Elizabeth Thornton (6 page)

“Is it? Now there’s a thought. Would you mind, Abbie, if I practiced with you? I mean, we are friends, and I know you won’t get the wrong idea if I make a fool of myself.”

She’d never seen him look so uncertain. Not only did that look stir her softer feelings, but it also made her realize what a fool she’d been. This was Hugh. He hadn’t changed. She’d allowed her family to put ideas in her head, and her lurid imagination had done the rest. Poor Hugh. He really was a sweet man.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “What else are friends for?”

“You won’t take offense?”

“How could I take offense when you would only be following my advice?”

“That settles it then.”

With that, he tipped up her chin and kissed her.

She froze. This wasn’t what she had in mind, but it
was no more than a slight pressure of his lips on hers, then it was over.

“How did I do?” he asked.

She dimpled up at him. “Hugh,” she said, “I’m not your grandmother. If you’re going to steal a kiss from a lady, do try to put a little feeling into it.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

“What?”

“Show me.”

Boldness could only take her so far, and this was going too far. She searched his face again, looking for signs of humor but his eyes were clear.

It’s only a kiss
, she told herself fiercely. It didn’t mean anything. But what if … what if …

He took the initiative away from her. He put his hands on her waist and exerted a little pressure to bring her closer. She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

“You feel good in my arms, Abbie,” he said. “Do I feel good to you?”

Now that he’d made her think about it, she couldn’t deny that she liked being in his arms. In fact, she liked everything about Hugh—the broad shoulders, the manly features, the thick black hair that looked as though a woman’s fingers had just played with it. But she especially liked his mouth. It was full lipped, firmly molded, and made for kissing.

A shiver of feminine awareness rippled through her. Dear Lord, where had that thought come from? This was Hugh, her best friend. She was doing it again, letting her imagination run away with her.

His lips settled on hers, and whatever she’d been about to say was swept away in a flood of sensation. He angled her head back, and the pressure of his mouth increased, opening her lips to him. She felt his hands
kneading her waist, the flare of her hips, her back, then his arms wrapped around her, bringing her hard against the full length of his body. He left her mouth to kiss her brows, her cheeks, her throat. She sucked in a breath when he nipped her ear with his sharp teeth, then she moaned when he bent her back and kissed the swell of her breasts.

He kissed her again and again, each kiss more desperate than the last. Abbie had never known such passion. Her skin was hot, her blood was on fire, her whole body shivered in anticipation. She wanted more, more, more.

The kissing ended as suddenly as it had begun. One moment she was in his arms and the next he had set her away from him. Dazed, she stared up at him.

“How was I this time, Abbie?” he asked.

“What?” She steadied herself with one hand on the desk.

“Did I put enough feeling into it? You did say to put a little more feeling into it, didn’t you?”

She looked around that small candlelit room as though she’d never seen it before. It was like awakening from a dream. As she gradually came to herself, she touched her fingers to her burning lips, then looked up at Hugh. If he was affected by that shattering kiss, he gave no sign of it.

She stilled the tumult of questions that rushed into her mind. She’d made a fool of herself with Giles. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself this time around.

She cleared the huskiness from her voice, but she could do nothing about her burning cheeks. “Hugh, what can I say?”

His eyes anxiously searched hers. “Was I so bad?”

She blinked slowly. “No. You were … very good.”

“Oh, I can’t take all the credit,” he said modestly. “You’re quite the accomplished actress, Abbie. But I think I managed my part quite well too.”

It was a graceful way out of a tricky situation, and she didn’t know why she felt so disappointed. She cleared the worry frown from her brow and gave him what she hoped was a brilliant smile.

“You did very well, Hugh. Very well indeed. In fact, you were quite convincing.”

“And so were you.” He smiled. “So were you, Abbie.”

He kept up a flow of small talk as he ushered her out of the room, but he didn’t know what he was blathering about, and he doubted that Abbie knew either. He’d given her something to think about and could tell from her surreptitious glances that his strategy was paying off. It was beginning to register with Miss Abigail Vayle that there was more to old stick-in-the-mud Hugh than his prodigious brain.

“Abbie,” he said, “what do you think about asking Major Danvers to be the speaker at our regular meeting of the Antiquarians’ Society?”

A
bbie was still thinking about Hugh when she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. She replied mechanically to all Olivia’s observations on the ball, but she could hardly wait to be alone with her own thoughts.

Once she was in her chamber and had closed the door, she wandered over to the long cheval mirror with a candle in her hand and studied her reflection. The gown she had chosen to bolster her confidence now made her cringe.

Is this what had brought on Hugh’s kiss? Did he imagine that she’d worn this flashy gown to tempt him? Why had she worn it, anyway? And why had he kissed her?

She set the candle on the mantelpiece, wandered over to the bed, and hoisted herself up. Maybe it was just as Hugh said. Maybe all he wanted was a little practice.

She sniffed. She was naive about men, but not as naive as all that. It had to be the gown. Nothing else explained the change in Hugh. If that were the case, he’d got the wrong idea about her.

She picked at the eiderdown with the nail of her index finger. There must be something wrong with her.

She’d never thought of Hugh as the type of man to set a woman’s blood on fire, and she wasn’t the type of woman to feel passion. But the unthinkable had happened. If she’d got any hotter, she would have burned to a cinder.

Do you like being in my arms, Abbie?

How had she managed to fool herself all this time? What woman in her right mind didn’t like tall, handsome men with broad shoulders and a mouth that was made for kissing? Of course he was the kind of man to set a woman’s blood on fire! She’d shut her eyes to his potent appeal because she’d lusted after his
brain
. How lowering to discover that she also lusted after his body.

She laughed weakly. Though she would never have suspected it of herself, she was no more immune to a magnificent specimen of masculinity than the next woman.

And that’s what Hugh was—a magnificent specimen of masculinity.

Her lips still burned from his kisses. She’d kissed Giles many times and had experienced only a pleasant breathlessness. And she’d loved Giles. In Giles, she’d thought she found a kindred spirit. She’d told him things about herself she’d never told anyone else, that Harriet was her mother’s favorite, that her sister was confident and good at everything she put her mind to while she, Abbie, was shy and awkward. And Giles had joked that Harriet’s little nose would be out of joint when she saw how he doted on her older sister.

But that was before he met Harriet.

Mama had thought her chances would improve when Harriet was married and no longer there to overshadow her, but Mama had been wrong. Tom, Ambrose, Larry—
she forgot all their names—had taken to their heels when they realized Mama had marriage on her mind. And she hadn’t been sorry to see them go. But it was humiliating all the same. She’d made up her mind then that she’d had enough rejection to last her a lifetime. So she’d taken to wearing a lace cap to proclaim to the world that she considered herself well out of the marriage mart.

And the first thing Aunt Abigail did when she arrived in Bath was make her take it off. The lace cap, which everyone knew was the badge of a confirmed spinster, said Aunt Abigail, was a ridiculous custom. When confirmed bachelors took to wearing lace caps, she would too.

Hugh was a confirmed bachelor. But what if he was like her? What if he’d kissed her because … because …

Enough!
her mind screamed.
It was only a kiss, for heaven’s sake! So much soul-searching over one little kiss?

In a flurry of motion, she began to tear off her clothes. Once she was in bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin and composed herself for sleep. Thoughts of Hugh tried to intrude but she ruthlessly suppressed them. She wasn’t up to examining all the ins and outs of what had passed between them at the ball. She tried counting sheep, but there was no relief there. Gritting her teeth, Abbie turned on her side and kept Hugh at bay by thinking of her brother. He’d met friends in Paris, George had told her. He would stay on for another week or two, then he would make for—now what exactly had he said?

She was reaching for the words that escaped her when she suddenly plunged into sleep, and straight into Hugh’s arms. He was kissing her passionately, making her experience all those thrilling sensations she’d experienced in his office. Her skin was hot, her bones had turned to water. She wanted more, more, more. But Hugh was shocked.

I’ve never had a carnal thought in my life
, he said.
I was only playing a part. After the spectacle you have made of yourself, we can never go back to being friends. You’re an old maid, Abbie. An old maid. An old maid
.

All at once, his hands were around her throat and she could hardly breathe. He was going to kill her! She was suffocating! She tried to scream, but no sound came. And as suddenly as she’d plunged into sleep, she awakened to a nightmare.

The pressure on her aching mouth eased a little. “That’s better,” whispered the man who was kneeling over her. “I’m going to let you go, but one sound out of you, and I’ll slit your throat. Do you understand?”

She nodded vigorously. A moment later, the hand was removed from her mouth, but she could feel the sharp point of the knife pricking her throat. There was no candle lit, but impressions were assaulting all her senses. Her assailant was a big man, and his hands were cold. Though he spoke in the cultured accents of an English gentleman, he had calluses on the tips of his fingers. She could tell that he had entered her room by the window because the cold night air ruffled the muslin drapes and the pages of the book she kept on the table by her bed.

Her heart was pounding so hard that she could hear each terrified beat. “I keep my money in the clothes press,” she choked out.

“Shut your mouth and listen,” he snarled. “I want the book Colette passed to you in Paris. Where is it?”

“Colette?” Her thoughts spun off in every direction. “Who is Colette?”

He slapped her so hard that her teeth jarred into her lip. Tears of pain and terror welled in her eyes.

“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Miss Vayle,” said
that hateful voice. “I know you have the book. I know you want to sell it to the highest bidder. So here’s my offer. Your brother’s life for the book Colette gave you.”

She was horribly afraid of what he would do to her if she denied knowing Colette again. There was a cold brutality about him that warned her he enjoyed inflicting pain. She swallowed the blood in her mouth as her mind groped frantically to make sense of what was happening.

She didn’t know any Colette, but she’d been in Paris with George and Olivia. And she had bought books, a whole trunk of books, for the little business she had set up. But those books were not in Bath. They were locked up at the customs house in Dover.

She felt rather than saw the movement as he raised his hand to strike her again, and she blurted out, “The book isn’t here. If you kill me, you’ll never find it.” Then the full horror of his words cut through her panic. “What have you done to my brother?” she cried out.

His hand instantly covered her mouth, mashing her lips against her teeth. “Keep your voice down!” His lips were so close to her ear that she felt his warm breath fan across her cheek, and her stomach heaved. “I won’t hesitate to kill your companion if she comes to investigate. Do you understand?”

She nodded and once again found herself released.

“Your brother is safe, and as soon as you hand over the book, he’ll be free to go.”

Though she was mortally afraid, her mind was working like quicksilver, adding things up, making connections. One thing stood out clearly. The truth would not save her or George. They would be safe only as long as her assailant thought she had Colette’s book to trade.

“A book for your brother’s life,” he whispered. “Most
people would think that was a bargain. Where is the book, Miss Vayle?”

Where was the book? Tears clogged her throat and squeezed past her lashes as she braced for the blow that would finish her off. “I … I don’t … in a safe place.”

“Where?”

Where would she keep a book that was valuable? Not in the customs house. Think! Think! Think!

When his fingers tightened around her throat, she gagged then blurted out, “It’s … it’s in my bank vault in London.”

There was an interval of silence. “Where only you can get it?”

Was that good or bad? “Y-yes.”

“How very clever.”

She knew by his tone of voice that it was a mistake to be clever, and she began to think wildly of how she could save herself. There was a pistol for just such an occasion as this in the top drawer of her bureau, but even if she got to it, she couldn’t remember if it was loaded. And if she tried to throw this monster off her, he would slit her throat.

The blackness of terror swam at the edges of her mind and she fought it off by sheer force of will. She squealed when he moved his weight, and he laughed softly.

“Frightened, Miss Vayle?”

“No … y-yes. What about my brother? How can I be sure that you have him?”

“What a suspicious mind you have, Miss Vayle. It so happens that I brought a letter from George with me. You’ll find it on the dresser. Rest assured he’s alive and well, for the moment.”