The Duke I Once Knew Page 4

  The sounds of cooing and kissing mortified her. Good heavens, would they never stop? Anyone might walk into the library! They ought to have the decency to take their amorous activities upstairs to a bedchamber.

  But, of course, Rothwell did not possess a shred of decency. It made her cringe to recall that she herself had once fallen prey to his allure.

  She risked another look over the edge of the table. Her eyes goggled.

  The duke was delving beneath the hem of his paramour’s gown, sliding his hand up her ankle and out of sight. The ladybird squirmed and squealed in a frisky attempt at evasion. He leaned down and silenced her playful protests with a masterful kiss.

  Abby sank back down again. Her pulse pounded and a blush heated her inside and out. She oughtn’t be so scandalized. Rothwell had a reputation as a notorious rake. Over the years, she had heard many a tale whispered among the neighbors of his disgraceful doings. Yet it was one thing to listen to idle gossip and quite another to actually witness him in the throes of depravity.

  And here she was, trapped. What was she to do?

  If she made her presence known, the duke would find out that Miss Abigail Linton was the new governess. She could not be absolutely certain that he had forgotten her. And if he did remember, he surely would dismiss her on the spot, for he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Her spirits fell into a fit of the dismals. That would mark the end of her little adventure out into the world. Oh, she could apply for a position elsewhere, but who would hire her if she’d been summarily discharged from her previous post? She would be forced to return to her brother’s house and resume her predictable life as the maiden aunt, growing withered and gray, shuttled between relatives, with no real say in her future.

  The very thought was suffocating.

  Nevertheless, she could not continue to crouch here while the two lovers were smooching and whispering. What if their intimate activities escalated? What if they did the deed right here, right now?

  The horrid prospect spurred Abby to action. She must try to sneak out of the library unobserved. It was her only hope.

  Dropping to her hands and knees, she crept along the carpet, weaving a path between the tables. Her long skirts hampered her progress, forcing her to inch along at a snail’s pace. Rothwell’s black boots were visible through a forest of chair legs. At least he was too distracted to notice her, judging by the amorous sounds emanating from across the room. To be safe, she made a wide berth around the couple.

  Feverish plans raced through her head. If only she could reach the door and slip out, then all might be well. Perhaps she could convince Lady Gwendolyn not to mention the new governess to her brother. And what of Lady Hester? Was there a chance that she could be persuaded to bide her tongue, too? Should Abby confess the truth and enlist her help? Was it possible to stay out of sight until he departed the Court?

  Sweet heaven, how long did he intend to stay?

  In the midst of her meditations, she couldn’t help overhearing the syrupy drivel of their tête-à-tête.

  “Your Grace, you are too bold! Such a naughty boy you are!”

  “I left boyhood behind long ago. Shall I demonstrate?”

  “Mm, no. You mustn’t … ah, yes. Yes!”

  Abby grimaced under a tide of acute embarrassment. As she crawled closer to the door, she glared in the direction of the lovers. She could just see Rothwell’s legs pressed against a froth of cream skirts. Blast him and his debauchery! He was the worst of rogues, the king of scoundrels. A more wicked man had never been born—!

  Too caught up in remonstrations to watch where she was going, Abby bumped her hip hard against a mahogany pedestal. A little squeak escaped before she could clap her hand to her mouth. At the same instant, a faint clanking noise drew her attention upward.

  The globe atop the pedestal wobbled precariously. As she watched in horror, the sphere toppled from its perch and clunked onto the floor, where it rolled straight past the chairs and tables to land at Rothwell’s heels.

  “What the devil—!”

  Frozen in concealment, Abby watched wide-eyed through the maze of table legs as his boots shifted around. A large male hand flashed down to stop the spinning of the globe. Any faint hope that he might assume it had fallen of its own accord vanished in a millisecond.

  Rothwell strode forward, his footfalls sharp and decisive. He came straight to her. To her great consternation, she found herself gazing at the polished black leather of his boots only a few inches away.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing in here?”

  Abby raised her chin only slightly, keeping her face averted. It was best that he didn’t gaze fully at her—or hear the normal pitch of her voice lest it trigger his memory. “I’m just a servant,” she whispered, “tending to my duties.”

  “Speak up! Why did you not make your presence known at once?”

  His dictatorial tone shredded her better judgment. “I was trying to leave discreetly,” she flared. “It didn’t strike me as wise to interrupt your tryst.” She paused, then added in a more servile tone, “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

  She felt his gaze boring down like a physical force that threatened to smother her. She wanted badly to look up, to glare into his face and tell him in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of him.

  But that would be highly imprudent.

  With lightning swiftness, he clamped his hands around her upper arms and hauled Abby to her feet. She found herself staring up into a pair of wintry gray eyes set in a face of unabashed masculinity. Although a dissipated life had hardened his expression and etched faint lines on either side of his mouth, he was more disturbingly handsome than ever. He also seemed taller and tougher, his chest broader and his shoulders wider.

  She hated that he still had the power to make the breath catch in her throat. Worse, she hated that he had the authority to dismiss her with a snap of his arrogant fingers. As she racked her beleaguered brain for a way to convince him not to do so, something flickered in those icy eyes.

  “Abby?”

  Chapter 4

  Her presence dealt Max a sharp blow to the solar plexus.

  He had not set eyes on Abigail Linton in fifteen years. Not since she had scorned to answer his letters. He noticed several details in quick succession. She had lost the bloom of youth, for she must be approaching thirty. Yet her skin was still smooth and unblemished, and the maturity of her fine bone structure lent her an air of consequence. The long cinnamon hair that had once been tied back with a ribbon now was pinned up tightly beneath a lace cap as befitting a prim spinster. Yet her eyes … they were the same brilliant sapphire blue that had once beguiled him into surrendering his heart.

  Why the hell was she lurking in his library? If he’d spared a thought for her at all, he’d have expected to catch a glimpse of her in the village, perhaps with a husband or a passel of children in tow. But certainly not here under his roof.

  She gave a small tug. Realizing he still held her arms, he relaxed his grip and let go.

  She took several steps back, her gaze watchful. “I am Miss Linton,” she said, correcting his familiarity of address. “Your aunt has engaged me as Lady Gwendolyn’s new governess. Perhaps you didn’t know, but Miss Herrington had to leave unexpectedly.”

  Miss Linton? He was startled that she had never wed. If any female had been designed for marriage, it was Abby. Though, of course, he had been wrong about her in other matters. She had revealed her true colors after he’d departed for good.

  The note of disdain in her voice irritated him. “Of course I knew,” he said. “My sister’s well-being is of the utmost importance to me. Though I did not give my aunt permission to hire a replacement.”

  Feeling a touch to his arm, he turned to see Elise appear at his side. “What is the meaning of this outrage, Your Grace? I’m astounded that your servants feel free to spy on you.”

  He had forgotten all about the delectable widow. Her blond curls
were tousled, her lips rosy from his kisses, her eyes alert and inquisitive. Only a moment ago, he had been caught up in the throes of seduction. He had been on the brink of charming Elise into becoming his mistress. All that heat had dissipated with the discovery they were not alone.

  “I wasn’t spying,” Abby said coolly. “I was on my knees, looking for a book on a lower shelf, which is why you didn’t see me. I wasn’t aware the duke was even expected.”

  “You were snooping,” Elise insisted. “And no doubt you were on your way below stairs to spread gossip among the other servants.” She tilted her angry face up to Max. “I will not have it, Rothwell. You must dismiss her at once.”

  “Pray leave us, Lady Desmond. I want a word in private with Miss Linton.”

  “I’m involved in this matter, too, darling, so there is no need for me to depart. I assure you, I’m well versed in dealing with unruly servants.”

  “Nevertheless, I must insist.” Annoyed by the way she clung to his arm in a proprietary manner, he escorted her to the door and opened it. “Proceed to the left. At the end of the corridor, you’ll find the entrance hall. One of the footmen will summon Mrs. Jeffries to show you to your chambers.”

  Elise cast a suspicious frown at Abby; then she looked back at Max. She had very likely noticed his involuntary use of Abby’s name when he had first seen her. Elise would be wondering at their past relationship. But if she had the sense of a peahen, she wouldn’t probe into his private life.

  Her lips parted as if to protest again. Apparently thinking better of it, she dipped a curtsy. “Until later, Your Grace.”

  She walked with a saucy sway of her hips down the passageway. He knew it was for his benefit, but he had no interest in her enticements just now. He shut the door and turned back toward Abby.

  Miss Linton, he reminded himself. He should never have uttered Abby as if they were still intimates. It was a mistake he would not make again—at least not in conversation. His thoughts were another matter, he suspected grimly, for her name was too deeply ingrained in his memory.

  She stood waiting, her expression composed, her hands clasped at her waist. The simple gray gown skimmed the fine curves of her figure. She had a natural elegance that hadn’t been present in her as a coltish fifteen-year-old. He had to admit, though, her strict expression was that of a governess who had witnessed a wrongdoing and was prepared to issue a severe scolding.

  How much had she heard—and seen?

  Picking up the globe, he walked over to the pedestal to replace it on its stand. An uncomfortable sensation bedeviled him, and he realized it was embarrassment. He didn’t care to think of her having witnessed his randy conduct.

  Max clenched his jaw. To hell with that. He wouldn’t make apologies when she had been the one eavesdropping.

  “So,” he said curtly, “you believe yourself to be qualified to teach my sister. Might I presume you’ve experience as a governess?”

  She gazed steadily at him, offering no smile or artifice to cajole him. “No, Your Grace. Until recently, I devoted myself to the care of my parents. I did, however, study under my father for many years. You may recall, he was a scholar of history.”

  “Was?”

  “Papa was taken by influenza last autumn, as was Mama.”

  Max had not known her parents beyond the slight acquaintance he’d had with all the villagers. But Abby had always spoken warmly of them, relating amusing little household stories, and he remembered envying her close-knit family. That had been part of the irresistible appeal of her. She had seemed to have everything that he did not, a world full of love and laughter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with curt civility. “Your family has fallen on hard times, then.”

  “No, the estate has prospered under Clifford’s guidance. Rather, I merely wished … to earn my own way.”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. Ladies did not leave home to seek employment except in the direst of circumstances. Had she been ill-treated? Misused in some manner? Had her father left her no means of independence at all?

  Her closed features revealed no clue to enlighten him. He suddenly knew what was so profoundly different about Abby. Her face lacked that sweetness of expression, the open warmth and guilelessness of girlhood. Now she had the chilly poise of a duchess ruling this household.

  But she was not his duchess. Nor would she ever be. She had spurned his suit long ago, and he was profoundly thankful for that. Did she regret it now? Did she wish she had not been reduced to servitude when she might have shared all the glory of his rank?

  He didn’t care a whit one way or the other. He only wanted her banished from his sight. “You shall have to seek employment elsewhere, Miss Linton. I am hereby dismissing you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Because of our past? I assure you, I will never reference it. It will be as if it had never occurred.”

  “The past is of no consequence to me.”

  “Then if this is about my spying on you, it was wholly unintentional. Had you notified the household, I’d have been more careful not to venture into your domain.”

  “I did send word to my aunt by courier … blast it, I don’t owe you any explanation.”

  “I spoke to Lady Hester only a short while ago and she mentioned nothing of your expected arrival…” Abby glanced away, adding pensively, “Oh! I wonder if that was the message she forgot. It must have been!” Her vivid blue gaze returned to him. “But never mind. The pertinent issue, Your Grace, is that you’ve brought your mistress to a house where Lady Gwendolyn is in residence. Nothing could be more improper—or more irresponsible.”

  “That is no concern of yours!”

  “Clearly, it should be someone’s concern. An innocent girl must not be exposed to such vulgar company.”

  It galled Max to be rebuked by Abby of all people. And to hear Elise described in so sordid a manner, especially when she was not precisely his mistress—yet. But after the lusty tableau Abby had witnessed, he had no defense to offer. Even if he’d been inclined to voice one.

  Nor could he condemn her for having a desire to protect Gwen. It was unconscionable to expose his sister and his aunt to somewhat dubious company. For that very reason, he’d been reluctant to invite the party to Rothwell Court. Had there been any other course open to him, had the prizefight not been looming and Goliath requiring a private spot for sparring practice, Max would send the lot of them packing at once.

  “I have a proposal for you, Your Grace.”

  His gaze sharpened on Abby. His body reacted to her words with a flare of hot desire. His mind raced with possibilities, none of them moral or decent. And all of them abhorrent in regard to this woman. “A proposal.”

  “So long as your guests are under this roof, Lady Gwendolyn will require a chaperone, and Lady Hester is far too busy with her gardening. Since there isn’t time to apply to a London agency for my replacement, it would be wise for me to stay right here for now.”

  She stood with her hands tightly clasped. So tightly that he could see the whites of her dainty knuckles. This position as governess was vitally important to her. Why?

  It didn’t matter. He had no interest in her life anymore. But she did have a point, he grudgingly admitted. It would be irrational for him to send her away immediately. He could not risk Gwen encountering Lord Ambrose or Pettibone in a deserted corridor.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “You may remain for the coming week. However, when I depart, you will leave my employ. Is that clear?”

  “Quite.”

  “Kindly inform Lady Gwendolyn that I will see her in her chambers in half an hour.”

  “At once, my lord duke.”

  Lowering her gaze, Abby swept a modest curtsy, though not before he had seen the relief in her eyes. Perplexed in spite of his irritation, he stood watching as she glided away. He didn’t understand her willingness to work as a servant. It should cut her to the bone to know that she might have been mistress of Rothwell Court had she replied to his letters all
those years ago.

  But she’d made no attempt to use their prior closeness to wheedle him, or to apologize prettily in the hopes of making amends. Her only reference to their past had been to declare any mention of it out of bounds.

  Perhaps she’d realized the danger of reminding him of how shabbily she’d treated him. So much the better. If Abby Linton knew what was best for her, she would stay out of his path. She would bide her tongue and cease to address him in this bold manner of hers.

  In the next moment, she contradicted that notion.

  Pausing in the doorway, she cast a backward glance at him. “By the way, your sister knew I’d gone to the library. What if she had come looking for me and found you with your mistress? Might I suggest, Your Grace, that while you’re under this roof, you curtail your amorous activities!”

  * * *

  After informing Lady Gwendolyn of her brother’s arrival, Abby made an excuse to slip away before he came upstairs. The girl had scarcely noticed, so excited had she been at the prospect of seeing him again. Abby had rung for a maid and left the pair of them to decide which gown from the crowded wardrobe Lady Gwendolyn should wear for the momentous occasion.

  Brother and sister had not met since Easter. Abby found that peculiar, accustomed as she was to a big, noisy family and the prolonged visits of her siblings. Rothwell, it seemed, had little time to spare for an underage sister. His many debaucheries kept him too busy in London.

  She marched down one of the narrow corridors designated for use by the servants. He had been exceedingly displeased when she had advised him to suspend such lascivious doings while at Rothwell Court. The look on his face had been cold enough to freeze flames. She had departed before he could change his mind about permitting her to stay.

  Despite the risk, she didn’t regret speaking out. The proprieties must be observed for Lady Gwendolyn’s sake. And someone had to hold him in check!

  That it was unlike her to so sharply reprove another adult, let alone a duke, did occur to Abby. She was usually the one to smooth over quarrels between her family members. Yet her memory burned with the image of him locked in an embrace with that beautiful temptress, Lady Desmond.