CHAPTER 12
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Abigail marched down the steps with a determined stride. Hartfield had called off their morning ride, claiming he had other businesses to attend to. He had not shown up for breakfast or luncheon, requesting instead a tray in his study.
She felt slightly hurt that he seemed to dispense with her help in the estate matters. Of course, maybe he didn’t need her anymore. She had already introduced him to most of the tenant farmers and other laborers, and he was well versed in business management. The miracle was that he had asked for her help at all.
Still, she had enjoyed those moments with him. He was the only man who had ever treated her as an equal in intellect, who sought and valued her opinion. Every other male of her acquaintance seemed to think that her head was only good for holding her hat. She would miss the witty conversations. The mental challenges of solving problems together. And the satisfaction of working towards goals that would improve people’s lives.
She sighed. Well, all good things must end. At least she was no worse off than before. She still had the household management and now Elizabeth’s debut to plan. That last had her looking for him now. She needed to get him to agree to hire a professional chaperone.
“Good afternoon, Elberton. Have you seen Lord Hartfield?”
“I believe my lord is in the green parlor, madam.”
“Thank you.” She said as she turned away from the front hall and headed down the corridor that led to the green parlor. What could he possibly be doing there? The so-called green parlor was just a little room at the end of the wing, which was abominably decorated with different shades of green and foliage prints. The idea had been to make it look like a garden, but in Abigail's opinion, they had gone overboard with the theme and it looked more like a jungle. Nobody ever went there, despite the wonderful light the room received throughout the day. It was a shame, really. With a nicer decor, the room could be quite pleasant.
She approached the door quietly, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. She listened for voices or any noise from inside that would indicate that the room was occupied, but heard nothing. Perhaps the butler was mistaken, or Lord Hartfield had already left. She opened the door carefully, not wanting to disturb him if he was busy, but the sight that met her eyes was completely unexpected.
For a moment, she wasn’t even sure if she was in the correct room. Her mind registered all the changes at once. The ugly green foliage had disappeared. Someone had painted the walls a sedate cream. Every piece of furniture had been removed, replaced instead with weird looking apparatuses. They looked more like medieval torture devices than pieces of furniture. Even the rugs had been replaced with some sort of thin mattresses that covered a sizable portion at the center of the room. What on earth was going on here? When was this done, and how had she not noticed?
Her stupefied gaze scanned the room until it snagged on the figure of the earl. He was hanging by the neck from a rope that had a sort of harness at the end. Meanwhile, his torso was being pulled in two different directions by thick bands of fabric attached to great metal bars. He was unnaturally still, his eyes closed, and for a horrifying moment, she had the thought that he had hung himself.
An involuntary yelp escaped her mouth. His eyes snapped open and bore into her as she turned around and ran from the room. His low curse and call to wait followed her down the hallway, but she didn’t stop. She had the uncomfortable feeling she had intruded on a very personal moment. She had seen him swimming naked before, but yet this seemed even more intrusive.
And he had caught her looking this time.
She had rounded the corner when she heard his footsteps softly pounding behind her.
“Abigail, wait! Why on earth are you running?”
She forced herself to stop. He was right. Why was she running? Where was she going? What did she hope to accomplish with this childish behavior? She had not stopped to think, but had rather reacted like a skittish filly. Taking a breath, she pasted what she thought was a calm smile on her face, turned, and waited for him to reach her.
“I’m sorry, my lord. You are right. That reaction was exaggerated. I just...” she gulped, “got startled, that’s all.”
His gaze sharpened, and a small frown formed between his eyebrows. “You were more than startled. You were scared.” He said almost wonderingly. “Why?”
Oh, God. This was embarrassing. She looked down and noticed he was barefoot. And that his feet were rather nice. Big as the rest of him, but fine-boned and elegant. What a strange thing to notice.
“Abigail?”
“Uh, yes. I was scared.” She looked up at his face, her eyes sweeping his body on their way up. He was wearing a strange suit composed of wide legged pants and a loose tunic belted at the waist. It looked foreign and gave him an air of mysterious allure.
The deep V of the tunic revealed a patch of tawny hair at the center of his chest, and she had the inappropriate urge to put her lips there. She shook her head to dislodge the thought. “You were hanging, and so still. That apparatus looked menacing. For a moment I-I thought you were dead.”
She finished in an embarrassed whisper.
“I’m sorry for giving you a fright. I should have told you I had converted that room into my personal gymnasium.”
"Don't be silly. It is your house. You don't have to tell me anything or give me explanations. Really. Although..."
“What?”
