Page 16 of A Perfect Gentleman

Graeme jerked back. “I don’t normally. Get into fights, I mean.”

She released his chin, looking a little surprised and something else. . . . Was that chagrin in her eyes? And what did that mean?

“Naturally.” Her voice was bright and faintly brittle. She turned away to pick up the bottle of iodine and splash it on the cloth. “What was this all about? Who hit you?”

She held the iodine-soaked rag to the cut on his brow.

“Well, um . . .” He felt a flush spreading up his neck. “Actually, ah . . . it was Prescott.”

She stared at him. “David?”

“Yes.” His embarrassment was replaced by irritation. “Your good friend David.”

“David hit you?” she said, as if she could not take it in. “Why? What did you do?”

“I don’t know why you should suppose it was I who started it.”

“Don’t turn all lordly,” she told him, folding her arms. “I don’t know you, but I do know David Prescott. He isn’t the sort to go about hitting people without reason.”

Graeme would have liked to argue, but it struck him how utterly, irredeemably foolish he was being. He had not set out to call on Abigail, but he knew why his steps had turned without volition to the Langham. Whether Prescott was right in saying Abigail was innocent of her father’s scheme, Graeme was duty-bound to admit his own fault in the matter. Arguing with her over David Prescott was not going to accomplish that.

He straightened his shoulders. “It was not without reason. I—Mr. Prescott took me to task for my behavior after our wedding. I am sorry for what I said to you and how I acted. I did not behave as a gentleman should, and I must beg your pardon.”

chapter 6

Abigail gaped at him. If Graeme’s intent had been to render her speechless, he had certainly accomplished it. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him when she saw him dawdling in front of the hotel this evening. Her first thought had been only a swift concern that he had been hurt. The last thing that would have occurred to her was that he had come to offer her an apology.

It was not precisely the apology she would have hoped for. His words had been as stiff as his posture, and there had been more regret over his failure to act as a gentleman than there had been over hurting her. Still, it was the first time he had ever unbent toward her, and Abigail felt a tender shoot of warmth start to uncurl in her chest.

Graeme continued. “I was angry and . . . frustrated at my own powerlessness in the situation. But that is no excuse. However I felt, whatever had happened, I should not have been so blunt or unkind, so lacking in courtesy to a young woman—especially one whom I had just sworn to protect.”

So he was not saying he had been wrong about her.

“I should have handled it differently. I should have made arrangements for us to live separately without exposing you to gossip.”

Not that he regretted parting from her.

“I see.” Abby stepped back, tossing the cloth onto a table. “Arrangements—like hiding me away in some manor house in the country where I wouldn’t be seen. Where I would be no embarrassment to you.” She flashed him a smile so bright it was a weapon. “No, thank you. I prefer the life I have.”

He frowned. “I didn’t mean—you weren’t—”

A knock on the door interrupted whatever explanation he was scrabbling for. Abigail seized the opportunity to turn away from Graeme and opened the door. A footman entered, carrying the ice and the brandy she had ordered, and set the tray down on the table next to the bottle of antiseptic.

After his departure, the room was heavy with silence. Abby focused on bundling the ice into a towel and tying its corners together, then thrust it at Graeme. “Here, hold this against your cheek; it will reduce the swelling. Brandy?”

“What? No, I—it doesn’t matter. What I was trying to say . . .”

She poured him a glass despite his words and handed that to him, as well. Crossing her arms across her chest, she regarded him steadily. “Please, you need not apologize further. I am aware of your normally impeccable courtesy. But at least you were honest in stating your feelings and your intentions toward me, which was an improvement over the fortune hunters to whom I was accustomed. Indeed, honesty was not a commodity I encountered with my father, either. It was a new experience. So what you said stunned me a bit.”

Graeme started to speak, but she forestalled him, raising her hand. “No, please, hear me out. What happened that evening, what you said was . . .” She drew a little breath, hoping he could not hear the shakiness in it. “It was good. It forced me to face reality. I realized that my life would be whatever I could make of it. I could not while away my time, waiting for a fairy-tale prince to ride in and rescue me. I had to take charge of myself and of my future.”

“A lady should not have to do so.”

“She must if she is to be her own person. I’m glad I built a life free and independent from the rule of a man. I am my own woman, and I’m happy to be so. Proud. I don’t need a husband. And I don’t need your apology.”

Graeme set the glass of brandy down on the table with a thud. “Well, you have it, anyway. You also have a husband, however much you choose to act as if you did not. And as your husband, what you do concerns me. You’re Lady Montclair now, not Abigail Price, and—”

Abigail managed an imitation of laughter, saying lightly, “Is that why you are so alarmed about my presence in London? You’re afraid I’ll do something in my boorish American way that will embarrass you?”