Page 77 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Yes, that. We no longer have to live together as man and wife. I will move out of the house and—”

“So that’s it?” He went taut as a bowstring, a hot, fierce light flaring in his eyes. “Just like that. You’re walking out. First you decide you want to have a real marriage, so you push your way into my life. And now, now when you think it doesn’t suit you after all, you’ll sail right out again, go running back to New York.”

“Don’t pretend you ever wanted me here,” Abby shot back. “It was all duty to you, nothing more.”

“I see. And did I fail in my husbandly duty? Did I mistreat you in any way? Deny you anything? Offer you any disrespect?”

His sarcastic tone galled her. “Oh, no, you were the very soul of courtesy.”

“But of course that meant nothing to you.”

“Why are you acting like this?” Abby cried out. “Why are you being so difficult about it?”

“Maybe I’m tired of being so bloody easy!” Graeme turned aside. He took a breath and after a moment, in a flat tone, he went on, “What about this child you said you wanted so much? Have you lost interest in that, as well?”

“No.” She grasped the back of the chair next to her, fingers digging into it for support. “But there’s no longer any need for—I am—I think I’m pregnant.”

He whirled back. “What? You’re—really?” A smile started on his face, and he took a quick step forward, then stopped. “Oh. Yes. Well, I see.” He paused. “I—um, are you certain?”

“Yes, almost positive. I—all the signs are there. So, as you can see, there is no longer any need for us to . . .”

He nodded, once again turning and moving away.

Abby watched him, her eyes filling with tears. She had to leave before she gave way. Swallowing hard, she said, “Good-bye, then.”

“No. Wait.” Graeme spun back around. “Don’t leave. You cannot—you promised you wouldn’t take my child away.”

“I’m not returning to New York. I meant that I would get a house here in London.”

“No, this is where you bel—where my child belongs. He—or she—should be raised in his home, with his family around him.”

“It would be rather awkward, don’t you think?” How could she bear that? To be around Graeme every day, so close to him and yet so removed, a constant reminder of all that she’d hoped for and could not have.

“I don’t see why.” His face was as remote, as coolly polite, as when she had first known him. “As you said, we had an agreement. We each got what we wanted. There should be no anger, no recriminations, surely.”

“I suppose not.” Graeme was right; she had agreed to remain here when they first struck their bargain. The fact that it would be more painful than she had realized did not give her the right to renege on her promises. Most of all, no matter how awful it would be to live with Graeme, the prospect of living without him was worse. “Very well. I’ll stay.”

He gave her a short, sharp nod. “Good. That’s settled then.”

They stood for another long, awkward moment. Abby turned and left the room.

Graeme sank down into the chair behind his desk, stunned and disjointed and so tangled in conflicting emotions he could not bring himself into any kind of order. He had been in a state of turmoil ever since seeing Laura last night, unsure of what he felt, what Abby felt. Unsure of everything, really, except that the incident had upset Abby and that he felt somehow guilty and in the wrong—and vaguely resentful, too.

He had gone after Abby to try to explain that he hadn’t known Laura would be there, but their conversation had only made it worse. Why had she asked him whether she was like Laura? The question was so absurd he’d almost laughed. Abby was so tall and statuesque, so . . . healthy. Raven hair and those bewitching green eyes. Nothing at all like Laura’s pale delicacy. God knew, as much as he had loved Laura, he had never felt for her that driving, madness-inducing hunger he had for Abby.

Laura was so British and ladylike. Calm, soft-spoken, careful. There was none of Abby’s impetuosity or flaring emotions or lively sense of mischief. Well, perhaps Laura did possess a similar sense of humor, though more understated and sly. And there was their stubbornness—and wouldn’t Abby have loved for him to tell her that? Their strength. Courage, steadfastness. Very well, they were alike in some ways.

But that was beside the point. The important thing was that he had said no, she wasn’t like Laura, which surely was the right answer. No woman liked to be compared to another woman, especially a former love. Yet his answer had not appeased Abby in the slightest.

Then he feared that Abby had leapt to the conclusion that he was having an affair with Laura, but apparently that had caused her no concern—no doubt Abby thought him too dull a fellow to have strayed. Or perhaps she just thought him too enthralled by her own seductive charms for his eye to wander, which was rather maddening even if it was true.

But then why was she so upset? Graeme hadn’t the least idea.

He had apologized for putting her in an awkward position. Not that he had really put her in it—he would have avoided the party like the plague if he had known Laura would be there. And, damn it, how was he supposed to have known that, anyway? He didn’t ask for a guest list. It wasn’t as if he’d planned for Abby to run into Laura. He hadn’t made them sit there, mending skirts and chattering away as if they were bosom friends.

And, anyway, despite the fact that he could not see how he was to blame, he had apologized for it. Her tears panicked and confused him. He tried to comfort her, but she would have none of it. She turned away from him as if he were a veritable villain. She locked her bloody door against him!

Graeme regretted letting it slip about her father’s blackmail. He knew it must have hurt and shamed her that her father had behaved despicably. But Graeme didn’t want, didn’t need, an apology from her. It was her father who had forced his hand, not Abby. He had long ago told her he didn’t believe she had been part of the scheme.