His Perfect Game (26 page)

“Then I’ll include your preference with my choices when I present them to Lord Merrick.”

“Why are you discussing color samples with my husband?” She couldn’t understand why Greyson had taken such a notice of her wardrobe. Did he feel guilty for spending the day with a maid? She hoped so.

“He gave me specific instructions. All color choices were to be approved by him.”

Abigail shrugged. Considering she wore Sandra’s gowns the majority of the day, the color of her gowns mattered little. But she had other requirements.

“Then I’ll trust your judgment. I only ask that the styles are modest. Also, leave extra material in the seams.”

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Madam Debot shifted uncomfortably. “The styles are also to be selected by the viscount. The excess material was also addressed.”

Abigail’s mouth dropped. He knew about her armor and intentionally ensured she couldn’t wear it. She didn’t understand how her feelings toward him could change so drastically. One moment she wanted to kiss him, but in the next breath, she wanted to slap him.

“Very well. I’m sure I’ll be pleased with his selections.” Abigail forced a smile and saw the seamstress’s tension ease.

Obviously still fearing a negative reaction from her, Madam Debot quickly packed her tools and exited the room. She was no doubt off to confer with Greyson regarding matters that should be under Abigail’s discretion.

A few hours later, Abigail sat across from her husband wondering where the charming man had come from. To date, he’d only acted this way with her as a maid. She wanted to tell him of her anger with his interference with the seamstress, but she could not resist him like this. He watched her throughout dinner with a twinkle in his eye.

“Is something on your mind?” he asked once they were settled in the drawing room.

She cringed. How could she deny such an opening? “I was simply thinking about my fitting today with a seamstress.”

“Madam Debot? I have heard a great deal about her. I don’t believe you will be dissatisfied with the outcome.”

“I’m sure she is quite talented. My concern isn’t in her skill level, but in how she didn’t allow me to make any decisions regarding the gowns.”

She chose her words with care, not wanting to upset him as his gesture had been kind. In addition, she had no desire to see him adopt his cold façade again. This side of him was much more pleasant.

“That was my decision. I simply wanted to ensure the coloring and styles were flattering to you.”

“And the seam allowance?” She watched his face closely for any signs of anger.

“I didn’t see that as a problem considering you no longer have a need to wear your armor.”

“I don’t recall making that decision.”

“In London you explained how you wore it for protection from unwanted suitors. Seeing as you are married and safely tucked away in the country, I don’t understand why you would continue to wear it.”

Abigail swallowed, trying to suppress her anger. As her husband, he had every right to make decisions for her, but she didn’t like it. If she kept quiet and allowed him to believe she didn’t care, he would continue. On the other hand, if she argued, his anger would turn him into a man like her father. She knew once he began to beat her, the habit would become a daily occurrence.

“It’s also for comfort. You should have consulted me first, as I have no intention of dressing without the armor.” She held her head high, allowing her annoyance to show through her words.

“I tried to do something nice for you.” His tone held no emotion. “But if you are determined to hate me, so be it.”

As he stood and walked toward her, she could no longer hold her brave façade. Shrinking back into the cushions, she closed her eyes. Although she deserved his punishment, she could not watch. For some reason, she wanted to trick herself into believing he was different. If she didn’t see the origination of the blows, she could pretend the pain came from her father.

She kept her position for a few seconds until a shadow moved past her eyelids. Peering out, she saw his retreating back. He stopped at the threshold and turned back to her. The pain in his face made her throat ache. Without a word, he hurried out of her sight.

Tears burned the back of her eyes as she dropped her face into her palms. Confusion assaulted her. Nothing made sense anymore. Thinking of the agony in his eyes made her feel terrible. She’d rejected him twice today as two different women. Considering she had no desire to hurt him so badly, there remained one way to fix this. The solution would have to come from her maid persona.

If she flirted with or kissed him as a maid, nothing would change. He didn’t know who she was, so he could do nothing to her that she couldn’t escape from. As his wife, harmless flirting could escalate and invite him into her bed. Once that happened, their relationship would be forever changed. The thought of subjecting herself to that act every night made her body break out in a cold sweat. She would not allow that to happen.

Tomorrow she would seek him out and use her kiss.

Chapter 15

Greyson fastened his trousers and pulled his shirt on. Not bothering to secure the buttons, he dropped into a chair and leaned back, covering his eyes with his hands. How did he proceed with his wife? As his efforts with both her and Abigail were rejected, he decided the best option was to make arrangements to leave Merrick today.

He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. The thought of the cold, lonely townhouse brought him no pleasure. He would be surrounded by people who only tolerated him because of his connection to the duke. Although not enjoyable, the fake acceptance held preference to being rejected.

Someone knocked on his door, which only increased his agitation. Considering he didn’t require assistance of a valet to dress, the interruption could only mean trouble. He wanted to ignore the intruder, to pretend he wasn’t here, but he’d never shirked his duty before and didn’t intend to begin now.

He opened the door ready to demand an explanation for the disturbance, but the words died on his lips. Abigail stood before him. Determination shone through her eyes, although her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Abigail, what—?”

She launched herself at him, cutting his words off with her mouth. He stumbled backward, but clamped her tightly against him. Still having his wits about him, he reached out with one hand and closed the door. Her attack made his body burn, and his ears began to ring as if ready to explode.

Slowly drawing her back, he led her toward the bed. Beyond need, he had every intention of taking this as far as possible. When his knees hit the mattress, he sat, lifting her to straddle him. She didn’t break the kiss.

Her demanding lips caused his member to swell to the point of discomfort. Desperate for more contact, he secured one of his hands behind her head while the other gently rubbed down her back. With her skirt raised from her position, her bare leg laid within reach. The smooth warm skin called out to him, demanding he expose it.

The hunger to run his mouth over every inch of her flooded him, but he was terrified to break the kiss. If this was to be his only kiss from her, he would ensure the experience lasted forever.

When her hands tentatively reached out to touch his bare chest, he thought he would die from the sensation. He smoldered everywhere her fingers caressed as if she were made out of fire. His fire angel.

Too far gone, Greyson couldn’t handle the wait any longer. He fell back onto the bed, bringing her down with him. As soon as his head hit the mattress, she raised herself up. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were wide, but she didn’t climb off him. She sat, legs on either side of him with their bodies touching in the most intimate way.

Her eyes took on a dreamy quality, and her lids began to close as she ground her hips against him. He groaned and reached out to draw her back to him, but she quickly jumped back and scrambled off the bed.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, seeming terrified.

“Don’t be.” He pushed himself up.

Her gaze dropped to his chest, and her lips parted. He could not move. The hunger he saw forced his heart to pump rapidly.

“Good day, my lord.” She curtsied then fled the room before he could stop her.

As the slam of the door echoed in the room, Greyson laid back on the bed, working on controlling his breathing. He wasn’t sure what had brought her to his room, but, regardless, he felt grateful. If he had surprises like that to look forward to, he could handle any amount of rejections. How could he leave now?

His only regret and frustration was being unable to go after her. If she had been dressed as his wife, he could have hauled her back in and locked the door. She must have planned this. He groaned knowing how easily she manipulated him.

His breathing returned to normal, but his body refused to calm. Rubbing his hands over his face, he knew sitting with his steward would be impossible today. On the other hand, spending the day with his wife would prove equally difficult.

Sighing, he stood and finished dressing. Once he sent a message to Barry, he mounted his horse and rode out over his land. The wind whipping against his face helped to cool the feelings his wife awakened in him. The weather remained fine and the tenants grateful for his visit.

No one he called upon had experienced any problems, and after hours of riding, Greyson happily accepted an offer to join a few of the men at the local tavern. However, even sitting with them, holding his drink, he thought of his wife.

Memories of that morning swamped him as he ran his finger down the side of the glass. The texture reminded him how smooth and soft Abigail’s skin felt. Gripping the handle, he held his body motionless, willing it not to react to the images filling his mind.

“Have you heard about the thefts, my lord?” one of the men asked.

Greyson cleared his thoughts as he turned in the direction of the question. “I had some of my men check on the affected homes, but they didn’t find anything that could point to the culprit.”

“Have you talked to Old Jack?” the barkeep asked as he served him another drink.

“Does he have more information?” Greyson took a sip of the bitter liquid.

“He saw the thief. Jack chased him off his property. Maybe if he described him, we could put together a search party to flush him out.” The barkeep shrugged, passing out another mug to a waiting patron.

“Where can I find him?” Greyson wanted the man caught. Only then could he put his suspicions to rest. He shook his head. Algers could not be behind this.

“With a threat out there, Old Jack will be sitting at home,” one of the younger men answered. “I can take you there if you want.”

“I appreciate any help.”

After paying for their drinks, they set out to see Old Jack. Greyson noticed their destination rested close to his home. He remembered Barry’s concerns about Alexander residing nearby, so Greyson relaxed a little. Although he could not understand why the stable hand would remain in the area, he would prefer that explanation to the other possibility.

When Greyson and the tenant approached the modest house, a man meeting the description of Old Jack greeted them with a pistol posed to kill. When his eyes settled on Greyson, he lowered the weapon. This man would not allow any trouble on his property.

“Lord Merrick wants to ask you about the thief you scared away.” The younger man swept his hand toward Greyson.

“Of course. Come on in.” Old Jack turned and led them into his house. Clearly Old Jack expected the thief to return. Even as he sat, the gun still rested on his knee. “So, what do you want to know, my lord?”

“Tell me about your experience with the thief.”

“Well, the cow has been hassling me for milk lately. She refuses to be milked until the night, so I was in the barn when a man walked up. After a second gaping at me, he took off running.”

“Did you follow him?” Greyson asked.

“No. I heard that others were having trouble, so I knew what he was about. I grabbed my pistol and shot off where I seen him. Next time he will think again before setting foot on my property.”

“I would imagine so.” Greyson admired the old man’s determination. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“Sure did. Young. Around six foot with hair so blond it could have been white.”

Greyson stopped breathing. The accounting was a perfect match to Algers. If he was here, his wife would not be safe. The only hope Greyson held onto was that Algers had not discovered Lady Merrick’s secret. If Greyson was wrong, he could already be too late.

“Thank you for the information. I’ll spread the word. If you hear of anything else, please contact me at once.” Greyson stood and headed out the door. He could not afford to waste any time.

Rushing to his horse, he jumped on the stallion and flicked the reins. His wife was probably safe, but he could not stop the compulsion to check on her. Algers may be lying in wait for her to emerge. Luckily his wife protected herself by adopting the guise of a maid. Otherwise, Algers would have already taken his revenge.

Greyson’s chest tightened as he pushed the stallion hard. Every second passing could be another moment for Algers to harm Abigail. If she was all right, he would confine her to her bedchamber until Algers was caught. However, if Algers touched her, Greyson would kill him.

Ripping another weed out by the roots, Abigail tossed the offending plant on the pile. She worked furiously, trying to prevent memories of this morning from filling her head. When she went to Greyson’s bedchamber this morning, she only thought of how she owed him the kiss. The choice of when and where had fallen to her.

Being greeted with the sight of his muscular chest, she lost the ability to think and had allowed her desire to take over. His reaction clearly stated he didn’t mind in the least. Her body began to heat, and her reaction had nothing to do with the sun shining down on her.

She shuddered, recalling the immense pleasure she received from pressing her most sensitive place against him. The sound of his groan echoed through her mind. She squeezed her legs closed, trying to stop her yearning from rushing through her. How could so much enjoyment come from a simple touch?