It Takes a Scandal (28 page)

That had been his last lengthy conversation with Benedict, come to think of it. And it wasn’t one Sebastian wished to renew, now or ever.

He bowed slightly. “I don’t want to keep you from your shopping. Good day, Miss Weston, Miss Penelope.” He looked right at Benedict. “My lord.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Abigail, putting out her hand.

He stopped at once. She had let go of Benedict’s arm to reach toward him, and part of him yearned to take that hand and pull her to his side. He wrapped his fingers more firmly around the cane’s head and waited. Everyone waited, in fact, all watching her.

Her cheeks flushed darker and she cleared her throat. “You’re not interrupting, Mr. Vane. We—my sister and I”—she paused, then went on without looking at Benedict—“are very glad you’ve come home. I’m sure Boris was beside himself!” She smiled, but no one else did, and so it withered on her lips. “I hope your trip was as rewarding as you’d hoped,” she added, a little uncertainly.

Sebastian looked at her. She was as beautiful as he’d remembered; even the slightly flustered air and pink cheeks reminded him of their last meeting, when he’d brought her to climax in his arms. The memory made him excruciatingly aware of the box in his pocket, tried up with a bit of red ribbon. His uncle had left him a cameo pendant that had once belonged to his great-grandmother, a small but delicate piece. Sebastian had bought a new chain for it and imagined fastening it around Abigail’s neck, the cameo nestled between her lovely breasts. He’d imagined bestowing a kiss on the spot where it would rest.

But it seemed he might have lost more than he gained in the fortnight he’d been away. “Thank you,” he said in reply to her remark. “It was unremarkable.”

Penelope clapped her hands together. “Well! The four of us can’t just stand here all day; we’re blocking half the street. Do visit Hart House soon, Mr. Vane. I’ve never been to Bristol and look forward to being regaled with exciting stories.”

“I doubt it could live up to your expectations,” he told her. “If Richmond bores you, Bristol would numb you.”

“Bored in Richmond!” Benedict laughed. “Ah yes, I remember your lament, Miss Penelope. Surely it’s grown on you since we visited Kew and Hampton Court?”

“My opinion of those places improved,” she replied. “Although you promised to show us a ghost at Hampton Court and I didn’t see even a floating veil. And then we came back to dull little Richmond.”

“I can’t have you think that of my home.” Benedict gave her a teasing smile. “How about a dinner party, to breathe some life into the place? My mother would be delighted to have one; she’s been talking of it since I returned home. What say you, Miss Penelope?”

The Weston girls exchanged a glance Sebastian couldn’t quite interpret. Surprise, but also something else. So they hadn’t been invited to Stratford Court yet. “That’s very kind, sir,” said Abigail with a forced smile. “I’m sure it would be delightful.”

“Excellent. We’ll send out cards at once.” This time when he faced Sebastian, there was a definite challenge in Benedict’s eye. “How about it, Vane? Will you join us as well?”

He burned to say no. He never wanted to see Lord Stratford again, let alone dine at his table. But on the other hand . . . He glanced at Abigail. It was hard to blame her for wanting a man with two good legs and a respectable fortune. It was, unfortunately, harder to see her choose Benedict Lennox, of all people. She had stepped away from Benedict now, though, closer to her sister, and that alone made him take a deep breath and say, “Of course.”

Benedict’s smile faded a little. “Excellent.” He turned back toward the Weston ladies. “Shall we continue in search of your brother? I believe you said he was waiting for you at the coffee shop.”

“No, he isn’t!” Penelope sounded almost gleeful. She raised one arm. “James!”

Mr. Weston nodded in greeting as he joined them. “Atherton, Vane; how do you do?” He surveyed his sisters. “I see I’m just in time to rescue you.”

“That’s a fine apology for being late meeting us,” Penelope accused him.

James Weston gave her an amused look. “You seem to be in good hands, but I know my duty. Gentlemen, thank you for entertaining my sisters. I shall return them to the safety of Hart House now.”

“Not a duty, but a pleasure.” Benedict laid one hand on his heart as he bowed. “Thank you again for your invaluable assistance, Miss Weston.”

“You’re very welcome, sir,” murmured Abigail.

“Good day, my lord!” chirped Penelope. “I do hope Lady Samantha appreciates the immense effort you expended on her behalf!”

With one last sharp glance at Sebastian, Benedict touched the brim of his hat and strode away, swinging his walking stick at his side. One might even think he did it to excess, as if to demonstrate how his cane was merely for show, and that he was very agile without it.

“I left the carriage down the street.” Mr. Weston looked at Penelope. “I hope you didn’t stir up trouble with Atherton.”

She made a face. “Why do you always suspect me of something dreadful?”

Her brother snorted. “Experience! Tell me what you did, he looked a bit out of humor . . .” They began walking.

Abigail, though, lingered. “Have you been home long?”

“Since last night, on the late coach from London.”

“Welcome home,” she said softly.

He bowed his head. “Thank you.” The image of her in Benedict’s arms had scoured away all the things he meant to say to her.

There was a long moment of silence.

“I see you’ve met Lord Atherton,” he said. He had to know. “He seems quite taken with you.” All he wanted was one word, one indication that she didn’t return Benedict’s obvious attraction to her. He could excuse Benedict’s interest in her—that was perfectly understandable—but did she welcome it?

She shifted the package in her arm uncomfortably, as if it was too heavy. “We met him only recently. He was in town, seeking a gift for his sister, and asked me—and Penelope,” she hastily added, “to advise him.”

That was no reply at all to his remark that Benedict was taken with her. It had been as clear as day to Sebastian, but if she didn’t even pretend not to have noticed . . . He told himself he couldn’t blame her, but at the same time he could already feel the armor re-forming around his heart. He tilted his head in the direction her siblings had gone. “I don’t want to keep you. Shall we?”

Abigail nodded, too disconcerted to say anything. This was not the reunion she had imagined. He didn’t seem at all pleased to see her, with not one word of delight at running into them. Sebastian fell in step beside her, without offering his arm. Now the weight of
Ivanhoe
felt like a small boulder in her arm. Even if he had no idea what it was, she did—but from the hard set of his shoulders and his remote expression, she imagined he suspected.

“I’m glad your trip was a success,” she said to break the oppressive silence. Penelope seemed to be inciting James to a race, for they had already made much quicker progress.

Sebastian glanced fleetingly at her. “I suppose.”

“Wasn’t it?”

His mouth was a firm line and his eyes were fixed straight ahead. “I’m not certain.”

She began to be annoyed. He was acting as if she had offended him when all she had done was be cordial to a neighbor. She hiked
Ivanhoe
a little higher into the crook of her elbow. If Sebastian Vane felt such an interest in her actions, he could have done something about it—as Lord Atherton had done. He could have declared himself that day he kissed her so scandalously. He could have written to her while he was away. He could have asked her if she had formed an attachment to Lord Atherton instead of being tight-lipped and taciturn. “Lord Atherton has been very kind,” she said to provoke him.

“And attentive, I see.”

Again she felt the weight of
Ivanhoe
, but she merely smiled. “Yes, indeed! It would have been very quiet around Hart House otherwise.”

This time his glance lingered. “He’s been to call often, then.”

She flipped one hand. “Often? A few times.”

“And you walked through the woods with him.”

“Once,” she agreed.

“And met him in town today.”

“By chance,” she said in the same light, pleasant tone, to contrast with his flat one. “Just as we met you.” She waited a few more steps before adding, “What is Bristol like? I’ve never seen a port city.”

“Crowded,” he said. “Dirty.”

She nodded. “It sounds very different than Richmond. My brother went to Portsmouth once, and wrote the most amusing descriptions of the people there.”

Her companion said nothing for a long moment. They had almost reached the carriage, where Penelope and James were already seated. The groom stood at the step waiting to help her in. “There was nothing of interest in Bristol to write about.”

“Perhaps not, but a letter would have showed you thought of me.” She raised her brows. “But perhaps you didn’t. I shouldn’t presume.”

He caught her hand and pulled, yanking her around to face him when she would have turned toward the carriage. “I thought of you,” he said in a low, taut voice. “Every day.”

“And I thought of you,” she replied quietly. “The only trouble was, I didn’t know what to think.”

His grip tightened around her wrist. “After the way we parted—”

“What?” she pressed when he stopped. “Nothing was promised between us.”

“No,” he said grimly. “Clearly not.”

Abigail flushed painfully red. He had undone her dress and kissed her all over, making love to her skin with his mouth. He had put his hands beneath her skirt and made her feel like the wickedest, most wanton woman alive. And not only had she let him, she’d reveled in it. She had wanted more.

But now all her hopes of what might happen on his return seemed foolish and naïve. He appeared to have no memory of any desire to speak to her father now; today he looked cold and withdrawn again. “Well,” she said before she could stop herself, “perhaps that’s my fault. You asked a great deal, and I gave it without exacting any promise.”

He released her hand as if it scalded him.

“But before you charge me with—with
anything
,” she went on in a growing fury, “ask what right you had to expect devotion. You know what I want, sir; I have never been coy about it. And if you cannot or will not give it, why shouldn’t I look elsewhere?
You
told me to do so!”

“Abigail,” he said softly.

She slashed one hand through the air. “I’m tired of being deemed a heartless flirt. I am willing to follow my heart, yes, but not to certain disappointment. If that’s all you have to offer, then perhaps I should encourage another gentleman to pay attention to me.” She raised her chin. “If you’ve decided you feel differently, you know where to call on me.” And she turned her back on him and marched to the carriage, flinging herself up the step without help from the groom and into the seat next to her sister. “I’m ready to go home,” she announced.

James’s eyebrows shot up, but he signaled the driver.

Penelope leaned in close. “Abby, did you just have an argument with Mr. Vane?” she whispered incredulously. “In the middle of Richmond?”

“I did not.” She kept her gaze fixed ahead and refused to look at Sebastian as the carriage started forward.

Penelope craned her neck. “He looks thunderstruck! What did you say to him?”

“Nothing I didn’t fully believe.” She glared at her brother, who promptly turned to gaze in apparent fascination at the passing scenery.

Penelope finally settled back in her seat, eyes wide with approval. “Then I’m sure he needed to hear it.”

Abigail said nothing. Her heart beat so hard, her hands still trembled as she clutched the gift from Lord Atherton. Sebastian Vane did need to hear it, just as much as she needed to say it. If he wanted her, it was time for him to prove it.

Chapter 18

S
ebastian walked home in a very dark mood.

Everything Abigail said was correct. He had promised her nothing. He had told her to run away from him. He had also taken advantage of her sensual curiosity and trusting nature to satisfy his own craving for her. He did know what she wanted: not just passion, but love and marriage. The irony that he had been on the brink of offering both didn’t escape him, but of course Abigail didn’t know that—because he had let his visceral reaction to Benedict Lennox override his every thought and intention.

Goddamn it. Benedict Lennox, of all people. There was a twisted sort of humor in it, he supposed; once Ben had envied him everything. Sebastian had been taller and stronger, more adept on a horse, and a far better shot. His father’s lack of title had meant Sebastian was permitted to do things like join the army, while Benedict, the heir to the Earl of Stratford, was flatly refused any chance at military glory.

The memory of their rash youthful views of the army brought a bitter smile to his face. Military glory had faded quickly into a lifetime of disability for him, while Benedict, confined safely if unhappily at home, was still whole and healthy.

Even worse, of course, was that Sebastian’s estate had been even more crippled, with the primary beneficiary being—indirectly—Benedict. Sebastian didn’t think it would make him feel better if his father had sold the land to someone other than Lord Stratford, but the fact that Benedict would inherit what should have been his . . . He had to breathe deeply to keep from cursing again over that quirk of fate.