“Lord Trenton. How are you this—Oh my!”
Catching her elbow, he dragged her down the hall and into the servant’s stairwell. He paused on the tiny landing and looked at her, noting the slight parting of her lips. Before she could protest, he drew her to him and kissed her, taking her mouth in near desperation, needing her response like he needed to breathe.
When she whimpered and surged into him, Rhys had to bite back the shout of triumph. She tasted like sweet cream and warm honey, a simple flavor that cleansed his jaded senses, and made the world fresh and new. He had to tear himself away, something he barely managed after spending a miserable, sleepless night without her.
“You will marry me,” he said gruffly.
Abby sighed and kept her eyes closed. “Now, why did you have to ruin a perfect farewell with that nonsense?”
“It is not nonsense!”
“It is,” she insisted, shaking her head as she looked at him. “I will not say yes. So please, cease.”
“You want me,” he said stubbornly, rubbing his thumb across her swollen bottom lip.
“For sex.”
“That is enough.” It wasn’t, but if he had her beneath him whenever he wanted, perhaps he could reclaim the ability to think. Once he could think, he could plan to win her. Grayson was bumbling along that path. He could simply follow the trail of crushed greenery.
“It isn’t,” she argued gently.
“Have you any idea how many unions have no passion at all?”
“Yes.” She set her hand over his heart. “But I do not believe that passion will be enough to bear the things others will say about you taking an American to wife.”
“Curse them all,” he grumbled. “We have more than passion, Abby. You and I rub along well. We enjoy each other’s companionship even out of bed. And we both like gardens.”
She smiled and his heart leapt. Then she dashed it to pieces. “I want love, and I won’t settle for less.”
Rhys swallowed hard. It was obvious she did not love him, but to hear her say it aloud was painful in the extreme. “Love can grow.”
Her lip quivered beneath his thumb. “I do not want to take the chance that it won’t grow. I must feel it, Rhys, in order to be happy.”
“Abigail,” he breathed, pressing his cheek to hers. He could win her heart. If she would only give him the chance.
Unfortunately, before he could press further, a door opened on a lower floor and the sounds of two maids speaking to one another rose up to them.
“Farewell, my lord,” Abby whispered, before rising to her toes and gifting him with a bittersweet kiss. “Save that dance for me.”
Then she was gone, and the sudden emptiness in his arms was echoed in his heart.
Pulling into the drive before the Hammond estate, Isabel was relieved to see Rhys’ black lacquered coach preparing for departure. After spending the last hour soaking her kerchief over the demise of her marriage and her broken dreams, she needed her brother’s shoulder to cry on and advice on how to proceed.
“Rhys!” she cried, descending the steps with the help of a footman and running toward him.
He turned with a frown, one hand set at his waist, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He stood tall and proud, his mahogany hair capped with a hat, his long legs sheathed in trim, fitted trousers. To her aching heart, the sight of her brother offered comfort in and of itself.
“Bella? I thought you had left for the day. What has happened? You’ve been crying.”
“I am riding with you back to London,” she said hoarsely, her throat raw. “I can be ready within moments.”
Looking over her head, he asked, “Where is Grayson?”
She shook her head violently in answer.
“Bella?”
“Please,” she murmured, lowering her gaze because his compassion and concern threatened to instigate a torrent of tears. “You will turn me into a watering pot in front of the servants. I shall tell you everything, once I’ve refreshed myself and collected my abigail.”
Rhys muttered an oath under his breath and tugged at his cravat. “Make haste,” he growled, shooting an anxious glance at the front entrance. “Please believe that I don’t mean to be harsh or uncaring, but truly ten minutes is all I can spare.”
Nodding, Isabel hurried into the house. Everything she had with her could not be packed in ten minutes, so she splashed water on her face, took what she needed to be comfortable on the long drive, and left a note for Grayson to see to the rest of her belongings.
At any moment, she expected her husband to appear and the anxiousness of waiting made the cold knot in her belly tighten. She felt rushed, off-kilter, breathless. Her entire world was spinning without the steady core she thought she had discovered in Gray. She should have known she would be lacking in some way. This tightness in her chest that made her dizzy was her own fault. The reality had always been there—she was too old for Gray and he did not trust that her body could give him the children she knew he desired. If she were younger, she doubted he would have such fears about her health.
“Come along,” she said to Mary, and they followed the footman, who carried her valise down the stairs to the front driveway.
Rhys waited out front, pacing restlessly. “Damned if you didn’t take forever,” he muttered, gesturing her abigail to the nearby servants’ coach, before catching Isabel’s arm and pulling her toward the waiting carriage. He pulled open the door and nearly thrust her inside.
Isabel had to scramble to stay on her feet and as she lifted her head within the confines of the coach, she understood her brother’s need for haste. Above a gag, eyes of bright blue with golden flecks met hers.
“Dear heaven,” she muttered, backing out quickly. She glanced around in search of a possible audience, then whispered furiously, “What are you doing with Miss Abigail in the coach trussed up like a dinner fowl?”
He heaved out his breath and then set his hands on his hips. “Blasted woman won’t listen to reason.”
“What?” Her arms akimbo pose mimicked his. “This is reason? The future Duke of Sandforth kidnapping an unmarried girl?”
“What recourse do I have?” Holding out his hands to her, he asked, “Was I simply to walk away when she refused me?”
“So you will force the girl into marriage by compromising her? What basis is that for a lasting union?”
He winced again. “I love her, Bella. I cannot imagine going on with my life without her. Tell me what to do.”
“Oh, Rhys,” Isabel breathed, her tears beginning anew. “Do you not think that if I knew how to create love where none existed, I would have done so with Pelham?”
Perhaps it was a familial curse of some terrible sort.
She had wished desperately for Rhys to find a true loving partner. What was left of her heart was broken further to learn that he had fallen in love with a woman who did not return his affections.
Fierce kicking against the interior of the carriage drew their attention. When Rhys moved toward the door, Isabel stepped into his path. “Allow me. You have done quite enough, I think.”