Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) (24 page)

Triumph swelled within me. I calculated the most I could reasonably ask for. "Three months?"

During the fertile pause that followed, I had to contain my quavering as his gaze raked over me, through me.

"Three weeks," he said evenly. "And after that time you go to Yorkshire without argument and wait for me there."

There was no way I was going to Yorkshire without him, but I nodded quickly. He continued to study me, an intense scrutiny that made me squirm. In the devil shade of his eyes, I saw a warring of resentment and desire: he hated anyone having power over him. Knowing of his past, I could not blame him. My insides wobbled as I recognized my own machinations—borne out of love, yes, but machinations just the same. Yet I feared that he might change his mind. Quivering with anxiety, with anticipation, I tilted my head back. Tension palpitated between us as his eyes went automatically to my parted lips. My silent invitation. I could feel his resistance, his pulsating hunger.

With a growl, he crushed me to him, and I gave myself guiltily, desperately to the kiss. Everything I could not say I communicated with the fervent press of my lips against his.
I am so sorry for deceiving you. I would die before I hurt you. Forgive me, forgive me.
I threaded my fingers through his hair and rained kisses over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, along the unyielding slant of his jaw. He made a guttural sound as I yanked at his striped cravat, dislodging the gold pin and exposing the strong column of his neck.

Growing bolder, I kissed the warm, spicy skin. I licked the flexing bump of his throat. He tasted delicious, of hot salt and flagrant virility. Somehow, I managed to shove the waistcoat from his shoulders and then his braces; I did not stop until I had parted his shirt to reveal his hard-cobbled chest. Pushing the linen side, I slid my fingers into the wiry chest hair. I heard his staggered breaths as I skimmed over his hardening nipples. Circling downward, I traced the scarred ridge beneath his heart.

"Does this hurt?" I murmured.

"Not anymore."

"And this,"—my fingertips drifted to a small, light brown mark at the top of his right hip, just visible above his waistband—"also an injury?"

"Of birth." He sounded slightly winded now, as if he had sprinted a distance.

Sliding from his lap, I knelt in the lee of his thighs. I pressed my lips down along the jagged scar, as if with my kisses I could heal that petrified wound. His sharp intake of breath emboldened my actions. Sinking lower, I touched my tongue to the star-like outline of his birthmark.

He shuddered beneath my caresses. "Abby, sweetheart, anyone could see—"

"There is no one here," I said, "and we will hear if anyone approaches."

The bands of muscle over his abdomen tautened as I licked and nibbled the warm, smooth skin. I could hear his labored breaths, feel the quickening rhythm of his arousal, and it fed my own excitement. In that moment, I silently pledged to give him everything that I could, everything that he wanted. I would make up for the one thing I held back.

I cupped my palm over the bulging placket of his trousers. His hand clamped over mine. I looked up into blue flames as the stiff crest beneath my hand throbbed in demand.

"Abby, love, that is far enough." He seemed to bite out each word. "You would tempt a saint, and God knows I am no saint. But for you I swore to be a better man. I'll don't want to take advantage of ...
Hell's teeth
."

I had managed to slip my fingers into the placket of his trousers. "What if I want to take advantage of you?" I whispered, sliding my cheek against his iron-hard thigh. A tremor ran through his whole body, and I reveled in his pleasure, in being able to speak, in this, my heart's truth. "I want to love you, Hux, as you have loved me. I want to pleasure you. But you'll have to show me how."

He groaned as I wriggled my fingers deeper. "Bloody hell, I cannot think when you do that—"

"Show me." Beneath the fine layer of wool, I could feel the leaping evidence of his need. It set my blood simmering, thickened my voice into warm honey. "When you made love to me, you took away the emptiness, the aching. Let me do the same for you."

 For endless moments, his gaze smoldered into mine. Then, letting go a harsh breath, he slowly reached for his waistband. He freed the buttons and shoved the material past his lean hips. My eyes widened as I beheld him for the first time fully in the light. It seemed that the other time the shadows had dimmed his magnificence ... and his size. My breath hitched as I saw the length and girth of his manhood, the way its blunt head nudged upward against his navel. As I licked my dry lips, I saw the thing twitch.

"Oh, my," I managed as warmth trickled from my core.

"Does it frighten you, sweetheart?" His tone was husky, faintly edged with amusement. "I can put it away if you like."

"No. It's just that—I didn't remember it looking ... quite this way," I said, sounding quite breathless.

"Ah." A wealth of masculine satisfaction resonated in that single sound. "You have thought of that time, have you?"

Squirming with embarrassment, I dipped my head quickly.

His eyes gleamed, and I shivered as his fingers traced the curve of my ear. "Indulge me, Abigail. What were you thinking as you watched me from your hiding place?"

"That you were very wicked. Especially s-since," I stuttered as his thumb rubbed along my throat, "you had been with Lady Priscilla but hours before."

"But now you know better," he said, his voice hypnotic as a flame. "You know what she was and that I sought only to vanquish the demon that had possessed her. You know that I never wanted her, that she had no part in my dreams, my deepest fantasies."

I could not speak for the arousal peaking in my blood. Against my skirts, my fingers twitched, and I could not look away from the rearing part of him that seemed to swell to an even more impressive height under my regard. His large, elegant hand now rested upon his steely thigh, and I trembled, remembering how those fingers had touched me ... and himself.

"You know now who I was thinking of, don't you, Abigail? Whose grave little face and sad, all-seeing eyes haunted my every moment, whether awake or asleep? Whose prim manner and passionate soul drove me to stroke my cock in desperation and in hunger?"

The palpitating intensity was almost too much to bear.

"Hux," I murmured. "Please, I—"

"You, Abigail." A shock of pleasure exploded over my skin as his hand went to his enormous cock. His large fingers wrapped around the rigid girth as his rough words wrapped around my senses. "Every time I touch myself, I think of you. You do not know how many times I have lain in my bed, imagining you next to me. Imagining how you would feel and taste. How many times, how many ways I would love you through the night."

My breaths came rapidly, yoked to the rhythm of his stroke, his growling words. My tongue touched my bottom lip, and I heard him groan. A droplet appeared upon the burgeoned tip of the shaft, a perfect, pearly bead. Without thinking, I reached to touch it.

"
Abby
." He hissed my name like a curse. "You don't have to—"

"Show me how to pleasure you," I whispered. "I want to do everything you imagined doing with me. Show me how I touched you."

His eyes darkened with lust, he guided me as I wished. He wrapped my shaking fingers around his shaft and led me into a sensual, pumping motion. It was like gripping a bolt of lightning. Within my small hand, I could not contain his pulsing vigor completely. So I brought the other to help me, and with the two began a clumsy tempo that nonetheless had him grunting my name.

His head fell back, his chest rising and falling in rapid waves.

"Am I doing this ... correctly?" I asked breathlessly. "Does this feel good?"

"Abby, my God ..." He sounded drunken, and his eyes were glazed slits. "Good is merely being in the same room as you. Holding you, kissing you is better than anything I have known. Oh, Sweet Jesus,"—he groaned as I smoothed my thumb over the slickened bulb—"now I am
slain
."

I took that as a good thing. Taking my cue from his rasping breaths, I quickened the pace of my caress. I grew bolder, prolonging the stroke, gliding my hands from tip to base and back again. I gloried in the feel of all that male power contained between my palms. At the thought of that thick, hard length taking me in another place, possessing the deepest center of my being, my belly gave a silken leap, and warmth drenched my quim.

Hux's hand closed over mine. He was panting heavily. "Abby, sweetheart, I don't know how much more of this I can take. I am warning you now—I am too close."

"Fair warning," I said in a sultry voice foreign to my own. "Now show me how to take you all the way."

Groaning, he leaned down and took my head in his hands. The feel of his fingertips against my scalp set off shocks of bliss. He kissed me deeply, penetrating my mouth, feeding back to me all the pleasure I had given him. Then, taking one of my hands, he brought it to his lips and ran his tongue in a moist trail down the center.

My breath stuttering in my chest, I let him guide my hand back to his erect member. The lubricated contact made us both gasp. He kept his hand over mine, our fingers entwined as they dragged slickly up and down. He uttered earthy words, carnal sounds that made me burn. With our hands and gazes joined, I could imagine but one greater intimacy. And I prayed there would be a chance for us.

"I love you, Hux," I whispered, my throat swelling. "Please don't ever forget that."

His chest rose on an abraded breath—then he jerked forward at the waist, his jaw clenched, his face pulled taut with passion.

"Abby, I—"

The rest of his words were lost in a guttural shout. Primal heat gushed against my fingers. His shuddering climax seemed to go on and on, drawing an answering wetness between my legs. As he worked to pull in deep, gulping breaths, his pleasure continued to ripple through me, the profound satisfaction of knowing what I had given to him. My own respiration fitful, I rested my chin against his knee and caressed his thigh in a soothing stroke. Finally, he snatched me onto his lap and buried his face in my hair. I held onto his large, powerful frame until the tremors stopped.

When he finally lifted his head, my heart flipped in my chest. He was so beautiful, so wickedly sensual, and, in this moment, he was mine.

"Abigail," he said unsteadily.

That was all he said, and I knew what he meant. As his arms tightened around me, I pressed my lips into the crook of his neck. We did not move for a long while after that.

TWENTY-NINE

During the next fortnight, a series of spring storms migrated to Hertfordshire. Capricious deluges of rain and sun—sometimes both at once—let loose over Hope End. As the household staff struggled to adjust to the wild climes (twice, linens had to be rewashed and hung again to dry), I could not help but observe the parallel between the weather and my own inner tumult. From moment to moment, day to day, my emotions rode an unpredictable wave.

On the surface, nothing much had changed between Hux and me. I had begged him to keep our relationship a secret, at least for the time being. Given the furor my promotion had caused, I shuddered to think how the others would talk about a courtship between the master and his secretary. Hux had arched his brow and said I might as well get used it: there would be no escaping the wags once I was his wife. The very thought was enough to send me into paroxysms of joy ... and dread.

Me
, a countess?

Whilst I was more than ready to spend my life with Hux, I hadn't the faintest idea how I would get along in his exalted world. I tried to talk to him about it, but he swept my reservations about marriage aside.

"You're mine, Abigail," he said. "Any other arrangement would shame our love."

For the time being, however, he humored me, and we kept our public interactions circumspect, that of employer and employee. We spent days together in the library with the door pointedly open. He worked at his desk whilst I continued to organize his book collection. From time to time, our gazes would catch and hold; I would feel a jolt of love and desire so strong that it was a wonder I did not accost him where he sat. I could tell by the flush on his cheekbones, the bright gleam in his eyes, that he felt it too.

But to my surprise, Hux insisted on observing proprieties. I had only wanted to
appear
decorous; he actually wanted us to
behave
properly. He'd requested that Mrs. Beecher and Ginny stay on during the weekends so that I would be chaperoned, and even in the few unattended moments we had together, he'd do no more than kiss me. When I tried to sway him into abandoning his principled stance, he only laughed softly and told me that I needed to be patient. That he wanted us to know each other fully, without the blinders of physical lust. That waiting only made the lovemaking sweeter.

The hot promise in his sapphire eyes had melted my knees.

I thought I understood his need for decency. He, who had once indulged in meaningless vice, who had exposed himself to lustful demons—he wanted now to know that he was whole and good. He wanted redemption. He sought to convince me that he was capable of being an adoring, faithful lover. I could have told him he was, but he seemed to need to prove it, to himself as much as to me.

Despite my discomfort, he showered with me gifts. I did not know what to do with the packages that appeared magically by my bedside, everything from whimsical tokens to items of such extravagance that I blanched. Just yesterday he had given me a priceless emerald bracelet. It had apparently belonged to some Russian queen and was now housed in my spare boots, along with a thick rope of pearls, a diamond brooch, and hair combs fashioned from the finest ivory.

To my mind, he'd already given me the most invaluable present: a sense of belonging. Of finding a home for myself at last. Hux did not deem my intellectual nature strange or undesirable. To the contrary, he seemed to take great pleasure in sparring with me, in testing my logic and wit. He indulged my curiosity in all subject matters for he was an avid a reader as I. During our long walks through the estate grounds, we engaged in vigorous debates to an audience of bobbing snowdrops and staunch daffodils. Before the evening fire, we continued our heated exchange over the chessboard. I did not even mind losing a match, for the forfeit was a kiss (one, in my opinion, that ended far too chastely).

I did not think my love for Hux could grow—but it did and to a terrifying degree.

For I knew all that delight was built upon a single, precarious omission. Like a boil in my psyche, my deception festered. I yearned to lance it, to release the putrid truth. Countless times I caught him studying me, speculation in his gaze, and I felt the urge to blurt out my secret. But I imagined his love turning to revulsion, I saw those nights by the fire evaporating in the inferno of his rage, and always the confession died in my throat. I hated my own cowardice. How, with each dishonest minute that passed, my fear of losing him grew and grew.

The walls between us were not only mine. As the end of the three weeks neared, I sensed a growing impatience within him. There were instances when his expression shuttered, when a brooding darkness would swirl in his eyes, and he retreated to privacy. I did not intrude during those sojourns in the study or his wild gallops through the countryside. In truth, I feared to pry; I feared that any reminder of Lilith would bring an end to these tenuous days of peace.

But today was Thursday—two days before our negotiated truce would expire. Soon, there would be no avoiding the confrontation. For I was certain he expected me to uphold my end: to leave for Yorkshire whilst he went off to London. I knew that this time no amount of prevarication on my part could stop him. My fingers trembled, fluttering the papers I was tidying on Hux's desk. As I finished replenishing the brass inkwell and the stack of blotting papers, I focused on the inevitable course of action.

In order to save Hux, I would have to tell him the truth. I could only pray that he would believe me—and listen to my plan.

Over the past fortnight, I had faithfully practiced cultivating the necklace's magic. I'd been able to replicate my earlier success of repelling demonic dreams by focusing on images of the cross. My skill had grown; night after night, the soothing, vibrant form dispersed the terrors with golden warmth. Afterward, my sleep stretched peaceful and undisturbed into the morning. I'd not felt this invigorated in my entire life.

I was now ready to put my newfound ability to the test. I needed to practice with a bona fide vision. If I could control the trances, then I had something of value to offer Hux. Something to prove to him that I was
me
and not possessed by demonic power. A tremor coursed over my skin as I thought of the pent-up aggression that brewed within my lover. The righteous fury he was bridling to unleash upon Lilith and her ilk. Much as I loved him, I could not predict his reaction to my revelation. And to the fact that I had been lying to him.

Drawing shaky breath, I began to line the pens and letter opener in their ornate tray when a gleam, a soft spark of color, caught my eye. I lifted my head and found myself staring directly at the portrait. The storm had ended, sending ribbons of afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. A gauzy filament had somehow reached the painting and animated the jewel-hued strokes. With my hands curling at my sides, I crossed the room. I stopped before the mantel and stared up at her. The light winked across her rosy tresses, glimmered in her mossy, mocking eyes.

Lilith
, I thought, my teeth clenching. How I hated her. How I wished I could banish her from Hux's life and mine forever.

As I regarded that red, whip-like smile, that alluring, cunning visage, I had a sudden pounding instinct. My fingers twitched in response.
But of course.
Slowly, I brought my right hand to the necklace. I could feel the small shape reassuring beneath the layers of fabric. As if sensing my impulse, the charm's aura heightened, imbuing my chest with a tingling glow.

Go ahead
, it urged.
Put your practice to the test. See if you can rid yourself of her as you've been doing with the dreams.

Golden dust whirled into my mind's eye, settling into the form of a cross. Image and sensation blended, built upon one another. The hum in my chest innervated my limbs; light suffused every sinew, every nerve until I was immersed in a sea of warmth. Floating, slightly heady, I felt as if nothing could harm me.

Stepping closer to the painting, I reached up with a hand that shook. My fingertips hovered a hair's breadth from the canvas ... then grazed the cool topography of swirling color. My breath held.

Nothing happened.

I pressed harder, waiting, hoping, but nothing changed.

The door banged open, and I jumped back, my hand whipping to my side. The glow of the necklace fizzled.

"You're certain?" I heard Hux's voice demand grimly.

"Yes, my lord."

This came from Mr. Jessop, who trailed in Hux's wake. Such was the intensity of their exchange that neither men noticed me at the fireplace behind them. Hux strode to the windows, his back to me. Against the dazzling sunlight, his silhouette appeared even larger and more potent than usual.

"The stolen items were found in his possession," the butler continued. "If it pleases your lordship, he is being brought in now."

I saw Hux's head jerk in assent.

Before I could think to announce my presence, another entered. It was the new footman, William. He had someone next to him, whose face was blocked from my view. I saw that William gripped the other man's arm and pushed him forward toward the desk.

"Caught 'im red-'anded, milord. The missin' silver, a pair o' cufflinks, an' other assorted 'ousehold goods, all o' it stashed 'neath a floorboard," William said grimly.

"It weren't me who put it there," came the familiar inveigling voice. The other man stepped forward, and I saw the sandy hair, the insolent swagger to his step. "I'm innocent, I tell you. Ask anyone in this 'ouse, and they'll vouch for me good character. 'Tis all a mistake—"

"
Silence.
"  Hux turned suddenly, and I saw the leashed fury upon his face. His eyes flickered for an instant—he'd caught sight of me, standing frozen by the settee—but his attention did not waver from Derrick. "Anyone who abuses my trust, and that of this household, will suffer the consequences."

"But I didn't do nothin'!" Derrick protested unwisely. "'Tis William's word 'gainst mine, and I been 'ere longer. Ask any o' the maids who they trust be'er than Derrick Plow."

The corner of Hux 's mouth curled with derision. "That is
Detective
William Yarden. I retained his services to track all suspicious activity amongst the staff. It didn't take long for you to rise to the top of the list."

"'Tis a dirty piece of work, seducin' girls to get to the goods," William said sternly. "The scullery maid wept 'er eyes out when I questioned 'er. Admitted she'd let you 'ave a tickle while she'd been set to polish the silver."

"The bloody bitch is lyin'," Derrick hissed.

"An' was the chamber maid lyin' too, when she confessed to doin' the sheet-jig with you while in the master's chambers? That very same day the cufflinks went missin'?" William inquired.

"You will pay for your crimes," Hux said in frigid accents. "I will see to it personally that the magistrate enforces the maximum penalty. You will be locked away for a very long time, and you will never work again in any household. Take him away, Yarden."

"Get yer 'ands off o' me!"

Wrenching from William's hold, Derrick spun around like a cornered beast. His eyes flew to the door—but Mr. Jessop had reached it first, clicking the lock and depositing the key in this pocket. Derrick's enraged gaze veered wildly, fell upon me.

"You," he snarled. "Wot are you doin' 'ere?"

Terrified at the brutish light in his pale eyes, I retreated a step. The small motion seemed to madden him. He sprang toward me. With a gasp, I stumbled back, my limbs clumsy with fright. A dark shape blurred before me. Before I knew what was happening, I was shoved to the side. I bounced upon the settee cushions, my head whirling.

Blinking, I saw Hux's large form blocking me from Derrick. The latter's smooth demeanor had given way to a crazed sneer.

"If it ain't the pot callin' the kettle black," Derek spat. "Blame me fer a bit o' fun wif the maids, will ye? All the while yer
lordship
is screwin' 'is own secretary."

"By God, you will pay for that."

Hux's lethal promise wrought a shiver over my nape, but Derek only taunted, "Who's goin' to see to that? Yer 'elp?"

"My lord—" William said.

"Stand back," Hux snarled, stripping off his jacket. "I'm going to kill this bastard myself."

The two began circling each other in a predatory dance. My knuckles whitened upon the frame of the settee. I worried less for Hux's safety and more for what he intended to do to his opponent. Bloodlust gleamed in his eyes, virile animosity leaping off him in waves. In this state of potent aggression, he might do more than just teach the footman a much-deserved lesson.

Derrick charged at him, and Hux warded the blow easily. He landed a solid punch to Derrick's midsection, eliciting a gasp of pain. The footman recovered quickly and swung out with his fists. Hux parried the wild blows, his expression that of a marauder biding his time. A jungle cat toying with his food. From time to time, he issued a hit, the power of his strikes knocking Derrick back toward the center of the room. I scrambled to where William and Mr. Jessop stood at the sidelines, their faces grim.

"You won't let Hux kill him, will you?" I asked the detective anxiously.

We both watched as Derrick crashed head first into the desk.

"No, Miss," William muttered. "But I ain't fool enough to get in 'is lordship's way at the moment."

Derrick spun to face Hux, and I saw an object glinting in his hand. My blood froze. He'd snatched the letter opener, its silver blade small but keen. With a fiendish smirk, the footman tossed it back and forth between his hands in the manner of a seasoned cutthroat.

"Do something," I hissed to William.

"Milord—" he said.

"Stand back." Hux's authoritative growl booked no refusal. His broad-shouldered form coiled in readiness. "If Derrick wishes to play at knives, he had better watch his own throat."

"Hux, please—" I beseeched.

Derrick advanced, his eyes pale slits. "'Ear that, milord? The twat's cryin' out fer ye. But I'll tell ye a secret. She's cried out fer me, too. 'Twixt the sheets, 'er 'eels kicked up 'igh—"