Read Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) Online
Authors: Grace Callaway
TWENTY-FOUR
I knew I was being carried, and I had not the strength to protest it. Feigning sleep, not so far my drowsed state, I let Hux take me upstairs to my room and tuck me between the sheets. When warm lips brushed over my cheek, I sighed as if in a dream—and mayhap it was. A rich, golden haze from which I was not ready to awaken. One in which reality hovered in the distance like a dark fog, a gathering specter ...
A moment's respite
, I thought groggily.
Just a few minutes to gather myself
...
I awoke to the sound of muted whispers.
"I say we leave 'er be. Poor thing, she's pale as a ghost."
"Nonsense. Nothing good comes of being a-bed at strange hours. See to the drapes—that'll rouse her soon enough."
I opened my eyes, blinking as the room suddenly flooded with light. I tried to orient my sleep-drugged senses. Where was I, what time ...?
Two familiar faces came into view.
"Abby, you're awake." Ginny's round, brown eyes peered into mine. "How're you feelin', luv?"
"Fine ... I think." I blinked again.
Clucking her tongue, Mrs. Beecher nudged Ginny aside and placed a palm on my forehead. "No fever that I can tell, praise Mary. You must still be recovering from exhaustion. Maggie did say you looked peaked yesterday afternoon."
"Y-yesterday afternoon?" My tongue seemed thick, felt-covered. "What day is it?"
"Why, 'tis Sunday, near dusk," Ginny said, a wrinkle between her auburn brows. "Most ev'ryone is back in the 'ouse."
Sunday
. 'Twas inconceivable. I had slept ... for almost a full day?
"I hope you did not over-exert yourself in our absence." Frowning, Mrs. Beecher pushed her spectacles higher up on her nose. "What have you been up to, Abigail, that has got you so done in?"
The events of the weekend returned in a flash. The battle with the demon in the tower. Hux's revelations of his past, of Lilith. His ardent lovemaking, the indescribable bliss of his touch ... my breath hastened. Good heavens, what could I possibly say in answer to the housekeeper's question?
"N-nothing," I stammered.
I could tell from the glint in Mrs. Beecher's eyes that she was not satisfied with my response. Running a hand through my tangled hair, I attempted to engage my sluggish faculties.
"Why, Abby, yer usin' yer left 'and," Ginny exclaimed. "Yer arm's feelin' better then?"
Grateful for the distraction, I mumbled, "Yes, thank you. I suppose all the sleeping helped."
"Nothing like rest to heal the body," the housekeeper said. "We must thank the Blessed Virgin for your speedy recovery."
At the mention of virginity, petals of heat unfurled in my belly. I experienced a sudden, jarring uncertainty regarding my own status in this regard. In the library, the way Hux had touched me, how deep he had reached inside, how I had wanted more and more ... Blood throbbed against the thin membrane of my cheeks.
"Your color is improving, too, now that you're alert. 'Tis as I always say:
that destructive siren sloth is ever to be avoided
," Mrs. Beecher said.
Recognizing the quotation from Horace, one of Aunt Agnes' favorites, I managed a feeble smile.
"Well, best you get dressed and come down for a good supper. Ginny will help you." Mrs. Beecher gave me one more thorough look. "You're sure, now, that there's nothing you want to tell me about?"
I shook my head.
After the housekeeper departed, Ginny went to the armoire to fetch my clothes. I expected her to comment on my new finery and was relieved when she did not. The last thing my jangled nerves could handle was a discussion of my relationship with Hux. As Ginny arranged the layers over me, humming all the while, I felt my insides knotting. Dear God, the deadly nature of Hux's mission. The suffering he had endured—that, like Atlas, he'd shouldered with solitary fortitude.
Well, he was no longer alone. Not if I could help it. A sudden tremor travelled through my limbs. After everything he had shared, shouldn't I divulge my own secret, reciprocate the gut-wrenching honesty he had shown me? Hux of all people—he would empathize with my situation ... wouldn't he? The thought of revealing my affliction made my palms clammy. I still could not shake the trepidation, the eerie foreboding caused by unanswered questions.
Why had I such a connection to demons, to Lilith? If I told Hux of the visions, how would he react? Would he think
me
evil ... would he hate me? Or would he, as one who battled darkness himself, understand me as no one else ever had?
"'Ere we go, all done up," Ginny said.
Quelling my inner voice, I managed, "Thank you."
"O'er to the lookin' glass, then, so I can fix your 'air," she said absent-mindedly.
Turning, I looked fully at her and noticed something different in her appearance. Not so much in her physical looks, but a certain added aura of ... vitality. There was a sparkle in her brown eyes, an air of barely suppressed excitement buzzing around her person.
"What is it, Ginny?" I asked, puzzled.
"Oh, Abby, I swore to 'im I wouldn't tell a soul—but I can't 'old it in any longer." A grin tucked into the maid's freckled cheeks. "Me fellow an' me—we's gettin' hitched!"
"You're getting married?" In that moment, gladness for her happy state displaced my own woes. "Oh, dear Ginny, my felicitations!"
We hugged, and Ginny led me in a mad little dance in the middle of the room. Stepping back, I looked into her pink face. "And the problems you've spoken of, with his mother. They've been resolved?"
Ginny nodded, a bright red curl slipping from beneath her cap. "Tom 'ad 'imself a talk wif his ma. 'E tol' 'er I was as good a woman as she—an' she could either 'ave a daughter-in-law or lose a son. Jus' like that, 'e said it."
"Oh, Ginny," I said, my heart squeezing, "Tom must love you so."
"'E does," she said. "An' I won't be lettin' 'im down neither. I've started takin' lessons on the weekend, I 'ave."
"Lessons?"
"Readin', writin' ... 'ow to walk wif a book on me head," Ginny said, flushing. "There's a lady down in Chelsea who gives classes. Tom is 'elpin' me pay fer it, though 'e says I'm perfect jus' as I am." Her arms crossed. "But I don't want 'is ma lookin' down 'er long nose at me for the rest o' me life. I'll learn me letters if it kills me. That way, the old 'arpy can die 'appy knowin' I've read her bloody 'eadstone."
I could not help but laugh. "I'd be glad to assist with the lessons, if you ever need it. But how I admire you, Ginny! It takes courage to better oneself."
Ginny snorted. "Courage ain't got nothin' to do wif it. If you loves a bloke, you'd do anythin' for 'im—else wise, it ain't love but a poke in the drawers."
The truth of her words struck me like a hammer. That
was
love, wasn't it? The willingness to do anything, to risk everything for one's beloved. Even the truth—and the pain of rejection that might follow. My heart gave a fearful flutter.
"Why, Abby, 'aven't you ever been in love before?"
My face reddened beneath Ginny's astute stare. Shrugging, I tried for a flippant answer. "Nothing serious—"
"You let me be the judge o' that," she said, her hands on her hips. "Jus' what are you holdin' back on me, Abigail Jones?"
The desire to unburden myself was alarming. But I found myself unable to form the words. To admit the shameful yearnings of my heart, which knew neither sense nor propriety. For despite the astonishing events of the past two days, he was still Lord Lucien Langsford, Earl Huxton. Still my employer, my better—he just happened to slay demons in his spare time. An abysmal thought sliced through me.
In the light of day, would he regret having exposed his secrets to his secretary? Would he regret kissing me, touching me? Would he ever wish again to hold me to his heart?
"While you were sleepin', 'e came in to look on you. More than once," Ginny said quietly.
I felt a pulsing in my ears. "Wh-who do you mean?"
"The second footman."
My heart plummeted.
Ginny burst out laughing. "Oh, don't be a nitwit, Abby. 'Twas 'is lordship, of course. The bloody earl 'imself. Thrice, 'e poked 'is 'ead in. After the last time, 'e took 'imself off fer a ride like the very devil was chasin' 'im."
"Oh," I said as pleasure, ridiculous and thrilling, swept through me. Hux had come to see me. How I wished I had been awake! To see his beautiful, austere face once more, to be held in his arms, to quiver beneath his kiss ... Too late, I became aware of the silence and what it must reveal to my shrewd ex-roommate.
"I mean, how thoughtful of the earl," I muttered.
"Stuff it all, Abby—'tis me, Ginny, remember? I tol' you 'bout me own secret, didn't I? Least you can do is be 'onest."
Something in me gave way. "But what I feel—'tis highly improper," I said in despair.
"Who's to say what's proper?" came the other maid's startling reply. "Love ain't proper. An' there's nothin' wrong wif love, is there?"
"But the differences, in our stations ... " I began.
"I've noticed the way 'e looks at you, an' the way you try
not
to look at 'im. Can't blame you, o' course. 'E's got a bit o' wickedness in 'im, the master does, an' you jus' an innocent li'l thing. Now see 'ere," she said suddenly, her brows lowering, "e' han't made no unwelcome advances to you—"
I shook my head. "No! Nothing like that. Hux would never—" Catching my blunder, I bit down on my lower lip. "I mean to say, his lordship would never do such a thing. He is a gentleman. And that is precisely the problem. He is wealthy, titled—and I am ... " I blew out a breath. "I am of little consequence in comparison. 'Tis outrageous that I should even entertain such feelings—"
"I ne'er 'eard such rubbish in me whole life," Ginny interrupted. "If that were true, how would I 'ave landed Tom? Bein' the heir to a millinery business, 'e could 'ave 'ad any o' the local girls—but 'e's sweet on
me
." She stuck a finger to her chest. "A servant, raised in a no account 'ousehold wif parents what slogged 'emselves in blue ruin. But that's all toff to Tom—do you know why, Abby?"
"Because you're wonderful," I said, sniffling.
And you haven't visions of demons dancing in your head.
"Because
love ne'er fails
. Says so in the Good Book itself. 'Twas in a passage somewhere, that teacher o' mine 'ad us read it—"
"One Corinthians," I mumbled. "Chapter thirteen."
"'Xactly. If God says it's so, who are you to argue?"
I looked at her in bemusement. "I think you missed your calling in life, Ginny. You're wasted as a maid—you ought to have been a barrister."
"Who knows where all this bleedin' book learnin' will lead?" She said blithely. "But for now, I'm 'appy to be Tom's wife. An' you should be 'appy to be in love wif a chap who loves you back."
Oh,
how
I loved him. And yet ... all my insecurities came to rushing forth.
"I—I'm certain he doesn't feel that way about me."
How could he love me? I was plain, poor, and strange to boot. Why would he want a maid of low connections, when he could have anyone—his pick of the aristocratic beauties of the realm? Surely 'twas the novelty of having a secretary to confide in, the relief of having another bear witness to his tortured secrets that had attracted his attention. Even now, he was likely regretting his impetuous actions, whilst I ...
I exhaled on a bittersweet pang.
I would treasure those moments of intimacy to my dying breath.
And even if I wasn't worthy of his love, in my soul I believed that he did need me. That in some pre-destined way we were two parts of a whole. I had been sent to help him slay his demons; all I needed was the courage to admit my own.
"Three bleedin' times in the last hour," Ginny said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "You're blind as a bat if you don't see it. I'm tellin' you, Abby: if that ain't love, I'll eat me own cap."
TWENTY-FIVE
The conversation with Ginny filled me with hope and misgiving both. Over supper, as the other servants chattered and passed around platters heaped with food, I ruminated about destiny. About what design the Fates had in mind as they interwove my life and Hux's. Surely, there was a purpose to it all. I could hear the voices of demons. Hux hunted them. Were we were somehow meant to work together, to be—
"Care for some sausage, Abigail?" The smooth, male voice yanked me back to the present. From across the table, Derrick held two dishes out to me. His sandy hair gleamed in the candlelight, and a charming smile eased across his face. "Or buttered parsnips p'haps? Or, better yet, a penny fer your thoughts?"
Hesitantly, I took a scoop of the fragrant vegetables. His smile did not waver, so I mumbled, "I—I was just thinking of a knotty problem. To do with, um, the library."
"Anythin' I can 'elp wif?"
He sounded so sincere that my brows lifted. For weeks, he'd treated me with derision. What had caused this turnabout in demeanor?
Reading my expression correctly, he chuckled. "Reckon I've been a bit green-eyed, han't I? A fellow can't help it when a pretty girl don't notice 'im—an'
then
she gets put up even 'igher out o' reach."
So unexpected was his admission that I stared at him, flabbergasted.
"But I'm to thinkin' there's no rule wot prevents a secretary from steppin' out wif a footman, is there? An' I mus' say you're a fine sight these days in that fancy frock o' yours." His light blue eyes lingered on my mouth, and I felt a tingle of revulsion. "So, wot do you say, Abigail?"
Casting my eyes around, I was relieved to see the other servants were too absorbed in their own conversations to pay us any mind.
"I'm flattered, but I don't think so," I said quietly.
His eyes narrowed, though his smile remained cajoling. "Why not? Ain't I good enough fer you?"
"'Tis not that." I felt increasingly awkward by the instant. "I'm ... indisposed at the moment, that's all. I must focus on my new duties—"
"I said I'll 'elp you in the li'bry, didn't I? And wherever 'is lordship pleases to send you." His voice lowered to a coaxing whisper. "Why don't we meet up, later on. I knows a cozy li'l place—"
"No, thank you," I said bluntly because I saw no other way to dissuade him. "I am not interested."
He looked at me a minute longer, his gaze icy. "Plenty o' other girls be happy to take up wif me, you know."
"I wish you luck with them, then," I said.
His smile turned ugly, but not as ugly as the next words muttered under his breath. "Uppity bitch. Takin' on airs, just because you've spread yer legs fer the master—"
I stood, the legs of the chair squealing at my abruptness. Heads turned in my direction. Several places down, Ginny and William, the handsome new footman, stopped their merry banter to look at me.
"Is everything alright, Miss?" William asked, his dark gaze swinging between Derrick and me.
"Y-yes," I mumbled. "E-excuse me. I just need some air."
Cheeks flaming with anger and embarrassment, I escaped the kitchen.
It doesn't matter what he thinks
, I told myself fiercely.
What anyone thinks. All that matters is Hux.
My insides continued to roil. Before I could glean my own intentions, my feet took me outside into the rear courtyard. I passed the tranquil beauty of the groomed hedges and graceful flower beds and headed toward the stables glowing in the distance. In my impulsiveness, I had not thought to fetch a cloak. I hugged my arms to myself as the winds of dusk bled through the layers of taffeta and linen, the chill sinking into my bones.
Thankfully, the doors to the stables were open, and I slipped inside. It was much warmer in here; the blazing brick hearth at the far end must have kept the horses cozy even during the coldest of nights. Sounds of stamping and soft huffing indicated that the occupants were indeed content in their spacious stalls. A few poked their heads out, tossing their manes in an inquiring manner.
Who are you?
They seemed to ask.
What are you doing here?
I could not answer them. Uncertainty returned as I regarded the unfamiliar territory. It was a reminder of Hux's great wealth: his stables were reputed the finest in the county. Mayhap a dozen stalls lined both sides of the central walkway, and the animals that bothered to peer out possessed a powerful grace. Ignorant as I was in equine matters, even I could appreciate the eloquent beauty of their narrow heads and luminous, liquid eyes. Overhead, the rafters rose with the majesty of a cathedral, and at the far end was a ladder leading up to the loft.
Edgar's lodgings, no doubt.
At the thought of the surly groom, I came to myself. What on earth was I doing here? There was no question I was beyond the limits of my normal routine; if confronted, I would have no excuse for my presence in the stables. No reason at all to be standing here in the luxurious warmth, inhaling the fresh, sweet smell of hay mixed with the crisp air of the outdoors. Yet my boots took me forward. As I passed the threshold, the wooden planks made a creaking sound. A head poked out from one of middle stalls.
No elegant filly, this.
"What business have you here?" Edgar growled.
Before I could blink, he had hopped over the enclosure—no small feat for a man who was barely taller than I. He was, however, built twice as wide across, and I suspected most of that barrel-chest was pure muscle. He stood in my path like an irate bulldog, his bald palate gleaming and his whiskered jowls quivering.
"Come to make trouble for the master, have you?" he barked. "As if he hadn't enough on his shoulders already. Take yourself off before I see fit to remove you myself."
With my hands held in front, I took a faltering step back. "I'm not here to make—"
The groom bared his teeth at me. "Yer a female, aren't you? What else are yer kind good fer, if not trouble? Begone, I say, before I toss you out on your ear!"
I had the unnerving sense he meant as good as his word. Loathe to turn my back on the menacing little man, I backed slowly away. He followed, hackles raised. I'd made it outside when a thundering sounded behind me. I spun in time to see a monstrous form of rampaging muscle and midnight flesh bearing upon me. Sharp hooves flashed over my head as the horse bucked and emitted an ear-splitting whinny. With a scream in my throat, I threw myself instinctively to the side.
"Easy, Mephisto!"
The earth quaked beneath me where I lay, huddled and dazed. Dimly, above the booming pulse in my ears, I heard a voice saying my name. Hands took hold of my shoulders, and I was gently turned over. I blinked up into Hux's grim-angled face.
"Abby, are you hurt?"
Gulping for breath, I managed to shake my head. Hux's hands probed carefully over me nonetheless. When he was satisfied that I had no injury, he lifted me into his arms. My cheek against the wool of his coat, I drew in the familiar male spice of him, the essence sustaining as the air surging into my lungs.
"Edgar, see that Mephisto gets a cooling down." Beneath my ear, Hux's voice was deep and resonant. "Miss Jones and I are not to be disturbed. Lock the door on your way out."
With a churlish snort, Edgar did as he was bade. As Hux carried me into the stables, I saw the groom take the stallion's reins. He cooed to the black horse, making no effort to dampen his tone. "Damn foolish girl. She's lucky you're bit-smart, Mephisto, elsewise she'd be trampled beneath those fine, fighting hooves of yours. Didn't spook you, did she? There now, fella, let Eddie take you for a nice walk ..."
Eddie?
My brows raised.
Hux seemed to take no notice, continuing his imperious stride through the stable. On both sides of the aisle, the horses studied us as we passed by, their ears flicking with curiosity. It occurred to me that I should protest being carried. Instead, I burrowed into the hard shelter of his embrace. I inhaled his smell, taking lungful after furtive lungful of what I craved. The rich blend of spice and virile male made my skin prickle all over. A rash of heat spread beneath the layer of my unmentionables.
He brought me into the last stall, the one closest to the roaring hearth. This enclosure was larger than the other stalls and apparently used as a tack room. Bridling and rope hung upon the three walls. At the far end, a workbench held a saddle, a pyramid of oil and saddle-soap cans, and assorted grooming tools. Setting me into the lone chair, Hux took off his jacket and covered me in its delicious burgundy warmth. He took a seat opposite me upon a bale of hay, his long legs stretching out in front.
His severe gaze settled on me.
With a sinking heart, I saw it was not the look of a lover. Nor even the look of an employer pleased to see his secretary. It was a fierce, brooding look: the look of a gentleman capable of extremes. Having removed his riding gloves, he was slapping the black leather against the side of his tall black boots. His chest moved in rapid measure, the gold buttons of his waistcoat catching the firelight with each rise and fall. And his face—the only thing softening those granite planes was the dark lock fallen upon his forehead.
When the silence grew too much to tolerate, I blurted the first words that came to mind. "I wanted to see you, Hux."
This statement brought an abrupt halt to the tense rhythm of leather-on-leather. I saw his grip tighten, crushing the finely tanned hide. "Did you?"
The intimacy we had shared in recent hours had vanished completely. And along with it, my absurd hope that Hux might have missed me as much as I had him. His gaze, remote and foreboding, raked over me in sullen question. In that moment, the idea of confessing anything—let alone my visions—seemed impossible.
Mayhap later I would tell him. Or maybe ... never at all.
I tried to summon up another excuse for seeking him out so brazenly. One that wouldn't cause my cheeks to flame further or my body to squirm with shameful longing. Perhaps it was due to the startling events I had undergone, but I felt a fissure spreading in the wall of my self-composure. As if my impulses had somehow grown stronger, as if they were pawing against the boundaries of my restraint ...
"The—the painting." Relief washed over me to hit upon this important point. Since awakening, questions had tumbled in my mind about this missing piece of the puzzle. "You did not finish telling me about it."
His eyes hooded. "What is it that you wish to know?"
I felt distinct relief at being the one to ask questions again. "The lady in the portrait," I said. "You said she is not your—not the countess?"
A pause. A muscle leapt in his jaw. "No, she is not."
I thought of what Mrs. Beecher had told me, of what she had seen him vow before that sneering beauty. In quavering tones, I asked, "Then who is she? What connection does she have with ..."—I faltered on the strange syllables—"the Lilin?"
The name hung in the silence like an invisible pendulum. It swung between us, tugged back and forth by his resistance and my persistence. 'Twas not difficult to ascertain he regretted what he had revealed to me yesterday. My heart fell at the same time that my curiosity piqued. There was something important about that portrait, what it meant to him. With a certainty I could not explain, I knew it held the key to his pain. To Lilith.
"Ah, Abby," he said, "are you certain you wish to know the rest?"
I urged him on with steady eyes.
"Very well, then." Studying the gloves he held, he inhaled deeply before continuing. "After John's death and the visit from Michael, I embarked on a personal grail—to hunt and kill Lilin at any cost. Fool that I was, I thought this would be an easy task. I had the sword after all, and the incantation to purge the demon." His mouth twisted. "My first effort nearly got me killed."
"The scar ... below your heart," I said, remembering with a shiver.
"It turns out that a demon is not without power," he said wryly. "She can resist being extricated from her human form. And she will fight with all her might not be removed from her fleshly home."
"Couldn't you simply employ the sword? The way you did in the tower."
He shook his head grimly. "There is nothing
simple
about it. The slaying must be precisely timed with the emergence of the demon from the body. The Lilin must be called out; if not, the sword will kill the human body she possesses. I cannot risk the lives of the innocent victims—for that is what they are, these unfortunate women chosen by evil against their wills."
"How do you know when the Lilin is drawn out?"
"I've learned from experience," he said. I shivered again, sensing a world of peril in that matter-of-fact statement. "There are clues that indicate the demon is sufficiently surfaced: a certain cast to the eyes, a slant to the smile, a lasciviousness of manner beyond the ordinary. It is a subtle transformation into malevolence. I cannot describe it better than that."
My throat turned dry. Remembering Lady Priscilla and the woman in the tower, I could picture the details he described. Slight, devious shifts in appearance and manner that had set my nape tingling. "If you cannot simply force the demon out," I asked, "how do you bring about the emergence?"
"There are ways," he said tightly.
Seeing the tautness of his shoulders, I wondered what he meant. Then the implication crashed over me, riding on the wave of our last encounter. I remembered the skill of his kisses, the sweet hunger reaped by his every touch. And how I had responded: with utter abandon, with no thought for anything but the need he sowed within me. I felt my pulse skittering, my cheeks burning. Yes, I knew from experience his expertise in seduction; I did not doubt him capable of rendering any female hapless to his charms—even a demon.
The very thought of it pierced my heart.
"Abigail, look at me."
I forced myself to lift my eyes.
"What I did with them," he said in a stark voice, "it had nothing to do with pleasure. I want you to understand that."
I understood all too well the power of his carnal persuasion. "Of course, my lord." I said it without inflection.