Chapter 23

Abigail awoke with a start and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was.

As her vision cleared, however, the events of the previous evening came rushing back to her.

Her head was pounding, and her mind felt fuzzy.

She remembered the doctor had prescribed her some laudanum to help her sleep through the pain in her ankle.

As though thinking of it had woken the blasted thing, her ankle began to throb.

All in all, she had felt better.

The fire in the hearth was still crackling, to Abigail’s surprise, and rather than freezing as she had been earlier, she was uncomfortably warm under the mountain of blankets.

Someone had been tending the fire all night.

She struggled to sit up, her head spinning as she did so.

This was why she hated laudanum. It didn’t agree with her at all.

And this one must have been extra strong, for she had been having the strangest dreams.

She’d even dreamt that Robert and James had been in here with her, whispering, Robert talking of—of loving her.

Clearly the stuff made her fit for Bedlam.

“Abby?”

Abigail yelped at the sound of her name being called.

She managed to sit up in time to see Robert leap from an armchair and rush to her side.

Kneeling beside the chaise, he pushed the blankets back enough for Abigail to breathe properly.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, studying her face intently.

“I—what—” Abigail’s sleepy mind struggled to put a sentence together. “What are you doing here?” she finally managed.

To her surprise, Robert, the indomitable Duke of Montvale, looked self-conscious.

And she found it incredibly endearing, even after everything that had happened in this very room between them the night before.

Which just went to show what a hopeless case she was.

“You fell asleep after talking with my mother,” he said gently.

Abigail’s maid hadn’t bothered to tie up her hair after it had been dried, and it tumbled around her shoulders now, a lock falling across her brow.

Robert reached out and tucked the strand behind her ear, running his thumb along her cheek before he dropped his hand again.

It was a small gesture, but enough to set her burning up in flames.

“We didn’t want to move you with your ankle being injured. So, we decided to let you sleep here.”

She waited for him to continue, but he stayed quiet, studying her with an unreadable expression on his far-too-handsome face.

But Abigail wasn’t about to let him away without answering her questions. Not after everything that had happened.

“But why are you here?” she repeated.

Robert grinned wryly, swiftly. But it was so beautiful it was enough to steal her breath.

All too soon, however, it was replaced by his usual stoic mask.

“I—I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said gruffly. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you waking alone. Maybe wanting—”

He cut himself off abruptly, and she was left wondering what he’d been about to say.

But then, that was no different to every conversation of theirs thus far.

When the ormolu clock on the mantle chimed, Abby realised it was four o’clock in the morning.

No wonder everything was so silent, so still.

She looked around the room and saw with a start that she and the duke were quite alone.

Her eyes snapped back to the molten steel of Robert’s.

“Where are the servants?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“They’re gone to bed,” he answered evenly, after a pause.

They were in here alone? In the middle of the night?

“Oh,” was all she managed. “You tended the fire?” she suddenly blurted, for want of something to say.

“I did,” he answered gravely, but she saw a twinkle of humour in his eye.

She couldn’t understand the man. She could spend her whole life trying, and he’d still be an enigma to her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Confused. Nervous. In love.

“My ankle hurts, a little,” she confessed. “And my head.”

Immediately his brow creased with concern, and he jumped to his feet.

“What can I do? What do you need? Shall I call your maid?”

Abigail laughed in spite of herself.

He looked like a fussing mama.

And try as she might, she couldn’t seem to stem the love she felt for him when he was like this.

When he acted like he cared.

“I’m fine, Robert,” she said softly. “Perhaps a drink of water?”

“Water. Right. Yes. I can do that.”

Abigail watched in confusion as he moved nervously around the room.

She took in his attire—his rumpled evening jacket, his once snowy-white cravat now muddy and dull that had been loosened, his hair mussed and messy as though he’d been pulling at it for hours. The lawn shirt that was spattered with muck and still damp.

“Robert,” she called as he poured water from a jug by his desk. “Have you slept?”

He walked back with a wine glass filled with water and held it out to her.

Their fingers touched as she took the cup, and a shiver of desire ran through her.

Robert noticed and dropped to his knees beside her once more.

“You’re getting cold again,” he said quietly and fixed the blankets around her once more, ignoring her question.

But she wasn’t cold. With him this close, she was burning up.

Had he stayed awake all night? Just sitting there with her while she slept? He must have.

And even though they had discussed nothing. Even though the last time they’d been alone, he’d broken her heart and scared the wits out of her, Abigail couldn’t help herself from loving him desperately.

She held the empty glass out to him, and he took it and placed it on the floor beside the chaise.

He looked back at her, his eyes raking over her as though making sure she was still in one piece.

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “You should sleep.”

“But we haven’t talked,” she argued, even though she could feel her eyelids drooping.

The laudanum was certainly doing its job, pulling her back under when she so desperately wanted to stay awake.

“You were so angry with me,” she whispered.

Her thoughts were becoming blurrier and blurrier.

She didn’t want to apologise for telling him she loved him.

But maybe she’d been too pushy, too—

“Abby.” His voice sounded pained. “I have so much I want to say to you. So much that I’m finally ready to say. But you’ve been through a lot, and you’re hurt and tired. Sleep now, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Her body was agreeing with him, even if her mind wanted to argue.

She lay back down against the pillow, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Abby,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” she asked, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

She wanted to answer him, but she was so very tired.

The last thing she remembered was the press of his lips against her brow.