“Nathan?”
He froze. In his upset, he was hearing things. Certainly that couldn’t be Abigail’s voice saying his name. The door to the parlor hadn’t opened, no one knew he was here.
“Nathan.”
He turned, and there she was standing in the same terrace doorway where he had entered a moment before. She was staring at him, dark eyes wide and hands clenched at her sides.
She drew a breath and fully entered the room, shutting the door behind her. “I-I saw you on the terrace. I heard what you said.”
Chapter 8
Abigail watched as Nathan bent his head, his expression crumpling a fraction in the soft glow of the firelight. His hands flexed, open and shut, over and over, and finally he whispered, “So you saw.”
She nodded slowly, and a sudden panic rose up in her chest. “I-I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she tried to explain. “I had gone out onto the terrace for a moment to myself after we danced. When those men came out, I didn’t want to be seen. I slipped into the shadows, hoping they’d go back inside after they smoked.”
Nathan held up a hand, though he didn’t look at her. “I didn’t think you were eavesdropping.” He let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I came in here for a drink and a moment of my own.”
“I can…I can leave you,” she said, and found herself hoping he would say no. Hoping he would invite her to stay.
He looked at her, holding her stare evenly. “Would you like a drink?”
She knew she shouldn’t. She knew she should walk away, just as she’d done after they danced, but she couldn’t. Not after what she’d seen and heard on the terrace. Not when he looked so lost and forlorn.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He moved to the sideboard and splashed whisky in two glasses. He handed one over to her and downed his in one gulp.
Her eyes went wide as she took a ginger sip. “I can see you are very upset.”
“Yes,” he ground out, and set the glass down. He paced across the room, tension coming off of him in waves. “I value loyalty in friendship. Rhys has always offered it to those he held dear. He deserves the same in return from them. To watch people we counted as friends being that feckless, being that cruel after something that wasn’t even his doing or fault…”
He trailed off and his shoulders rolled forward. He looked so disappointed, so broken hearted, not for himself but for Rhys.
She moved toward him, shaking her head as she did so, even as she teased, “You do make things difficult for me.”
He lifted his gaze and his forehead wrinkled with a little confusion. “Do I? How is that?”
“When we were dancing, you said I didn’t hate you as much as I might pretend to.” She drew a very long breath, for what she was about to say meant too much not to give it a little gravity. “And you are right.”
His eyes widened and she thought she heard his breath hitch, but he didn’t interrupt her, so she continued, “I want so much to see you as a villain and then you do what you did on the terrace.”
“What did I do?”
“You proved that you care about more than just yourself. Heartless cad.”
He did not smile, but he held her gaze evenly. “I shall try harder.”
She chuckled despite herself. “Very good, I’d appreciate it.” She sighed then. “You are too clever not to know that you cannot change what those other men do. Though your devastating set down of them might make them think twice about their bad behavior. But you are loyal, Nathan. That is admirable, and I know Rhys and Pippa both appreciate it. It means something.”
“Not if I can’t do anything to actually help.” His voice was rough.
She reached for his hand, and they stared together as her fingers linked with his. “You do help.”
His breath came a little shorter and so did hers as he looked down at her with the same expression he’d had when he last kissed her. Her world began to spin, making her forget all her good reasons for pulling away from this man. She found herself tilting her face for better access.
Except he pulled away instead of pursuing her. He dropped her hand and backed up. His voice shook a little as he said, “Not so long ago, you accused me of playing a game, Abigail, but I honestly don’t understand you.”
She wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”
“You tell me I’m an arse, then you place friendly wagers with me. I kiss you and you kiss me back, but then you hate me again. We dance, you run. I do something you perceive as kind, so you chase me into a private chamber.”
Heat suffused her cheeks and she folded her arms. “I-I didn’t chase you.”
“You’re here with me.” He waved his arm around the empty room. “And I’m not sorry about that. But understand, I’m not the kind of man who pursues a woman who doesn’t want me. Or doesn’t know what she wants at all.”
She stared at him, her emotions boiling inside of her and making her dizzy. What he said stung, but she could also admit, to herself if not to him, that it was true. She did reach out and then pull back when it came to him. There were a hundred reasons for that. Because she found it hard to trust anyone, even herself. Because he had hurt her and those she cared for. Because he could be arrogant and all too certain of himself…because she wanted him and it frightened her. It still frightened her, as he waited for her to say something.
He tilted his head when she gaped at him like a fish, mute with her confusion. “What do you want, Abigail?” he asked, pronouncing every word succinctly.
“I-I don’t know,” she snapped at last. “I don’t know what I want. Is that what you want to hear so that you can prove to yourself that I’m nothing more than some silly woman? That I’m as foolish as you’ve always believed me to be?” She moved to the door. “I didn’t come in here to cause strife, no matter how little you think of me.”
“Then what did you come for?” he asked. “Say it.”
She opened her mouth, shut it, and then she huffed out a breath and stormed from the room, her hands shaking as she slammed it behind her.
“Fuck.”
Nathan ran both hands through his hair before he threw them in the air and paced away from the door. The woman seemed determined to push every button to make him react. She was frustrating and alluring and difficult to manage, and he hated himself for wishing she had looked him in the face and told him she wanted him.
He certainly wanted her. Down to his bones.
As he moved toward the sideboard again, ready to pour himself a second drink, the door behind him opened and he turned toward it.
Abigail stood there. All the color had gone out of her cheeks. Her hands were gripped at her sides, but they shook regardless. They held gazes, both silent as time seemed to slow to nothing. Her breath hitched as she stepped into the room and slowly shut the door behind herself.
He moved toward her, but she met him halfway. She lifted into him, groaning as their mouths met and that sound of surrender and desire was too much. He cupped her head gently, angling to deepen the kiss. His tongue was flooded with her flavor: whisky that lingered on her tongue, desire that coursed between them.