Marquess of Diamonds: Lords of Scandal Page 4

  He stopped, his other hand coming to her face. Placing a single finger under her chin, he lifted it so that her gaze met his. “No man has braved your mother yet this evening. Of that, I’m certain.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, relief washing through her. “Thank you. I thought for certain…”

  “What did you think?”

  One of her shoulders lifted. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me. Tell me.”

  “I’m not all that…” He was the last person to whom she wanted to confess she lacked some je ne sais quoi that would make men actually interested in her charms.

  “Free to act as you wish?” he asked, sliding his fingers away from her chin as he started walking again.

  Her stomach turned to jelly, going all soft and squishy. Those words were unexpectedly kind and, Abigail hoped, they were some part of the truth.

  She loved her mother, and she knew her mother loved her but sometimes it felt as though she were being held down, unable to actually do anything. The second she opened her mouth, her mother told her the words were wrong. The moment she moved, her mother criticized her grace. “Thank you for saying that.”

  Hart stopped again, looking down at her for the longest time. “It’s no trouble. It’s the truth.”

  She looked up at him, both her hands resting in the crook of his arm as she tried to decide what to say next. How did she express her gratitude without sharing her insecurities? But she was spared saying anything as a fan snapped just to her right.

  She didn’t look but she distinctly heard the name Marquess of Hartwell loudly whispered.

  Her brows lifted.

  Hart smiled down at her, his look a bit ruthful. “Your plan is already working. We’re being noticed.”

  She pursed her lips to keep from frowning. In this moment what she really wanted was a bit of privacy. Even more than she wished to flirt or attract the attention from other lords, she wanted to continue this conversation. Understand how Hart saw her. Because, somehow, she thought it might change the way she saw herself.

  Hart had the most ridiculous urge to sweep Abigail from this room and tuck her in a quiet corner. It wasn’t even to steal kisses or whisper promises.

  The woman needed a moment to catch her breath.

  He’d been standing behind her for far longer than was proper and in that time, he listened to her mother question every tiny gesture that Abigail made until she’d transformed to stone before his eyes.

  Her reaction to her mother’s constant badgering reminded him of a story he’d once read though the title escaped him. But the girl ended up sleeping in the cinder of the fire, she was so bedraggled by her parent. Had it been a stepmother? He wasn’t certain.

  “The next dance won’t begin for several minutes,” she said, glancing about them as several guests stared back.

  “That’s all right,” he murmured, starting to move again. “The longer we walk about the party, the more benefit you’re likely to receive.”

  He wanted to ask her more. More about her mother, her father, about what she truly wanted.

  No wonder she’d asked for help. If his mother had treated him like that, he’d be desperate to escape too. Not that he didn’t have his own issues with his parents. Memories of his father’s words floated through his thoughts. Irresponsible…. Embarrassing…. Reprobate…. Family honor. Would he and his father have worked their differences out if his parents hadn’t died in that carriage accident? Somehow, Hart doubted it.

  His chest tightened but he pushed his feelings away again. Unfortunately, what might have been or not didn’t matter now.

  What concerned him currently, however, was the fact that Abigail no longer seemed like a painting at all. She was becoming a flesh-and-blood woman before his eyes. A beautiful one who needed help.

  He had a whole host of his own problems, so did he really need to take on hers?

  But as she glanced at him again, he couldn’t deny that he was still tempted.

  First, because her difficulties seemed relatively easy compared to his own. Much like the diamonds forged out of coal in the depths of the earth, he’d caught glimpses of a stunning woman under her prim façade. A few spins about the ballroom and men would be clamoring. But there was another part of him that just wanted to see her shine.

  But also because…Chance had been right. Being with Abigail made him feel a bit lighter. Less dark. Less dingy.

  And perhaps that would help him too.

  The music was drawing to an end, and so Hart began weaving Abigail through the throng of dancers. Finding an open spot, he took her waist in his hand, sliding her gloved fingers into his.

  A new melody started and they moved, her long legs allowing him a natural stride that made them glide effortlessly. He’d never realized how her height would complement his but as they moved, he was aware of how natural this dance felt.

  Her body was close enough to feel her heat, her lips parted as their gazes met and held. He didn’t need to fake his interest, not now. Attraction pulled at his limbs and settled in his loins.

  Everyone who watched them would know that he was enamored with her.

  Well, he wasn’t. Not really. He’d gone from annoyed, to resigned, to kind. That was as far as he’d allow himself to progress.

  And the idea of kissing her that was playing in the back of his thoughts, he pushed that back down. She wasn’t like the other women with whom he dallied. Widows, wenches, and ne’er-do-wells understood that he offered only a brief relationship and a tidy sum of money for their troubles. But with Abigail, there’d be none of that.

  And yet, the very reason he wished to touch her was because she was so different. No other woman had ever taken weight from his shoulders before.

  Hart shook his head. Chance and Daisy were scrambling his thoughts with their talk and their own whirlwind romance. He’d help Abigail as best he could and repair his relationship with Daisy, which would hopefully free up Chance to help him with the club.

  Abigail’s blue eyes continued to look into his. She hadn’t spoken for several minutes, but somehow, a plethora of communication passed between them.

  Just beyond the throng of dancers, he noted that the crowd watched them as well, several fans covering the mouths of the ladies, as gentleman gave him and Abigail assessing glances.

  Even this one dance would bring Abigail a wealth of attention.

  Inadvertently, he pulled her a bit closer. He wanted to keep her for himself, at least for a bit of time. He didn’t allow himself to think beyond that.

  His past flitted before his eyes again. A memory, old and fuzzy and yet still sharp with its pain, rose to the front of his thoughts. He’d brought a light skirt to an intimate dinner party at his parents’ where several members of Parliament were in attendance. Drunk as he’d been, he still remembered the anger etched in his father’s features. The disappointment in his mother’s. He pushed those thoughts aside as he focused on the woman in his arms.

  Abigail wasn’t his and she never would be. The whole point was to draw this attention. Still, as he spun her around the dance floor, holding her close, he couldn’t help but ask, “What do you hope happens after tonight?”

  She swallowed, her throat exposed by her ball gown, her skin glowing in the candlelight. “I don’t know,” she started, looking away from him for the first time in minutes.

  He missed the mesmerizing way her blue eyes captivated him. “You do,” he said. She was naturally affable like her father and had been trained to be as accommodating as possible. But underneath her conservative façade, a determined woman clamored to emerge. He’d seen her tight fist as her mother had harangued her. “I know you do.”

  “I wish to change my luck,” she said looking back at him. And then her fingers, resting on his shoulder, slid over his coat, dancing a small circle. His body tightened at the familiar touch.

  Yes. He’d been asked to dance with her. Help make her more attractive to other suitors. But also, her
touch reminded him that she wished to understand how to tempt. He knew it was true. “By learning how to what?”

  Her lips pressed together. “Did Daisy tell you that I wanted to learn how to…” Her words trailed off again, color flaming in her cheeks.

  He’d been right. “She didn’t have to,” he said, remembering her heated gaze from the day before. Which only made his muscles that much harder.

  And other parts of him too.

  But instead of being irritated by the thought of teaching her, he was damned eager. Which was a problem.

  He could sympathize with Abigail, even want the best for her. But Daisy’s attempts to matchmake would not succeed. He’d make certain of that. He was too hard, too wild for a woman like Abigail.

  Inevitably, he’d disappoint every good person who came to care about him. Just like he’d disappointed his father.

  The dance came to an end, and he eased away, tucking her hand in his arm again. “I should return you to your mother.” But then he leaned close to her ear. “And just so that you know, you’re alluring enough as you are.”

  He heard her sharp breath and his chest ached at the insecurity he heard in her surprise. When had he decided that he needed to lift this woman up?

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next day, Abigail arrived in the morning room to find her mother aflutter with activity as her father hid behind a book. Both were unusual. Her mother was normally the picture of grace and her father was usually paying rapt attention to her mother.

  She stopped, looking between them as her mother paced. “Good morning.”

  Her mother spun. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d met the marquess?”

  It was the third time her mother had asked the question and Abigail had answered the same way each time. “I didn’t know the meeting was significant.”

  Lie. Her stomach twisted. She’d outright asked the man to show her favor. Of course, she’d known it was significant.

  Her mother commenced pacing again. “What did he say when you danced?”

  Also, a question she’d been asked several times. “Very little.”

  Her mother huffed. “Nonsense. I saw the two of you talking. “

  Abigail crossed to the buffet to begin serving herself breakfast. “We talked of the weather, the upcoming balls, Daisy’s wedding.”

  Her mother sat down in the chair that had been pulled out, her hands clasping together. “No wonder he left just after you ended your dance.”

  Her father’s book dropped as he eyed his wife over the top. “Then how do you explain the missive this morning?”

  “Missive?” Abigail’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  “It was from Her Grace. She’s coordinated an outing with herself and His Grace and Lord Hartwell.” Her mother turned an accusing glare at her daughter. “When you’re with him today, talk of more interesting things than the weather.”

  Abigail set her plate back down on the buffet, turning toward her mother. For some reason, she had even less appetite for her mother’s harping than usual. Something in Hart’s touch had lifted her up and she’d no desire to sink back down. Words rushed from her lips as her anger rose. “Perhaps you should give me a list of acceptable topics. And why don’t you just stand behind me and tell me what to say next, so I don’t make a mistake?”

  Her father gently sat his book on the table as her mother stood, her eyes snapping with irritation. “Can I help it if you don’t have a tenth of my skill? By your age I’d had dozens of suitors.”

  And there it was. Her mother was disappointed that Abigail wasn’t more like her. “Let me ask you. Did your mother deliver you a criticism every other second of the day?”

  Her mother’s face went pale. “She didn’t need to. I—”

  “Enough,” her father interceded in a quiet voice. Then he stood too. “Abby, have fun today.” He looked to his wife, giving her a meaningful stare. “You were permitted lots of fun, if I remember correctly, and that is most certainly something you’ve denied our daughter.”

  Her mother’s face flushed red as a hand slapped down on the table. Her mother never engaged in such displays of emotion and Abigail inadvertently jumped. Her father did not. “That is because she cannot afford to be cut loose. She has no sense of how to use her femininity to lure a lord.”

  Her father raised up, his shoulders straightening. “My study. Now.”

  Abigail blinked in surprise. What was happening?

  Her parents disappeared out the door and she stared after them for a several seconds. She was tempted to follow, listen to what they said, but eavesdropping didn’t feel right and besides, her mother would let the conversation slip in some way or another. So instead, she finished filling her plate with food and then went back to the table, passing her mother’s seat, then picked up the missive from Daisy.

  She scanned the contents, smiling as she reached the end. They were to go for an outing through the public gardens. Her smile turned to a grin.

  She just enjoyed being with Hart. Last night she’d seen glimpses of the man underneath his hard façade, and she liked him all the more.

  She shook her head, sitting up straighter. Gaining Hart’s affection wasn’t why she was going on these outings and dancing with him. He was a means to an end, and she’d do well to remember that.

  Finishing her breakfast, she rose from the table, thinking it best to write to Daisy herself. Starting down the hall toward the morning room, she couldn’t help but note the raised voices coming from her father’s study.

  She couldn’t make out the words through the closed door, but emotions ran high. Abigail pressed her lips together as she kept moving. Her father rarely chose to fight her mother, but when he did, he usually got his way. He dismantled her arguments with logic and reason.

  A light hope filled Abigail. Would her father insist on her mother giving her more space to find a suitor on her own? Lord Hartwell’s intervention was already proving beneficial.

  She hummed to herself as she seated herself at the writing desk and penned a note to Daisy, thanking her for the invitation and happily accepting. Then, after ringing for her maid, started for her rooms. While she still had a few hours, she wished to look her very best.

  It wasn’t for Lord Hartwell’s benefit, she told herself. This was for all the other men who might see her, and besides, the spark she felt for him only aided in her lessons. Didn’t it?

  But dreams of the way she’d touch Hart if she were free to do so danced in her thoughts. Would she ever dare to be as brave as Daisy? To go against her mother’s lessons would be so deliciously dangerous, her breath caught in her chest.

  Hart glared at Daisy across the carriage. Two balls. That had been the agreement.

  And while he had been thinking about giving Abigail additional aid, he didn’t appreciate having his hand forced.

  Not that Daisy cared.

  She smiled at him with that angelic grace that told him she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his glares.

  Come to think of it, Abigail didn’t seem put out by his outward demeanor either. Then again, he was easy compared to dealing with her mother.

  He shook his head as his fist pressed into this thigh. He didn’t like seeing them together. Abigail had taken all her mother’s harping without complaint, but he’d have liked to have told the countess to go to the devil.

  Which was likely a problem.

  He was far too invested already.

  “How did it go last night?” Daisy asked, her impish smile growing wider.

  “Fine,” he replied, tightening his fist.

  “Just fine? Lady Amerset came for calling hours this morning. According to her, you looked…enraptured.”

  He swallowed down his retort. Had he? That thought unsettled him even more. “That’s how I’m supposed to look, is it not?”

  Daisy’s eyes danced as she turned toward him. “Indeed.” But as she leaned forward, he knew she wasn’t finished. “The question is, are you pretending or i
s it real?”

  Why did she need to poke at his sore spots? He shifted in his seat, attempting to look unconcerned. “She’s a beautiful woman. What’s to fake?”

  Daisy leaned even closer, perched so precariously on the edge of her seat, she threatened to come off the seat entirely. “So you have some interest in Abby?”

  Abby? He liked the nickname. It suited her sweet nature. “I appreciate lots of beautiful things that I do not wish to possess. Don’t make more of our charade than need be.”

  Daisy’s brows lifted. “Oh, I’m making a giant fuss in my head right now.”

  “Why?” Hart asked, leaning back in his seat as far as he might go, as though he needed some distance between himself and his sister. Completely ridiculous.

  “Because you’re acting oddly.” She cocked her head to the side. “And by odd, I mean far less cantankerous than normal.”

  Chance choked on a laugh and Hart glared at him. “You’re encouraging her by laughing.”

  “It was funny,” Chance said with an unapologetic lopsided smile. “And she’s right. What’s the matter with you? You’re downright pleasant.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. He just…he didn’t feel like arguing. And now that he thought on it, it had hardly taken any convincing on Daisy’s part to get him to come this afternoon. He’d wanted to see Abby again. “I’m never pleasant.”

  His jaw hardened as he realized how easily both women played him.

  Both Chance and Daisy laughed at that and then they exchanged a glance. A hidden subtle form of communication that shared volumes without words. And the topic of that glance. Himself.

  Chance reached into his jacket and pulled out a note from the breast pocket, handing it over to Hart. “Before I forget.”

  “What is it?” he asked, putting the letter in his own pocket.

  “It’s from Lockton. He couldn’t reach you last night and I happened to check in. He gave it to me to pass along.”