Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(85)

Abigail held her palms up. “I know you do not approve of me, for very many reasons,” she began. She took a deep breath. “But I love Geoffrey, my lady. And you are most assuredly right, in that I’m improper, and wanting in many ways. And yet, I cannot help but love him.”

Some emotion filled the viscountess’ eyes. She snapped her skirts aside, and marched down the hall without a backwards glance for Abigail or Geoffrey.

Regret slammed into her, as she and Geoffrey continued onward toward her chambers. What had she expected? That Geoffrey’s mother would graciously welcome Abigail into the family’s fold?

Geoffrey winked down at Abigail. “Well, I do say she handled that remarkably well.”

She tried to muster a smile, and he must have seen something somber in her expression for he cursed. “I am sorry, Abigail. You don’t deserve such a cold welcome. I’ve not prepared the staff. I hadn’t really considered anything beyond making you my wife.”

They stopped beside a closed door. She reached up and caressed his cheek. Gone was the well-ordered gentleman with too many lists. “And I haven’t considered anything beyond how much I love being your wife.”

He shoved the door open, and Abigail entered. Her eyes went to the wide four-poster bed at the center of the room. The Staff not having expected guests had left the hearth cold. She turned about the pale green and golden gilded room.

Geoffrey bowed. “I will send someone to assist you, my lady.”

Before she could protest, Geoffrey took his leave.

The door closed on a soft click.

“Hmph,” she muttered. She circled the room, trailing her fingers along the rose-inlaid table that rested alongside the bed, and moved over to the shepherdess figurine atop the fireplace mantle. Abigail picked it up and turned it over distractedly.

The day had moved in such a speedy blur, she’d not considered her fears of that night—until now.

The figurine trembled in her fingers and she set it down quickly lest it tumble to the floor. Abigail sucked in a deep breath. She came to Geoffrey without her virginity. She’d given that gift to another, and yet, she remained largely untried in matters of lovemaking. The night she’d been discovered in Alexander’s arms, had been quick, and painful.

To give her hands something to do, Abigail again picked up the expensive porcelain trinket. She caught sight of her reflection in the full-length bevel mirror across the room. Bright red color splotched her cheeks. Her toes curled in the soles of her slipper as she cringed at the idea of doing…that, with Geoffrey.

The door opened, and she turned to greet the maid Geoffrey had sent. “Thank you for…” Her words faded. “Oh.” The shepherdess tumbled to the hard wood floor and fell with a loud thump.

The head popped off one of the sheep at the shepherdess’ feet. Abigail blinked down at it, and then forced herself to look at her husband.

Geoffrey stood at the closed door with his arms folded across his broad chest. He leaned his hip against the wall. He appeared so blasted comfortable and unaffected and sophisticated while Abigail stood like a bumbling fool with a shattered porcelain shepherdess at her feet. A broken shepherdess.

He grinned, displaying two perfect rows of pearl white teeth. “Oh.”

“You aren’t a maid.” She clasped her hands in front of her

“Good of you to note,” he said dryly.

The color in her cheeks heightened. She stooped down to pick up the broken figurine. A gasp slipped from her lips when she stood up, and the poor figurine tumbled to the floor. This cost the shepherdess with golden ringlets her head. Geoffrey stood a hairsbreadth away. Abigail slapped a hand to her chest. “Goodness, you mustn’t sneak up on a person like that.”

He frowned. “Viscounts do not sneak.”

“You do.” She glanced at the shattered glass. “The figurine…”

“I don’t give a jot about the figurine.”

Oh dear, she fanned herself. “It is warm in here? Isn’t it? Yes, a bit warm,” she said, not allowing him an opportunity to respond. “Which is odd because when I first entered the room, I was chilled, but no longer. Now I seem…”

“Warm?” he supplied with wry amusement in that one word response.

She nodded her head emphatically. “Yes, very. Warm that is.” Abigail clamped her lips closed. You are rambling, Abigail.

Geoffrey reached for her, but Abigail danced out of his reach. She craved Geoffrey’s kiss, desired his touch, but loathed the idea of ruining the beauty of this moment with the harsh, pained swiftness of their coupling.

“I-ah…I should turn the bedcovers down.” She turned hopefully to Geoffrey. “Perhaps it is best if we call for someone to turn down the…” Geoffrey crossed over to the bed, and folded the coverlet down.

“There.”

Abigail chewed the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps dinner?”

He arched a chestnut brown eyebrow. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” she answered without thinking. “Er…” She fanned her cheeks again. “I thought you might care for supper,” she finished weakly.

Geoffrey touched a hand to her shoulder and she jumped. The backs of her knees bumped against the mattress, and she sank into the hastily turned down bedding.

“Abigail, are you nervous?”