The Duke's Legacy (13 page)

“Sebastian,” he whispered in her ear as he dismounted, placed his hands on her waist and lifted her to the ground. “My friends call me Sebastian.”

“We’re not friends, Lord Denver.”

“Then what are we?”

“Temporary allies?”

He laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it this week?”

The first fat snowflakes fell as they made their way towards the house.

“By the time the others return the snow will be at least two inches thick,” he said.

“That will be convenient,” Abbey replied, smiling in spite of herself. “Are you even able to bend the weather conditions to suit your purpose?”

Sebastian’s grin was disgustingly wayward. “I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“Liar! You know very well what I mean.” The train of her riding habit, heavy with mud, was slow to follow her movements and she almost tripped over it when it tangled with her feet. With a squeal of irritation she swung it over her arm, causing wet mud to fly in Sebastian’s direction. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, only partially successful in quelling her laughter.

He shrugged impossibly broad shoulders. “Accidents happen.”

“However, as I was saying, if the weather closes in and makes the roads impassable, you will be unable to leave even if Mr. Hodges’s condition should happen to improve. That will provide you with an excellent excuse to remain with us, although I expect your paramour will be quite out of charity with you for keeping her waiting.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Oh, so there is…” Abbey could have kicked herself for re-instigating a subject she shouldn’t have raised in the first place.

“Yes?” He fixed her with an expression of innocent enquiry.

“Nothing,” she snapped, aware of her face blazing with embarrassment.

“Hodges will be gratified if the weather comes to his aid,” he said, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. “He will be able to make a remarkable recovery and mingle with your guests’ retainers in the servants’ hall. You would be amazed how much information is to be gleaned from such a source, if one knows the right questions to ask.”

“I dare say.”

“Oh, I almost forgot, Hodges asked me to send his grateful thanks for the chicken pie your maid managed to smuggle up to him last night.” Sebastian flashed a wicked grin that caused her insides to melt. “And for the gift of the maid herself, for that matter.”

“Sally?” Abbey furled her brow. “I hope she didn’t offend Mr. Hodges.”

Sebastian winked at her. “I believe she gave complete satisfaction.”

“That’s good. She’s the only person I have taken into my confidence regarding your true reasons for being here.” Sebastian still seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh. Had she somehow misunderstood the situation? Perdition, playing mind games with Lord Denver was deuced difficult. “Since she accompanied me to your house, and to my meeting with you in the park, I could scarce do anything less.”

“I’m sure she’s devoted to you and entirely trustworthy.”

“I believe she is.”

“Good. Hodges also thanks you for the substantial breakfast Sally provided him with this morning.”

“Breakfast?” She shook her head. “I didn’t send him anything to eat.”

Sebastian laughed. “I wasn’t referring to food.”

Entering the house by a side door, the opportunity to ask him what he meant was lost to her. She took advantage of the deserted hallway to scamper up the stairs and change her muddy attire. Clean and freshly gowned, she then joined her aunt and cousin, exchanging covert glances of sympathy with Bea as her aunt continued to bewail the deterioration in the weather. Anticipating the ructions to come when her presence at the hunt was revealed, Abbey sought to ingratiate herself with her aunt by paying particular attention to her unending lamentations about the conditions under foot and the adverse effect they would have on the preparation for the wedding.

“I knew we should have delayed and made it a spring wedding,” she bemoaned so often that even Abbey, determined to be on her best behaviour, wanted to scream.

“Calm yourself, Aunt,” Abbey said, patting her hand. “You and I both know nothing will stop the guests attending
the
wedding of the season, especially not something as insignificant as a little snow. Besides, there are weeks to go yet.”

“Of course you’re right, Abbey dear. What a comfort you are to me.” Aunt Constance clutched Abbey’s proffered arm as they walked slowly from the room, her jowls wobbling as she shook her head over the dismal weather conditions. “And how have you occupied your time this morning, my love?”

Abbey was able to avoid answering the question she had been dreading by the arrival of Sebastian himself at the door to the dining-room. He bowed to her aunt and, with the suggestion of a wink in Abbey’s direction, begged permission to escort her into luncheon.

After the meal Aunt Constance retired to her chamber and Bea went in search of her sketch book. Abbey and Sebastian were once again alone, which was precisely the situation she had hoped to avoid. On the one occasion she could do with Mr. Graves’s company, he had taken himself off for the day to visit a local acquaintance.

Abbey had been hot with embarrassment since arriving home and recalling the immature manner in which she had reacted to Sebastian’s kiss. No wonder he looked upon her as a child. Gentlemen stealing kisses wasn’t such a very iniquitous crime, even if in this instance it had been a spur of the moment decision born out of boredom.

“I should find some occupation, Lord Denver,” she said, avoiding his eye.

“Sebastian,” he reminded her as they traversed the hall together. “Say it. I want to hear my name pass your lips.”

“Certainly not. Let me go,” she hissed, attempting to free herself from the arm that had snaked its way around her waist. It was like a band of steel and her efforts had no discernible effect.

“Say it and then I’ll release you.”

“No!”

His only response was to tighten the arm that held her and to cock a challenging brow.

“Oh, this is farcical.” She was conscious of heat again rising to her cheeks. “Sebastian,” she muttered, shooting him a withering glare. “There, are you satisfied now?”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He removed his arm and it took considerable self-control for Abbey not to ask him to replace it. It had made her feel safe and protected. She gave herself a mental dressing down, told herself not to be such a silly goose and returned her attention to what he was saying to her. “Now then, what shall we do this afternoon?”

“I’m not sure we should do anything together. I’m already in enough trouble as it is, thanks to you.”

“I’m a guest in your house so it’s your responsibility to keep me entertained.” He smiled that annoyingly smug smile of his. “Consider it practise for when you’re married to Lord Evans and have to entertain his guests.”

“I’m not engaged to Lord Evans.”

“No, but didn’t you tell me that you thought he would make a suitable husband?”

That was before I met you
.

Abbey narrowed her eyes at him. “Should you not be searching for clues, or whatever it is you do in order to solve mysteries?”

“Not possible until the rest of the party return from their day’s sport. It’s their behaviour towards you that I most particularly wish to study. Besides, you’ll be gratified to learn that Hodges has already made a remarkable recovery and is even now consorting with the other servants. I’d wager half my fortune that he will uncover something to interest us before the end of the day.” This time the wretched man’s smile was so meltingly intimate that Abbey’s insides melted right along with it. “And so, you see, I’m entirely at your disposal.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered.

They passed the open door to the billiards room. “Do you play billiards?” he asked.

“No, it’s a game for the gentlemen.”

“That’s where you are quite wrong.” He steered her into the room and closed the door behind them. “Several ladies of my acquaintance are very proficient players.”

She offered him another withering glare. “Given the type of ladies you consort with, I don’t doubt it.”

The implied insult bounced harmlessly off his amused expression. “You’ve taken to the hunting field for the first time today. Why not continue with your rebellious turn and try your hand at another new game?”

At least he had the tact not to refer to the second new game she had tried that day, but from the dangerous glint in his eye it was clear he was thinking about it.

“I have better things to do with my time,” she told him, biting at her lip with indecision, sorely tempted.

“What things? Embroidery, sketching, practising your performance at the pianoforte?”

“Now you’re just being ungentlemanly, highlighting my lack of accomplishments.” She turned away from him but his hand brushing across her shoulder forced her to turn back and face him again.

“Not at all,” he said softly. “That you don’t follow the throng and pursue all the usual feminine pass times is a refreshing change.”

“What makes you suppose I want to play billiards?”

His looked disgustingly sure of himself. “You want to,” he said.

Was she that easy to read? Regardless, the temptation to transgress, to spend a little more time in the presence of this accomplished
roué,
was compelling. Making up her mind, she turned to face him and nodded.

“Very well, what must I do?”

He sent her a look that suggested she could have phrased her question more tactfully. “What do you know about the rudiments of the game?”

Upon receiving her confession that she knew little or nothing, Sebastian succinctly outlined the aims while setting up the balls.

“The skill lies in striking the cue ball crisply, exactly in its centre, while lining one’s shot up with the pocket one intends to sink the ball into. The key is to hold one’s cue correctly. Like this.” He stuck the cue ball dead centre, sending a red shooting smartly into the pocket opposite. “Now you try.” He ushered her to the side of the table and handed her his cue. “First decide which ball you intend to pot.”

“That one over there.” She pointed out what looked like an easy shot.

“Good choice. Now then, you hold the cue by sliding it between your thumb and index finger, making a groove in your hand for it to rest upon.” She experimented and earned a nod of approval from Sebastian. “That’s right, but it’s vital to look straight down the cue, in the direction you intend to send the ball.”

“A bit like throwing your heart, metaphorically speaking, over a jump before your horse takes off?”

“Exactly so.”

“All right, I understand that. What next?”

“You must line your body up in accord with the cue. In fact the cue should almost touch your person. Line it up with your chin. No, no, move a little more to your right.”

She did so. “Is that better?”

“No, you’re still crooked.”

Standing behind her he brazenly placed his hands on her hips—only to guide her—but Abbey froze anyway, convinced she could feel the heat from his hands searing through her layers of clothing. Her bottom was now within scandalous proximity of his groin. He was having fun at her expense again and she ought to put an end to this immediately. When his hands gently caressed her hips as he straightened her position, she forgot all about propriety, and tried to concentrate upon the game they were playing, no longer quite so sure if it went by the name of billiards.

“That’s better.” His voice, purring in her ear, brought her momentarily back to her senses. “A useful way to remember how to line up your shot is to say to yourself chin, breast and hip, since that’s the line your cue should follow.”

Abbey gasped, not so much at his outrageous words, but because he was running his hand down the cue as he spoke, brushing it against the anatomical points in question. She let the cue fall from her hand. It hit the floor with a loud clatter as she turned to give him a piece of her mind. It was either that or allow him to take liberties. Abbey wasn’t too worried about him actually overstep the mark…well, not any more than he already had. It was her own reactions she didn’t trust, unsure if she could hold out against his coercive charm. Just the feel of his fingers brushing against the side of her breast was enough to…no, this must stop, now!

“Lord Denver, you really shouldn’t—”

“No, I certainly shouldn’t.” She could tell from his expression he wasn’t the slightest bit deterred by her feeble objections and probably intended to continue amusing himself at her expense. She opened her mouth to upbraid him further but he silenced her by picking up her cue and handing it to her. “Now come on, stop creating such a farrago and try potting that ball instead.”

She scowled at him. “I’ll attempt potting the ball only if you agree to stand aside and not touch me.”

He raised his hands in surrender but to Abbey it felt as though the temperature in the room had just risen by several degrees. Her body was definitely overheated. The atmosphere sizzled with anticipation as the unholy light in his eye tugged at her on a level she seemed unable to control.

“All right,” he said easily. “I agree to your terms. Now, shall you continue?”

Irrationally annoyed that he had given up so easily, Abbey put all of her irritation into the shot. She lined it up with precision and potted the ball cleanly.

“Well done! Now try that ball over there if you really want a challenge.” She attempted to line up for the shot. “No, no, you’re already forgetting what I taught you. Your body isn’t behind the cue.” His hands took possession of her hips again. “Swing a little more this way. That’s right, now aim and slide the cue smoothly.”

His hand brushed against the side of her breast and was slow to move away. The breath caught in her throat and she remained rooted to the spot, the cue slipping from her grasp. The explosive amalgamation of conflicting emotions which bubbled inside her as his thumb briefly caressed the swell of her breast was beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. And since making Lord Denver’s acquaintance, she had spent a lot of time imagining. Every inch of her body was assailed by wave after wave of dizzying shock, overwhelming her with a torrent of pleasurable feelings.