The Redemption of Lord Rawlings Page 10

  The warm July breeze played lightly in her hair as she made the final descent to the balcony. The instant the doors closed behind her, Abigail knew without a doubt she was to be ruined.

  ****

  By the time the next song was played, Phillip was in a haze of frustration. One minute he saw her, and the next she had miraculously disappeared. His masculine pride took a direct hit when he considered she may be hiding from him, but the logical side of him was on edge. What if something had happened? Hadn’t he promised to protect her even if it meant from himself?

  Phillip pushed through the crush, he didn’t even see the lady until he nearly toppled her over. With a curse, he picked up her cane and came face to face with the Dowager Duchess of Barlowe.

  The one woman who probably hated him as much as Mrs. Peabody herself—or more, if that was even possible. The disapproving glare in her eyes told him it was, in fact, possible.

  “My apologies, your grace.”

  Clear blue eyes scrutinized him; no emotion flashed across her face, save the judgment already being poured out in such intense waves of tension that Phillip thought he might disappear right then and there.

  “What, may I ask, has you so out of sorts, Lord Rawlings? Earls do not run about at balls and step on the toes of society’s patronesses.” Her nose went up into the air.

  Irritated and afraid because he still couldn’t see Abigail, he answered, “Your grace, I do apologize. If you believe my apology to be inadequate, I am gravely sorry, but there is a pressing matter that demands my immediate attention. I know it might seem odd, considering what’s so often said about me, but it appears that the reason this earl is running about, as you so brilliantly put it, is because a young debutante is missing, and I fear she will be ruined if I don’t locate her soon.”

  The dowager duchess cracked a smile throwing Phillip completely off guard.

  “Look on the balcony, and, Rawlings, do try to be discreet.” Winking, the lady ambled up to the Duke of Tempest and tripped right into his blasted arms, all the while offering up the most horrifying scream that, for a moment, Phillip wasn’t sure which damsel to help. As Sebastian helped the duchess regain her footing, she sent Phillip a look of pure triumph. The distraction was for him and just what he needed if he was to obtain Abigail without anyone knowing she had been on the balcony with Devil only knows whom.

  The music stopped—people gasped. As Phillip touched the door to the balcony he heard a choking noise that sounded quite like a farm animal giving birth. The dowager was truly outdoing herself. He let himself out into the moonlight and cursed. Whitmore had taken a stance to corner Abigail. His large frame hid her petite one, and it appeared he was leaning in for a kiss.

  Abigail, however, looked anything but receptive, for the arm that held her reticule was raised high above his head without his knowledge, most likely preparing to bash him.

  “Ahem.” Phillip cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Gates. Your sister has been asking for you, and I believe this dance was promised to the duke.”

  Nodding, Abigail made a hasty retreat into Phillip’s arms and nestled into his frame. She was shaking. Cursing himself for not watching her closer, he kissed her hair and glared at Whitmore. “Don’t you have a fiancée waiting for you?”

  “You think this little interlude was my idea? With a dress like that, one could hardly blame me for taking her smile as an invitation to do much more.” Whitmore snickered and brushed past them.

  Abigail hid her head in Phillip’s chest. “I hate him! You don’t believe him, do you?” Her voice was muffled.

  Rage and jealousy told him she was lying, but his heart knew the truth. Abigail might be somewhat of a tease and a bit controlling but she would never do that to Rosalind. Whitmore was just as repulsive to her as he was to every other woman who didn’t succumb to the dandy’s charms.

  “Abigail, look at me.” His demand sounded harsher than he meant.

  She sniffed and looked up. Her green eyes shimmered against the moonlight. Suddenly Phillip was at a loss for what to say. Original intent flew out the window the moment he saw fresh tears shining on her cheeks.

  “Rawlings, truly he forced me, I would never—” Abigail looked down. “You believe it’s my fault because of the way I’ve acted. The story of the boy who cried wolf comes to mind.” She shrugged. “After all, why would you believe me when I practically accosted you in Hyde Park?”

  Guilt, he despised it. “What does it matter if I believe you or not, Abby? The problem, it seems, is how to get you back into the ball without anyone seeing you. Have you a shawl you can wear the remainder of the night?” He cracked the door and noted the commotion still taking place. The duchess was now swatting Sebastian with her fan. Poor sod. He had half a mind to feel sorry for him.

  “Why would I need a shawl?” Abigail’s breath was hot on his face. How had she snuck up on him? “It isn’t as if I’m dressed improperly, and my dress isn’t wrinkled one bit.”

  Turning slightly, his eyes openly traced the dress in question. Suddenly, he was quite angry. He fought to keep his voice even through clenched teeth. “You don't know why I would ask that you wear a shawl?”

  She shook her head, holding her mouth in a perfectly innocent bow. Unbelievable, she had no idea.

  “Your dress is indecent, Abby. Most men are taller than women, and you, my dear, are shorter than average. At this particular angle, I can look down your bodice and see all the way to your slippers.”

  Her breath hitched, and he continued his pursuit. “Your breasts strain against your bodice in such a fashion that it makes a man wonder what it would be like to rip open your corset. The color speaks of wantonness, and had I not intervened when I did, I imagine Whitmore would have proven the very words I am saying to you now. Your dress is an invitation, begging to be unwrapped.”

  Abigail gasped, her reaction palpable. She choked on a sob and with the might of an aggravated peer slapped him across the face good and hard, muttered an oath under her breath, then pushed past him to re-enter the ballroom. Phillip followed behind her, praying his cheek wasn’t as red as it felt. It was amusing that the girl would hit him so blasted hard for his honesty. She needed to hear it. He knew he had hurt Abigail, but if a little hurt was what it took for the girl to cease her crazy antics, then so be it.

  Abigail continued to blaze a trail through the crowd until she reached Rosalind’s side. Rawlings followed, trying desperately not to hold his cheek, which throbbed with every beat of his black heart.

  “It seems I’ve recovered!” The Dowager Duchess of Barlowe announced, hitting Sebastian one final time on the arm with her fan. With a chuckle she was off, the music started up again, and things righted themselves. All except Sebastian, who still seemed to have endured quite a shock from the entire ordeal. He curiously looked at his arm then at the floor and back at his arm as if to comprehend how exactly the dowager had tripped and why the devil she had hit him the way she did.

  Amused and in pain, Rawlings approached him. In feigned innocence he asked, “Whatever happened?”

  “No clue.” Sebastian cursed and looked truly irritated. “Say, have you seen Abigail?”

  “Over there.” Rawlings pointed. Of course his gaze was trained on her, waiting for any sort of indication that she was going to put on the shawl he had suggested. Relief washed over him when he noticed her wrap one firmly around her shoulders.

  “Hmm, wonder why she seems to be returning from the hall?” Sebastian asked.

  Phillip put him at ease. “I believe she was discussing some gossip with her friends. I wouldn’t worry. She’s still quite young. The idea of being at a glittering ball hasn’t lost its appeal for her just yet.”

  “I suppose.” Sebastian gave her one last glance. “Phillip, may I ask you a favor?”

  One more favor and he was going to go insane. Protecting Abigail from himself was difficult enough, throw in Whitmore and every other rake, and Phillip doubted he would sleep at all for the ne
xt two weeks. Even though his mind told him he could not possibly handle any more responsibility, he found himself asking, “What is it?”

  “You’ve known Abigail for quite some time. The girl’s been out of sorts lately. Would you mind taking her out for a morning ride? She does so love to spend the mornings on her horse. I haven’t the heart to tell her debutantes aren’t to be gadding about in the morning hours. I trust you completely in this measure, Phillip. She won’t talk to me or to Emma. Perhaps she will talk to you.”

  “Who the devil do you think I am? A priest? You think me taking her for a ride,” he cringed at his poor word choice, “will cajole her into making confession?”

  Sebastian was silent.

  Phillip laughed. “Sorry to say, but I’m not sure I’m the man for the job.”

  “So you won’t take her?”

  “She might say no.” Phillip quickly grabbed a glass of champagne as the tray went by him.

  “And if she agrees?”

  “She won’t.” The sting on his cheek reminded him of their last discussion. “But by all means, ask her. I don’t know what you want me to do. Why does it feel like I’m to be looking after her like some asinine chaperone?”

  “She’ll be without a chaperone. Not that you should have any trouble with that considering she’s like a sister to you.”

  “Right.” Phillip looked at the floor.

  “And I don’t see any problem, since I’ve given you my consent. Besides, I doubt anyone will be out that early in the morn.”

  “How early do you have in mind?”

  “Six.”

  “So you mean to kill me?”

  “Not yet.” Sebastian winked. “Shall we expect you in the morn?”

  Gritting his teeth, Phillip ground out a yes.

  Sebastian slapped him on the back. “Good fellow. Oh, I nearly forgot myself! Phillip?”

  Please, no more favors. No more watching after the temptress. No more marriage contracts, rakes, Mrs. Peabody—really, he couldn’t take any more of it.

  Sebastian motioned for him to lean closer. “It’s my suspicion she has set her cap for someone, but he’s rejected her.”

  So this was hell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ruin: a person’s downfall or breakdown. This author has it on good authority that a pillar in society is about to be ruined, quite thoroughly. After the events at last night’s ball, one can easily put the pieces together. One cannot sin in secret, and dear friends, I know all of yours.

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  Abigail was awakened by her maid with an order to ready herself for the morning ride with Rawlings.

  Cursing Sebastian and her sister for misreading her silence, she quickly put on her dark blue riding habit and donned her riding boots.

  They thought her sad or heartbroken, when really she was just trying to keep to herself and make them proud. Had Rawlings not found her last night…

  She shuddered.

  Rawlings. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t made her fall in love with him and then stomped on her heart the way he had, she wouldn’t be in this predicament—going for a ride in the early morning air with the one man she wanted nothing more to do with.

  He insulted her, mocked her, made a show of how innocent she was, and then had the audacity to provoke her into feeling guilty for wearing the new dress Emma had given her for her upcoming birthday. A birthday that must have slipped Rawlings’ mind. Not that she thought he would remember. The last time she’d celebrated it she had been all of fourteen with stars in her eyes. He had given her a bouquet of daisies and kissed her on the cheek.

  She had vowed that day to marry him.

  It was also the unfortunate day that Emma had been found in the hunting lodge near her parents’ estate, bodice ripped, crying. It was the same day Rawlings had walked away, not only from Emma, but away from Abigail as well, leaving her in broken-hearted anguish.

  She had hated her sister after that day. It had been all Emma’s fault Rawlings had wanted nothing more to do with her family. Of course, now she knew the truth—Emma had been attacked, and Rawlings had merely used it as an excuse to break the contract, so he could whore about the streets of London.

  But she knew the pain he had felt when he discovered the very man who had attacked Emma was his half brother. And the loss he felt when Emma was no longer his to protect. She also knew how distraught he must be, having no family other than his stepmother, who made it no secret how much she despised him. Lady Rawlings was, in a word, ashamed of her son.

  As Abigail made her way down the marble stairs, she started to soften toward Rawlings. He had been dealt a life-altering blow when his father passed away. What father demanded his son marry before he could receive his inheritance? And what type of mother relished the thought of her son going to debtor’s prison? Or living on the streets? Even a stepson.

  She sighed heavily and hardly noticed the person waiting in the entryway.

  “Woolgathering? Or are you ready?”

  Abigail’s stomach growled, but she didn’t want him to think her weak, so she nodded for him to lead the way, pulling on her gloves and following him into the cool morning air.

  “Have you readied the mounts?” Abigail hadn’t looked up because her gloves weren’t buttoning just right.

  She heard Rawlings sigh. “Are you questioning my ability to ready everything? I feel the need to inform you, I never went to sleep last night.”

  Abigail’s head snapped to attention. Why wouldn’t he sleep? Dark circles surrounded his eyes. Had he been out gambling? Drinking? Or with a mistress?

  A sickening feeling washed over her. Of course he was. After all, he was Rawlings. What else would he do when no proper ladies would dance with him for fear that their parents would disinherit them, or that they would be ruined by his close company?

  Abigail mounted her horse in silence, watching Rawlings do the same. Although he looked tired, his clothes fit him beautifully, hugging every masculine plane of his body. He kicked the horse into a trot. She followed, enjoying the view of his male beauty as he guided the animal toward the park. So lost in thought was she that she failed to notice he had picked up his pace until he nearly disappeared ahead of her.

  Obviously he had a lot on his mind for him to desire solitude so soon on their ride. She followed him over the hill at a leisurely pace. When she caught up to him, his horse was motionless, and he had dismounted. He stood with his gaze fixed on the horizon.

  It was still dark, almost eerie. They were the only two people in the park. But what did she expect at six in the morning?

  “Who is he?” Rawlings asked the minute her horse halted beside his.

  Abigail looked around, not seeing anyone. “Who?”

  “The man you’re so smitten over. Oh, wipe that look of innocence off your face. We both know you’re not that innocent, though I must admit you play the part admirably especially when you want something. I gather you’ve been properly kissed since that last encounter.” He looked down at his gloves and sighed. “If you don’t tell me, I shall make inquiries. I owe Sebastian that much, don’t you agree?”

  Abigail had no clue what to say. Did he really want her to be honest? To tell him the truth? She was so tense, she thought she would snap. The thick silence in the air worsened her mood.

  “Abigail, I’ve never known you to be silent. I do hope it’s not serious; you are only one and eight. Just tell me who the gentleman is so I can set Sebastian’s mind at ease.” He stopped and his breath suddenly came out in a loud exhale as he stared at her with accusing eyes. “Please tell me it isn’t Whitmore! I should have known it the moment I came upon you last night. You weren’t raising your arm to hit him, you were about to embrace him. I cannot believe it!”

  Since Rawlings was doing such a lovely job of ruining everything, carrying on the whole conversation by himself, Abigail allowed him to continue, all the while silently praying she could control her threatening tears, no ma
tter how badly they burned behind her eyes.

  “To think for one moment I thought you had changed, but you’re still trying to control and influence me, aren’t you? I was worried about you last night, Abby. I thought something had happened to you. And now…now I see the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?” she asked. The steadiness of her own voice surprised her.

  “So now you speak.”

  “Well, you’ve not given me the opportunity, have you? It seems you have found me out, my lord. Congratulations on your brilliant deduction.”

  Rawlings swore. “So it is Whitmore! Who else, Abby? Don’t tell me there’s just one. There has to be more than one man you’ve set your cap for. After all, you have your pick of anyone you want.”

  “Do I?” Abigail kept her voice even.

  Rawlings gave a mocking laugh. “Stop playing the innocent, Abigail. Of course you do. Though I do admit I’m surprised.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes, astonished actually, that you would so willingly go into Whitmore’s arms, but run from mine.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Hardly.” He snorted. “Why would I be jealous? You are like family.”

  His cold admission made her stomach sicken with agony. But she managed a glare as she retorted, “Do you say that to convince yourself or me, my lord?”

  “Is this another one of your games to trick me into admitting an attraction for you, Abigail?”

  Abigail wasn’t sure how to answer but opened her mouth to respond. And then with a curse Rawlings pulled her from her horse. She landed just barely on her feet. His muscled arms were around her in an instant, holding her, bracing her, trapping her.

  “You win,” he said as both his hands framed her face. “I want you. Are you happy, Abigail? Is this what you want? For every man, including the sordid Earl of Rawlings, to throw himself at your feet? Devil only knows how many you’ve already had do just that. Was I merely the first then? The easy target, because I was so vulnerable and depressed?” His eyes blazed with fury.