It Takes a Scandal (17 page)

“What?” Penelope vaulted off the sofa and stumped over to her side.

“The rest is just for me,” she mumbled, shoving the note into her pocket. Her heart slammed into her ribs as she tore off the last layer of paper. It was a book, an old but well-kept one.
The Children of the Abbey
was printed on the front in old-fashioned lettering.

“He knows you well,” said Penelope, distinctly unimpressed. “A book.”

Abigail ignored her. After a swift glance at the door to make certain it was securely closed, she let the book fall open to the spot where something had been hidden between the pages. Penelope sucked in her breath, and for a moment they just stared.

“It’s a new one,” whispered Penelope in hushed excitement. “Look: issue twenty-six.”

Abigail snapped the book closed and clutched it to her chest. “No one must know. Promise me, Pen!”

“What sort of idiot do you take me for?” Penelope demanded. “Why did he send it to you?”

Her face felt hot. “To
us
. Because he saw me buy it in town, most likely. He might not even know what it is . . .”

Penelope gave her such an incredulous look, Abigail had to turn away for fear her guilt would be obvious. But all Penelope said was, “If it’s to
us
, I should get to read it, too.”

“Of course.” Abigail was so distracted she pulled out the pamphlet and handed it over. “You must give it back later,” she added.

“Naturally!” In a flash, Penelope hid it under her shawl. “I’ll go hide it right now.” She opened the door and peered out, then slipped into the corridor.

Abigail pushed the door shut and retreated to the window. Her hands trembled as she took out the crumpled note and smoothed it, angling her back to the door for additional privacy.

“I hope the additional enclosure may offer some pleasure to you as well, more so than you found in the grotto,” Sebastian wrote. “Your parting words were bitter to me, all the more so for being true. You were right to disdain me, and I hope this may supply some small atonement.

“I cannot pretend to be the gentleman you think I am, nor can I regret what occurred in the glass chamber. However, I have ever since regretted everything I said to provoke your anger, along with my command that you avoid the grotto. I had no right to do that, and hope you will find it more to your liking the next time you visit. Your servant, S. Vane.”

Her heart was pounding by the time she reached the ending. He was sorry! Well, not entirely—not for kissing her—but for what he’d said at the end. And he invited her to visit the grotto again, although with no mention of whether he would meet her there.

She considered it a moment. He admitted he wanted to see her. He made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t going to call on her. Therefore, logically, he would meet her at the grotto. Of course, he hadn’t said when . . .

She traced one finger over his swooping signature, then opened the book. Why had he sent her this? It was old, at least thirty years, with a faint scent of dust about it, but the pages were still smooth and whole. It was a Gothic romance from Minerva Press, rife with sighs and swoons and lamentations of all the ills endured by the characters. Abigail’s lips curved softly as she read snippets from a few pages. It was the perfect sort of book for a day like this, neither serious nor deep.

She started to close the book, and noticed something written on the flyleaf. The ink was faded, but by raising the book to her face she was able to make it out: Eleanor Vane, it read in a light, delicate handwriting.

For a moment she didn’t move. It must have been his mother’s book. She had heard a dozen rumors about his father, but not one word of a mother. And yet here was her book, obviously well-preserved and saved for many years . . . until he gave it to her.

Something else occurred to her then. She hid the note inside the book and rushed into the hall. A footman was just coming back into the house, grim-faced and holding a dripping Milo under one arm. Apparently their attempts to catch him before he got out had been unsuccessful. The butler was waiting with a lead in hand, eyeing the dog with resignation even as the puppy wriggled to get down.

“Thomson,” Abigail asked, “who delivered the package you just brought in?”

“Mr. Vane did, Miss Weston.”

“Himself?” she exclaimed. “You should have bade him come in and get dry!”

“I did, ma’am, but he refused. Merely tipped his hat and walked away.”

She flew to the window and peered down the lane that led toward Montrose Hill. It was deserted, the tree branches bowed low, their leaves sodden clumps. She pressed the book to her chest. To get
50 Ways to Sin
, he must have gone into town. Then he had walked two miles to Hart House, in the rain, to bring it to her, with a note apologizing for what he’d said.

She smiled at the rain, and went upstairs to read. Not just
The Children of the Abbey
—although she intended to read that, too—but everything else he had sent her.

Chapter 11

T
wo days later the rain blew away, leaving the day fresh and bright. At breakfast, Mama declared that she simply had to get out of the house, and meant to go to London to visit her favorite shops. Penelope perked up at that news, but Abigail shook her head at her mother’s inquiring glance.

“I’d rather stay home. It’s too nice to spend the day in the carriage driving to town and back.”

Her mother’s sharp gaze lingered on her a moment, but she only nodded. Penelope, however, gave her a wicked smirk. Abigail ignored it and buttered another piece of toast. Her sister could think what she liked. Frankly, she still considered Penelope to be in her debt, after sharing the unexpected delivery the other day.

When her mother and sister had gone, she collected her things and set out for the grotto. It was much easier this time, with the house essentially empty. Milo yipped and circled her feet hopefully when she reached the door, but she patted his head and told the footman to keep him inside. The last thing she needed to do was lose her mother’s puppy in the woods.

At the end of the Fragrant Walk, she hesitated. She thought she remembered the way to the grotto, but wasn’t entirely confident. Still, she’d found her way home without trouble, and it hadn’t been very far at all. At one time the path must have led right to it. Holding her skirts out of the mud, she set off through the trees.

It was surprisingly simple to find. She’d remembered a large boulder as a landmark, and when she went around it, she saw the clearing. Now it really was a clearing, with much of the brush stripped away. To her surprise, there was a rustic stone wall at the grotto’s entrance; it had been completely obscured by plants before. Most of the stone had crumbled away, but without the concealing growth, she could make out the arched shape of it. The stone steps were visible as well, slicing down into the earth and disappearing beneath the stone wall.

She approached the stone steps, searching for Sebastian. He had definitely been here, and done a great deal of work exposing the grotto. She remembered how he’d had to hack away at the vines and plants and even drag a fallen tree out of the way before. Today there was no evidence of any of that. Of course, there was also no evidence of his presence at the moment. Perhaps he’d only wanted her to see it, and that had been behind his comment in the letter. She felt a little deflated at that possibility. She wanted to see the grotto again, but that wasn’t why she was here today.

On that thought, the man she’d actually wanted to see stepped out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, a large bundle in one arm and a lantern in his other hand. For a moment they stared at each other.

“I didn’t know if you would come,” he said at last.

She nibbled her lower lip. “Didn’t you want me to?”

“Very much,” he said with a searing look. “But after the way we parted . . .” He shrugged. “It seemed long odds you would.”

Abigail walked toward the grotto. “You cleared the steps. No one could miss it now.”

He limped forward. “You were right. It shouldn’t remain lost.”

She looked around the clearing again; it was much more than a morning’s work, she realized. It must have taken a full day or more, and given the weather lately . . . “You came out in the rain to expose it.”

He didn’t deny it. “I needed something to occupy my mind.”

She hesitated. “Thank you for the book.”

“Thank you for accepting it.”

That made Abigail laugh a little. “I could hardly give it back!”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “If you had truly wanted to, you would have found a way.”

Her own lips twitched with a smile. “Perhaps I brought it with me today to do that.”

She’d meant to tease him, to make him laugh and ask in pretend alarm if she had in fact come only to return his gift. But instead he took it as an invitation to examine her from head to toe, with such bold, unabashed interest, it left her flushed and breathless.

“I don’t think so,” he said in a low voice, looking her in the face again.

Flustered, she blurted out the first thing to cross her mind. “Perhaps I brought the other gift.”

This time he did smile, a slow, dangerous look that made her knees weaken. “Now why would you do that?” He moved a step closer and leaned down until she thought he meant to kiss her on the cheek. “Unless you meant to read it to me?” he whispered in her ear.

She forgot to breathe. “No . . .”

He lifted his head and gave her another simmering look. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind.” He shifted his burden and held out the lantern. “I did bring a light this time.”

Abigail stared at it blankly. The thought of reading that story to him—! It was shocking and alarming and she was horrified to realize she wanted to try it. She imagined how he would watch her as she read Constance’s most recent adventure, in the shadowy quiet confines of the grotto. She imagined what he would do, when he saw how arousing she found it . . .

She gave herself a shake to banish that wicked image. “How sensible to bring a lantern! Now we’ll be able to find our way out.”

“Yes,” he said, “if that’s what you desire.” He gestured to the steps. “Will you light the way?”

Last time, she hadn’t planned to go into the grotto. She could pretend that everything between them had been unexpected and spontaneous. This time, if she went with him, she couldn’t pretend innocence. This time, if she went, it would mean she was willing to take what he offered, whatever that was.

Although . . .

He had once said they would never be amiable. He had once agreed that he must avoid walking in the woods if he didn’t want to meet her. He had once refused to show her where the grotto was . . . and yet here they were today. If he could change his mind about all that, perhaps he could change his mind about more. He’d said he was no noble hero, but he was still a gentleman, one who claimed he was trying to be honorable toward her.

Besides, she wanted to see the grotto with more light than a candle.

She took the lantern and led the way down the narrow stone steps. As before, the cold air wrapped around her, but she barely felt it this time. With the extra light, he didn’t follow as closely behind her, but she still heard every rustle of his coat, every scrape of his boot as he limped along, much more noticeably than ever.

“Have you left your cane behind?” she asked, finally realizing he didn’t have it.

“Yes. It’s a nuisance when I have to carry something.”

“Shall I fetch it?” she offered.

“By all means. I left it in the glass chamber.”

A shiver rushed over her skin. She told herself it was because of the cold, and not because of what had happened between them in the glass chamber, but the cold didn’t explain the way her heart skipped a beat and the way her lungs seemed too tight to take a full breath. “So you’ve already been there.”

“Can’t you tell?” he asked.

She frowned, and opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but instead she gasped. There was light ahead. She held her lantern a little higher, peering around the gently turning corridor, and then stopped in the doorway of the glass chamber, struck dumb.

Four other lanterns sat around the chamber, shutters wide open. Their light filled the chamber with a bright glow that made the glass on the walls and ceiling sparkle like jewels. “It’s amazing,” she whispered.

He took the lantern from her, reaching up to hang it on a rusty iron hook that protruded from the ceiling above her head. “You didn’t get a chance to see it properly the last time.” He lowered his arm slowly, tugging loose the ribbon on her bonnet as he did so. His raised hand caught the crown of her bonnet and lifted it away. “That is why you came, isn’t it?” He dropped the bonnet behind him.

“Well—partly.” She didn’t know what to say. His eyes were burning dark, almost scorching her skin. It flustered her and entranced her and made her vividly remember what had happened the last time they were here.

“Only partly?” He tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “Why else?”

“To thank you for the book,” she whispered.

He gave her his dark, faint smile again. “You already said that. Come.” His fingers trailed down her arm to clasp her hand. “It’s even more spectacular from the center of the room.” He led her to the center of the chamber, where Abigail was finally able to wrench her eyes away from him and take in the view.