Page 19 of A Perfect Gentleman

He pointed with his whip, and Abigail peered down the dark street. At least a hundred feet away, there was a small break in the buildings—an alley more than a lane, she would have said. It was almost black outside, the nearest gaslight some distance behind them. The buildings rising around them cut out all trace of moonlight, and the scene was made even eerier by the drifting wisps of fog.

Abigail swallowed, tempted to remain in the carriage and return to the hotel. But, reminding herself that she had long ago left behind the timid girl she had once been, she handed the driver his money and climbed out of the cab.

“Remember, wait for me. I’ll pay you extra when I return.”

He looked at her as if he thought she was a lunatic, but nodded his head. “Aye. I’ll wait. For a bit, mind you.”

“I won’t take long.”

She curled her fingers tightly around the small leather-wrapped truncheon in her hand and started down the cobblestone street. Instinctively she drew closer to the protection of the buildings, though it was even darker there. Making her stride as long and confident as she could, she moved forward, hoping that she would not step in anything disgusting. It certainly smelled as if there might be refuse lying everywhere around here.

When she reached the small lane, there was, thankfully, another lamppost, though the feeble light it cast barely penetrated the wisps of fog. Abigail suspected that the light served more to illuminate herself than to show her what lay ahead. A figure, darker than the night around it, moved in a doorway down the lane. She started toward it. Suddenly, the figure darted from the doorway and took to its heels.

“No! Wait!” Abigail ran after the fleeing form, but she lost her footing on the slick, uneven cobblestones and fell to the ground. She scrambled up onto her hands and knees, her shoe catching in the hem of her cloak and impeding her. She peered up the street. The figure had disappeared. “Curse it!”

Suddenly a hand lashed out from behind her and clamped around her arm.

chapter 7

Fear lanced through Abby, and as he hauled her to her feet, she twisted and struck out at her attacker. The short cudgel in her hand slammed into his side, and he let out a startled “oomph.” In the next instant she saw that her “attacker” was her husband.

“Bloody hell!” Graeme grabbed her wrist, holding it up to examine the heavy leather-wrapped object in her hand. “What the devil did you hit me with?”

Abigail drew in a shaky breath. “I believe it’s called a cosh.”

“You carry this around with you?”

“Not all the time. But I thought this might be the sort of place I should have a weapon.”

“I should bloody well think so! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

Abigail lifted her chin. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“That’s easy—I was following you.” He released her and stepped back.

“Why? How did you know—”

“I asked the doorman.”

“The doorman! That traitor!” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have a few words with him—telling everyone my plans.”

“You mustn’t blame him. He assumed your husband had a right to know what idiocy you had up your sleeve.”

“Well, he assumed wrong.” Abby whipped around and stalked away.

“Just a minute.” Graeme caught up with her in two quick strides. “You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you intend to do? Hold me prisoner?”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he said through clenched teeth, taking her arm and steering her toward the carriage. “What are you doing? Why did you come here?”

“It’s none of your business.” That wasn’t strictly correct, since the matter concerned the “truth” about her marriage, but Abby was not about to give in to his high-handed manner. Besides, this person, whoever it was, had approached her, not Graeme; perhaps there had been a reason for that. What if he knew something her spouse didn’t want her to learn? However trustworthy and upright Graeme might seem, she didn’t really know him. She had discovered that ten years ago.

“Not my business? You’re my wife.”

“Not so one would notice.”

“Blast!” Abigail thought she might actually hear his teeth grinding together. “However little joy we may get out of it, legally we are married. I am responsible for you. You are Lady Montclair.”