Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)

She curled her fingers into the sheets then saw the note by the door. Rising, she crossed the room to pick up the folded sheet and saw his bold scroll across the parchment. He’d gone out to check on Vanity and would return shortly.

Her breath slowly released but then she drew it sharply back in. Having been with her fully had he decided he wished to see Gabriella?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the thoughts away. She’d co

nfessed her love to him. She should trust him.

But he hadn’t said the words back…though to be fair, she’d told him not to. Still, he’d been nothing but honest about his intentions and his long-term plans. Which did not involve being a full-time husband.

Her gut twisted but she straightened. She’d said she would give him love. And while she had doubts, she’d also promised him his happiness was important, and that she’d teach him to love.

Jealousy did not foster love.

He’d been forthright about his plans to return to his former life; from the start, he’d been honest. He’d also told her he wasn’t the least bit interested in Gabriella.

It was Abigail herself who always felt inferior to other women.

But today, she’d not allow those worries to make her act like a petulant child. With that in mind, she bathed, dressed, and went downstairs. The sun peeked out from behind some clouds.

She noticed a garden outside that was a bit overgrown but still beginning to bloom with some early spring flowers. She went to the kitchen and finding shears, returned upstairs and outside to begin cutting a bouquet for tonight. Did a woman give a man flowers?

She weeded a section, first because she couldn’t reach the stems but then because she liked the work.

Moving like this, her thoughts quieted. Vanity was clearly interested in Gabriella. The man had practically turned inside out at their brief meeting. And he was running in to rescue her. Abigail was being silly.

A smile touched her lips.

She cleared out a bed and then rose with an armful of blooms to arrange for their dinner this evening.

But she stilled. Had she just heard a branch crackle?

The more formal garden opened up into fields and then woods beyond. She scanned beyond the beds but didn’t see anything out of sorts. Slowly she took a step back toward the door, thankful she hadn’t ventured very far from the entrance.

The wind picked up, rustling the branches and adding to her feeling of unease.

Another branch cracked. Was it just the wind? She took another step back.

“Abigail?”

Chad. She spun, her husband in the doorway. “There you are.” Relief washed over her as she stepped toward him, reaching out her free hand. “I was just cutting some flowers for our table tonight and then I thought I heard something. I think today has just wreaked havoc with my senses. I—”

But she didn’t get a chance to finish that thought.

With a sudden movement that left her breathless, Chad grabbed her about the waist and lifted her, spinning her into the house behind him, his large frame blocking the door.

She’d barely had a second to contemplate what had happened when three men rushed toward them. She screamed as Chad dipped into a predatory crouch, his fists clenching in front of him. “Abby, run,” he barked. “Lock yourself in a room.”

Abigail gasped before she dropped the flowers and then turned, springing into action.

“Abby,” another voice called, not Chad’s, and the sound of it trilled down her spine like a memory of a ghost.

“Papa?” she said as she spun back, her hands flying to her mouth.

The three men had stopped, not four feet from Chad. She blinked several times. The man in the middle was older, greyer, with a bushy beard. He was thinner than she remembered her father, but those were his eyes. There was no mistaking it. Surprise jolted through her.

“Papa?” Chad asked, still standing between her and the men. “Your father is dead.”

“I’m not,” Lucas Carrington answered. “Though I could see why you might think so. I’ve done my best to make the whole world believe it was true.” Then her father straightened. “Now who are you, young man, and why do you have my daughter here, flying from London as though you were up to no good?”