An Invitation to Scandal (24 page)

He purged the thought from his mind. He had no intentions of lifting her skirts.

“Were you alone?” He led her closer to the fire to dry herself off.

She peered out the small window near the fireplace. The world around them was awash in shades of green and brown, made more brilliant by the downpour.

“What is this place?” She turned in a circle to peruse the cabin’s interior. There wasn’t much to see. He had used it as an escape from his father as a boy. It had been rundown when he found it, abandoned in the woods, but over time he had made the necessary repairs and restored it to good order. Then he’d brought in the furniture, much of it made by his own hand.

“It is nothing. A place to escape.”

She raised one perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrow. “And what are you escaping from today?”

“Blackbourne.”

“I see,” she said. She crossed the room to the narrow bed. He tried not to look at the bed or her near it. It conjured too many thoughts in his head. Thoughts he had no right having. It didn’t help that the soaked fabric of her dress stuck to her body in a most enticing manner. Water dripped from the stained hem and puddled on the floor at her feet. Abigail shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” Nicholas said. She spun to face him, her eyes widened in surprise, “You’ll catch your death otherwise.”

“I’m fine.”

Nicholas twisted his mouth and walked to the bed, pulling the quilt from where it draped over the footboard. “Your claim would be more convincing if you could say it without your teeth chattering.”

Her jaw set at a mutinous angle. “I am not about to undress with you in here, my lord.”

My lord. She had called him Nicholas once, upon his request. It had been wholly inappropriate, yet had felt so natural. He longed to hear her say his name again.

Outside, the rain continued to teem down and the dark gray clouds indicated it would be some time still before they wrung themselves dry. “I’m hardly about to step outside in this weather to preserve your modesty. I will hold up the blanket and promise not to look. When you are done, you can wrap yourself in it. It is large enough to keep you fully covered.”

“I—I cannot.” Another shudder caused her to stumble over her words.

“Have you considered what may happen if you catch a fever?”

“If I catch—what does that have to do with anything?”

He had forgotten how she never looked ahead, always barreling forward without a thought to the consequences. He had been like that too, once upon a time, but no more. He’d learned the hard way that some consequences were too severe.

“If you catch a fever, I will have no choice but to remove your clothing myself in order to keep you warm and dry and fight the illness. Once you are able to be moved, I will then have to convey you back to the main house, where upon I will need to explain to all present how and where I came upon you and why you are in such a state of undress. You see, while I may be adept at undressing you, the redressing will likely not go as well. You can imagine the damage to your reputation if such an event were to occur.”

Rosy buds erupted in her cheeks, bringing a hint of color to her pale complexion. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“What choice would I have? Let you die of a fever to preserve your modesty?” Nicholas unfolded the blanket and stretched it out the length of his arms, holding it above his head to block his view of her. Unfortunately, the quilt did not block the unsolicited visions racing through his mind. “I promise I will be a complete gentleman.”

A snort of derision came from the other side of the blanket. They may have reached an understanding of sorts over the past few days, but he obviously still had a little ways to go to earn back her full trust.

“This is insane.”

“So is catching your death because you are too stubborn to listen to reason.”

Reason indeed. There was nothing reasonable about his suggestion. The very idea she disrobe with him anywhere near her was the height of lunacy. She shivered again and a droplet of water dripped down the length of her nose and tumbled off its end. How had she ended up here?

She had set out that afternoon to walk with Lord Tarrington in the hopes she could find something about the man to recommend him. Instead, she’d run off to escape him and wound up jumping from the pot into the fire.

Despite the dimly lit interior, the sparsely furnished cabin had an inviting quality about it. The furniture, though rudimentary, was well made. The shelves held only the most necessary of items. And the bed…

Her gaze skimmed over it, then quickly away. Madame St. Augustine’s party had been the only other time she’d ever stood in a bedroom with a man unrelated to her. The same who held the quilt in front of him now. He hadn’t exactly acted the perfect gentleman that night, kissing her as he had. Then again, she’d hardly acted the part of the proper lady, meeting and matching his ardor.

The memory scorched her brain and refused to leave. It came back to her at the most inconvenient of times and caused her no end of embarrassment. Although it paled in comparison to the night at the masquerade, when he had kissed her again in such a scandalous fashion she ached whenever she thought about it.

“My arms are growing weary,” Nicholas said, shifting his shoulders so the quilt wavered in his grip.

Abigail swallowed. Did she dare? Could this be another ruse? Yes, he had explained himself the other day down by the lake, but could she believe him? A part of her wanted to. She wanted to believe the man she had once known would never have done something so cruel and callous without proper provocation. But was any provocation worthy of what he had done? Did such a confession mean she could trust him now?

“Do I have your word you will not look?”

After a brief hesitation, he answered. “You have my word.”

It was the best she could hope for. Her clothing was not getting any warmer and the shivering now went on unabated. She had to do something or risk the eventual outcome Nicholas had described. She did not want to imagine the humiliation her family would face if she were carried home wrapped in a quilt and nothing else in full view of all the guests. It would be the end of them, just when they were on the verge of turning things around.

Abigail reached up and untied her ruined bonnet. It had done precious little to keep her hair dry at any rate. The strings proved difficult to undo and took several tugs before they came free. Next came her slippers, also ruined. Perhaps if she set them by the fire they would recover, but she doubted it. She issued a silent curse to Lord Tarrington.

Her pelisse proved a more taxing item to remove. The wet sleeves required much struggling on her part to peel away from wet skin until she felt a little like a dog chasing its tail. If Nicholas could see her twisting and turning he’d think her a proper fool. Her gown proved no easier. She managed to undo the first two buttons at her neck, but she could not reach the third. Where was Muri when she needed her?

“How are you coming along?”

Abigail glared at the spot on the quilt where she imagined Nicholas’s face to be. “This is an impossible task. If you have so much experience disrobing ladies as you claim, then you must be aware of the intricacies of our wardrobe and know we require assistance. My dress consists of a row of buttons I can neither reach nor undo. I told you this was a foolish idea.”

“I confess, I had not considered that.” The quilt dropped suddenly. Nicholas’s dark brows knit together as he stared at her.

“Do not look at me so.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like I am a puzzle that needs to be solved.”

A brief smile flitted across his handsome features and an answering tingle erupted in her chest. “It isn’t you that is the puzzle, it is the problem of getting you out of yours clothes.”

“A dilemma I’m certain you’ve never encountered before.” She could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.

His eyebrow arched upward. “You flatter me.”

“Be assured, I did not mean that as flattery.”

“I will have to assist you.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I will play ladies’ maid.”

“You most certainly will not.”

“What other choice do you have? You’re shivering, cold and I suspect somewhat miserable—”

“I can assure you any misery I am currently suffering has nothing to do with how wet my clothing is and everything to do with the situation I find myself in.”

“But it is a situation neither of us can change. Step closer to the fire.”

She had no choice but to obey as he ushered her back with a shooing of his hands. The warmth from the flames touched her skin but failed to penetrate the sopping wet garments. Nicholas was right, she had to get out of her clothes, but the idea of what that meant caused her no end of vexation. It was one thing to allow him to have his way with her at the masquerade. For one, she had not known his true identity, and secondly, what had happened came upon her suddenly with no time to think or consider or debate. This—this was a deliberate decision on both their parts and while no amorous overtures were included with the proposition, it did not diminish the fact she would be naked in front of him. Worse, he would be the one undressing her.

“Turn around,” he instructed, swiveling his finger in the air.

She obeyed, determined not to look at him, to block what was happening. She would imagine Muri to be the one—

She jumped as his strong hands rested on her shoulders. A bolt of heat pulsed down her body. No. That would not do. Her imagination did not stretch that far.

“Relax.”

She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him. Did he truly expect, under the circumstances, she would be able to achieve such a state?

She returned her gaze to the fire as his hands slid from her shoulders to the buttons lining her back. One by one he worked them free. Abigail held her hands to her breasts to keep the loosened dress from slipping to her waist. An ache developed at the juncture of her thighs when his hands brushed against her bottom as he undid the last few buttons. She shivered, but this time it had nothing to do with being cold.

“Here,” he whispered. His hands returned to her shoulders and slipped the cap sleeves of her dress down to her elbows. “Abigail, you need to straighten your arms.”

His soft tone glided over her, touching her in places even his hands couldn’t reach. He had called her Abigail. Such an intimate thing to hear him say her name, as if it belonged on his lips. Oh, this was a dangerous situation. She tried to conjure up the anger she had carried for the past eight months and use it as a shield, but its remnants were tepid at best, and no defense against the depth of need roiling inside of her. The truth behind Uncle Henry’s death had chipped away at her resolve until the monster she had created in her mind had been unmasked and the man she had once cared for stood in his place. The one she’d talked with, laughed with, even went so far as to imagine a life with.

She closed her eyes and swallowed.

Did she dare trust it? She had done so once and been egregiously hurt.

“Abigail.”

She straightened her arms and let him pull the dress downward until it fell of its own accord and landed at her feet in a wet heap. Her petticoat met a similar fate until she stood before him in her underthings. She wished suddenly she had prettier ones, rather than the plain cotton she wore, but she pushed such recalcitrant thoughts away, afraid of where they would lead.

“These are quite wet as well,” Nicholas said, his finger brushing along the back edge of her stays. His touch penetrated the flimsy cotton of her chemise and scalded her skin. “We should remove them also.”

Abigail nodded, barely aware of answering him. He didn’t sound any happier about this than she.

Outside, thunder rolled across the hillside and the rain strengthened in its intensity. The fire had warmed the small cabin, holding the dampness at bay. The gentle glow of light chased away the worst of the shadows. Behind her, Nicholas’s nimble fingers made quick work of the laces on her stays.

“Lift your arms.”

She did as instructed, and he pulled the loosened contraption over her head. She could finish the rest herself, but when he slowly lifted the hem of her chemise upward, she didn’t stop him. Inch by treacherous inch, her body responded to being bared before him until the dull throb between her thighs became an intense ache. He removed the chemise and tossed it aside, then his hands returned to touch her bare shoulders. Modesty forced her cross her arms over her breasts.

Nothing but her stockings and drawers remained.

Her breath caught as his hands slid down her back. His knuckles grazed the curve in her spine and skimmed over her rounded bottom. He knelt behind her and untied the garter holding up her left stocking, then eased it down, caressing her knee, her calf, her ankle. His touch was slow and torturous, his manner silent, almost reverent as he slid the stocking from her foot.

Her entire body trembled. He had not said a word to her, save a brief instruction here or there, though now even those had ceased and any communication came through his fingertips. When the last stocking had been removed, Nicholas stood once again, closer than before, so their bodies almost touched. Abigail longed to lean back and rest against him. Her knees trembled and she did not know how much longer she could withstand this sweet agony. She had no idea what had happened to the quilt he had promised to wrap around her to preserve her modesty. It hardly mattered now. She had no modesty left. His gaze devoured every inch of her.

“You’re the most beautiful creature…”

She wanted to tell him no. Caelie was the beauty of the family. Everyone knew that, but the words did not come. She wanted to be beautiful to him. In that moment, she wanted to be everything to him. Their past, their present, even the future had been stripped away, leaving only the two of them. The only world that existed lived within the four walls of this cabin.

He pulled the pins from her hair and raked his fingers along her scalp, freeing the chignon Muri had carefully constructed. Her hair fell heavy against her back. She closed her eyes and leaned into his ministrations. The rhythm of his movements lulled her and her muscles relaxed until she rested fully against him. His need pressed against her and an answering thrill rushed through her. She wiggled just enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath from him and he pulled her closer.