The Duke's Legacy (3 page)

Graves inclined his head. “Exactly so, my lord.”

“Then I suppose you expect me to ask why.” Sebastian sighed. “Out with it man, what possessed you?”

“The lady
was
most insistent, my lord.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “What does she look like?”

“I really couldn’t say, my lord. She’s wearing a cloak and has pulled the hood close about her face, so I couldn’t quite see her features.”

Sebastian, now more intrigued than annoyed, raised a brow. “Is this mysterious lady alone?”

“No, my lord, she’s accompanied by her maid.”

“And what made you suppose I would consider receiving this unnamed lady, however insistent she might be?”

“I took the liberty of posing that very question to the lady, my lord, and she asked me to present you with this token.”

Graves proffered a silver salver, upon which rested a single cream rosebud. Sebastian let out an oath of astonishment.

“What the Devil!”

Abigail Carstairs, for it could only be she…what business could she possibly have with him that would cause her to risk her reputation by calling upon him in such a singular fashion? His mind reeling, Sebastian acknowledged that at least she’d had the presence of mind to conceal her features and have a maid accompany her. But still? Intrigued in spite of himself, Sebastian pushed the covers aside.

“What have you done with the lady?”

“I took the liberty of showing her into the morning room, my lord.”

“All right, bring up my shaving water. I’ll see the lady as soon as I’ve attended to my ablutions. In the meantime, ensure that the door to the morning room remains closed and that no one enters it, on any pretext whatsoever.”

“I anticipated your lordship’s instructions and set Hodges to guard the door.”

Sebastian grunted his approval, secure in the knowledge that no inquisitive servant would get past his henchman and gain sight of Lady Abigail. He slid his arms into the robe that Graves held out to him, still pondering upon her ill-advised decision to visit his home, wondering what in the world could have persuaded her to behave so rashly.

***

Abby could scare believe she’d found the courage to execute her plan. Desperation, she was fast learning, transcended caution, to say nothing of the rules laid down for the conduct of well-bred young ladies. She sat in Lord Denver’s elegant morning room, nervously pleating the folds of her cloak between her fingers, awaiting the appearance of his lordship with a combination of impatience and trepidation. That a gentleman of his ilk would decline her request for assistance hadn’t previously crossed her mind. But now she was actually here, had somehow found the courage to stand up to his formidable butler and equally severe valet, and gain admittance to his house. What next?

Abbey recalled the aftermath of her spontaneous actions at the duchess’s ball the previous night when she’d so negligently cut the most eligible gentleman in the
ton
by declining his invitation to dance. Her face flooded with colour. She had never seen her uncle and aunt so discomposed. Her aunt, by nature a kindly and tolerant soul, had lectured and scolded for a full ten minutes, more out of charity with her than Abbey had ever known her to be. But it was her uncle’s displeasure she most regretted. He hadn’t railed against her, but instead fixed her with a reproving look.

“You’ve disappointed me, Abbey,” he said, his tone only mildly censorious but infinitely more wounding than if he’d delivered the trimming she deserved.

Abbey would have given much at that moment to turn the clock back and handle the situation with Lord Denver differently—anything to regain her uncle’s good opinion. He had sacrificed so much to bring her to this point and she’d repaid him on her first sojourn into society by behaving with blatant disregard for the conventions.

“Oh, Uncle Bertram, please do excuse me!” she cried. “I didn’t realise what I’d done. So much excitement, you see, so many people, and I…well, I forgot myself for a moment.”

“I dare say you did. Even so, I’m surprised. I thought you knew better than to behave in such a manner with a gentleman of Lord Denver’s stature, or any gentleman at all for that matter.”

Abbey had hung her head, thoroughly ashamed for briefly allowing the spontaneous side of her nature to overcome years of stringent training. She was quite unable to account for it herself, so what could she possibly say to her beloved uncle in response to his very justified complaint? She suspected she would have enjoyed dancing with the Lord Denver. Some instinct told her he would be a superb dancer. It would also have provided her with the ideal opportunity to broach the subject uppermost in her mind. So what had made her spurn him so publicly, making an enemy out of him in the process? It defied explanation.

“Yes, Uncle,” she said meekly. “But some of the blame must surely lie with Lord Denver, too? He invited me to dance and didn’t even wait for my response. He just
assumed
I would accept him. It was very arrogant of him.”

“Perhaps, but what do you imagine you achieved by cutting him so publicly?” When she was unable to make a response, her uncle continued in a more kindly tone. “You must remember, Abbey, that every movement you make will be scrutinized, every action subjected to the keenest analysis. You discovered last night just how anxious people are to take you up. Never forget an equal number will be looking for the slightest excuse to brand you as aloof and above yourself.” Uncle Bertram paused and fixed her with a gaze of penetrating gravitas. “Be aware of it, m’dear, and try to behave with more propriety in future.” He kissed her brow to indicate she was forgiven.

“Oh, Uncle Bertram, I so regret letting you down!” Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck. “I can’t think what came over me. How can I make amends?”

“There’s nothing you can do without making matters worse. But perhaps if Lord Denver should ask you to favour him on another occasion, you might think to accept him?” Uncle Bertram twinkled at her, his habitual good humour restored.

“Surely he isn’t the type of gentleman whose attentions you would have me encourage?” Abbey asked, puzzled.

“No, indeed! But he’s powerful and holds much sway within the
ton
. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of him. And as for presenting him with a flower, well…” Uncle Bertram’s words trailed off, his expression sufficiently eloquent in its own right.

“Perhaps I could send him a note of apology?”

“Certainly not!” cried her uncle and aunt in unison. “That would be an unpardonable transgression.”

Undoubtedly. But, Abbey reasoned, her nerves strung as taut as a bow as the waiting appeared to last forever, they hadn’t said it would be improper for her to call upon his lordship and beg his pardon in person. Or to crave his assistance with her other concerns, for that matter.

Abbey snapped out of her reverie and jumped like a scalded cat when the door to the morning room was thrust open with considerable force. Lord Denver’s intimidating figure filled the aperture. Abbey lifted her eyes to his face and gulped as she took in the stony set to his features. He was scowling at her most ferociously, which was hardly an encouraging start. Irritatingly, though, it did little to detract from his lethal form of attractiveness.

He was freshly shaven, his rugged features projecting an air of tough resourcefulness, his coruscating eyes amplifying his obvious anger at her intrusion. His expression of thinly-veiled hostility would have been enough to terrify a soul less intent upon her purpose, but Abbey was made of sterner stuff. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, desperation coming to her aid and lending her the courage to meet his hostile glare with equanimity. She had beaten the odds by gaining admission to his house and was damned if she’d be intimidated just because he was in a bad mood.

Abbey chanced a surreptitious peep at his person, trusting that the sweep of her lowered lashes would conceal her appreciation for all she observed. She wasn’t surprised to see he was impeccably attired in a green coat of the finest kerseymere which displayed his powerful shoulders to considerable advantage without, she suspected, the aid of any padding. A stripped waistcoat in green and cream topped his snowy white shirt and his cravat was tied in a fashionably intricate knot, the name of which escaped her. Close-fitting inexpressibles clung to strong thighs, adding to his prohibitive allure. There could be no doubting he deserved the reputation he’d acquired as a formidable sophisticate.

Her eyes came to rest on his shiny Hessians and it took every ounce of her courage to raise them again and absorb the full force of the displeasure emanating from his eyes. He closed the door behind him, and advanced towards her with purposeful strides. Abbey shivered and pulled her cloak more closely about her.

“Come with me.”

Abbey knew it wasn’t an invitation, even before he grabbed her by the wrist, opened the double doors to the adjoining room and pulled her through them in his wake. Her maid stood but hastily reseated herself when Lord Denver barked at her to stay where she was. He left the door slightly ajar but manoeuvred Abbey into a position from which they couldn’t be observed by her maid. Sally was obviously cowed by the note of authority in Lord Denver’s voice. Abbey understood why because she was, too.

Releasing Abbey’s wrist, Lord Denver propelled her until she was backed against the wall and glowered at her.

“What in the name of the Devil are you doing here?”

Abbey gulped. “I wished to—”

“Do you realise what a risk you’ve taken?” He gave her no time to embark upon the explanation she’d spent so much time preparing. “By coming here your reputation could be compromised beyond recall. All of your fortune and connections won’t be enough to save you if this gets out.”

“I brought my maid with me,” she protested. “Besides, no one could have recognised me beneath my cloak.”

“That’s hardly the point,” he countered. “In a household of this size it can only be a matter of time before your identity becomes known, and do you imagine such a tasty
on dit
would then remain confidential?” His expression was scathing. “You have much to learn about the ways of society if you do. And all, presumably, because you wish to apologise for your amusing display of immaturity yesterday?” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her, his attitude one of blithe disinterest. “Go ahead then, say your piece, get it over with and then get out of here.”

Lord Denby was right in one respect. Abbey
had
intended to commence the interview with an apology, if only to soften his lordship’s attitude towards her and make him more receptive when she broached the real purpose for her visit. But, in spite of her much greater concerns for her personal safety, something about his derisive attitude caused her anger to bubble over. Knowing it would be disastrous to let rip with the words that sprang to mind regarding his quite shocking want of manners, she wisely exercised restraint. But, in the light of his arrogant attitude, she simply couldn’t bring herself to apologise.

“Indeed you’re quite mistaken, my lord. I came here with an entirely different purpose in mind.”

When he arched a brow in obvious surprise, Abbey admitted to herself that she’d not been entirely honest with her cousin when she’d declared him to be nothing out of the ordinary. At such close proximity she was acutely aware of his attractiveness. The tensile power in his muscular frame held her interest. The expressiveness in dark eyes that reflected anger, and occasionally sardonic amusement, was unusual enough to make its mark on one as unused to the world as Abbey. As for his thick black hair, spilling over his collar with curly disregard for convention, and rugged features that were far too evenly displaced for her liking…well, it wasn’t her fault if his physical attributes caused her pulse to quicken and the breath to catch in her throat.

Abbey dismissed these observations, concentrating instead upon not taking exception to his arbitrary attitude. She reminded herself of her reasons for being in his house and of the risks she’d taken to get there. She would ignore his bad temper and procure his assistance, no matter what the cost to her pride.

“I see.” His voice filled the loaded silence that ensued when their gazes clashed and renewed awareness of his attractiveness temporarily diverted Abbey’s attention away from her mission. “And so to what do I owe the
pleasure
?”

Gulping down her nervousness, Abbey schooled her features into an expression of serenity. “I’ve come to request your assistance with a delicate matter.”

She appeared to have surprised him. “You need my help?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, Lady Abigail. We met for the first time last night when you insulted me by declining my invitation to dance. Not a dozen words have been exchanged between us, and yet you risk everything by calling upon me and requesting my help.” He fixed her with a gimlet gaze, then shrugged in apparent disinterest and turned away from her. “I’m unaware what sort of game you think you’re playing, but would suggest you take it somewhere safer.’

Abbey put up her chin. “You’re correct, my lord, in suggesting that I’ve risked a lot to call here. Rest assured I wouldn’t have troubled you if I could think of an alternative way to resolve my difficulties.”

Lord Denver openly sneered at her. “And what difficulties could a lady in your position possibly have that require my interference?”

She gulped. He wasn’t making this easy for her. “Difficulties of the gravest nature, I do assure you.”

“Even if that’s so, what makes you think I’d make any effort to help you?”

Abbey swallowed down her anger and disappointment. He really did mean to send her away. This suspicion was confirmed when he pulled her towards the door.

“Come, I’ll escort you to the side door. You’re less likely to be observed leaving my house that way.”

“One moment!” She pulled her wrist from his grasp, desperation lending her added strength. “I understand you have a reputation for solving problems with discretion.”