Page 22 of A Perfect Gentleman

She ignored his words. “A willing widow, say, or, perhaps a business arrangement. Yet you—”

“You know bloody good and well I didn’t—” he burst out. “I mean, of course there were—I did sometimes avail myself of, um . . .” He faltered to a stop.

“Prostitutes?” Abigail suggested brightly.

“Yes!” he snapped.

“So you have had other women despite your love for the woman you could not have.”

“It’s been ten years!” he ground out. “What the devil would you expect me to do?”

“I expected precisely that. I was merely pointing out that you have in the past—”

“Blast it, that was different! I wasn’t—it was just business.”

“Perhaps you could pay me, then, and that would make it all right.”

He slammed the glass down on the table. “This conversation is absurd.”

Energy and hope drained from her. “No doubt you’re right.” Tears burned behind her eyes, but Abby sternly suppressed them. “That’s the end of it, then.”

“I’m sorry.” He sent her an abashed glance. “But you must see that it’s impossible.”

“I do.” Abigail nodded. “I was indulging in a fantasy.” She wanted nothing more at the moment than to be alone, to sink down on the bed and weep with disappointment. But she refused to allow herself to be weak. She would not allow this man or anyone else to rule her life. “I shall return home and file for divorce.”

“What!” Graeme stiffened. “No. You cannot.”

“I must. It isn’t what I want. I believed my marriage was for life. But there is no other way.”

“No. It’s impossible.” Graeme’s expression was implacable. “It would take an act of Parliament and I will not—”

“I’ll remind you again: I don’t live in England.” Abigail faced him. She would not back down, not even before his anger. “It is still somewhat difficult to obtain a divorce in New York, but it’s an easy enough matter to move to Ohio and sue for divorce there. I am sure I would have ample grounds. Desertion, for one thing.”

“I didn’t desert you. You were the one who left.”

“Adultery, then. I can hire someone to follow you when you visit your prostitutes. Or perhaps it’s good enough cause that you have refused to perform your ‘marital duties.’ I’ll have my lawyer look it up.”

“No, damn it!” He took two quick steps forward, his eyes blazing. “I will not allow you to subject my family to scandal. It would be a stain on the Parr name for generations.”

“I don’t care!” Abigail cried, her arms rigid at her side. “I am not throwing away the rest of my life for the sake of your stupid infernal name!”

“So that is it, then—if I don’t give in to you, you will drag my family’s name through the muck. You plan to coerce me into doing what you want. You are just like your father.”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything. But I refuse to sacrifice all hope of happiness.”

“Happiness?” He loomed over her, so close she could feel the heat of his body. “You think you will enjoy forcing a man who despises you into your bed? You want to be taken without pleasure? Without love? That is nothing but rutting.”

“Women have been doing that for centuries,” she shot back. “I am sure I can endure it.”

“Endure it?” he growled. “Really?” He grabbed her arms and jerked her flush against his body. His mouth came down on hers, hard and hungry. He turned, walking her back until they came up hard against the wall, his mouth locked to hers. Finally he raised his head, his eyes bright, his breath coming in hard, fast pants. “This? This is what you are ready to endure?”

Abigail stared up into his hot, furious gaze. Her entire body thrummed. She smiled at him, a slow, triumphant, beckoning smile. “Let’s find out.”

His eyes widened, and, with a low groan, his mouth returned to hers.

chapter 8

It would be a lie to say that Abby had not wondered what her wedding night would have been like if Graeme had not stormed out ten years ago. She had more than once imagined how his lips would have felt upon hers, how his arms would have enveloped her. But never in any of her daydreams had she imagined this.