A Hero for Lady Abigail by Dallen, Maggie (top novels of all time txt) 📗

From the very first step, Charlotte stepped on his foot. Not that her slippers hurt him in any way but it was...embarrassing.

Twice, one of them missed a step.

It was clunky, awkward, and painfully long. Gone was all the grace he’d so effortlessly experienced with Abigail.

Which meant the joy he’d experienced with Abigail in his arms had disappeared as well. He neither felt light, nor fun. In fact, this dance made him feel weighted down, his limbs disjointed and awkward.

It seemed to go on forever and when it finally ended, he brought Charlotte back to her mother and quickly made his excuses.

He wanted nothing more than to leave this party. He glanced about the room, wishing to catch one more glimpse of Abigail before he left. She’d turned his night upside down, everything he thought he knew proving false and all the solid truths slipping away.

He didn’t see her anywhere.

Making his way out into the hall, he jogged up the grand curved staircase to return to his room. But he stopped short when he arrived at the third-floor landing. Standing along the banister was none other than the woman who had truly filled his thoughts all evening. Abigail.

She smiled when she saw him. “You didn’t stay either?”

He stopped several feet away, just drinking in the sight of her. She looked even more lovely in the dim candlelight, alone in the hall.

For the briefest moment he wondered what she looked like as she prepared for bed, her hair down, her fingers combing through the locks.

He stopped, his hand pressing to his lower chest. “There was little reason.”

“You got your dance with Miss Charlotte, did you?” She gave him a warm glance filled with genuine happiness. “I’m glad for you. You deserve to get what you wish.”

Why was she so happy he’d spent time with another woman? Somehow, that thought rankled him more than any other.

He thought back to her disparaging comments about the other woman. He’d chastised her then for denigrating Charlotte but...he grimaced now. What if Abigail had just been warning him all along? What if she hadn’t been rude but just forthright in her knowledge?

He always considered his vision so clear, but he was beginning to wonder if he’d made several snap judgments that had been pulling him in the wrong direction. “Thank you.” He took one step closer. “What will you do with yourself tomorrow? Join the party playing croquet?”

Abigail gave him a sad smile. “We both know I won’t be much of a participant in this party. But the grounds here are excellent. I think I might take a long ride. Enjoy the air before we’re all back in London.”

He had a fleeting thought that he should like to see that. That she’d be glorious on horseback. He could almost picture riding next to her, wind blowing through his hair. It would be fun, and wild, and he’d feel… well, he’d feel free.

But he’d made plans already. And he needed to see his interest in Charlotte through before he could turn his attention to another woman. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take myself off to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Sleep well,” Abigail called.

In all likelihood, he would not. Because while his head told him to make absolutely certain he was no longer interested in Charlotte and make sure these last months of pursuit were indeed in vain, he was a bit afraid his heart was already turning in another direction.

He looked back at Abigail, framed by candlelight, and nearly turned back around. He’d like to ask her for that ride or just talk with her or maybe even hold her in his arms. What would it feel like to kiss her?

But he kept moving toward his room. Now was not the moment to begin courting Abigail Purewater.

His heart might have been urging him in that direction, but he had to make sure he hadn’t lost his mind first.

8

Lady Abigail did not run. Not from anyone nor anything.

But, she would be the first to admit that she was walking faster than usual the next morning with her mother’s latest round of haranguing ringing in her ears. It was that echoing cacophony of scolding and threats that had her so distracted that she turned a corner to reach the staircase landing and ran smack into a solid mass.

“Oof!” the man grunted.

She herself let out an unladylike squeak at the impact of her soft curves ramming into a hard pillar of stone. She bounced back but hands steadied her before she could fall. No, not stone. A man. A tall, solid, muscular man whose familiar scent wrapped around her and made her head spin.

“Are you all right?” Major Mayfield was frowning down at her with such concern, she quite forgot how to speak. “Lady Abigail?” His gaze roamed over her from head to toe as his hands gripped her upper arms. He was holding her close—far too close to be proper, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. “Are you hurt?”

She gave her head a little shake and that movement seemed to loosen her tongue. “Just my pride,” she said.

His concern faded into relieved amusement.

“I’m not normally so clumsy,” she added with a breathless laugh as she forced herself to take a step back.

“Nor I,” he said. His eyes gleamed with laughter and the sight made her belly flutter like she was a naive young girl. He tipped his head down slightly as if relaying a secret. “Let’s declare the incident poor timing then, shall we, and keep it between us?”

She smiled at the way he made it sound as though they were in on a secret together. “I shan’t tell anyone about this moment of clumsiness if you don’t.”

He gave a short nod, feigning a seriousness that made her want to laugh aloud. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

He broke the seriousness with a wide grin as he offered her his arm and nodded toward the staircase. “Shall we?”

She slipped her hand into