One Night To Be Sinful Read online

  "Forgive mine, Calvin," Abigail countered quickly. "But you will touch my flowers over my dead body."

  His attention lifted again, and he saw the woman's chin lift. "Excuse me?"

  "It has taken me three years to get my garden as I've always wished it to be. Tuttleton broke his back sowing all the seeds then assisting myself in keeping them watered. I'll not have you ruin all the hard work we put into it."

  "You want it to look like this?" Calvin couldn't mask his disbelief.

  "Yes, sir, I do." Abigail's gaze softened as a delicate breeze set the flowers surrounding them into motion. Daffodils and vibrantly hued bluebells rustled against the ends of her skirts. "I know it leaves a lot to be desired among those with more ... linear tastes."

  "Many in Town have gardens in various shapes, all set around one focal point." Calvin felt something tug in the depths of his chest as he watched the wind press Abigail's skirts against her legs, highlighting the shape of her hips and swell of her bottom. Several tendrils of hair had escaped her untied bonnet, their dark tips tickling the corners of her mouth as she smiled.

  "My garden does have a focal point, Calvin," she said gently and pointed to the nearby estate. "Both my bedchamber and study windows look out onto it. When I am standing at either of those windows, all I can see is flowers."

  When she faced him again, Calvin wondered at what Abigail had seen in his features that made her smile fade and her eyes quickly move away.

  Chapter 8

  Well after the sun had begun its descent, when the sky was interesting shades of pink and purple, the stable door slid open on silent hinges. The silhouette created on the hay-strewn floor was that of a rather rounded man, but the individual who came to a halt at the first stall was a woman.

  "Achilles." Abigail whispered a loving greeting for the horse that had been waiting expectantly. The gray's muscles, elegantly detailed beneath the taut flesh of his flanks and shoulders, were tense. Trembling, almost, in eagerness. ... .. . . . . . ..

  Abigail released the latch that kept the stall closed. As the door swung open, the animal moved forward. He nudged his rider gently in the space between her shoulder and jaw. She pressed her forehead against the smoothness of his long cheek and reached for his reins. Achilles already bore her saddle and the folded blanket that gave Abigail's leg added comfort.

  "Come." Abby guided the gray to the rear open ing of the stable. Once outside, a slim figure approached her on silent feet.

  "Thank you for getting him saddled, Timothy."

  Timothy only nodded, focusing most of his attention on accepting then holding to his chest the crutch she offered. He waited until Abigail hefted herself up and onto the horse's steady back to speak. "Have a safe ride, Lady Abby."

  Abigail smiled down at Timothy's bowed head then gave Achilles the slight nudge with her knees that set him into motion. The steady cadence that took them out of the fenced area and into the approaching night was only a beginning. Before they returned to the stables, Abigail planned to have the wind rushing through Achilles' soft mane and pounding at her cheeks and throat. It was a familiar ritual, an exorcism of the demons that hounded her dreams. A vindication to herself; she would not allow the memories of the past to haunt her future.

  Within the space of an hour that passed like only minutes they reached the end of their muchtraveled trail. Just as it did every time Achilles brought her there, the small clearing at the path's end served as an almost instantaneous balm to the burning that had filled her lungs at her rapid breathing. The horse moved familiarly to the large oak that sat where damp soil gave way to the slope leading down into the pond. Using a jutting branch from the tree and the gray's massive back for support, Abigail lowered herself to the ground. She held herself against the tree as Achilles lumbered away and toward the pond. His front hooves were immersed in the water before he lowered his head to drink.

  The horse's movements made circular ripples in the water that had, until that time, appeared to be smooth black glass reflecting the tiny pinpoints of stars above. Abigail rested most of her weight on her left leg, leaning against the oak as she watched Achilles drink. If the abrupt sound of a twig snapping underfoot not far behind hadn't warned her, the way in which the gray's head abruptly lifted would have.

  Abigail had time only to frown before she sensed the intruder. Her head slowly turned, and she struggled to keep a firm hold on her sudden alarm at finding the man standing in the shadows of the night. The moon glowed faintly across his crooked and yellow teeth as he smiled.

  He woke once again to the old wrinkled face peering down at him. Once again out of the dream of the firelit bedchamber. Instead of from the desolate trenches of the workhouse, however, he turned into the room from a window that overlooked an acre of flowers.

  "Not again," Calvin said into the plump softness of his pillow. He opened one eye then let it slip back closed on a wince. Mrs. Poole's nose fairly touched his.

  "Get up, lad." Her hand was cold on his bare shoulder as she gave it a shove.

  "Please, Calvin," said Margot. "It's important."

  "Damnation." Calvin let both eyes open now, focusing on both the aged cook and the fiery-haired woman who had sidled up close behind her. "Have you women no notion of the meaning of privacy? Do you barge into everyone's rooms late at night without knocking?"

  "Mr. Tuttleton didn't mind," Margot said.

  Calvin growled low in his throat.

  "We are worried, lad." Mrs. Poole stuck to the matter that had brought her there. "About Lady Abby. "

  Calvin frowned and sat up, the remnants of sleep fading fast. "Another nightmare?"

  "No, sir." Margot shook her head, her eyes wide and focused on his bare chest. "She is not here."

  "The lady goes riding late in the day." Mrs. Poole moved away from the bed on bare feet. She opened the armoire and removed a shirt, then retrieved Calvin's jacket from where he had left it across a chair. "Returns in the evening, not too late."

  "Not this late." Margot's tone was hollow, worried.

  Calvin threw back the bedclothes and got to his feet. He chose to ignore the younger woman's startled gasp, then her disappointed frown as she saw the breeches he wore.

  "Where does she ride?" He did not look up from buttoning his shirt.

  "There's a trail"-Mrs. Poole held his jacket open for him-`just outside the stables. It goes to a pond at the end of the property."

  "Abby usually stops there to rest." Margot dropped his boots at his feet.

  "She may very well have been thrown," Calvin said grimly, not caring for the mental image the thought brought to mind.

  "No," Mrs. Poole countered in a tone that brooked no argument. "Achilles would never do such a thing to her."

  "I'd like to think she may have simply fallen asleep while relaxing at the pond," Margot said with a forced cheerfulness.

  "Has she ever fallen asleep before?" Calvin looked up once he had finished with his boots.

  Margot's face went pale as she shook her head.

  "Timothy has a horse ready for ye, Calvin," Mrs. Poole said. "Hurry."

  He heard the last from where he was striding quickly to the stairs.

  "Mr. Dobbs." Abigail felt it was important to speak before he had the chance. She kept her tone cool, hinting at none of her distress at being caught alone with the man.

  "Did ye get me message?" His lips were thin and black in the darkness, like wet leeches moving atop each other.

  "Oh." She let her brows lift. "Was that you?"

  "Ye know bloody well it was." Dobbs's shoes crunched down on dried leaves as he stepped nearer. "Lord Raleigh doesn't want ye to forget about him."

  "Forgive me for saying so, sir"-Abigail kept her tone controlled and light-"but you'd do well to not come out and tell me it is Raleigh who employs your ... shall we say, unusual services? It takes away some of the surprise."

  Dobbs blinked, his cold black eyes filled to the brim with meanness-leaving little room for intelligence. He sm
iled. "He knows what yer hiding. He knows that spindly manservant of yers took his horse."

  "You mean the same manservant who sent you running from my stables?" Abigail almost smiled at the memory. "I do miss Tuttleton." She gasped then, for the round man moved surprisingly fast.

  Dobbs closed in on her until they were toe-totoe. His breath, smelling strongly of onion and rot, fanned her face. Abigail swallowed, her fingers sinking into the bark of the aged tree that was the only thing holding her upright.

  "Despite yer meddling in his business, the viscount has a proposition for ye," Dobbs said, a fine spray of spittle landing across Abigail's cheeks and eyelashes.

  For the first time since she could remember having her accident, Abby wished she had her crutch handy. Not to keep her standing upright, but for the satisfaction she knew it would induce if she were to bash this ruffian over the skull with it. "And that is?" she breathed, her fear rising at the unbearable proximity of the man.

  "He wants yer land. Will pay ye, Lady Wolcott, to get the hell away from him."

  "No." The word came from the pit of her stomach, before she even thought about forming it.

  "Think before ye answer, lady." Dobbs was unsurprised by her refusal. "Lord Raleigh doesn't mind waiting, and I don't mind helping ye make up yer mind."

  An icy grip closed around Abigail's heart at the cruel intent that radiated from Dobbs's large body. Then her heart stopped beating entirely when the man leaned closer still, until his pockmarked cheek touched hers. Just above her ear, he sniffed her like a dog.

  "Ye smell good."

  Abigail gasped, her arms shaking with the urge to shove at Dobbs's chest. She held herself steady, however, painfully aware that such a movement would send her tumbling to the ground. She stopped her teeth from chattering by pressing them together, then said through them, "Get away from me, you filthy pig."

  Dobbs actually backed away, blinking that stupid blink of his.

  "You tell Lord Raleigh"-her voice was loud, near shouting, to hide her terror-"I'll die before I'll let him have my home."

  Dobbs's gaze flashed as if he were insulted. As if he expected her to swoon over his snorting in her ear. "Be careful what ye say." His attention dropped to Abigail's legs, one of which had begun to tremble under the long minutes of bearing her weight. "I know ye can't run."

  Chapter 9

  He did not find Abigail at the pond, but an unknown man. Before he and the brown and white gelding Timothy had given him broke into the clearing, Calvin stopped and watched the stranger through a growth of saplings.

  He stood at the very edge of the pond, nothing more than a dark shadow holding what appeared to be a long twig against his leg, with his free arm draped over his horse's back. The man's forehead was pressed to the animal's side, and from where Calvin stood he was vividly aware of what a lonely figure the stranger made.

  He lowered himself from his gelding, tying the reins to one of the slim trunks of the saplings, and moved into the clearing on silent feet. As Calvin drew nearer to the motionless man, he quickly scanned his shape. He did not know where Abigail was and wasn't certain if the stranger had anything to do with her absence at the place her servants were certain she'd be. He had spent the first seven teen years of his life on the streets of London or fighting over a stained bunk in the house, and if there was one thing he had learned, it was that it was better to think of everyone you didn't know as someone you might not like.

  The man did not make an intimidating figure. His shoulders were slight, his arms thin under the form-fitting shirt he wore. The hem of the shirt reached just below the waist of his long pants, where the stranger's hips flared. Calvin frowned, uncomfortable his gaze going lower. Something tI5 nagged at the back of his skull as he focused on the other's legs. One was bent slightly, and the other was stiff.

  A bolt of understanding slammed into Calvin. When his head lifted, he saw Abigail's lift too. Before he could even realize her intent, the woman swung around with the stick she had been holding raised. Calvin saw the grim intent in her gaze and thoughtin the faint moonlight-he caught a glint of fear before he ducked. He felt the wind from the insufficient blow stir the hair across his scalp and, without thinking, rushed the woman.

  Abigail screamed as he wrapped his arms around her waist, her hands digging into the shoulders of his coat as her instrument of destruction fell to the ground. Her horse-Achilles, Calvin now remembered-offered a disgruntled snort but did not move from where he stood.

  "Abigail," he shouted above her thrashing, "it's me!"

  "Get off!" Her command was so razor-sharp that he immediately obeyed. Abigail remained on her feet for a full second before her eyes went round and she collapsed back into the thick plants that surrounded the water.

  "Son of a-" Calvin's jaw went tense as he held back the most vivid part of the curse. "What the hell are you about, riding out in the middle of the night? What can you be thinking?" He edged nearer, was reaching for her when he recalled her vehement refusal of his hold a moment before.

  "Do not yell at me." Abigail pointedly ignored him, reaching for the reins of her gray.

  "I'm not-" He stopped and lowered his voice. "I'm not yelling." He said through his teeth, "I would just like to know what you think you are doing."

  "At the moment, I am trying to get away from this water." She glared at Calvin through a shining mass of hair that had escaped the simple braid she wore. "Now, if you will kindly step aside...."

  "Give me your hand." Calvin stepped forward, holding out his.

  "No!" She released the reins with only one hand to wave off his, but it sorely dislodged her perilous balance. She tumbled back to the ground, her open palms going back to catch her and sinking into mud.

  "You damn fool," Calvin hissed. Ignoring the anger that surrounded her like a shield, he reached out and captured Abigail beneath her shoulders. "Let me get you out of here." She gasped, her dirty hands settling on his arms as he lifted her from the ground and off her feet.

  As he wrapped a steadying arm about her back, Calvin was abruptly aware of the slightness of the woman despite her acrid tongue. The pressure of his arm on the back of her shirt drew the material taut against her front. She had left the first few buttons open, and the skin of her throat was pale, lovely in the moonlight. Her breasts rose with her stuttering breaths, small and soft and clearly defined under the shirt. Calvin's gaze lifted and focused on her parted lips. He refused to meet her eyes, refused the warning bells that went off in his head, and gave in to the hot coil of interest that closed tighter and tighter around his insides as he looked at her.

  His head bowed, and he covered her parted lips with his own.

  Abigail's thoughts did not turn to mush the moment Calvin kissed her, as they did for the characters of the love stories she used to read before the conclusion of her engagement. She was very aware of the ramifications of the contact of his mouth on hers. He was her manservant, he had just called her some unflattering names, and he was a veritable stranger. And despite all this, she could no more not receive his kiss than she could make herself walk unfettered again.

  She had wondered what it would be like to be kissed by this man, and now she knew. Never, she thought then-despite what might come of the extremely inappropriate embrace-would she again be so pleased with giving in to temptation. Though her thoughts didn't muddle, her heart beat erratically and a slow burning began low in the pit of her belly. Her muddied fingers dug into Calvin's coat sleeves, and the arm around her back tightened, pulling her against the rigid wall of his chest. Something fluttered against her ribs when she felt the beat of his heart through her shirt, uneven as her own.

  Then his moist breath touched the insides of her lips, and his tongue slowly slipped into the cavern of her mouth. That was when Abigail's thoughts evaporated into senselessness. A not-unpleasant heat rose to her breasts. She was suddenly oblivious to the pain that had been nagging at her leg since before her fall and remembering things she thought she had left
behind three years before.

  Abigail lifted her own tongue to lightly trace the underside of Calvin's and felt him shiver. Then she brought her teeth, so lightly it might have been imagined, across him. He groaned into her mouth. Finally, Abby pressed his tongue between hers and the roof of her mouth and drew on it.

  Calvin's mouth tore away from hers. "God." His hoarse whisper brushed her damp lips.

  Abigail blushed, not meeting his eyes. She felt suddenly exposed and more than a little at a loss for proprieties. She also, Abby acknowledged with a small, inward smile, felt rather amazing. Her lashes lifted and she met his gaze only briefly, saw his eyes burned like the blue flames inside a fire, and quickly lowered her head again. She had no idea what to say.

  Calvin saved her in a most unsuspected way. He returned to his earlier condemnation. "You should not ride out alone, Lady Abigail."

  She sighed, her grip loosening on the taut muscles of his arms. Abby reached for Achilles, steadying herself by gripping the saddle. "I must," she said without looking at Calvin. "It is more comfortable for me to ride in men's attire; in light of day, the risks are greater that someone might see and condemn me."

  "If not for yourself, for your mount." She felt his gaze on the side of her face as he spoke. "In the darkness, it is almost impossible for a horse to see a hole in the ground. He could break a leg."

  "No." Abby shook her head, holding steady with one hand and using the other to pat one of Achilles' large shoulders. "Timothy walks the trail daily, looking for ruts in the sand."

  "And does Timothy take the trail with you?" Calvin's irritation appeared to grow with her every sensible answer. "Have you no idea how dangerous it is for a woman to travel alone in the dark? You might be approached by any kind of miscreant."

  Abigail felt an icy shiver slip down her spine, suddenly remembering the foul stench of Mr. Dobbs as his cheek touched hers. She reached for the reins.

  "Why are you shaking?" The voice of the man much too close behind her was low, knowing. "What happened out here tonight, Lady Abigail?"