baroness of Blackwater was one of the few tangible things he had to offer, and he’d gone and sullied it with the name. Blasphemy.

  And his behavior.

  There was that too.

  In his defense, his family had bankrupted the barony, leaving him with tattered shreds of a title, but he’d done his damage as well. Why was that suddenly apparent?

  He’d hoped this would be an easy transaction. He’d offer her protection and she’d finance his future.

  But there was nothing simple about this woman, and worse yet, she was highlighting his own flaws, shining light on each of them in turn. He hated what he saw. No wonder she didn’t wish to wed him.

  “I should get you back inside before you’re missed.”

  She nodded, her hand tightening on his arm. “I hope you understand why I can’t marry you.”

  He stilled then, turning to study her upturned face. She looked concerned, her brows drawn together, her hands both tucked against his arm. Did she think it would be that simple? Regardless of whether or not he was worthy, he needed this marriage. “I am not taking you back because I’ve conceded,” he rumbled. And then quick as a snake, he wrapped his arms below her bottom and lifted her off her feet. She yelped, holding onto the breadth of his shoulders.

  “Chad,” she cried in the breathy sort of voice that called to him. He tightened his hold.

  “I’m bringing you back because I have no intention of further damaging your reputation. You’ll agree to be my wife because you’ve realized I’m the right choice not because I’ve taken your other options away.” He hoped. Her concession was the only thing that would ease the ache roiling inside him that he wasn’t good enough…

  Her face was just above his, her breast pressed up against his collarbone. It was delightful. “In that case, you’ll be waiting for a very long time. I shan’t grant permission.”

  He wanted to growl in frustration. Then again, he wanted to rumble in awareness. Her insistence that she wouldn’t relent only made him more frustrated. And somehow, made her more attractive.

  He’d spent his life trying to gain affection from the family who’d denied him. Why was he such a masochist that he’d do the same with her? “You will.” But perhaps that was his folly after all.

  “Why are you so certain?”

  He smiled up at her. “Because. Everyone wishes to set the terms. I’m giving you that opportunity now.”

  Her lips parted in surprise before she pressed them shut. “My first term is that you put me down.”

  He smiled, lightly placing her back on her feet. “See? We’re getting somewhere.”

  She placed her arm back in his elbow. “I can only assume you will have terms too?”

  He slipped back through the hedge, leading them toward the light spilling onto the terrace from the party. The truth was, he had very few.

  She wed him…that was the first.

  Beyond that, he hadn’t planned the sort of marriage his friends had. He’d planned to fulfill his obligations to the title, then return to his former way of life.

  The trouble was…he was having a hard time picturing any woman in his bed besides her. And then he pictured another man visiting hers and he stopped along the path as anger rippled through him.

  “Terms?” he rumbled. “I’ve a few.”

  She drew in a breath as though she was going to respond but something else caught his attention.

  Bash stood in the doorway scanning the terrace as though looking for someone. Who?

  Was it him? Had he been gone too long? He was bloody bad at being a gentleman. He started forward again. “Bash is looking for someone. We’d better go see what’s going on.”

  “Agreed,” she answered as she lifted her skirts. “I hope everything is all right.”

  They were about to find out…

  Chapter Five

  Abigail’s heart sped up in her chest as Bash’s gaze caught hers. He gave a quick jerk of his hand, indicating that she should hurry over.

  Chad placed his hand at her waist again as they rushed to Bash’s side.

 
His mouth was drawn in a tight, hard line as they approached.

  “Bash,” Chad started, a wince pulling at his features. “I can explain—”

  “Later.” Bash slashed a hand through the air. “Dishonor was taking Emily home and their carriage was attacked. Even now, he’s rerouting to the docks. He and Emily are leaving the city.”

  Abigail gasped. Her sister was leaving? Panic squeezed her chest. “Attacked? Attacked how?”

  “The details were short and few, but the danger is…” He grimaced. “You were right, Abby. This night was a mistake.”

  Her eyes widened to hear her brother-in-law say it and she experienced a moment’s satisfaction. She was rarely told her answers were right.

  But then his next words left her cold.

  “But unfortunately, that leaves us with precious few choices now.”

  Her stomach dropped even as her heart began to pound, blood thrumming through her veins. Oh no. She knew what that meant. “No.” The single word dropped from her lips even as Chad pulled her closer.

  “I’m afraid so.” Bash scrubbed his head. “Blasphemy, you are to get a special license and then leave the city with Abigail. Marry as soon as it’s safe.”

  Abigail opened her mouth to protest. What happened to her choices? Her terms… “Bash,” she said, a pang of frustration creeping into her voice. Chad had only just conceded to give her choices and time, and now everything had been taken away from her…again. She touched her forehead, feeling the beads of cold sweat slicking her skin.

  “A special license? I’m not certain I have that sort of sway.”

  “I’ll have the king send word to the archbishop.” Bash didn’t look at her. “Take Vanity with you.”

  That was the last straw. Abigail’s hand came to her hip. “You’re sending a rake as a chaperone?”

  Bash looked at her then, the corners of his eyes scrunching as though he were in pain. “No, Abigail. As a bodyguard. You don’t need a chaperone with a husband.” He scrubbed his face, his voice dropping. “I’m sorry you don’t have the same choices as your sisters. I really am.”