Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(24)

The muscles under the fabric of his coat tightened, and for a long moment, it seemed he might not respond. Perhaps the decorous gentleman had been appalled at having come upon her as he had that night. She disentangled her arm from his and wandered several steps ahead, needing to place distance between them, uncomfortable with the idea of his scorn.

Except there was no scorn in Geoffrey’s tone as he spoke. “There is no need to thank me, Miss Stone. I would have intervened for any young lady in your…circumstance.”

Abigail walked to the edge of the lake. She studied the short flight of a swan as it glided upon the water’s surface and dunked its head a long while before emerging with a fish in its mouth. She believed Geoffrey would have come to the aid of any woman who’d been in a like situation. And yet, it hadn’t been just any woman he’d rescued.

He’d rescued her.

“You saved me from certain ruin,” she said, softly. If he hadn’t come upon Lord Carmichael…she shuddered, there was no doubt he would have violated her.

Gravel crunched under Geoffrey’s feet, indicating he’d closed the space between them. “Do not make more of it then there was, Miss Stone. I’m no hero. I merely came to the aid of an innocent young woman, as any gentleman would.”

The unknowing reminder of her sullied virtue burned like vinegar tossed onto an open wound,

She expected she should be deterred by his almost scathing tone. “I’m not a na?ve young miss, my lord. I’m not so foolish as to believe in fairytales.” And most certainly not in the silly dream of a hero. She peered at him from the corner of her eye.

He caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger and proceeded to study her like she were an oddity he couldn’t identify. “I thought all young ladies believed in fairytales.”

She snorted. “Only the silly young ladies do.”

He fell silent.

Abigail stared pensively out at the fowl swimming about the lake. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Geoffrey looked around.

“The swans,” she clarified.

“Hmm.”

“I’m certain there is no more lovely sight than the swan etched in the night sky.”

“I’m certain you are wrong,” he said, with a softness she didn’t expect of him. Then with his next sentence, cool haughtiness replaced all imagined warmth. “And, swans are not etched in the night sky.”

“Do you know, they say Cygnus took on the body of a swan, giving up his immortality and all hope of a normal life, all to save his friend?”

Geoffrey snorted. “A foolhardy thing to do.”

“He did it because he loved him.”

“Mores the fool he.”

At the cynical twist to his words, Abigail glanced up. There was something so very hard, so very unyielding in those four words. It confirmed her earlier suspicions that this man had known pain. “Do you not believe in love, Geoffrey?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fairytales, Miss Stone,” he shot back.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’d not considered the Greek myths a fairytale, Geoffrey.”

“Lord Redbrooke,” he automatically corrected. He peered down his aquiline nose at her. “And, you appear to be splitting hairs.”

“You never answered my question as to whether you believed in love. Are you being deliberately evasive, my lord?” She detected the imperceptible tightening at the corners of his mouth and suspected there was merit in her charge.



“I believe emotions such as love only disrupt a well-ordered world.”

Yes, her great folly with Alexander was proof of that…and yet, deep inside, part of her dreamed of that elusive, beautiful sentiment.

She looked out at the swan as it dunked its long neck under the water’s surface once more. “A well-ordered world is a dull world, Geoffrey.” Abigail felt his heated gaze upon her and she looked up at his stern countenance. “Do you know what I believe?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I believe you are very different than the stern, too-proper figure you present to Polite Society. I believe under the veneer of propriety, you are a man of passion and humor…and…”

Something ruthless and unforgiving flashed in his eyes, and the remainder of her words died upon her lips.

“Considering you’ve known me but several days, you presume a great deal.” His tone was harsh.

Abigail tipped her chin up a notch. “With your cool rigidity, you make it seem as though there is something wrong in finding joy in life.”

He leaned close, so his lips were a mere hairsbreadth from hers. “Do not speak of what you don’t know, Miss Stone.”

She raised a single, black brow. “I know that for all the struggle and difficulty I’ve known, a life without joy is a life not worth living.”

His jaw hardened. “So you’ve known struggles and difficulty, Miss Stone?” he asked, his words as satiny as the smooth edge of a blade. “Is that what has brought you to England?”

Her stomach clenched uncomfortably at how remarkably close to the mark his well-placed question had come. Still, she refused to be cowed by his questioning. “I did not say that.”

“You needn’t have to. It is written in those creased little lines at the corners of your eyes.”