He was unable to say no, because the minx had grabbed his other hand while he was scanning the room for a young buck more suitable. He led her onto the dance floor, praying the whole way that the next dance wouldn’t be a waltz or anything which meant he had to hold her closer than he already was.
Phillip’s body was screaming for her in ways a man of his nature oddly hadn’t experienced before. He snapped his fuzzy brain to attention. Focusing on everything around the room except her eyes, her scent, the curve of her body. The very idea that he was lusting after her felt wrong, considering he had always thought of her as a sister.
Unfortunately, she felt nothing like a blood relative. Her skin was soft, supple—and perfect.
“What are you looking for?” Her sultry voice interrupted his brooding. “I might be able to help.”
Phillip let out an irritated huff. “Brilliant. You see all those gentleman standing by the lemonade?”
She nodded emphatically.
“Any one of them will do.”
“Do?” Abigail tilted her head. “I believe I’m lost, my lord. What will they do?”
Phillip tightened his grip on her waist out of a mixture of lust and anger. “I thought it would be obvious, my dear. Any one of them would be acceptable for your attentions. In fact, I’m convinced you can secure at least four marriage proposals tonight, if you so desire. Your hair alone would drive them wild.”
Abigail smiled triumphantly. “So, you like my hair now that it is out of pigtails?”
“Forgive me for being misleading. I wasn’t aiming to compliment you, Abby.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, like you did not mean to enjoy the kiss we shared either. Yet I know you did. Oh, close your mouth, Rawlings, before you set the tongues wagging. Interesting. Your skin has turned a sort of red color. You wouldn’t happen to be embarrassed about our little tryst, now would you?”
Phillip bit back the cutting remark, knowing it was improper for a lady’s ears. “I do wonder how Sebastian would feel about my strangling your pretty little neck. It is doubtful that Emma would miss you, since you’re barely old enough to be out of the schoolroom.”
At her brilliant blush and the sudden chip in her haughty bearing Phillip continued, “Ah, I see I’ve hit a somewhat of a tender spot, haven’t I? Dare I say that was your first kiss, Abigail? And how did it fare? Was it so disappointing? I found it wasn’t even enough to become a memory I would hold on to. But that’s because I’ve had practice, which you obviously have not.” Gripping her even tighter around the waist, he pulled her closer, so he could whisper in her ear. “Run along now and play with those more suitable to your innocent charms and deceptions, my dear. I have more important things to worry about than your blackmail and adolescent kisses.”
Abigail’s eyes were glassy with tears. Good. She should stay away from him. Better that she hate him than she chase after him and leave with a broken heart. Selfishly, he was doing it as much for her as he was for himself. He needed a wife, a savior of sorts, not a young innocent girl out to ‘have’ him for the notoriety of sharing a kiss with the debauched and almost ruined Lord Rawlings. And even if she truly possessed a tendre for him, Phillip would die before fanning her ardor into a full flame of passion. What he deserved was to be shot—not, to his dismay, the lovely wide-eyed innocent sister of his powerful friends.
Chapter Five
Was that Miss Abigail Gates this author saw leaving her first Season event early? And dare I say that her eyes were a touch watery? Alas, let this be a lesson to you, dear readers. Some men are beyond saving.
—Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers
Phillip was so exhausted; his eyes seemed to be propped open, incapable of closing, even though he tried in vain. He sat by the fireplace, feeling much the same as he had earlier that day—empty, alone, and angry. The bitter taste of wine and brandy was still on his tongue from the night’s festivities. But the familiar drink had done nothing to numb his feelings toward Abby, therefore rendering the whole purpose moot.
Abby. He closed his eyes as the name rolled around in his head. Abigail Gates, who would have thought? Not he. The girl was up to no good…obviously. She had taken to blackmailing rakes for sport. Just what had gotten into that pretty head of hers?
Conflicting emotions raged inside him. Part of him was smiling at the brilliant luck of events that had transpired. All he needed to do was reveal that he had compromised Miss Abigail and his problems would be resolved. They would marry, his money would be released into his care, and he could pay off all his debts.
Yet at this point, it would be impossible. It would mean breaking the weak bond which had begun to form between him, Sebastian, and Nicholas. It would mean the end of any sort of happiness he hoped to have for his future. Better for him to marry anyone but her. Girls such as Abigail had certain fantasies about marriage and love. He could give her one but never the other. However, the thought of being stuck for a lifetime with a woman he was not attracted to held no appeal. Leave it to him to develop a blasted conscience and emotions at the most inconvenient moment. Deuced bad timing if you asked him.
As much as it pained him to admit it, he would have to take Emma’s offer. She knew him well—at least as well as anyone could know him; he didn’t even know himself anymore. Paying mistresses and drinking the night away no longer held the same thrill. The only friend he could claim was Whitmore, and it was a long stretch to call him a friend.
Life had never been more confusing or overwhelming. But it seemed he was being given a second chance at it. If he married well, releasing his money, maybe he could start over. Begin investing in things that interested him, put more time into his friendship with Sebastian and Nicholas. Dare he consider children? A legacy of his own? There comes a time in a man’s life when he looks back at the things he’s done and wonders if any of it actually mattered. Were the sins of his past committed only out of selfish desire to go against what his father had demanded of him? Was he so ignorant to think life would always smile on him, while he continued to make poor choices at the expense of others?
Rubbing his eyes, he rested his head in his hands and released a long sigh. What was he to do?
After witnessing the happiness Nicholas and Sebastian had found, it was evident Phillip was jealous. He wanted what they had, but it seemed their wives had literally been dropped into their willing hands. Sara was given over to Nicholas for tutelage. Doubtful that Lady Fenton meant for the tutelage to get that out of hand. All things considered, it turned out quite well. And Sebastian, lucky dog, was so blasted attractive and well titled to boot. The man could be diagnosed with a flesh-eating disease, and women would still be pounding down his door.
The silence in the room was deafening. The cruel world seemed to continually remind Phillip how alone he was. As if he needed reminding that no lady was beating down his door except the one he couldn’t take, no matter how desperate he became. He sat and listened. The fire crackled and spat. Laughter danced in from the streets. And Phillip sat…empty-handed and alone.
It was time he did something about it. Time he changed his life, changed his reputation and his future. And he knew just how to do it.
An idea manifested, and as Phillip glanced into the wicked flames he smiled his first genuine smile in years. Yes, things were looking up.
****
Abigail hated that she was crying. Showing weakness was not tolerated in her family, and she held herself to a higher standard. But he had been so cruel. She thought they were merely exchanging witty banter. Instead the man had slain her with one well-placed phrase, paralyzing her tongue from snapping a vicious retort.
After he had abandoned her on the dance floor, her only choice had been to smile through clenched teeth and return to Emma’s side.
Emma offered her a look of concern. “Where has Phillip run off to?”
Wanting nothing more than to curse the man who had embarrassed her, Abigail had to fight to keep her face and words kind. “Oh, I believe he had another engagement. I wouldn’t worry.”
Content with the answer, her sister looped her arm with Abigail’s and led her to the place Rawlings had indicated earlier. “My dear, look at all these gentleman. They’ve been asking about you all night. I do believe we’ll have many callers tomorrow afternoon. Why don’t I introduce you?”
Abigail tried to think of any excuse to allow herself to remain where she was. The last thing she wanted to do was make friendly with gentlemen her own age. All she wanted was the horrid wretch who had ridiculed her inexperienced kiss.
“My head aches,” Abigail lied, lifting her gloved hand to her forehead in attempt to deter her sisters pestering questions.
The tears Abigail had been holding back grew painful as she tried to keep them captive behind her eyes. Emma seemed to understand and escorted her quickly down the hall. “Has something happened, Abby?”
“No.” Abigail sighed. “I’m just exhausted. It has been a very trying night. After all, it is my first ball.”
“But you haven’t danced with anyone other than family and Rawlings. However are we to find you a match if you don’t make yourself available? Abigail, remember. You wanted your first Season, though Mama and Papa argued that you should wait.”
She hadn’t wanted to wait, because she was worried Rawlings would find someone else to steal his heart. Desperately, she had done all she could to get her parents to agree to allow her to debut this Season, short as it was—only a month of social occasions left.
“It is merely a headache, Emma. I’ll be feeling better in the morning. Will you give my apologies to everyone for retiring so dreadfully early?”
Skeptically, Emma’s eyes narrowed before she nodded her head and gracefully returned to the ballroom.
Slowly, Abigail took the stairs. How had things gone so horribly wrong? Had Rawlings not been transfixed when they kissed? Was he merely skilled at looking devastatingly handsome, no matter what the weather? His eyes had sparkled after their lips touched. But perhaps he was upset, or worse, irritated that she had interrupted his brooding.
Abigail bit her lip, and the music from the ballroom floated to the ceiling. Boisterous voices and laughter echoed off the walls. She was a young debutante; she should be out dancing, experiencing her first time in London. Instead she was retiring early and heart-broken over a rake’s rejection.
Had Rawlings changed so much? Perplexed, and now in danger of an honest headache, Abigail continued marching towards her room. She sat in front of the fireplace, pulled her knees to her chin and thought. Men were men. Easy enough to control. All except Sebastian, who seemed to see right through her every ploy. Not that it bothered her. In fact, he had been nothing but wonderful to her since her arrival. Even after knowing the way Abigail had treated Emma before their marriage; both had still welcomed her with open arms.
The fire crackled. Abigail watched the flames, felt the heat of the fire warm her skin. Maybe Rawlings needed to see her as more of a woman. She looked down at her dress. White muslin. It was pure as snow and looked like every other debutante’s. And the cut, although not conservative, was nothing compared to what Sara and Emma wore.