Page 26 of A Perfect Gentleman

“I’m willing to do that.”

“Very well, then. How would you like to be presented with an heir fathered by another man? Would you be happy with that, too? What if she decides it would be easier to have an affair than to get a divorce? Are you going to accept her lover’s child? Watch him grow up year after year, the proverbial cuckoo in your nest. Or would you refuse to acknowledge him? That would be a certain way to produce the scandal you say you want to avoid.”

“I don’t want any of that! Of course I don’t.”

“All you have to do is bed the woman. It shouldn’t be too onerous a task. From what I’ve heard, she’s eminently beddable.”

A white-hot fire licked through Graeme’s chest, and he was aware of a strong desire to yank his cousin out of his chair and pummel him. He was turning into a maniac. An absolute lunatic. He shoved his hands in his pockets and regarded James stonily.

“And if you’re lucky,” James went on, ignoring the expression on Graeme’s face, “she will get pregnant, die in childbirth, and you will have an heir, a fortune, and no inconvenient wife.”

“Good Gad, James!” Graeme stared, shocked out of his ill humor. “I never know whether you actually believe the things you say or just wish to enhance your reputation for coldness.” When James only quirked an eyebrow at him, he went on. “For pity’s sake, I don’t wish harm on the woman; I just want her to go away.”

“I have to say, this bothers you a good deal more than would seem warranted. Is it really so burdensome? Surely you are capable of going to bed with a woman without loving her. Is your Abigail so repellent to you?”

“She’s not ‘my’ Abigail. And she’s not repellent. Far from it,” he added beneath his breath.

“Ah.” James nodded, his eyes glinting silver in the lamplight. “Now I understand.”

“I am glad to hear it. I wish I did.”

“The only reason you don’t understand is because you don’t want to. You’re not reluctant because you don’t want her. You’re afraid you will like it too much.”

Graeme narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be a fool.”

“I’m not the fool here. Grow up, Graeme. Stop mooning about like some adolescent Romeo. You aren’t married to Laura; you’re married to Abigail. Living with the woman you love is not one of your choices. If you intend to have an heir, it must be with your wife. What do you plan to do? Make the sacrifices you have made, put in the effort it took to bring your estate back into prosperity, all to leave it to Randall bloody Parr or some other man’s child? Spend the remainder of your days in short, meaningless affairs with women for whom you care nothing?”

“That’s what you do,” Graeme shot back.

James let out a dry bark of laughter. “And is that what you want?” He settled back in his chair, with a long, level look at Graeme. “Do you really want to become me?”

chapter 9

Two days passed without any word from Graeme, and Abby was beginning to think she had gambled everything and lost. At first her spirits had been buoyed by Graeme’s kisses. She had never felt anything like the sensations that poured through her at his kiss, his touch. It was enough to make her blush even to think about it. Surely his reaction meant that he desired her, too, however little he might like her.

After all, she didn’t require affection from him; she had done perfectly well for years without it. Her goal was to have a baby, not a love affair. What she needed was Graeme’s cooperation—and to that end, whatever lust she aroused in him was her ally.

But as the hours, then days, went by, doubt pushed its way in. Perhaps his passion had been nothing but anger. It seemed strange that fury alone could make a man grab her and kiss her so hungrily, but she was inexperienced in that regard. What few kisses she had received had been stolen in haste by some opportunist who hoped to lure her into adultery. None of them had tempted her in the slightest. She was, Abby suspected, the only married woman who was as untutored as a maiden.

She would see him again. But what if he merely looked at her coldly—or, even worse, with disgust? He already thought her wicked. Perhaps her fervent response to his kisses had lowered his opinion of her even more.

Abigail found it difficult to enjoy the ballet tonight. She left early, pleading a headache, and returned to her hotel. She walked from the lift down the corridor to her room, so lost in thought that she did not even glance down the dark intersecting hall as she walked past it.

A hand lashed out and grabbed her arm, jerking her into the shadows of the side corridor. His arm went around her waist, pulling her back against him, and he clamped his other hand over her mouth.

“Don’t scream. I’m not here to hurt you.” Abby kicked out behind her, connecting with his shin. “Ow! Stop it! I just want to talk to you. Why didn’t you come alone like I told you?”

It was the man who had sent her the letters. Abigail went still.

“If I take my hand away, you mustn’t scream.” He sounded shaky, she thought, as if he, too, was frightened. “I just want to talk,” he repeated. “Understand?”

She nodded emphatically, and he moved his hand so that it still hovered in front of her mouth, ready to stop any attempt to cry out.

“I didn’t know he was there,” Abby told him in a low voice, matching his tone. “He followed me.”

“Montclair?”

“Yes. I came alone as you asked. He tricked me. Please, tell me what you wanted to then.”