Chapter 21

Time stood still, just as it had on the day Gina had died.

This couldn’t be happening again.

Was life really so very cruel as that?

How could he possibly watch this woman die?

All these thoughts tumbled over each other in Robert’s head as Abigail disappeared from view.

But this time, there was no one else to force him into action.

Just him.

And he wasn’t going to lose Abby.

With a roar of frustration, he closed the distance to the river.

Please, please, please, God, he begged over and over as he ran. Please, don’t take her from me. Please, don’t let her die.

Robert thought he heard shouting from behind him, but he didn’t stop to check.

All he wanted was to get to Abigail.

If she was in the water, if she’d been swept away, then his life would end there and then on the riverbank.

He skidded to a halt where Abby had fallen, and with a dread that almost made him cast up his accounts, he leaned over the edge to peer down to the river.

“Robert!”

Robert’s knees gave out with relief, and he sank to the ground.

Abby had slipped, yes. But she hadn’t gone into the water.

She was covered in muck and shivering. But she wasn’t in the water.

“I-I’ve twisted my ankle, I think,” she called miserably.

He watched her speak, heard her words, but he couldn’t seem to move.

His fear and relief, his love and guilt, and regret, they were swirling inside him, and he didn’t know how to react to any one of them, so he simply stared at her.

“Are you going to help me?” she demanded hotly. And it was so very like her to be sitting, covered in mud in the middle of a storm, yet ordering him about as though she were a queen, that he couldn’t help his burst of laughter.

She narrowed those beautiful blue eyes.

“It’s not funny,” she snarled. “My dress is ruined.”

And Robert laughed harder.

She’d almost died. But she was worried about her dress.

And God, but he loved her more in that moment than ever before.

With a huff, she staggered to her feet.

But the second she put her weight on her bad ankle, she stumbled back toward the water.

Her eyes widened in fear, but Robert’s hands shot out and grabbed hold of her, pulling her up the embankment and against him, then wrapping her in as tight a hold as he could manage, while still allowing her to breathe.

Robert sat on the soaked, muddy ground safely distanced from the riverbank, and just held her.

And it felt glorious.

She was here. Safe and alive and in his arms. And nothing had ever felt so wonderful. So right.

He rained kisses down upon her head then moved his hands to clasp either side of her face, pulling back so he could study her.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice quivering with so many things. “Aside from your ankle.”

Abby was staring at him as though he were a confusing specimen in a museum.

“Abby,” he prompted, shaking her gently. “Are you hurt?”

“N-n-no,” she managed, and he realised then that her teeth were chattering, and the trembling he felt wasn’t just from him but from her body that was wracked with shivers.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

He stood with her still in his arms and placed her gently on her feet while still supporting her.

Without a word, he stripped himself of his jacket and wrapped it around her.

It was soaking, so it probably wouldn’t do much good. But it had to be better than nothing, didn’t it?

A whole new set of worries bombarded him.

What if she caught a fever from this? What if the fever killed her? That would be his fault, too.

Robert felt sick when he thought of how much pain she must be in with her ankle, and all because he’d sent her running out into a storm.

But he could indulge in self-pitying guilt later.

For now, he needed to get her home and warm.

The rain was pelting them, causing his linen shirt to stick to him, and he watched as Abby’s eyes travelled over his chest and back to meet his own.

When she saw that he was watching, her cheeks flamed brightly enough for him to notice, even in the dark.

And even though they’d resolved nothing, even though he was worried sick about her, even though he’d probably scared her witless enough to have lost her forever, some part of him responded to her blushes in a way that was entirely inappropriate. But oh, so tempting.

And despite the dire situation, an imp of mischief awoke in him.

“Now is hardly the time to be ogling me, Abby.” He frowned with mock severity.

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes flashed blue fire.

“I was not,” she shouted, hotly. “I was just—you were, that is, I hadn’t—”

He couldn’t help it. She was a temptress without even realising it.

Robert bent his head and captured her lips in a brief, hard kiss.

With any luck, there would be plenty of time to beg her forgiveness and to kiss her senseless in the future.

Right now, she needed to be inside.

Without another word, he bent and lifted her into his arms, turning back toward the house and the small entourage that was running toward them.

Abby wrapped her arms around his neck and after a few seconds of holding herself stiffly, she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder.

It was so innocent that Robert had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat.

He didn’t deserve this woman’s trust. But he wanted to, so desperately. He wanted to become a man who could make her happy. Not a monster who scared her away.

James and a plethora of servants skidded to a halt in front of Robert, blocking his path.

“Is she well?” James demanded breathlessly, reaching out his arms toward Abby.

Robert felt a surge of protective love as her arms tightened around his neck, and he moved his body slightly so that she twisted away from James’s arms.

“I-I’m fine, J-James,” she stammered.

Robert looked down at her and saw her blue eyes gazing up at him. Trusting him. Loving him.

With a brief nod for James, Robert stepped around the other man and moved with determination toward the Hall, servants moving quickly out of his way as he went.

The rain pelted him, but he barely felt it. He carried her all the way back to the house, all the while sending thanks heavenwards that she was alive.

And in his arms.

Abigail burrowed further under the many blankets wrapped around her as a hive of activity buzzed around her.

She was exhausted, and her ankle throbbed.

But she was loathe to go to sleep until she’d had the chance to speak to Robert. Or at least see him.

The events of the last few hours had been terrifying and wonderful, devastating and marvellous.

It was as confusing as it was frustrating.

Robert had been so cruel to her. Had, in fact, scared her.

Yet when he’d found her by the river, he’d acted as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him.

He’d kissed her and held her close, then carried her all the way back to the house, refusing to let go until he’d laid her on the chaise in his study, and Bessie had to practically shove him away.

What did it mean? Was he just feeling guilty for shouting at her?

Did he feel sorry for her that she’d made such a spectacle of herself over him?

That unpleasant thought brought a wave of shame.

If she’d managed to make herself an object of pity for him, well that would just be the icing on the cake of a truly terrible day.

As soon as Robert had placed her on the chaise, the gentlemen had left the room while Bessie and two of the chambermaids set about making Abigail comfortable.

They peeled soaking garment after soaking garment from Abby’s body, before helping to dry her off with piles of warmed linens.

When Abby felt as though her skin had been rubbed raw, Bessie had helped her into a cotton night rail, before wrapping her in her dressing gown.

Abby had felt like a child, unable to do anything for herself.

But it was nice, she’d conceded as she’d sat at the fire having her hair brushed through, being looked after.

She was quite sure she was too exhausted to carry out any of these ablutions for herself.

Just as Robert had begun banging on the door, demanding to be allowed back into the room, Bessie had placed the last of many blankets over Abigail.

“The duke is beside himself, miss,” she whispered for Abby’s ears only. “That means something.”

But before Abby could question Bessie about what it meant, the maid swept away, taking her helpers with her.

The doctor marched through the door as soon as Bessie had left, followed by a still soaking wet Robert, who refused to leave the room whilst Abigail was being examined and obviously hadn’t even taken the time to change from his wet clothes. If he got sick because she’d run away, Abby would have that to feel guilty about, too.

It was unorthodox to say the least, and the doctor was most vocally disapproving. One dark glower from Robert, however, managed to silence the older man on the subject. After a brief and painful examination, the doctor left, and James and the dowager entered.

The place was busier than New York with people coming and going.

Abigail looked up to see James, the dowager, and Robert all peering down at her, their expressions ranging from worried, to kindly, to—Abby swallowed at the silver intensity in Robert’s eyes—to whatever emotion was blazing in their grey depths.

James, at least, had taken the time to change into fresh, dry clothes.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” The dowager sat gracefully at the edge of the sofa and took one of Abby’s hands in her own. “You seem to be warming up.”

“I am.” Abby smiled. In truth, she felt as though the cold had seeped into her bones, but at least her body was no longer trembling alarmingly.

“I am quite well,” she lied.

Her ankle was throbbing and every time she thought of Robert, let alone looked at him, she felt ridiculously tearful.

“You have had quite an ordeal.” The dowager gazed at her with eyes so like her son’s. “When Robert said you’d fallen at the river—”

The duchess broke off suddenly and darted her eyes to her son.

Abbey followed the woman’s gaze and gasped aloud at the look of pain in Robert’s expression.

She wanted to jump up and comfort him but of course, she couldn’t. Not least because her ankle would prevent her from doing anything close to jumping for some weeks.

And, not to mention, the small matter of not accosting him in front of his mother.

“You are well, and that’s all that matters.” The dowager patted her hand. “I’m going to go and fix you some warm milk. I used to make it for Robert when he—was younger. It will help you sleep.”

Abigail felt as though the dowager was going to say something else but stopped herself.

A lot of that went on around here.

The dowager swept from the room, and James came forward just as the clock struck the hour.

Abigail felt terribly guilty looking into the worried face of her cousin.

In fact, she felt guilty about lots of things.

“I’m sorry to have worried you.” She spoke before James could. “And I’m sorry for causing such an uproar in your household.” Her eyes flitted to Robert’s before skittering away. She couldn’t look at him until she could sort out her feelings.

So, probably never, then.

“And-and for ruining your carpets,” she finished miserably.

She watched James and Robert exchange a baffled look.

Heaving a sigh, she struggled to sit up a little better under the mountain of blankets.

“I was soaking wet,” she explained in exasperation. “As were you two. You still are!” She glared accusingly at Robert. “And you might get sick because of it. A-and we came in here and dripped all over the dowager’s Aubusson carpets, and I feel—I feel terrible about it.”

To Abby’s horror, she began to cry.

She wasn’t overly fond of the carpets. Certainly not enough to cry about them.

“They were beautiful carpets,” she bawled.

Abby was embarrassing herself, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t care about the carpets! But everything just seemed so much at the moment.

She was tired, and cold, and in pain, and in love, which was worse than being in pain. And it was simply too much.

“Abby, they’re only carpets,” James said placatingly.

But that made her cry harder.

“I don’t care about the carpets,” she sobbed.

The gentlemen shared another alarmed look, this one tinged with horror, and it would have been funny if she weren’t so desperately sad.

Abby bent her head and in lieu of a handkerchief, she used the edge of a blanket to dab at her eyes.

“Go and get your mother,” James whispered fiercely.

“No, I’m not leaving her. You go,” Robert whispered, equally fiercely.

“I’m not leaving her with you,” James bit out.

“And I’m not leaving,” Robert repeated stubbornly.

Abby looked up to see them scowling at each other, and she hated that they were at odds because of her.

Another thing to feel guilty about.

And that made her cry harder.

Just then, the dowager swept back into the room, followed by a maid carrying a silver tray.

The older lady took one look at a sobbing Abby along with the terrified faces of James and Robert and shook her head.

She asked for the tray to be left by the side of Abby’s chaise, then dismissed the maid with a smile.

“Gentlemen, why don’t you give Miss Langton and me a moment or two,” she suggested, though her tone left no doubt that this was a demand, not a request.

James’s face lit with relief, and he practically ran from the room.

Robert, however, stood his ground, crossing his arms and facing his mother.

The dowager sighed and walked over to place a hand on her son’s arm. She leaned in and spoke to him so softly that Abigail couldn’t hear a word of what was said.

When she was done, Robert’s gaze snapped back to Abby’s, and her heart thumped painfully at the intensity in their depths once more.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he said softly.

If she needed him? Of course, she needed him. She had told him that she loved him, but he’d roared at her to get out.

The pain that lanced through her at the memory made Abigail drop her eyes, whilst shame and hurt washed over her.

How many times would she make a fool of herself over this man?

He didn’t care.

Yet his actions suggested that he did care.

It was all terribly unsettling.

She heard him leave but didn’t look up until the door clicked behind him.

The dowager handed Abby a cup filled with warm milk. The aroma of cinnamon was immediately comforting.

“Let’s have a talk, you and I,” the dowager smiled.

“What would you like to talk about?” Abby asked.

“Well—” The duchess smiled as Abby sipped her drink. “How about the fact that you’re in love with my son?”