observation that her attitude to his lordship reflected highly on her character, Bosworth took himself off.
Abby stood at the door and watched him leave.
From the shadows of the dining room doorway, Adrian strolled forward. Abby glanced around as he neared, then looked back at the snowy landscape. All was still covered, all sounds hushed by the thick white blanket. Peace and deep silence spread over the moor, over the village.
Halting behind Abby, Adrian looked out over her head. After a moment, he lifted a hand and closed it on her shoulder, close by her neck. “You do realize,” he murmured, “that today will be our last day of peace?”
She’d stiffened at his touch, but he left his handwhere it was, fingers gently gripping; gradually she relaxed. “It’s still too cold to melt—the roads will still be impassable tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.” Adrian studied her profile, then leaned closer so his breath brushed her ear. “But tomorrow will bring us a parade of visitors. Care to wager on it?”
Abby glanced around and briefly met his eyes. “I would never be so foolish as to wager with you.” Stepping back, she closed the door; his hand fell away. She turned to the parlor. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Abby mentally cursed.
“Oh, and Abby?”
“Yes?” Stopping in the parlor doorway, she faced him. He’d been prowling at her heels, his long stride relaxed—they were suddenly very close. Dreadfully close—she couldn’t breathe.
All she saw was his eyes, intently and very deliberately locked on hers.
“You lied.”
A moment went by; Abby felt her heart beat once, twice. Then his finger touched her cheek, stroked lazily down, touched the corner of her lips, then boldly traced the lower—that broke the spell. She blinked. His lips lifted in that lazy, intensely provoking smile of his, then he stepped past her and continued into the room.
Three
H OW— IN WHAT WAY —had she lied?
The question drove Abby mad. She replayed her lecture to Bosworth countless times through the rest of that day and the night that followed. Midmorning arrived and she still had no idea where she’d erred, but given the nature of the three clear statements she’d made to Bosworth, she was not about to ask Adrian to explain.
She’d said she knew him better than anyone else in Widecombe; Adrian would have known precisely in what degree she had meant. It was, she supposed, possible that he’d had some other local liaison in his wild early days, although she couldn’t imagine with whom. But even if he had, he would never have alluded to it, much less told her. Adrian did not speak of his conquests—that she knew for a fact.
So if it wasn’t over that that she’d lied…
She’d also stated that she stood in no danger from him, and that he had absolutely no designs on her.
Every time she tried to imagine that one of those statements might be false, her mind shut down—refused tocooperate, refused to credit the thought enough to even think it.
As distractions went, Adrian’s latest effort was a gem. Not even the arrival of Mrs. Tolliver and her three giggling daughters could compete. Although present in the parlor, Abby left the conversation largely to Esme—and left her tormentor to fend for himself.
Serve him right.
Despite his idly impassive countenance and easy, charming air, Adrian was well aware of Abby’s mood. More than aware of her distraction. Ever since his quiet words—his unintended revelation—he’d behaved himself, at considerable cost to his never-very-amenable temper.
He hadn’t intended to put a bee in Abby’s bonnet—he hadn’t intended to speak at all, not yet, not while he was residing under her roof. Yet as so often occurred when Abby was involved…she was the only woman he had ever met who could make him do things he did not intend doing.
“I expect, my lord, that you’ll be keen to repair to London after this weather, so bitter as it’s been.”
The eldest
Abby stood at the door and watched him leave.
From the shadows of the dining room doorway, Adrian strolled forward. Abby glanced around as he neared, then looked back at the snowy landscape. All was still covered, all sounds hushed by the thick white blanket. Peace and deep silence spread over the moor, over the village.
Halting behind Abby, Adrian looked out over her head. After a moment, he lifted a hand and closed it on her shoulder, close by her neck. “You do realize,” he murmured, “that today will be our last day of peace?”
She’d stiffened at his touch, but he left his handwhere it was, fingers gently gripping; gradually she relaxed. “It’s still too cold to melt—the roads will still be impassable tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.” Adrian studied her profile, then leaned closer so his breath brushed her ear. “But tomorrow will bring us a parade of visitors. Care to wager on it?”
Abby glanced around and briefly met his eyes. “I would never be so foolish as to wager with you.” Stepping back, she closed the door; his hand fell away. She turned to the parlor. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Abby mentally cursed.
“Oh, and Abby?”
“Yes?” Stopping in the parlor doorway, she faced him. He’d been prowling at her heels, his long stride relaxed—they were suddenly very close. Dreadfully close—she couldn’t breathe.
All she saw was his eyes, intently and very deliberately locked on hers.
“You lied.”
A moment went by; Abby felt her heart beat once, twice. Then his finger touched her cheek, stroked lazily down, touched the corner of her lips, then boldly traced the lower—that broke the spell. She blinked. His lips lifted in that lazy, intensely provoking smile of his, then he stepped past her and continued into the room.
Three
H OW— IN WHAT WAY —had she lied?
The question drove Abby mad. She replayed her lecture to Bosworth countless times through the rest of that day and the night that followed. Midmorning arrived and she still had no idea where she’d erred, but given the nature of the three clear statements she’d made to Bosworth, she was not about to ask Adrian to explain.
She’d said she knew him better than anyone else in Widecombe; Adrian would have known precisely in what degree she had meant. It was, she supposed, possible that he’d had some other local liaison in his wild early days, although she couldn’t imagine with whom. But even if he had, he would never have alluded to it, much less told her. Adrian did not speak of his conquests—that she knew for a fact.
So if it wasn’t over that that she’d lied…
She’d also stated that she stood in no danger from him, and that he had absolutely no designs on her.
Every time she tried to imagine that one of those statements might be false, her mind shut down—refused tocooperate, refused to credit the thought enough to even think it.
As distractions went, Adrian’s latest effort was a gem. Not even the arrival of Mrs. Tolliver and her three giggling daughters could compete. Although present in the parlor, Abby left the conversation largely to Esme—and left her tormentor to fend for himself.
Serve him right.
Despite his idly impassive countenance and easy, charming air, Adrian was well aware of Abby’s mood. More than aware of her distraction. Ever since his quiet words—his unintended revelation—he’d behaved himself, at considerable cost to his never-very-amenable temper.
He hadn’t intended to put a bee in Abby’s bonnet—he hadn’t intended to speak at all, not yet, not while he was residing under her roof. Yet as so often occurred when Abby was involved…she was the only woman he had ever met who could make him do things he did not intend doing.
“I expect, my lord, that you’ll be keen to repair to London after this weather, so bitter as it’s been.”
The eldest
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