Elizabeth Thornton (5 page)

His mind began to sift through their conversation. He’d assumed that Alex had come to Bath to try and recruit him, but if Maitland were in charge of things, that didn’t seem likely. Then why was Alex here, and why the questions about Abbie and the warning at the end?

Deep in thought, Hugh left the library and made his way upstairs.

D
espite the bad weather, polite society flocked to the dress ball in Bath’s New Assembly Rooms. Hugh had just come from the card room and was standing inside the entrance to the ballroom, watching the dancing. When he saw Abbie, his lips softened in a smile.

When he first met her, he’d thought she was merely pleasant looking. He couldn’t remember when his opinion began to change, but now he considered her one of the loveliest women he knew. Her large gray eyes were her best feature. They could be as cool as ice or they could fill with passion, but that, unfortunately, was the passion for ancient history. If she would only look at him the way she looked at fragments of Roman pottery, he’d be a happy man.

When the dancers parted, giving Hugh a clearer view of Abbie, his smile died. She was wearing one of the daring ensembles she’d purchased in Paris. He stared at the short bodice that revealed an expanse of tender white flesh, then he looked down at the raised hem that gave him a glimpse of trim ankles in white silk stockings.

What thedevil had she been getting up to in his absence?

The steps of the dance had brought Abbie within arms’ reach of him. He resisted the temptation to grab her away from the young fop she was dancing with, but when her eyes met his, he couldn’t hide what he was feeling.

For a fleeting moment, Hugh’s jealousy blazed, then sanity returned. This wasn’t like him. What was the matter with him?

He was still brooding, he supposed, over Alex’s parting shot about his poor record with women and, by implication, that Abbie was up to something behind his back. History wasn’t repeating itself, he told himself irritably. Abbie was nothing like his first wife. Then what was behind Alex’s pointed warning? And why the reference to Paris? What reason could there be to distrust Abbie?

On that thought, he looked around the rows of spectators, mostly dowagers and chaperones, who were seated at one side of the ballroom, and his eyes came to rest on Abbie’s companion. Olivia Fairbairn was tall and stout, in her mid-fifties, with brown hair liberally peppered with gray. He liked her well enough. She was a kind-hearted soul. But he could never converse with her without talking at cross purposes. Miss Fairbairn had the unfortunate habit of hearing only what she wanted to hear. If he were to ask her about Paris, there was no saying where the conversation might end up.

He was on the point of turning away when Major Danvers, the gentleman sitting next to Miss Fairbairn, threw him a pleading look and waved him over. There was no escape now. Stifling a sigh, he sauntered over.

Abbie tried to focus on the question her partner had asked, something about her brother George, but her mind wasn’t functioning properly. She was still reeling from the look Hugh had blazed at her. He was angry about something and she thought it was probably because her well-meaning mother had tried to pressure him into marriage. She hoped he didn’t think the idea had come from her!

“No,” she answered mechanically as the steps of the dance brought her back to her partner. “George is not in Bath. He may have decided to stop off in London, on his way home from Paris, or he might have met some friends and gone off with them.”

Mr. Horton or Morton—she hadn’t quite caught his name—shook his head, but the steps of the dance separated them and she didn’t catch his reply nor did she care. She had far more important things to worry about than George’s whereabouts. George came and went as he pleased. He would turn up eventually; he always did. Her most pressing problem was how to salvage her friendship with Hugh.

When the dance ended, she looked around for Hugh. He was in conversation with Olivia and Major Danvers. Pinning a smile on her face, Abbie hurried over. As she drew near them, her steps slowed to a halt. Hugh’s face was in profile, and she had the oddest sensation, much like the one she had experienced all those months ago when they were first introduced. A lock of dark hair fell across his broad brow; his features looked as though they were carved out of marble; his coat hugged a pair of powerful masculine shoulders, his arm muscles bunched as he reached for a paper in Major Danvers’s hand.

Roman centurion
, she thought.

The awesome impression faded when Hugh slipped
on his wire-rimmed spectacles and began to read. Roman centurions were not equipped with spectacles but with great metal shields and swords. Hugh was no warrior. He was a scholarly gentleman who had ruined his eyes by spending too much time with his books. The spectacles were vastly reassuring. He was still the same Hugh, still the best friend a girl ever had.

Be natural
, she told herself.
Be natural
.

“Hugh,” she said with unnatural brightness, “you’re back.”

He turned his head slowly, and his tawny eyes gazed at her over the rim of his spectacles. “As you see,” he said.

It seemed to Abbie that there was a moment of awkwardness, and she tried to cover it by looking around for somewhere to sit. Every chair and settee was occupied. Hugh solved her dilemma. He rose and held up the paper he’d been reading.

“I shall put this with the rest of the accounts,” he said, looking at Major Danvers, then turning to Abbie, “Come along, Abbie. After I’ve taken care of this, I’ll take you to the tearoom for refreshments.”

A look passed between Abbie and Olivia.
I told you so
, Olivia was saying. She had tried to convince Abbie that Hugh was too much of an intellectual to understand Abbie’s mother’s hints.

“What were you and Olivia talking about?” asked Abbie as they left the ballroom.

“The Trojan War.”

There was something dry about his tone, and she looked at him quickly. His expression gave nothing away. Deciding she must have been mistaken, she tried again. “What did Major Danvers give you?”

“A bill for candles,” he replied. “If we continue to use up candles at this rate, we may have to raise subscriptions.”

Hugh was treasurer of the committee that had oversight of the Assembly Rooms, and he took his responsibilities very seriously. Abbie was in the habit of teasing him about it, but on this occasion she felt shy and said nothing.

The office was just off the main entrance. Hugh took a candelabra from one of the hall tables, unlocked the door, and ushered Abbie inside. While he went to the desk and riffled through some papers, she wandered around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall, but she wasn’t as casual as she pretended to be. She still sensed an awkwardness between them and wasn’t sure whether it originated with herself or with Hugh.

“Hugh,” she said, turning suddenly, “I—”

“Who was the young man you were dancing with?”

“What?”

He looked up from the folder of papers he’d been reading. “The young man you were dancing with. I don’t think I know him.”

“Oh, he’s George’s friend. Harry Morton or Horton. I can’t remember which.”

“George?”

“My brother.”

“Your brother’s friend.” The set of Hugh’s mouth softened a little. “And you don’t know his name?”

“George has many friends, and you know how hopeless I am with names.”

“But you never forget a face.”

It was a private joke. Hugh was referring to the time Abbie had made a social blunder when she was introduced to one of Bath’s leading citizens and claimed she remembered him and his daughter from somewhere. The “somewhere” turned out to be a hotel on the outskirts of Reading when the gentleman had told his wife
that he was with his mother in Falmouth. There was no daughter.

“Hugh,” she said, “why aren’t you wearing your spectacles?”

“I only wear them when the print is small. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. It’s just that you look different without them.”

Now she knew where the awkwardness between them originated. It was with her. Her damnable family had put ideas in her head. She wasn’t seeing Hugh as her best friend but as the romantic figure Harriet had described. She had to rein in her imagination before she spoiled everything.

“What is it, Abbie? Why do you stare at me like that?”

“You haven’t told me what you think of my new gown,” she said, then she stifled a groan. This wasn’t how she’d planned to put their friendship back on the right footing. The question was too personal. She should have asked him about his books or the state of the assembly’s finances. Dear Lord, what must he be thinking?

Hugh was thinking that he’d deliberately engineered this private tête-à-tête to question Abbie about Paris, to determine what she’d done to arouse the suspicions of a member of His Majesty’s intelligence service. But when he saw the swift rise and fall of her breasts and heard the slight hiatus in her breathing, his thoughts changed direction.

Easy
, he told himself,
slowly
. This was Abbie. She wasn’t used to thinking of him as a lover. He wanted to tempt her, not terrify her.

As casually as he could manage, he dropped the paper he was holding and slowly crossed to her. “Your new gown?” he said. “I think your gown is …,” his eyes
moved over her slowly, “charming. Quite rustic, in fact. Is this the rage in Paris, this shepherdess’s getup? It suits you, Abbie.”

“Shepherdess!” Her confusion was swamped by a tide of indignation. She glanced down at her gown. “It’s no such thing! I don’t know why I asked for your opinion. You’ve never shown the slightest interest in ladies’ fashions.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He smiled into her eyes. “I occasionally think of other things besides Roman ruins and the price of candles. I’m not as dull as you think, Abbie.”

There flashed into her mind a picture of Barbara Munro, the beautiful actress whom Harriet insisted was once Hugh’s mistress. She blinked to dispel the image. Once she would have said that Hugh had never entertained a carnal thought in his life. He was too wrapped up in his intellectual pursuits. Now she didn’t know what to think.

His eyes had narrowed on her face, not the clear, guileless eyes she knew so well, but cat’s eyes, sharp and watchful, seeing everything.

When he tried to take her hands, she took a quick step back and rushed into speech. “I don’t think you’re dull. Why, you know more about Roman antiquities than anyone.”

“Praise indeed,” he said dryly. “Shame the devil, Abbie, and tell the truth. Don’t you find me too tame for you?”

“I don’t think of you as ‘tame.’ You’re … well … solid, and dependable.”

“I see,” he said, and with a whimsical smile, returned to the desk.

“Oh, Hugh!” Abbie went after him, cut to the quick to think that she’d hurt his feelings. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?” He propped himself
against the desk, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded her steadily.

“Your friendship means a great deal to me. Hugh, you know how much I admire you and enjoy your company. I wouldn’t want anything to spoil what we have.”

“What could spoil it?”

She answered with feeling, “My family for a start.” When he made no response to this, she foundered a little before going on. “They came to see me last week, and … and … they’ve got the wrong idea about us.” She laughed lightly to convey just the right degree of amusement. “Oh, I should have foreseen how their minds would work. I should have known better than to ask you to carry letters for me.” She touched a hand to his sleeve and quickly withdrew it. “Was it very bad, Hugh? Did they … well … did they ask you a lot of personal questions?”

“Well, they did, but I found your family quite … interesting.” He paused. “Oh, I see what it is. They feared I was going to ask you to marry me, and they posted down to Bath to warn you off. Is that it?”

“Feared? It was no such thing! They
hoped
you were going to ask me to marry you, and they came to try and persuade me to bring you up to scratch. They won’t accept that I’m not the marrying kind of woman.”

“No?”

“No. They think every woman wants to be married. And they don’t care who I marry, just as long as—” She covered her mouth with her hand and peeked up at him. “That didn’t come out the way … that is … that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. You’ve always been frank with me, Abbie. That’s one of the things I like about you. But
this is interesting. Tell me what else you said to your family.”

“I told them the truth.”

“That I have ice in my veins, and that no warmblooded female would ever be interested in a dull stick like me?”

When she began to protest, he waved her to silence. “Not all women are like you, Abbie. As a rule, they’re not interested in the breadth of my knowledge, the scope of my interests, or my prodigious … ah … intelligence. They want a man who knows how to charm a woman.”

She shot him a quick look, but there was no hint of humor in his eyes. That shouldn’t have surprised her. Hugh didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She said, “All you lack is practice, Hugh, and that is easily come by.”