Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) (3 page)

His hands came into my view, which now extended up to his mid-torso. His fingers paused over the belt of his dressing robe. As I watched, as one watches in a dream, he picked up one end of the velvet strip and tugged. The knot unraveled, and the panels of brocaded navy slid partially apart. I had to use my fist again; I bit down until I tasted blood. In my visions, I had seen this part of a man before. But always from another's point of view.

Never had I seen such a thing literally in the flesh.

During my hallucinations, I had heard various names used for this area of a man's anatomy. The coarse words had made no sense me—not until this moment. For before me now was no euphemism, no refined
dart of love
or
Cupid's arrow
. 'Twas in fact a truncheon, a weapon of bestial and violent strength. Quivering, I watched as he took that staff in hand. I knew how large his hand was; it had engulfed mine when he'd taken the tray from me. I saw that those same fingers now barely encircled the heavy up-thrust of flesh. I could not look away—could only watch on as a victim of Mesmer's might—as the hand took on a powerful rhythm.

The labored cadence of the earl's breathing mimicked the surging of my own lungs. Beneath the flannel nightdress, my skin grew hot, sticky with sweat. My unfettered breasts throbbed with a strange sensation, as did the place between my thighs. I thought it the ache from crouching, but I dared not move. I remained motionless at the back of the dark grotto, my hand over my mouth, the pulse at my wrist a throbbing leap against my cheek.

The low, almost tortured growl made me shrink back further against my wooden refuge. Terrified fascination detained my gaze. I watched as the eye of that fearful member wept: a lonely tear and then another. My fingers twitched against my face, burning hotter with each passing moment. He shifted, and his robe slid further open. Shadows licked the lean ripples of his belly. His harsh breaths rasped over my senses. My vision brightened, blurred.

Then his foot kicked out without warning. I heard a clatter—soft, yet deafening in the sudden silence. All breath left me as I watched my snuffed candle topple from its upended dish and roll slowly out from beneath the desk.

THREE

I was gripped by numbness. A terror too great to be felt. But the next instant another grip surpassed it. I felt fingers close over my throat, choking me, dragging me from my safe haven. I was thrust upon something hard, and pain lanced through my shoulders, my head. I pushed blindly against the suffocating hold; I could not breathe. Black spots clouded my vision, only to be vaporized by burning blue.

"What the
devil
..."

I was going to die. Through the fear clawed my last thought:
He is the last thing I shall see of this earth.
My arms slackened as darkness came for me. An instant later, I felt something press against my lips. My eyes flew open as I sputtered, choking on liquid fire. Gagging, tears burning in my eyes, I struggled to sit up.

"I'd swallow if I were you. That whiskey's older than you are."

I blinked, wondering if I was having one of my visions. Yet there was no violence, no bloodshed, no sin—just me, sitting on ... a desk. And
Earl Huxton
standing before me. He had not bothered to tie his gown, though it now fell decently over his front. His arms were crossed, and his expression would instill fear in Lucifer himself.

"M-my lord," I croaked.

"So you recall that you are in my employ," he said.

"Y-yes, my lord." Excuses leapt into my head, not one of them remotely feasible. Yet I had to say something. "You must be w-wondering what I am doing here. I—I could not sleep. I must have wandered here by accident. Being new to the household I—"

"Are you stealing from me?"

My eyes widened at the harsh accusation. "
No.
No, I swear it. I would never do such a thing, my lord."

Holding my gaze, he set the glass he had been holding onto the desk next to me. I jumped as his hand reached for the woolen belt of my robe. My hands clutched at his. Despite the burning contact, I held tight.

"
Please
, my lord—"

"Undo it or I will," he said.

I swallowed, hearing the steel in his voice. His was no threat, but a statement of intent. The thought of him undoing me spurred my choice. With shaking hands, I fumbled with the knot. The robe fell open, revealing the shapeless folds of my nightdress.

"See, I am hiding nothing, my lord," I pleaded.

"That too."

 "My
lord
." The shock of what he was commanding coursed over me. I wore but a thin shift beneath my nightdress. Desperate though my situation, certain lines were not to be crossed. Removing my clothes in front of a man—my employer at that—being one of them. Despite the fear clutching my belly, my chin lifted. I would find other work. I would survive somehow.

"You have my resignation," I said in a voice that wavered.

"I'll have the truth," he growled.

Before I could react, he pushed me flat on my back. Held me there, against the desk, as he proceeded to—there could be no other word for it—
search
my person. I struggled wildly, but to no avail. 'Twas like shoving against a brick wall. With one hand, he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head. I felt the cool waft of air up my legs as he shoved my nightdress and undergarment up to my waist. He moved between my thighs, rendering me immobile.

Helpless to the devil.

Tears burned in my eyes, my chest as he touched me as no one had before. Though his survey was quick, impersonal, his hands seemed to brand and scorch my bare skin. His palm skimmed up my legs and over my hips and belly. The heat curved briefly against the fullness of my breasts; my cheeks flamed as I became aware of the straining centers. Mortified, I turned my head to the side. But he did not touch me there, continuing instead to sweep from collarbone to neck.

"Why are you here? The truth, goddamnit." His soft, menacing voice poured hotly into my ear. "Abigail-Of-God, are you? Or do you walk the darker path?
Answer me.
"

I could make no sense of his words. I kept my eyes squeezed shut and drew a shuddering breath. "I was r-reading."

"Do not lie to me."

His contempt lashed at me, but I managed to utter, "Aeschylus.
Prometheus Bound
."

"You dare to mock me," he said with lethal softness.

"
It is not in the Fates that thus/ These things should end.
"
When his hold upon my neck did not loosen, I conjured up the next lines. "
Crush'd with a thousand wrongs/ A thousand woes, I shall escape these chains.
"

Silence abraded my senses. Then, out of the darkness, came an oddly hoarse response.

"
No more of this discourse; it is not time now to disclose
..."

"
Th-that which requires the seal/ Of strictest secrecy
." Eyes opening, I took a tremulous breath.
"
By guarding which I shall escape the misery of these chains.
"

Fingers took hold of my chin. For an endless moment, his demonic eyes bore into mine. I was possessed by livid blue. I felt laid bare, as if he could see into me, through me ... as if he could know the one secret I shared with no other living. He leaned closer, and I shut my eyes, too fearful, too faint, to defend myself any longer.

"What is a maid doing reading a Greek tragedy in the middle of the night?"

Despite my closed lids, I could feel his devil's gaze burning into me. "I could not sleep. I—I have bad dreams."

It was as close to the truth as I could give. I felt myself slackening, as a string does after a knot has been loosened. He would do with me what he would. He could punish me, sack me ... strangle me with his bare hands. I was exhausted from hiding my true self, from defending against the fiends of the dark.

I felt a shock of heat upon my throat. His lips, came the stunning realization. They coursed over the sensitive skin, the foreign sensation so arousing that my breath stopped, my neck arching for some unknown relief. I writhed as his caress moved higher, the potent scent of him binding my senses. I tried to think, to resist, but I felt myself dissolving into unspeakable need. Into everything I had ever held back. His teeth skimmed my earlobe, and the carnal cravings of my dreams burst free.

An anguished whimper broke from my lips.

A pause, and then came an oath like a snarl. All of the sudden, the world spun around me. I stood, swaying, where I had been bodily hauled to my feet.

"Go." His hands clenched around the desk's edge, and his chest moved in labored surges. "Get out, before I do more to regret this night."

Unable to register anything but the tumult of wanting, the shaking hunger of my bodily self, I remained paralyzed.

"If you stay, I will have you," he bit out. "On this bloody desk, do you understand? 'Tis your choice: leave or get up here now."

The warning tore through my sensual haze. His eyes, a deep and violent blue, raked over me with unmistakable intent. With a muffled gasp, I ran.

FOUR

"Got plans fer this weekend, 'ave you Abby?" Ginny asked, as she tugged on her corset.

I shook my head and continued to make my bed.

For the last time
, came the unbidden thought.

I felt my eyes burn as the enormity of my situation threatened to crash over me. Tonight I would have no warm bed, no roof over my head. After the events of last evening, the earl was certain to dismiss me. Thinking of what I had seen, of what had followed, I quivered in mortification. Yet I had not the luxury of indulging in hysterics: I had to come up with an alternative plan and straight away. I would have to search out an employment agency—but what of a reference? I could only pray that Mrs. Beecher would agree to write one, as a last favor to my aunt.

I swallowed, tasting salt.

"Give us a 'and 'ere, won't you, luv?"

I went to Ginny where she stood in front of a rickety looking glass. Her plump, cheerful face was split in two by the crack running through the mirror. I would miss Ginny, I realized with a lump in my throat. My snoring, carroty-haired roommate who had a smile for everyone.

I reached for the strings at her waist and pulled.

"Tigh'er, that's the way," she grunted.

The laces strained around my fingers. "I don't think I can pull any harder, Ginny."

"Sure you can," she muttered. "I'm takin' tea at the home o' a gent'man friend o' mine, an' 'is mother's a real stickler. I 'ave to look me best. 'Arder, I'm tellin' you."

"Bend over the bed, then," I sighed.

Using my foot for leverage against the mattress, I yanked with all my might. Ginny yelped, the sound diluted by the rush of air leaving her lungs. I looked down with concern.

"Ne'er mind me," she gasped. "Jus' do 'er up tight, my girl."

I knotted the laces and stepped back.

"Well, that's more like it," Ginny said, giving herself an approving look in the glass. The corset had leveraged her generous bosoms to a gravity-defying height. She wiggled her way into her best dress, a printed frock with a saucy bustle. "God love Lord H's need fer privacy. Odd duck, the master, but we's luckier for it, Abby. Ain't no other maid I knows of wot gets two days off a week."

I gave a forlorn nod. That was another thing I would be losing: an unheard of amount of free time. It was his lordship's peculiar insistence that the house be empty of staff on the weekend. From nightfall each Friday to dusk on Sunday, the earl resided alone at Hope End, with only Edgar the groom allowed to stay on in the stables. Since the master paid the same wages as other employers—indeed more than most—the other servants jumped at the opportunity to visit with kinfolk and carry on with their lives.

Since I had neither kinfolk nor a life beyond my work, a lack of vacation could hardly qualify as a worry. My weekends thus far had been spent with the Simon family. Friends of Mrs. Beecher's, they farmed a plot of land just outside the nearby village of St. Alban. In exchange for helping with the little ones, I was given room and board on Fridays and Saturdays. I knew, however, that I could not stay with the honest farmer and his wife all week long—they were accommodating me as a favor to Mrs. Beecher, and more than once I had felt my presence to be unwelcome.

Which meant I would have to find work and lodgings elsewhere. Opportunities were scarce in the small village, so no doubt I'd be forced to go to the City. London, the nameless, faceless land of opportunity. It was less than three hours away by carriage, yet it might have been a different universe for how I imagined it. I thought of the objects lurking in that smoke-choked place and the evil visions that might spring from them, and I could not suppress a shudder.

"What's the matter, luv? Catchin' a bit o' somefin'?" Ginny peered at me and made a
tut-tut
sound. "You's as pale as a ghost, you's are. No gent's goin' take a second look if you don't take better care o' yourself."

A sob rose in my throat. I tried to hold it back, but I could feel the wetness trickling down my cheeks.

"'Eavens, Abby, I was makin' a jest, I was," Ginny said, her brown eyes widening. "I don't mean nofin' by it. You's as pretty as a picture. Any fellow'd be happy to walk out wif you."

"It's not that," I sniffled.

"Why, 'tween you's and me, Derrick says to me the other day,
Abigail has the bonniest grey eyes I ever saw.
I think e's sweet on you so if you gives 'im 'alf a chance ... jus' flirt wif 'im a little ..."

I shook my head, having no interest in the second footman. To be sure, Derrick Plow seemed pleasant enough, and his Adonis looks and smooth manner had the other female staff clucking around him like eager hens. Just last week, in fact, two of the scullery maids had gotten into a jealous row over his attentions. But I had no room in my life for romance—for anything but survival.

"But maybe you 'ave your sights set a might 'igher, eh, luv?"

My pulse thickened as I saw the sly smile tucking into Ginny's round cheeks. "I—I don't know what you mean," I stammered.

"C'mon, 'tis Ginny you's talkin' to. Now that Jack Simon—'e's a fine-lookin' lad, ain't he? Bit odd fer my taste, what wif all 'is talk o' science and experimentin', but 'e'll inherit 'is Pa's farm one day, and the Simons make a fine livin', I'm told."

Managing a watery smile, I only shook my head again. Jack, the Simons' eldest, was a nice boy, and I appreciated his kindness during my weekend stays. In fact, he and his sister Mary Jane had proved the bright spots in an otherwise gloomy two days. But I had no thoughts of Jack beyond a budding friendship. He was handsome and popular; the way Mrs. Simon talked about it, her son was constantly swarmed by misses from the village.

A knock interrupted my thoughts. As I had been expecting and dreading, the housekeeper stepped in. She was dressed in traveling clothes; I remembered she'd a trip scheduled to visit her niece in the country.

"You're looking fine, Ginny," Mrs. Beecher said.

"Thank you, ma'am," the other maid replied, her freckled cheeks flushing. "I'm off to London to see me follower. A nice chap wif good prospects. 'Is Pa owns three millinery shops, wif more on the way, and 'e 'spects to take over 'em all someday."

"Well, so long as you have a care. There was another body found in the Thames last week—strangled, no less." Mrs. Beecher clasped her elbows to her midsection. "Mr. Jessop was just telling me about it. Fresh from the front page of
The Times
, he said."

"Another babe?" Ginny asked, eyes huge.

The housekeeper nodded grimly. "A wee one, not past his first year. Anyone who would do that to an innocent child—well, the city is no place for decent country folk. You best keep an eye about you."

"Yes, ma'am."

The housekeeper's lips thinned. "Now, Abigail, I'd like to speak to you."

Tension thickened in the room. Ginny looked at the both of us. "I'll jus' grab me hat," she said and darted out with a quick wave.

Mrs. Beecher closed the door. Shame made me drop my gaze to my boots. I knew what was coming next.

"What has happened, Abigail?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I could think of nothing else to say. In addition to the hardship I was to face, I had also let Mrs. Beecher down. She, who had shown me kindness and pity when no one else had. "I meant no harm."

"Look at me, miss. What did you
do
?"

She took hold of my elbow, gave me a shake. As I met the housekeeper's bespectacled gaze, I saw that it was alarm rather than anger that sharpened her voice. She was truly fearful for me. I trembled at that realization. What had the earl said to her, what did he intend ...?

"He f-found me," I said. "In the library last night."

"What on earth were you doing there, Abigail Jones?"

"R-reading."

"Reading!" Mrs. Beecher's hands flew to her dark bonnet. "Oh, you are Agnes' niece, no doubt of it. Her and her books." Behind her spectacles, her eyes turned keen. "So nothing else happened?"

I could not force the truth into words. Dark and viscous, it clung to my insides and clotted my breath. I gave my head a quick shake.

Mrs. Beecher studied me a moment longer before releasing a sigh. "Well, then, there may be salvaging the situation yet." She gave me a stern look. "Though your actions were undoubtedly foolish and grounds for dismissal, his lordship is less of a stickler in these matters than his peers. Many an employer would have dismissed Cook for setting the kitchen afire—an accident, mind, and no fault of hers—but Earl Huxton paid for the repairs and the doctor's bill besides."

"Do you really think he'll allow me to stay?" Hope, frail and withered, raised its wings. Yet trepidation fluttered within me as well: how could I continue in the employ of one who I had seen in such a fashion? Whose hedonistic actions flamed in my memory, whose devilish touch had wrought such confused and wicked feelings ...

Consulting the watch-piece that hung from her neck, Mrs. Beecher released an agitated sigh. "The Virgin have mercy, I'm late as it is. I shall miss the train if I don't leave at once. Make your case simply, young miss, and don't take more of his time than necessary."

"Wh-what?" I stammered.

"His lordship has requested your presence. In the library." Mrs. Beecher opened the door. "
Immediately and alone
were his exact words."

*****

 
I had once read a story about a public hanging at the Tyburn. As I stopped in front of the library, I remembered the description of the condemned man walking from the cart. He'd had the opportunity to wash the night before; running a nervous hand over my own cap, I saw the shining wave of the convict's hair, the smooth plane of his jaw. I imagined the look of shock and acceptance upon his gaunt face. Fear must have been evident in his last steps—but had he felt a grain of relief as well? From the knowledge that his suffering was to end?

My knuckles made a hollow sound against the door.

"Enter."

Even the thick oak could not diminish the strong, inexorable tones of my master's command. Taking a deep breath, I did as he bade. My eyelashes fluttered against the brightness. I saw Earl Huxton at his desk; his imposing figure was cast in dark relief by the daylight streaming in from the windows behind him. The golden aura surrounded him, emanating from him like wings of light. Righteous as a host of justice, he awaited me.

"Come closer."

I realized that I was standing at the threshold, staring. My knees buckling slightly, I traversed the path to the desk. My gaze snagged momentarily on the painting. In the daylight, her expression seemed ever more mocking. I felt a jolt of anger at the smug fall of her eyelids, the cruel indifference of her posture as she sat there, combing her hair.

You're in for it now
, her smile seemed to say.
How I shall enjoy watching you suffer.

I reached the desk. Bobbing a curtsy, I kept my eyes trained on the Turkish rug. The silence wove into red arabesques and golden curlicues. My nerves strung tighter than a harp, I suddenly understood why this was known as "being called to the carpet."

"Well, Miss Jones, what have you to say for yourself?"

I was startled to hear him address me with such formality. I had no idea he knew my family name.

"Very little, my lord," I said truthfully.

"Do not hide your eyes from me."

I looked up. The sunshine shafted against my pupils, painful and blinding, and my eyelids twitched in protest.

"The light bothers you, does it?" The earl rose in a smooth shadowy motion and went to the windows. He drew the curtain. "There, we are in darkness again. A situation better suited, I think, for the two of us."

My throat thickened as he returned not to his chair but toward me. It required all my willpower not to bolt as he came to stand on my side of the desk. Leaning against the mahogany, his large, polished shoes planted inches from my own worn boots, he gave the appearance of studied nonchalance. The pose of a predatory beast just before the attack.

"Tell me again, Miss Jones, why you were here last night."

In the dim room, the brightness of his eyes was mesmerizing. I could not look away, nor could I voice anything but the truth. "It was w-wrong of me, my lord. I know it, and I beg your pardon. But I could not sleep. I thought only to find solace in a bit of reading."

"So you said," he murmured. "But why reading? And not ... other distractions?"    

Something about his tone made me flush. In a flash, I recalled what he had been doing, the sort of diversion he had been entertaining, when he had thought himself alone. Such intemperance ought to have repulsed me (his female guest had left but hours before that!). My true reaction, however, proved a more complex alchemy: repugnance mingled with feelings too potent and disturbing to explore. I felt my limbs weakening, the wings of a strange and feral awareness beating within my breast ...

"'Twas you I was asking about," he said. "You need not comment on my own notorious actions. Unless, of course, you would wish to."

Horrified by his astuteness, I could only gape at him.

He looked back at me. Not a trace of discomfiture could I detect upon his impassive features. In fact, one corner of his mouth quirked faintly upward as he crossed his arms. "So what shall we discuss, Miss Jones—my propensities or yours?"

Discuss
his
inclinations? Heat blossomed in my cheeks. I'd take
that
particular topic on when swine took to the skies.

"My aunt Agnes," I blurted. "Sh-she taught me to read."

His brow, black and thick, angled upward.

"She worked at a school for young ladies. As a schoolmistress. She was a learned woman, and she saw fit to educate me as she did her other charges."

A pause. "Her teaching fell on fertile ground, I presume."

"Yes, my lord."

"And what does your esteemed aunt think of you working as a maid?"

"She does not know, my lord." My gaze fell to his waistcoat. Subtly striped, it had jet buttons that gleamed like dark tears. "She passed away this autumn."