Reckless Viscount (22 page)

The multiple possibilities of when and how she saw him again kept Abbigael speculating and worrying for the entire trip back. He would, of course, demand an explanation for why she would run off and leave him stranded in the tiny roadside inn. And she would have to face him, look into the swirling richness of his gaze and admit what? That she had been angry and hurt at his marital abandonment. That she had been overwhelmed by disappointment and regret. That she had acted like an immature child and thought only of getting revenge on him for his callous disregard.

She felt like a spoiled brat.

A mature and reasonable woman did not run off at the first sign of adversity.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to the driver and thanked him for the escort home, then started up the stairs to the front door. She would figure out what to do about her husband later. Right now, she needed to assure the Blackbournes that she was safely back in London and then somehow break the news to them of her marriage.

She forced herself not to fidget nervously as she waited for her knock to be answered.

The noble butler, Hastings, didn’t even blink when he opened the door to her less than impeccable appearance. He simply stepped aside and nodded for her to enter.

“Lady Neville. Your arrival has been much anticipated. They await you in the parlor.”

At his very first words, Abbigael’s stomach dropped down to her toes then bounced back up again.

He had called her Lady Neville.

She stared at the butler. How could he possibly know of her new title?

Hastings’s stiff wizened features softened at the edges. “Go on, my lady. They are anxious to know how you fare.”

Her gaze slid toward the open door of the parlor. Without her conscious command, her feet took her across the hall in that direction.

She had expected surprise at her return. At the very least, she had anticipated having to explain what had happened and that she had married Leif. But this evidence that somehow the Blackbournes already knew of her changed circumstances turned her about and filled her with uneasy trepidation.

Reaching the parlor, she stopped in the doorway.

Lady Blackbourne paced back and forth before the fireplace, her entire body tense with obvious agitation. The earl sat in the corner of the sofa, one wrist fell over the curved arm of the sofa and the other hand rested palm down beside him. His posture would have been innocuous if not for the intent stare he directed toward the man sitting in the chair across from him.

Unable to resist looking in his direction any longer, Abbigael turned her gaze to her husband. He lounged with distinct lack of concern in the overstuffed armchair, as if he had fallen into it and hadn’t bothered adjusting himself for comfort. One leg swung over the arm, his head fell back into the corner of the high back and his eyes were closed as if he had fallen asleep.

He looked heart-stoppingly handsome and Abbigael felt her throat swell with the aching disappointment that had urged her to flee from him on their wedding night.

“Abbigael!”

The countess had finally noticed her presence in the doorway. From the edge of her vision, Abbigael saw her take a few hustled steps toward her before stopping abruptly. At the same time, the earl rose swiftly to his feet. The Blackbournes’ concern was apparent and Abbigael felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, but she couldn’t manage to take her eyes off the one man she hadn’t expected to find there.

His reaction to Lady Blackbourne’s exclamation proved he hadn’t been sleeping at all. Abbigael watched as he slowly opened his eyes. His attentive gaze swept over her from head to heel as she stood stiffly in the doorway, then he smiled with lazy aplomb.

Her toes curled in her shoes.

“Hello, Irish,” he drawled. “Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

The days of travel, anxiety and anticipation had left her physically and emotionally exhausted. However, at his casual tone and teasing words, Abbigael was suddenly infused with a wealth of energy.

Without at a glance at the other occupants in the room, Abbigael spun on her heel and marched in long strides back across the hall. Hastings hurried to open the door for her before she reached it and she swept purposefully outside and down the stairs. The borrowed carriage had gone, so with no other choice, she turned and started heading down the sidewalk.

She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care that once again she was running away from a situation she didn’t know how to handle. Perhaps it was time she simply accepted that she was cowardly ninny.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides when she heard running footsteps approaching her from behind.

“Irish. Wait.”

Leif closed his hand around her upper arm and she stopped, not yet to the point where she would willfully choose to engage in physical resistance right there on the sidewalk.

Though she was close.

She turned to face him, holding her chin high, trying to muster up whatever dignity she might have left. A task that became more difficult when she noticed he must have gotten to London hours ago. He looked refreshed and confident in a clean set of clothes. He had been washed and shaved. She could smell the sandalwood soap he must have used. By stark comparison, she felt all the more ragged and pathetic.

“How did you get back so fast?” Her words sounded peevish even to her own ears.

Leif still held her by the arm, but at her question, he slowly released her and took a step back. He lowered his chin and his hazel eyes stared unflinchingly into hers. “Why did you leave me?”

Abbigael bit her lip, unwilling to answer his question. And he did not seem any more inclined to answer hers.

After a moment of extended silence while he waited for a response that wasn’t forthcoming and Abbigael stood resolute in her refusal to offer an explanation, he stated blandly, “You do not seem happy to see me.”

“I am humiliated,” she blurted out, her abrupt candor surprising them both.

His brows shot upward.

“I am sorry?” He said it like a question, as if even as he spoke the words, he was asking if they were the proper response.

Abbigael sighed and her shoulders fell in defeat. “No. I am sorry.”

He eyed her askance, but didn’t interrupt her.

“I shouldn’t have run off. It was a reckless, foolish, childish thing to do.” She glanced back toward the townhouse. “Oh, what they must think of me,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry about the Blackbournes. I filled them in on the important points of our escapade. When it came to explaining how we became separated, I said it was all a misunderstanding.” His lips quirked upward at the corners and he pushed his hand back through his hair, messing it up in a way that made him look boyish and tilted Abbigael’s equilibrium. “Considering my own confusion, a misunderstanding seems to be as close to the truth as anything. They are not completely convinced you were not coerced to Gretna Green under threat of violence or some other dastardly warning. You can decide for yourself if you want to dissuade them of that notion. They do, however, believe we are now legally married.”

Clear sea-green eyes met rich hazel ones. “The marriage wasn’t consummated.”

Her words startled him. They startled her.

She watched as he visibly swallowed and an odd look settled about his features. He looked as if he might choke.

“I did not—” He stopped and cleared his throat, then started again. “I did not tell them that.”

A few seconds of silence ticked by filled with a strange new swirling tension that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She hadn’t meant to say that. And the way she said it. It had sounded terribly similar to an accusation. She wished she could take it back.

Abbigael averted her gaze and distracted her growing sense of uneasiness by making note of a young boy pushing a vendor cart across the street and an elderly couple walking arm in arm a bit farther down.

“Is that why you left?” His question was whispered, with a clear note of incredulity.

She looked back at him and saw the glow of dawning understanding lighting his face. She bit her lip, embarrassment flooding her cheeks with heat.

He coughed. Then sputtered. Then burst into full-blown tear-wrenching laughter. He laughed so hard he had to double over and brace his hands against his knees in order to keep from toppling to the ground.

Abbigael stood frozen in place for a moment, watching his uncontrollable hilarity, seriously considering putting her booted foot against his handsome backside to assist him in finding the ground. Surely he would be more comfortable rolling about in the grass, struggling as he was to keep his feet.

Instead, she turned on her heel and marched back toward Blackbourne House. Except she didn’t want to go back in through the front door and cause another scene, so when she reached the drive that led back to the stables behind the house, she turned sharply and continued toward the cobbled courtyard.

It took a few moments for Leif to catch up to her, winded as he was from the laughter that still rumbled from his chest. She was determined to ignore him even though she anticipated the hand he wrapped around her arm to slow her down. What she did not expect, however, was to be swept completely off her feet.

She clasped him around his neck and looked down at the ground in panic as his long-legged stride carried them both toward the stables.

“What are you doing?”

“You are mad at me,” he said by way of explanation. A wide grin split his lips and showed his white teeth. “We need to rectify that.”

“I don’t like being laughed at.”

Though she found she very much liked being carried by him. It gave her a wonderfully unexpected excuse to hold tightly to his broad shoulders.

Entering the shadowed stables, he walked to a large storage box and sat, settling her in his lap. He linked his arms around her hips, holding her in place.

He met her gaze with an earnest, though still amused, expression.

“Sweetheart, I swear I was not laughing at you. It was just a shock to discover what an idiotic ass I’ve been. I should have realized you were not so different from the women I have known before.”

Abbigael stiffened in his lap and narrowed her gaze.

“Are you referring to the barmaid who last warmed your lap?”

His brows lifted. “The maid at the inn?”

Abbigael clenched her teeth.

Leif sighed and hauled her in a little closer to him.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I will tell you nothing happened with her.”

Abbigael couldn’t explain how, but she felt the truth of his words. A tentative sense of relief drifted about her heart.

“That may be true,” she retorted, “but someone should have explained to you that it is not safe to place your wife in the same category as your prior women.”

He chuckled and she felt the rumble of his laughter where her side pressed against his chest. He lowered his chin until his face was only a few scant inches from hers. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and her attention dropped automatically to his well-formed lips.

“Trust me, Irish, you will come to appreciate my prior experience.” His voice was softly challenging. “But to be clear, I would never make the mistake in thinking you are anything like them in most respects. However, in certain things, maybe you are not so different.” His voice lowered to a tone that flowed over her skin like molten honey. “All women desire passion, whether a scarlet courtesan or an untouched virgin.”

“Or a once-touched bride,” she whispered.

His eyes smoldered and he moved his hand possessively over the curve of her hip.

“Right. It seems you have some things to teach me, Irish. I have not done well so far in this new role.”

Unable to look away from his lips, Abbigael muttered, “You did warn me that you would make a terrible husband.”

“I did. However, I still intend to make it up to you. Tonight. We will go to Vauxhall Gardens.”

He lowered his head and his lips reached hers. The kiss was lovely and attentive. As soon as she started to become breathless, he pulled away just a fraction of an inch.

“Henceforth, I promise to be a very willing pupil.”

Standing abruptly, he placed her on her feet, holding her slim waist between his hands as she swayed a moment then finally found a return of her equilibrium. As soon as she had her balance, he released her and stepped away.

“I will return for you tonight. Seven o’clock. Be ready.”

Then, with a wink and a jaunty smile, he turned and left.

Chapter Twenty

Abbigael was astounded by the crush of carriages in the street as they neared Vauxhall Gardens. It was a warm evening, which likely assisted in drawing out such a large crowd. She had also heard the earl remark that the concert, new works composed by someone whose name Abbigael didn’t recognize, was expected to be exceptionally well received.

A feeling of excitement welled from her chest as she contemplated the evening ahead. She was desperately in need of a pleasant diversion.

Earlier that day, when she had finally gathered the courage to face her hosts, Abbigael discovered that the countess had decided to blame herself for Abbigael’s current situation since Leif was her personal friend. She seemed to think she should have been able to thwart his devilish plans, though Abbigael assured her there was no way anyone could have anticipated the events leading to the elopement.