Marquess of Diamonds: Lords of Scandal Page 7

  Pain exploded in his head as he rolled to the side. Sir Thomas scrambled up as Chance grabbed his waist. “We need to have a chat with you.”

  “Not likely,” Sir Thomas gritted out as he wrenched out of Chance’s grasp. “Leave me be or I’ll really make you hurt.”

  Hart surged to his feet, his head giving another throb as he swayed on his feet.

  Before he could get his balance again, Sir Thomas was pushing through the crowd. “Come on,” he growled as he attempted to follow.

  But by the time he’d made it back to the door, Sir Thomas was gone.

  His hand covered the side of his face. He was back to where he’d started. With Sir Thomas and with Abigail too.

  And somehow, that knowledge made his other hand come to his face, covering his eyes. What was he doing with his life?

  CHAPTER TEN

  A week later, Abigail stood in the salon of Lady Grey as they awaited the dancing to begin after dinner. She’d come as Daisy’s guest, and it was the first night she’d been out since Hart had kissed her in the garden.

  Nothing had prepared her for the feeling of his lips. She’d been flying through the air, soaring on her giddy desire. But just like Icarus, she’d flown too close to the sun and then she’d come crashing down again, singed and scorched by his farewell.

  Her mother hadn’t asked why when she’d said she wished to leave, claiming a megrim. Nor had she complained when Abigail had cancelled their next outing.

  In her heart of hearts, Abigail could confess she’d developed feelings for the tall, dark, handsome, and prickly lord.

  His stern demeanor didn’t bother her a whit. But his goodbye had knocked all the air from her lungs.

  She’d wanted to have an illicit adventure, and she’d gotten precisely what she’d asked for. She’d guess there was almost always a cost. The loss she felt now was certainly the price. She drew in a shaky breath. She’d never regret what she’d done but she’d doubt she’d repeat such a deed either.

  Her lesson had been learned.

  “How’s it going with Hart?” Daisy asked as she leaned closer.

  The mention of his name made her heart thud against her ribs. “It’s not.” Abigail shook her head. “He did as you asked and now I’ve stopped seeing him.”

  Daisy frowned. “Really? I’m surprised.”

  Abigail shook her head. “Why? I was only a job that you’d given him. A favor.”

  Daisy laughed softly. “Don’t be silly. Of course, you weren’t. You know, he pushed me away for years too. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.”

  Abigail turned to look at her. “What?”

  Daisy nodded. “It’s true. It wasn’t until I grew angry at him that I realized he actually cared about me. And when I see him with you, I can see he feels something for you.”

  A hope that Abigail didn’t need began to float up inside her making her feel momentarily lighter. She firmly squashed that emotion back down. “He doesn’t.”

  But Daisy didn’t listen. “We could maneuver him into a match. Did he do anything untoward?”

  Abigail brought a hand to her chest, memories of their kiss making her knees weak again. “Why would you ask that?”

  “He’s Hart. Which means he’s not much for following rules.” Daisy tapped her chin. “But if he broken one, we could use it to force his hand.”

  Abigail gasped. “I thought you were helping me to attract another suitor. Maybe learn to flirt.”

  Daisy waved her hand dismissing Abigail’s words with the gesture. “I was. But then I saw the two of you together.”

  Abigail paused, taking in those words. Was Daisy right? Did Hart have some feelings for her too? He had softened but then again, one kiss and he’d disappeared from her life. She opened her mouth to ask more but she didn’t have a chance to ask any of her questions as two gentlemen approached.

  “Your Grace,” one of them called, bowing. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  “Lord Parker,” Daisy smiled in return. “You as well. It’s been ages.”

  “Indeed, last time I saw you, you weren’t a duchess.”

  Daisy gave a shy smile as her chin dipped.

  “And might I introduce my friend, Sir Thomas Houndsworth.”

  Daisy’s head snapped up again. “Sir Thomas?”

  “A pleasure.” Sir Thomas bowed and then turned to Abigail.

  “Oh.” Daisy swallowed, her normally composed façade seeming to crumble. “Forgive me. This is Lady Abigail.”

  “A pleasure,” Sir Thomas said, giving another bow as she curtsied.

  “And you,” she said with a smile. He was a handsome enough man, though not nearly as tall or as broad as Hart and his keen interest made her the slightest bit uncomfortable. She shifted away from him as he asked about her season and her family.

  She answered politely, attempting to keep up the conversation as best she could and when he asked for a dance, she could hardly refuse. But she wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea either. She wished Hart were here tonight. His presence would make everything better for all sorts of reasons, but most pertinent to this moment, no one would dare hurt her with his shadow looming over her.

  She found herself whisked out onto the floor in Sir Thomas’s arms, but her thoughts stayed with Hart and her conversation with his sister. Had Daisy been right? Did he truly push away the people he cared about? Then how was she to tell if he cared or not?

  “Do you know what I mean?” Sir Thomas asked.

  Belatedly, Abigail realized she’d been ignoring her dance partner. “Please forgive me,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid I was lost in thought.”

  “Do tell,” he said with an easy grin that was actually quite nice. She relaxed a bit, wondering if she’d been imagining her discomfort all along.

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Tell me. Does involve it the Marquess of Hartwell?”

  Abigail started in surprise. Of course, she’d been on every gossiping tongue. That had been the point of her and Hart’s charade, but still it was unsettling for this man to know her thoughts. And besides, with their faux courtship at an end, she needed to move past the man. At least publicly. “No, no. The marquess and I are just acquaintances. Friends, really.”

  “Friends?” Sir Thomas quirked a brow and his dark eyes assessed her. “He doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who has a great many female friends.”

  She had to smile at that. “No. He doesn’t. Does he?”

  They were dancing closer to the open doors, and Abigail stiffened as he slowed their steps. “Would you care to step outside?”

  She pulled back, not sure what he was about. The dancing had hardly begun, and they barely knew each other. Why would he even ask such a question?

  But she didn’t have to answer as Daisy stepped up next to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just received a message. I’m needed at home. Forgive us, Sir Thomas.”

  The other man nodded, his features set in a deep frown, as Daisy began pulling Abigail toward the door. “What’s wrong?”

  Daisy frowned as they made their excuses to the hostess and then rushed out to the carriage. It was only when they were safely ensconced inside that Daisy let out a long breath. “That man you were dancing with. He’s been stealing from Hart.”

  Abigail let out a rush of air. “No.”

  “It was no coincidence that he singled you out to dance. I’m sure of it,” Daisy said, wringing her hands together.

  Abigail’s insides dropped clear to her toes. “What do we do?”

  “We tell Chance and Hart.”

  If her stomach had been down in her toes, it rose up into her throat. “Do you mean right now?”

  Were they going to see each other again? Her heart slammed against her ribs at the idea. Was it excitement or apprehension that had sent her pulse racing? She shook her head. She’d barely gotten her feet under her again after his
goodbye. But as she pressed her palms to her heating cheeks, she wasn’t certain she had a choice.

  Hart sat behind his desk at the club, looking at the pile of money in front of him. The count had been correct for days, the thief had been rooted out. Granted, they hadn’t managed to capture him yet and recover their losses, but it was only a matter of time.

  His temple was several shades of green and purple from where Sir Thomas had hit him, but it had stopped aching. Still, it was a constant reminder that the Sir Thomas had escaped him.

  And somehow, it also managed to make him think of Abby every time he caught his reflection in the mirror.

  That had been the night he’d kissed her.

  Held her in his arms and felt her response to him. He’d half expected her father or Chance to coming knocking at his door and demand he wed her.

  Hell, if Daisy knew she might very well insist.

  But he’d heard nothing.

  He took a pull on his cigar, staring at the far wall opposite him. In his most private thoughts, he could confess there was a part of him that half hoped… With the decision out of his hands, he’d have to marry and make the best of it.

  But it wasn’t fair to her. A husband who only half participated in their marriage. He let out a groan as he stubbed out the cigar, rising to his feet.

  Perhaps he should go see her. He missed her.

  And tell her what? I still don’t want to marry you…I just wish to kiss you again. Even my parents found me unsuitable so you will too, given the opportunity.

  Even he knew he was a cad. He could hear Daisy now telling him how he cut people out, didn’t give them his love. It was true.

  But how could a man give his affection knowing that any moment, those he loved could be snatched away? Or decide he wasn’t worth their affections? Especially someone as sweet as Abby. And worse yet, what if she grew to hate him? She didn’t know him well enough yet. With time, she would. Even his own father had died believing that Hart was a failure as a son.

  Hart pushed up from his seat, scrubbing his face. Chance still liked him. And so did East and Arabella, so he wasn’t totally a despicable man, was he?

  What the hell was wrong with him? He gave the top of his desk a slap. He was wallowing like a woman.

  He turned back to sit at his desk when a sharp knock sounded at his door. He’d hardly turned when Chance called, “Hart? You in there?”

  In two quick strides, he was across the room. Wrenching open the door, he found Chance on the other side, a heavy frown marring his brow. “I thought you left already?”

  “I did,” Chance said. “Made it home just in time for Daisy and Abby to arrive back from their dinner party. Come on. You’re needed.”

  “Needed?” he asked, looking at Chance as a knot of sick dread formed in his stomach. What was wrong with Abby?

  “Get your coat. I’ll explain on the way.”

  He did, and in seconds they were in Chance’s carriage. Chance started the moment he sat. “We’ve got a big problem.”

  “What?” he asked his hand gripping the seat. “Tell me.”

  “Sir Thomas.” Chance scrubbed the back of his neck.

  “What does he have to do with Daisy and Abby?”

  Chance winced. “He approached them at the party tonight.”

  Hart stared at Chance as he took a moment to process those words. “He did what?”

  “He approached them through a mutual acquaintance. Introduced himself to Abby. Asked her to dance. He even…”

  “Tell me,” Hart growled, thumping the seat next to him several times.

  “He tried to take Abby out onto the veranda.”

  A rage that Hart hadn’t thought possible roared through his veins, pulsing through his body. It was one thing for them to war privately in gaming clubs or warehouses. But to take that fight to their women?

  Technically, Abigail wasn’t his, he told himself. But society had linked them, and it was her association with Hart that had brought Sir Thomas to her. A problem he would correct post haste. “I shall have to kill him.”

  A ghost of a smile touched Chance’s lips. “Agreed.”

  That actually surprised Hart. Chance generally had the more level head. “You are supporting violence?”

  Chance’s fist slammed into his open hand. “He goes near Daisy again and I’ll make his death slow.”

  Ahh. Hart gave his friend a quick nod. “They’re all right? Yes?”

  “Fine,” Chance said. “Just a bit shook up. But we need to come up with a plan.”

  “They can’t be out in public,” Hart said raising his hands. “Not until we’ve caught Sir Thomas.”

  Chance’s brows lifted. “And how are you going to explain that to Abby’s parents? Should we confess we run an illegal operation?”

  Damn. That was true. He ran a hand through his hair. “What are my options then?”

  “You can speak with her parents, obviously. Or you can match your social calendar to hers—”

  “I don’t have a social calendar,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  “Your third option is to wed her,” Chance added quietly.

  Marry her to keep her safe from his enemies and tie her to him forever? That seemed unusually cruel, even for him. “I shall have to follow her about then.”

  The carriage arrived at Chance’s house and the two men sprinted inside. They found Daisy and Abby in an upstairs sitting room, the silence deafening as they entered.

  The moment her chin lifted, and their eyes met, he could see unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.

  Silently, he cursed himself again. He’d done this to her.

  Hart hated himself in that moment. He destroyed things even when he didn’t mean to.

  That was why he’d kept his distance from Daisy and that’s why he should have stayed away from Abby.

  But she stood, her gaze never leaving his as she reached out a hand to him. “Hart?” she called, her voice trembling a bit.

  He knew that the life he’d chosen had done this to her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a bit of comfort, did it? She desperately needed it now.

  And so he crossed the room and gathered her into his arms.

  Her scent wrapped about him like a blanket as her body pressed to his. He drew in a deep breath, loving her citrusy vanilla scent and the feel of her in his arms.

  Dropping his cheek to the top her head, he felt her sob reverberate through him. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’d never let anyone harm you.”

  “You hurt me,” she said back, but her arms slipped around his back.

  He closed his eyes. That had always been his problem. Somehow, he managed to wound the people he cared about.

  But as he held her tight, he wasn’t certain he could let her go either. He should. But he wasn’t sure he could.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Abigail hated how good she felt in Hart’s embrace. His strong hands splayed out on her back, tightening his arms around her as he enveloped her in his embrace.

  Safe, warm, strong, tender, and annoyingly perfect, she tried to tell herself that Sir Thomas had frightened her and that’s why she was allowing him to hold her like this. But she hadn’t been that frightened, and her tears hadn’t been because of fear. They’d been out of anger and frustration.

  She’d missed Hart so much.

  And even as he held her, she knew he’d likely leave again, sooner rather than later.

  Who, in her right mind, allowed herself to be tortured so? She ought to step out of his embrace and tell him that she didn’t need or want his help.

  The more she’d thought on it, the more she realized that if they ceased being seen together, Sir Thomas would quickly realize she was not important in Hart’s life and leave her be.

  So she should step away, tell him he needn’t have bothered, and leave without a backward glance.

  He was only going to hurt her again.

  But as she stood there, his arms wrapped about he
r, she melted into him.

  “I’m so sorry I brought this upon you,” he said close to her ear.

  She tipped her head back to look at him then. Did he mean the painful throbbing of her heart? Likely not. “It was nothing. Just a dance.”

  But as she scanned his face in the dim candlelight, she noticed a shadow on his temple. She reached up, brushing her fingers along the dark spot as he winced in pain. She cringed on his behalf, words of comfort rising to her lips as she held them back.

  It was Chance who answered. “A dance meant to send us a message. One that has been received.” He had his wife curled into his embrace, Daisy’s cheek resting against his chest.

  Somehow, that made Abigail ache all the more. Chance was truly invested in his wife’s happiness and safety. Their embrace was one of love, affection, and commitment. The one she was currently engaged in was an embrace of pity.

  In fact, their entire relationship had been a favor on his part.

  That dried her tears in a moment.

  Her mother didn’t respect her or her ability to make her way in the world. And neither did Hart.

  Stepping back, she lifted her chin. “What message was that?” Abigail asked quietly, dashing a tear from her cheek.

  “That Sir Thomas is willing to target the people we love to get at us,” Chance said matter-of-factly.

  Abigail drew in a fortifying gulp of air. “Well, for my part then, the answer is simple. I am not someone Lord Hartwell cares about and another week in society where he’s not seen with me will prove that to everyone.”

  Hart had let her go. But at her words, his face hardened. “Absolutely not.”

  “Absolutely not, what?” she asked, fisting her hands in her skirts.

  “You’re not traipsing all about town, leaving yourself open for another encounter with that bugger.”

  “Where I traipse is none of your concern.”

  “It is now,” he fired back, crossing his arms and scowling.

  She had never been, nor was she currently afraid of him. Scowl or no. In answer, she poked him just above his folded arms, directly in the chest. “It is not.”