“Are you certain?”
Lord Abbott’s lips quirked into a crooked smile. “I am.”
Gwen’s thoughts raced as she considered her options.
Societal ruin, or taking a chance with this man.
She had not personally met his father, Lord Moreland, but knew him by reputation. The Abbotts were known to be a strong family. Loyal. Philanthropic. Conservative with their vast wealth. Lord Abbott’s name had not been linked with any scandal, to her knowledge.
She had not heard of any debauched activities, nor scandals other than recent whispers of a sister who had made a love match under what appeared to be rushed circumstances.
“I like to read.”
“So do I.”
“You do not mind if I maintain my studies?”
He grinned. “I encourage it. We shall debate the merits of the various philosophers and argue who made the best points.”
“It will be a real marriage? Not merely an arrangement for the sake of propriety?”
Lord Abbott’s gaze fell to her lips, which she licked nervously. A suggestive smile spread across his face before he purred. “It will be a real marriage. Of that you can be certain.”
Gwen flushed, glancing away only to find herself then inadvertently staring at the broad chest that she had crushedher breasts against. The chest she had wished to uncover and touch with restless fingers earlier on the terrace. She watched in a distant state of horror as her hand reached up, as if possessed by a will of its own, to run down the slope of the wool coat that encased his hard muscled planes. Beneath her fingertips, his heart was beating at a rapid pace to match her own.
She recalled vaguely that she was to maintain her fortitude and persuade her father and Lord Abbott to abandon this path, but at heart she was still a little girl who dreamed of sharing love and a family with the right man.
Of curling into the strong arms of a lover and speaking about future hopes and past adversities.
Of imagining new paths and exploring her possibilities as her mother had done before.
Exhaling a deep breath, she gave her final answer.
“Then we shall see where this path might lead.”
She hoped it was the right decision, recalling his growl of reluctance at the start and wondering what could possibly provide motive for such a man to pursue her.
Even as Lord Abbott’s face lit up, and he leaned in to buss her on the lips, Gwen frowned. She did not recall him on the guest list for the ball. How had he come to be here this evening?
CHAPTER 5
“Quality is not an act, it is a habit.”
Aristotle
AUGUST 14, 1821
Gwen opened one eye to find that morning had long since arrived. A thought, not fully materialized, tickled the back of her mind, but she could not quite catch it. Something about the ball.
Turning over, she settled down to fall back to sleep. She was far too exhausted to rise yet. The ball had been long, as they always were, and she needed to recover?—
Her eyelids flew open as the vague, niggling thought erupted into memories of the night before.
“Stuff!”
Across the room, there was amovement and Octavia Hanning, her lady’s maid, came running into view as if she had been waiting for signs of Gwen’s awakening.
“Is it true?”
