Healing Her Heart Page 8

  He hated the trace of fear in Abigail’s voice. Marcus gritted his teeth as he felt the strain of his massive arousal against his trousers. He knew she was right. He knew he should stop, but he was consumed with the frantic need to drive his rigid member deep inside her.

  “This feels righter than anything else I have ever felt,” Marcus admitted with fervor. “Please, I just need to touch you. Please let me.”

  “All right,” Abigail yielded. “You are a difficult man to refuse, my lord. In all honesty, it feels wonderful when you touch me.”

  Marcus groaned at her sweet invitation. Abigail didn’t know just how wonderful his touch could be, but she was about to find out.

  Marcus picked up where he left off and located the core of her pleasure, softly teasing the crucial point with circular strokes until Abigail shuddered with pleasure. He grinned with male satisfaction when he felt her moist response. She was ripe for the taking and he desperately wanted to bury himself inside her, but Marcus always prided himself on being an excellent lover. His mind rebelled against taking her so quickly, but his body would not be deprived.

  He looked at the beautiful creature that was before him. Her skin felt like silk and her body exuded delicious warmth. There was something so honest about the way she gave herself to him, as if she trusted him with every ounce of her being. A part of him felt unworthy and a twinge of remorse broke through his haze of lust, but it was not enough to deter him.

  Just a few threads of clothing stood in the way of attaining pure bliss. Marcus inhaled deeply, deciding that it had to be now. Their eyes met and he knew she was as ready as he, but just as he went in for one last kiss, a loud cry came from upstairs.

  It belonged to a scared little girl.

  Chapter 10

  “Olivia, what is going on in here,” Marcus asked as he burst through the door. Her scream had led him to believe there may have been an intruder in her room, but Olivia appeared safe and sound tucked underneath her covers. “Are you all right?”

  Olivia leapt out of bed when she spotted Abigail trailing behind Marcus. She ran into Abigail’s embrace and a fresh round of tears welled in her eyes. “A bad dream woke me up,” Olivia sniffled, and her tiny chin quivered. “I think Momma is still mad at me.”

  Marcus was confused by Olivia’s statement and gave Abigail a worried glance. He was not quite sure how to handle Olivia’s distress.

  Abigail smoothed an errant curl behind Olivia’s ear. She picked her up and laid her back down on the bed and sat beside her. “Everything is going to be all right, just tell us what happened.”

  “I did something awful to Momma before she died,” Olivia supplied. She grabbed her big brown teddy bear and started to rock back and forth.

  Marcus was no stranger to guilt, and he felt awful that his young niece appeared to be carrying such a burden. He sat down on the other side of Olivia. “Your mother loved you with every ounce of her being. I am sure whatever you did was not that bad at all.”

  Olivia fixed her eyes on the beautiful watercolor that hung on the wall. It depicted an exceptional sunset, the vibrant shades of orange and yellow would hold anyone’s attention. “That is Momma’s painting. Everything she ever did was so beautiful. She started giving me watercolor lessons before she died.”

  Marcus remembered Olivia’s weepy reaction to his gift. Now he understood why she had been so upset, but he was still confused about the connection between watercolors and her nightmare. “Your mother was a very talented artist. She must have loved teaching you.”

  “She did! She loved teaching me watercolors. She was the best mother in the world and it still didn’t stop me from doing something awful to her,” Olivia wailed, obviously distressed as she started to confess what she had done. “Charlotte, the tabby that lived in the stables, gave birth to a litter of kittens the day before Momma got sick. They were all nesting on the second floor of the barn and we had to climb a steep ladder to get to them. Momma forbid me to climb it unless a grown-up was there to help me, but the next day I disobeyed Momma and climbed the ladder all by myself.” Olivia turned to Abigail as if the next words were too painful to tell.

  Abigail put her arms around Olivia. “Go on, darling. You can tell us anything.”

  “Momma was awful mad when she found out. She told me I could not have dessert for a week and that my watercolor instruction would cease until I learned my lesson. I was so mad and I lost my temper. Momma was lying in bed and I ripped up the watercolor I had made right in front of her,” Olivia said, shuddering at the memory. “I thought she just had a bad cold, but the next day she grew feverish and could hardly open her eyes. I kept telling her I was sorry, but I don’t know if she heard me. I would never have been so terrible if I knew how sick she was. Momma died a few days later. I keep dreaming about when I tore up the picture,” Olivia sobbed.

  Marcus’s stomach lurched. Olivia was too young to carry around such painful remorse. He was always so good at managing his properties or forming new business plans, but finding the right words to make his niece feel better seemed impossible.

  Abigail saw Marcus’s struggle and decided to intercede. “Olivia, I feel in my heart that your mother heard you. My grandfather treated many patients with terrible fevers and those who recovered all claimed they heard everything that had gone on during their illness.”

  “Truly? So, you think Momma knew how sorry I was and how much I loved her before she died?” Olivia asked.

  Olivia’s voice was filled with so much hopefulness it made Marcus’s heart wrench. He was very grateful for Abigail’s quick intervention. She was a very soothing presence for Olivia and for him.

  “Of course, she did,” Abigail answered with absolute confidence. “I bet your mother is looking down at you right now and wishes she could be here to comfort you. She would hate the thought of you troubling yourself with such a heavy burden.”

  Marcus found his voice. He and Abigail appeared to work well as a team. Her confidence seemed to bolster his ability to talk candidly with his niece. “Abigail is right. Your mother’s last words were about you. You were everything to her and she loved you more than you can ever imagine.”

  Olivia gave Marcus a fierce hug. It was the first time he did not feel like a complete failure as a parent and he had Abigail to thank for that.

  Olivia cracked a tiny smile and asked them both to stay until she fell asleep. For the next hour, Marcus decided to divert her with childhood escapades of him and her father.

  Olivia listened intently at first, but then her eyes began to shut. She let out a big yawn, snuggled closer to Abigail and fell into a peaceful sleep.

  Marcus put a tender kiss on her forehead and slowly eased himself off the bed. He walked over to Abigail. She had also fallen into a deep slumber. Marcus almost chuckled. He seemed to put his audience into a coma. Apparently, he was not such a thrilling storyteller.

  Abigail looked like an angel. Her lustrous dark lashes turned into delicate fans against her creamy skin. She was propped up by a mound of pillows as she had fallen asleep in a sitting position. He admired the way her glossy locks spilled over the stark white sheets. She seemed so fragile in her slumber, a striking difference from the strong, passionate woman who was in his arms just moments ago.

  Memories of what transpired between them flooded back into Marcus’s head. He had completely lost his control and he was not quite sure how he felt about it.

  Marcus could not recall a time when he had felt so exhilarated. Even now, his body warmed at the thought of the next time he would be able to touch her. He was a man after all, with a healthy carnal appetite, but his smoldering need for Abigail was something he had never experienced before.

  Abigail stirred in her sleep and crossed her arms over her chest. The action made it seem like she was trying to shield herself against him. Marcus thought to himself that she was wise to take such precautions. He knew his hunger for Abigail could only lead to her downfall.

  Despite Marcus’s raki
sh reputation he had always considered himself a man of honor. He never started an affair with a woman who could not handle the inevitable end of their arrangement.

  Marcus was fully aware of the fact that Abigail was not his typical conquest. His conscience gnawed at him because he knew his actions would only hurt her in the long run, but it was just not enough to dissuade him from fulfilling his desires. It was not going to be tonight, but he was going to take Abigail to his bed until his irrational yearning for her ceased.

  He bent down and gave her a gentle kiss, unable to resist the taste of her intoxicating lips. “Definitely, a fine Madeira,” Marcus whispered as he lifted his mouth from hers. He straightened up to his full height and walked toward the door.

  Before leaving the room, he turned around to gaze at Abigail and Olivia. His chest swelled with an unfamiliar emotion and he was overwhelmed with serenity.

  At least for one night everything seemed right in the world.

  Chapter 11

  Early the following morning, Lord Everton was called away on important business. Apparently, there was a small collapse at his coal mine in Lancashire.

  Abigail heard him receive the news. His first concern had been for the welfare of his workers, sending a quick missive to his personal physician, alerting him that his presence was needed to attend to the injured. Abigail knew that most men of Lord Everton’s station would have been more preoccupied with the damage to their pocketbooks rather than concern themselves with the wellbeing of their employees.

  This valiant behavior only seemed to fuel Abigail’s romantic feelings for Marcus. He was gone for almost an entire fortnight and her memories of what occurred in his study were still fresh in her mind.

  It was evident that Marcus was an experienced lover. His skilled touch had driven her to near madness. Even now her body burned with a raw ache to be filled. With that in mind, a man like him could likely forget the time they shared. For him it was probably just another evening spent in the arms of a willing woman. A more practiced female would have played hard to get, but she did not want to play games with him, it simply was not part of her nature.

  Abigail knew the risks involved in becoming his lover, but she recognized this may be her only opportunity to encounter true passion and she refused to forfeit such a splendid event. Clayton had nearly destroyed her desire to ever lay with a man, but Marcus renewed her innate longings.

  If she gave herself to Marcus it would probably mean very little to him. In contrast, it would mean everything to her. Abigail was aware of the fact that her heart would eventually be broken if she entered into an affair with Lord Everton, but she simply refused to listen to her own common sense. Abigail was determined to feel alive in Marcus’s bed, even if it cost her everything.

  Abigail wondered if he sensed her lack of experience. He would naturally assume because she was a “widow” that she had been intimate with her husband. Could a man really tell if a woman was a virgin? She was nearly one and twenty. Would her maidenhead still be such a noticeable barrier? Abigail made a silent promise to herself to remain calm when the time came; surely if she just relaxed, he would never notice.

  Abigail’s thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Olivia’s laughter coming from the kitchen as she sat in the main parlor of house, waiting to receive Jane. Mrs. O’Brien had agreed to give Olivia some baking lessons while she entertained Jane.

  Abigail smiled. Olivia was overjoyed to help Mrs. O’Brien make chocolate biscuits. Ever since her nightmare, she seemed to be emerging from her protective shell. It was a wonderful thing to witness, considering everything Olivia had gone through. She deserved a carefree childhood.

  “Miss Jenner, a Jane Whitworth has arrived for you,” Grumman announced with a grin. “May I show her in?”

  Abigail had been looking forward to Jane’s visit all week. She knew it was risky to meet with Jane. Abigail feared being linked to Clayton in any way, but she was willing to take the risk so she could see her dear friend.

  “Thank you, Grumman. Yes, please show her in,” Abigail said as she surveyed the beautiful tea service in front of her. Mrs. O’Brien had made her mouthwatering raspberry tarts and decadent maple bars. She hoped Jane had brought her appetite.

  “Abigail, I have missed you so,” Jane said in a near shout. Abigail leaped to her feet and they hugged. Jane took both of Abigail’s hands and surveyed her appearance. “You look so healthy, Abigail. You are practically glowing.”

  Jane had seen Abigail at her worst. Bruised and cut from her beatings or emaciated from being starved. “And you look stunning as always. I am overjoyed to see you. Please sit down so we can catch up,” Abigail insisted with eagerness.

  For the next hour they turned into cheerful chatterboxes. Abigail talked about Olivia and her new responsibilities as governess at the Everton household. In turn, Jane entertained Abigail with happy stories about the children at the orphanage.

  Abigail wanted to keep the conversation lighthearted, but knew she had to inquire about her husband. “I wish I did not have to ask, but how have things been since I left? Does anyone suspect anything?” Abigail asked in a whisper.

  Jane’s face sobered and her eyes darted towards the door, clearly concerned about the chance of being overheard. She lowered her voice. “There has been absolutely no conjecture over your death, but things have been far from calm at the Bainbridge estate.”

  Abigail’s spine tingled with dread. “What do you mean?”

  “I am not going to mince words. Clayton’s behavior has become even more erratic than ever. He has been drinking heavily,” Jane declared. Her nose scrunched up with disgust. “And he recently started to dabble with opium. His cruelty towards the staff has become legendary and it is all the villagers can talk about.”

  Abigail feared that something like this would happen. She had put great care into secretly controlling Clayton’s mood swings with a variety of different herbals. In her absence Clayton had turned to far more dangerous substances to take the edge off. Those unfortunate, innocent servants. Who will protect them from his rage? “Has he hurt anyone?”

  Jane’s eyes filled with sadness. “Sadie Frost, the assistant cook took a real bad beating. Clayton was disappointed with his leek soup and he let her know in the roughest way possible.” Jane gulped. “He broke her arm and left her black and blue, but thankfully she seems to be making a full recovery.”

  Abigail had to bite back tears. “This is entirely my fault. I should have stopped him when I had the chance. There is no telling what that man will do next!”

  “Please tell me how this is your fault,” Jane demanded in an incredulous tone. “You are a mere victim in all of this.”

  Abigail decided to confess a secret. “I could have stopped him. I never told you this, but right before my “death” Clayton forbid me to help at the orphanage. It was the last straw and I contemplated an easier way to be rid of Clayton than having to be on the run for the rest of my life.”

  “Go on,” Jane urged, putting her hand on Abigail’s wrist. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I thought about purchasing arsenic from a local apothecary. I was going to sprinkle it in his wine, but I lost my nerve and took the coward’s way out,” Abigail explained, her eyes unable to meet Jane’s. She knew her admission was outrageous. For a person to contemplate murder without a hint of remorse was unspeakable. What must she think of me?

  “You just may be the bravest person I have ever known,” Jane said, forcing Abigail to meet her stare. “It is a shame that you didn’t kill the bastard, but you are much too sweet for murder, Abigail.” Jane pondered the situation for a moment, a wicked smile appearing on her face. “Come to think of it, why didn’t I think of such a brilliant plan? I am not nearly as sweet as you. God save me, but I think I would have enjoyed sending Clayton Bainbridge straight to the devil.”

  Abigail erupted in nervous laughter. She was relieved that Jane’s opinion of her had not been affected. Jane was a true friend. “W
e must be the two most depraved women in all of England.”

  “I would imagine in the entire world,” Jane corrected, doing her best to suppress a bout of the giggles. “Seriously, Abigail, there must be something better to discuss. If I must utter Clayton’s godforsaken name one more time, I may get physically ill.”

  Abigail thought she may burst if she did not tell someone about her dealings with Lord Everton. “There is something.” She felt her cheeks burning. “But it is highly embarrassing, and you would probably advise me against pursuing the matter.”

  Jane raised her eyebrows. “My curiosity has been piqued. Do not keep me in suspense any longer.”

  Abigail searched for the right words. “I think it is best to be blunt.” Jane was far from judgmental, but Abigail knew Jane distrusted most men. She knew Jane would worry about her getting hurt, or worse, the chance of having her past revealed if things went sour. “There seems to be a physical attraction brewing between me and Lord Everton. I know it is the last thing I need, but I can’t seem to help myself.”

  A worried expression settled on Jane’s face. “Oh Abigail, I would not deny you anything, but you need to be careful. Most men are only out for their own pleasure and they can be ruthless about getting what they want.” Jane bit her lip, clearly troubled. “I just don’t want you to be wounded more than you have been already.”

  Abigail wanted to allay Jane’s concerns, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Lord Everton appeared before them. They must have been deeply engrossed in their previous conversation to not have heard his arrival home.

  As always, Marcus commanded the room. If it was possible, he appeared more handsome today than ever before. His biscuit colored trousers worked as the perfect foil to his black velvet waistcoat. A shadow of a beard made him look incredibly masculine, testimony to the fact that he must have been extremely busy at the coal mine to be concerned with proper grooming.