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‘I slept very deeply, very well, and for a very long time.’ Abigail spoke rapidly, her eyes narrowing. A warm pink blush had appeared at the base of her neck; Marcus tried not to stare at the sensual flush of colour. ‘And I’d appreciate no more questions that border on impertinent.’
Impertinent? She was the one who had crept into his arms at the dead of night and spent an inordinate amount of time exploring his musculature. But Marcus, with a tremendous effort of will, bit his tongue.
He didn’t want to push Abigail too far. Didn’t want to make her feel more uncomfortable than she presumably was already. The fact that he also wanted to tuck her back into bed, make sure she had a good amount to eat and drink and then—quite incidentally—spend a large amount of time kissing her was the problem.
Well. Another problem to add to the list of problems. But even the prospect of being discovered and hanged for kidnap didn’t seem to matter quite as much to Marcus as just how much he wanted to pull Abigail close again.
‘I found the letter paper and pencils in the wooden box next to the bed. I have written to my friends explaining the bare facts of the situation, with no incriminating details.’ Abigail paused. ‘Can they be sent today?’
‘Of course. I need to go into the village on other business.’ Marcus didn’t, but he could hardly leave Abigail without any means of communicating with the outside world. He would buy her a pleasantly scented soap as well, and perhaps a ribbon for her hair—wait, no he wouldn’t, damn it. ‘Don’t go beyond the boundary of the fire while I’m gone—there’s a hidden spring behind us if you need to wash. No-one will find you here by day, this land is half-abandoned, but be cautious all the same. And… and don’t look in my things.’
‘I only looked in one small box to find notepaper.’
‘Don’t look in my things, Miss Weeks.’
‘Why? What am I going to find—skeletons?’
‘Perhaps.’ If the woman looked through his things she was going to find nothing but papers relating to estate business, but Marcus certainly wasn’t ready to have that conversation with Abigail. ‘But even if there are skeletons, they are my skeletons. They don’t belong to you.’
Abigail looked down. A flash of guilt ran through Marcus at her expression; it felt wrong to make her miserable, even if he was technically in the right. ‘I’m hardly behaving as if this place belongs to me, sir.’
‘Marcus.’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘We introduced ourselves to one another this morning, if you’ll remember.’ Now he was really being stupid. One more look into Abigail’s doe eyes and he would be allowing her to rifle through every unattended box and bag in the cave. ‘And if my possessions are going to be slyly inspected whenever I turn my back, I would prefer it to be done by someone who uses my name correctly.’
Abigail looked up again. The relief in her face, the unmistakeable flash of mischief in her eyes, made Marcus weak at the knees in a way that felt very dangerous indeed. ‘I promise to not inspect.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But—but can I ask questions?’
‘What questions?’
‘About anything that comes to mind. About your life, profession, circumstances.’ Abigail shrugged. ‘You may ask me in turn.’
‘You’ve already furnished me with all the salient facts about your life.’
‘Oh, I haven’t. There’s ever so much more to know.’
‘Well.’ God, this was perilous. ‘We will hardly know one another long enough to make any facts useful to us.’
Abigail looked stricken for a swift, painful second, then nodded. Marcus turned away from her before he could say anything else and walked over to where Blossom was grazing, the insects buzzing around the mare’s flanks.
Control yourself, damn it. He’d always had great reserves of composure despite presenting an amiable face to the world—that’s how he managed to be a great friend to everyone else of his class while also robbing them blind whenever the mood took him. But something about this situation, about the woman who had invited herself into his secret life with apparently no qualms, was turning everything on its head.
He’d need to handle Abigail very carefully indeed. Treat her with kid gloves—no, more than that. Not handle her at all.
The thought of touching her again sent a dark thrill through Marcus. He shook it away, throwing another branch on the fire with slightly more force than was warranted as Abigail carefully washed her hands in the bucket of cold water by the cave mouth. Marcus glanced back at her, steeling himself for the wave of feeling that would surely come, but the intensity of it when it arrived still shocked him.
Something had begun with Abigail Weeks. Something powerful, unusual, and seemingly designed to wreck the pleasant little double life he’d made for himself. If he wanted to avoid the complications this rising sentiment would no doubt bring, he would need to stay as far away from the woman as possible.
Unless she orders me not to, of course. Marcus rolled his eyes in annoyance at his own thought, despite the unmistakable thrill of excitement travelling through his nerves. Because if history is any judge, you idiot, you’ll end up doing exactly what she wants you to do.
Highwaymen, apparently, could cook. After the awkwardness of the morning—what had she been thinking, falling asleep in his arms—Abigail tried her hardest to focus on plain realities, on the sights and sounds and smells of the new and fascinating day in front of her, rather than the dizzying leap of emotion she’d felt upon waking up in Marcus’ warm embrace.
Food seemed as good a thing to focus on as any. Abigail’s mother had always been an indifferent cook, cowed into making the same things every day thanks to her father’s insistence on routine, and Abigail had never learned more than the most basic tenets of household management. Quite how she was supposed to flourish into a perfect wife under the tutelage of Mr. Haythwaite, who appeared to keep no cook and preferred raw carrots as a way of lining his stomach to an actual meal, became more of a mystery the more she thought about it—but that didn’t matter any more, none of it did, and Mr. Haythwaite could be consigned to history while Marcus was very much present.
