Lady Abigail's Perfect Match Read online

  She tried to smile and look normal. It was almost as if she were standing outside her own body, watching a tableau play out before her. Thankfully, nobody mentioned the previous day’s occurrence. She’d been especially worried her mother or sister might pull her aside at some point to inquire about her wellbeing. But they didn’t. And then it was suddenly time for them to take their leave.

  Abigail stood on the steps of her new home with James by her side and waved goodbye. She felt nothing as she did so. No happiness or sadness. Just an empty void.

  “Nobody asked me to tell them what happened,” she whispered as the carriages rolled down the drive.

  “I told them not to.”

  She was grateful for that, for it had made this day so much easier to bear.

  “Shall we have some tea together in the library?” James asked as they headed back inside.

  All Abigail wanted to do was retreat to her bedchamber, crawl into bed, and forget the world existed. But he deserved better than that. Especially on his wedding day. So she nodded and let him escort her.

  “I’ve always loved this room,” he told her a short while later once the maid who’d brought their tea had departed. Surveying the books in the bookcases lining the walls, James paused occasionally to read the spines while Abigail watched from her spot on a red velvet sofa. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled with a boyish gleam in his eyes. “When I was younger, my siblings and I would play a game of sorts. I can show you, if you like.”

  It was quite possibly the very last thing she felt like doing at the moment, but once again, she reminded herself that the least she could do for James was make an effort at being somewhat agreeable. “All right,” she said, wishing she’d managed to answer with a bit more enthusiasm.

  But if he noticed her dull tone, he chose not to show it. Instead he grinned, the exuberance in every line of his face causing warmth to seep through her veins. Or maybe that was just the tea starting to have an effect?

  “Here’s what we do,” he told her brightly while pulling a series of books off the shelves. “We’re going to mix these up and then take turns finding the words we need.” Piling the books in his arms, he carried them to the table in front of the sofa, then went to a cabinet where he located some paper and a couple of pencils. “You’ll need these as well.” He handed her one of the pencils along with a piece of paper.

  Increasingly intrigued, Abigail straightened her spine and waited for him to sit. He glanced at the vacant spot beside her, but rather than claim it, he lowered himself to an adjacent chair. A twinge of disappointment raced through her. On one hand she wanted him close, but on the other, she didn’t. It was most disconcerting and horribly confusing.

  “Now then,” he said, distracting her from her thoughts and emotions. “You have to pick a book at random, flip it open, select the first word from the first paragraph that draws your eye, and write it down. You then pick another book and pick the second word from the first paragraph that draws your eye. And so on.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” she said.

  “It is. Shall I go first?”

  “By all means.” She reached for her teacup and drank while James selected his first book. Placed face down on the table and with their spines turned sideways, she was unable to read their titles.

  “Your turn,” he said about five minutes later. A lopsided grin pulled at his lips and for half a second, Abigail forgot her ordeal with Tobias and how much she now dreaded being intimate with her husband. All she knew was that her heart was swelling, tripling in size and filling with warmth.

  But then the clock on the fireplace mantle chimed, breaking the spell.

  She shook her head and reached for a book. Plato’s The Republic, she realized. Flipping it open at random, she picked her first word and wrote it down.

  “What do you have?” James asked once she’d finished leafing through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Henry IV, Pride and Prejudice, Northanger Abbey, The Iliad, and Domestic Medicine.

  “Nothing that makes any sense.”

  “You’re allowed to rearrange the words in any order.”

  Pursing her lips, Abigail studied the seven words she’d jotted down. She tilted her head in thought and then suddenly smiled when she noticed a possible sentence. Clearing her throat, she read, “Caesar must go equipped with violent words.”

  James laughed. “That’s brilliant.” Eyes gleaming with mischief, he gave his attention to his own piece of paper. “Here’s mine.” He met her gaze fleetingly and then read, “These brokenhearted people have beheaded your furniture.”

  Abigail felt the edge of her mouth start to twitch and then a wave of energy rose up her throat, demanding release, and before she knew it she was laughing so hard her belly began to ache. “Goodness, that’s good,” she gasped as she fell back against the sofa and gave her eyes a quick wipe.

  “Shall we have another go?” James asked. He was watching her with keen amusement and...something she couldn’t quite place though it did something rather lovely to her insides.

  “Absolutely,” she said with a smile. “But this time I get to go first.”

  IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT by the time James escorted Abigail upstairs. They’d taken dinner in the library while using the books to create additional sentences, like hysterical old gentlemen love to do justice. As he’d hoped, the exercise had allowed Abigail to forget the memories that plagued her so she could relax and have fun. For a few wonderful hours, she’d returned to being the vibrant woman he’d come to adore, and this gave him hope.

  Reaching her bedchamber door, he stepped back and offered a bow. She needed time, perhaps more than he wanted to accept at the moment. But he knew patience would be the only way forward if they were to stand a chance of happiness together. Her mind and soul had taken a terrible blow. He’d known that the moment he looked into her eyes yesterday at the inn and saw nothing but hopeless despair. But he wasn’t going to give up on her or on them. He’d do whatever he had to in order to help her conquer the fear that now gripped her.

  “Sleep well, Abby.” He would not enter her room or do anything else to upset the joy they’d found in each other’s company this evening. “I look forward to breakfasting with you in the morning.”

  “As do I,” she told him. A sad smile touched her lips and for a brief moment he thought she might say something else. But then she turned away and the bedchamber door closed, leaving him alone in the hallway.

  James blew out a breath and continued toward his own room. The mountain he had to climb was steep, and so far, he’d taken only a couple of steps. Tomorrow he’d take two more. Hopefully in the right direction.

  But when he woke in the morning, he wasn’t quite sure if she’d favor a ride to an old castle ruin or a picnic down by the lake, so he decided to ask instead of deciding for her.

  “Could we not just stay here?” she asked while buttering her toast. When she’d arrived in the dining room ten minutes earlier, her hesitant expression had made him realize that whatever progress he thought he’d made last night had been miniscule. Telling her that he’d received word of Chesterfield’s arrest didn’t help, but James was determined to be open and honest with her, even though he knew she hated being reminded of what her former friend had done.

  “We could, but I’d much rather take advantage of the good weather. Autumn will come before we know it, and then we’ll be forced to remain indoors.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Abigail took a bite of her toast. Her gaze, James noted, was aimed at the table instead of at him. “Could we not combine the two options then?”

  Instinctively, he reached for her hand, then stopped himself and let his own fall. “Of course we can.” He leaned back in his chair and watched as she drank some tea. “I’ll ask Cook to prepare a basket for us and make sure the carriage is ready to leave by...shall we say eleven?”

  “All right.”

  “All right,” he echoed. Castle Islington was exactly the sort of place to stir
one’s imagination with endless possibilities of adventure, mystery, and romance. As children, he and his siblings had loved exploring what remained of the structure while their parents reclined on a blanket nearby, either napping or reading in the shade of an elm.

  And because of this sentimental attachment he had to the place, he was glad to see the excitement in Abigail’s eyes when he handed her down from the carriage later and she took her first look at what had once been, to him, a pirate ship, a Roman fortress, and a buried temple.

  “This is splendid,” she said as she walked toward it. Most of the walls still stood, some more intact than others, but the roof, floors, and doors – anything made of wood– had long since rotted away. Ivy and other creepers covered the stone in a blanket of green, and moss grew between the cracks in the shade. “Is it safe to climb those steps?”

  “I think so,” James said as he crossed to the stairs leading up to the battlements, “but let me go first.” He didn’t like that there was no railing – an odd thing since he’d not given the lack of safety measures any thought as a child.

  “When was the last time you came here?” she asked.

  “Ten years ago, I should think. Charles wasn’t with us because he’d decided to spend that summer travelling the Continent. So it was just William, Sarah, Athena, and me.” He grinned as he recalled how disastrous that outing had been. “The weather looked fine when we set out, but then, out of nowhere, it started pouring. Everyone got soaked and...” He laughed. “As we hurried back to the carriage, Athena slipped on the grass, landed on her bottom, and skidded at least a yard.” He stepped onto the battlement and offered Abigail his hand, which she thankfully took. “Of course, her dress was ruined, and since she’s never liked being the odd one out, she quickly made sure we joined her.”

  Abigail stared at him wide-eyed. “How on earth did she manage that?”

  “By throwing mud at us.”

  “What?”

  He chuckled. “Sounds awful, I know, but it was all in good sport.” Turning, he braced himself with his feet apart and allowed the view to impress him. Abigail’s hand was still nestled firmly in his, so he hardly dared move for fear she’d pull away. “Now tell me honestly,” he murmured with every intention of keeping her mind on him and this place. “What do you think?”

  She was silent for a while before she finally said, “I think it’s glorious.” And then she turned to him with the brightest smile he’d ever seen, and it was all he could do not to lean in and kiss her.

  But since he feared that would ruin the moment, he simply replied with, “I think so as well.”

  “I WAS WONDERING,” ABIGAIL said later that afternoon when they returned to Arlington House, “if you’d like to play a game of chess with me.” She’d enjoyed exploring the castle with James, then sitting on a blanket with him afterward while they ate their lunch. They’d talked about their family in greater detail than before, and she’d shared some of the pranks she and her siblings had played on each other. Now that they were home, she felt the magic of the day start to fade and the weight of reality take its place. But if James was willing to help her forget, then maybe she could ignore it for just a while longer.

  “Sounds like a challenge,” he said as he led the way into a cozy parlor. Crossing to the sideboard, he picked up a pair of glasses while she took a seat on a chair upholstered in pale green silk damask. “Drink?”

  She wasn’t used to imbibing except during meals, yet the prospect of doing so now with her husband was remarkably tempting. “Just a small one, please.”

  The cheeky smile with which he responded was thoroughly dashing. And she wished. Oh, how she wished, that Lance had never brought Tobias home from Eton with him all those years ago, that she’d never known him and he’d never had the chance to ruin her wedding, her life, her marriage.

  “Abby?”

  Blinking, she glanced up at James. He was holding one of the glasses toward her and frowning. “Forgive me. I must have been woolgathering.” She took the glass and set it to her lips.

  “I thought a sherry might suit you best,” he said.

  “It’s very tasty,” she agreed and took another sip. “Sweet and delicious.”

  Something in his eyes shifted and darkened until it turned positively molten. Her skin heated in response and her heart beat faster. Her need for him was as real as her reluctance to let him touch her. She hated being like this and tried to think of something to say, but then he turned away and strode to a cabinet. When he returned, the brief desire he’d shown had been thoroughly quashed and replaced by a welcoming smile.

  “You mentioned chess,” he said. Placing a wooden set on the table before her, he claimed the chair opposite hers. His smile transformed to a smirk and his eyes lit with a new kind of passion. “Perhaps I should have told you, I’ve yet to meet a player experienced enough to beat me.”

  “I dare you to try,” Abigail replied dryly as she moved the pawn in front of her king one step forward. He took a moment to consider, then moved the pawn in front of his bishop. She immediately countered by putting her knight into motion.

  “Is that a spider crawling over your backrest?” James asked half an hour later.

  Abigail instinctively turned, saw nothing, and returned her attention to the chess board. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you move my bishop?”

  “What?” He pressed one hand to his chest and gave her a pitiful look. “I’d never do something like that.”

  And yet she knew...she just knew the piece had not been where it was now before she’d turned away. “There never was a spider, was there?” Of course there hadn’t been. The maids would never allow such a creature to survive inside the house. And since this was the case, she moved her knight two places forward and five to the left to claim James’s rook.

  “Hey!” He stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t do that. It’s one step forward and two to the left if you want to go in that direction, which puts your knight right here on this vacant square.”

  She gave him a smug little smile. “If you can cheat at this game, then so can I.”

  “Oh, really?” His lips twitched with a hint of the laughter to come. “Well, in that case, I’ll just move my bishop over here and declare the game over. Checkmate!”

  Abigail pulled a throw cushion into her lap and tossed it directly at his head. “I would have beaten you fair and square, you know.”

  “In your dreams,” he replied, tossing the cushion right back.

  Dodging it, Abigail turned in her seat. And came face to face with the biggest spider she’d ever seen. “Ahhh!” She leapt up off the sofa, banging her knee in the process and knocking over most of the chess pieces.

  “Told you,” James said with a laugh as he went to collect the arachnid. “I’ll be right back.”

  “So, you didn’t move my bishop?” she asked when he returned to the parlor.

  He eyed her for a second, then rocked back on his heels and shrugged his shoulders. “Well...”

  “You scoundrel!”

  He just stood there grinning at her. And before she knew it she was grinning as well. “I want a re-match,” she finally said when she managed to catch her breath.

  “Very well. Perhaps after dinner?”

  She agreed. And when they played again later that evening she won, though she rather suspected this was not a very fair game either. But whether or not it was, she didn’t really mind because she’d had fun, though she vowed to one day catch her husband red-handed as he meddled with the pieces.

  After packing the game away together, he escorted her up the stairs to her bedchamber door. There he bid her good night in much the same manner as the previous evening, allowing her to avoid her marital duties for the second day in a row.

  And so it continued for several days, until it made more sense to count the weeks. She knew he was being incredibly generous. By law, he had every right to demand she let him into her bed. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave her friendship, understan
ding and an overwhelming amount of patience. He walked with her, rode with her, told her of his childhood, and listened when she spoke of hers. And it occurred to her one day that the man, who’d been so incredibly handsome he’d once made her fear being sick in his company, had become something more than a person to whom she was strongly attracted. He’d become her entire world, and she loved him more fiercely than she’d ever loved anyone else.

  Chapter Eight

  They’d been married for six weeks, James realized one evening while he and Abigail took turns making up silly sentences from a stack of books she’d picked out. Sipping his brandy, he watched her find a word in Gulliver’s Travels, her nose twitching a little as she set her pencil to paper and jotted it down.

  They’d formed a companionable bond. And while he believed it would help them be happy together, he never stopped hoping there could be more. Occasionally, he wondered if he ought to risk pulling her into his arms for a kiss. But then he’d worry that doing so might destroy what they had. And he truly loved what they had.

  Hell. He loved her. And he would do anything – anything at all—to make sure she didn’t feel threatened by anyone ever again. Certainly not by him. So he kept his distance and did his best to hide the desire he felt for her. But it wasn’t easy when she was right there – his wife, for heaven’s sake – his to have if that was what he wanted. And he did want, but he wanted her to want as well.

  “Your turn,” she said, her gorgeous blue eyes dazzling him with their brilliance.

  He smiled and set his glass aside, then gave his attention to the task at hand. These moments they shared were special and he cherished each one. But tonight his heart felt oddly heavy, as if weighed down by defeat. And yet he still managed to laugh when she read her line, even though he rather felt like weeping.

  If she sensed something wrong, she didn’t address it. Instead, she chatted about all sorts of curious things when he led her upstairs to her bedchamber later, from the correct density of whipped cream to her favorite embroidery technique to the need she felt for a longer handle on her pall-mall mallet.