Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(65)

A spasm of grief contorted Abigail’s face, and he gripped the sides of the door, embracing the bite of the rain upon his cheeks. He silently cursed himself a thousand times a bastard. Even now, he couldn’t bear the sight of her anguish…and that it was at his hand…

She gave a jerky nod, and walked the remaining distance to the front door, with the kind of regal carriage that could rival a queen. “I’ve reconciled the shame and sins of my past. You’re no different than everyone who has judged me and found me wanting, Geoff…my lord.” She stopped so that her slippers touched the tips of his toes. She leaned up close, and her breath fanned his cheeks, the warmth of her mint-scented breath drove back the chill inside him. “But I’m not unlike you. I loved and trusted…and was deceived.”

Geoffrey’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “We are nothing alike, madam. I am a respectable proper lord, and you…you are a fallen woman.” He motioned to the entrance of the doorway.

Abigail recoiled like he’d struck her across the face. “Very well,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “I needed to come, and now I-I k-know.” Her voice broke and he momentarily closed his eyes, and searched for the resolve to not capitulate and take her in his arms, but they were standing in the entrance of his home, and faced the threat of discovery.

He peered out into the raging storm. “Where is your carriage, Ab…Miss Stone?” She would always be Abigail.

Her lips twisted in a macabre rendition of a smile and she pulled the hood of her cloak back into place, obscuring the precious lines of her face. “You needn’t concern yourself with me, my lord.”

His jaw tightened. “Regardless, I’d see you to your arrangements home, madam.” She stiffened as he took her by the hand and guided her outside. The wind and rain whipped her thoroughly sopping cloak about his legs. Rain soaked his hair, and beads of water ran in steady rivulets down his forehead, into his eyes. Geoffrey and Abigail stopped in front of her hired hackney.

The misgivings of handing her up into the waiting carriage reared in his mind. “You’ve taken a hackney?” he shouted into the storm.

The driver pulled the door open.

“I could hardly take the duke’s carriage to your home,” she spat into the rain.

The driver made to hand her up, but Geoffrey tightened his grip about her wrist, keeping her at his side. “It is not safe for you.” Not on this night. Alone, with this driver. She’d deceived him, shattered his heart, but he’d not have any harm befall her.

Just then, a young servant scrambled down from the top of the carriage, a cap pulled low over his eyes. The young man’s livery revealed him to be of the duke’s staff. Lightning illuminated the sky; the flash of light displayed the protective fury in the servant’s eyes.

Abigail took advantage of Geoffrey’s distractedness. She tugged her hand free with such force she went reeling toward the street. Geoffrey’s heart lurched as she stumbled sideways, and tipped over the side of curb. Geoffrey reached out to steady her but the fabric of her muslin cloak slipped through his fingers. “Abby,” he shouted even as the driver reached out righted Abigail before she could fall.

She nodded her thanks, and allowed the man to hand her up into the carriage. Her eyes caught and held Geoffrey’s. “Rest assured, I’ll never again burden you with my presence. Good bye, my lord.”

Good bye, so much more permanent and all the more aching for its finality than good night. He took a step forward, but the driver closed the door.

From perched atop his seat alongside the driver, the young servant scrambled back up into his seat. He glared down at Geoffrey as though he’d sized him up and found him wanting. Geoffrey’s throat worked up and down.

Just then he found, he rather agreed with the young man…he didn’t much like himself.

Geoffrey stood there staring, long after the carriage disappeared from sight. The finality of Abigail’s departure from his life threatened to cleave him in two. He sucked in an agonized breath.

“Geoffrey, come inside!” His mother called from the gaping front door. “Geoffrey!” she called again. “Think of the scandal.”

He gave his head a shake, and numbly moved through the rain, strode up the stairs, and into the now soaking wet foyer. Geoffrey stared blankly down at the puddle Abigail had left upon his marble floor. The servants would come, they would dry away all remnants of rain and with it they would wipe away the remaining trace of her from his life.

“I am proud of you, Geoffrey,” his mother said quietly and then picked her way carefully around the wet floor and made her way back abovestairs.

Geoffrey stared down into that wet puddle. A boulder-like pressure weighted upon the spot where his heart had once beat.

At least one of them could be proud of his shameful behavior that evening.





A gentleman should make decisions that are clear, well-thought out, and not driven by emotion.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



24

Abigail stared blankly out into the passing London streets. The grind of the carriage wheels against the pavement was swallowed by the pounding stream of rain, and the nearby rumble of thunder.

She tried to drag up the deserved indignation at Geoffrey’s self-righteous outrage but found herself wholly numbed. Abigail could not fault Geoffrey his feelings. Since their first meeting, she’d known him to be a man who valued propriety and honor above all else. Such a gentleman could never forgive her indiscretion.