Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)

Abigail didn’t believe him, not for a second.

* * *

He was lying…again.

Chad made another halfhearted attempt to pull his hands from Abigail’s, but she had them in a rather tight grip.

“Abby,” he said again. But this time, it came out with a warning note, low and gravelly.

She didn’t take the warning. Instead, she arched a brow. “Chad.” Then her little pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. It laid him low every time she performed that little gesture. “Why don’t you like it when I call you Blasphemy?”

What did he say? That he didn’t deserve her? That he’d stolen her and her dowry because she was in a desperate situation. That the way he’d married her only confirmed he was exactly like the rest of his family. “That man isn’t a worthy husband.”

“Oh.”

Her grip eased and he took that opportunity to slip his hands from hers. Because the intimacy only underscored how undeserving he was of her hand. Of this match.

The carriage rumbled to a stop and Abigail flicked open the curtain, leaning over to look out the window. “Are we stopping for the night?”

“We are,” he answered, studying her profile. The perfect straightness of her nose. The pale pink of her full lips. The creaminess of her skin and how a rosy color, on the apples of her cheeks, highlighted her high cheekbones.

Her fingers were long and tapered and touched the curtain with such delicate grace that he actually ached. He wanted her hand to touch him like that.

He didn’t deserve that sort of gentle grace. He knew that. But he wished for it anyhow. Even now, he wanted to run his fingers down the curve of her cheek, over her jaw, and down her neck.

He snapped open the door and climbed out, reaching back in to help his bride down. She was right. The dress was dreadful, and he needed to provide a new wardrobe for her posthaste.

After helping her inside, he stood at the desk, and waited for the innkeeper.

Vanity stepped in behind them. “Can you secure me a room? I’ve got a few errands I need to attend.”

Chad looked back at him. “Errands? Here?”

Vanity only winked.

What was his friend about?

But he didn’t ask as the innkeeper hustled out from one of the private dining rooms.

“Can I help you, sir?’

He straightened, frowning. His brother would have loudly declared that he was a titled lord and should be treated as such. Chad had never liked such garish displays, perhaps because he’d never expected to have the opportunity. “The baroness and I are hoping to secure two rooms in addition to a third, for my friend, The Viscount of Waverly.”

The man skidded to a stop, his eyes widening. “You are the baron, my lord?”

“I am.” He shifted, and Abigail squeezed his arm in comfort.

“My apologies then,” the man said quietly. “I’ve only got two rooms left. It’s our busy season with everyone travelling in and out of London and—”

“Two will have to do,” Abigail said next to him as she cleared her throat.

Chad bit back a sigh. He hadn’t even managed to secure his wife a room. Blast.

“We’d like to reserve a dining room for dinner as well.”

The man gave a nod and reached for the last two keys hanging from hooks on the wall. Chad pulled his rather light purse from his belt and placed the necessary coin on the table.

“Shall we wait in the common room or upstairs?” Abigail asked from next to him, her fingers lightly playing on his biceps.