David choked on the cake and coughed to clear his throat. He reached for the tea and swallowed some. “How on earth could the fellow have expected you to accept if he didn’t identify himself?”
She chuckled. “That was my first thought, too. I didn’t meet with him at the arranged time and place.”
“I should hope not,” David bit out savagely. What if she had gone? What fiend might have been lying in wait for the innocent woman? “What does your brother say about this?”
“I think my brother prefers to forget I’m of marriageable age.”
Damn, but Peter Watson was a fool. He should be keeping better watch over her than this. “And the third?”
“The very first actually, and it was awkward to say the least.”
Full to the brim, David set the tray aside and repositioned himself in the bed. He was still aroused, but he could listen to Miss Watson talk all day and never tire of hearing her confidences. “And who was that?”
She clenched her hands together. “Walter George.”
“Ah, perhaps not the young man for you.”
She twisted her hands together. “I felt so bad for refusing. Imogen and I are the best of friends but Walter is . . .”
He laughed at her inability to describe their rather staid neighbor. “Walter.”
She threw both hands up in the air. “Exactly. He’s not dashing or heroic. He’s pleasant but unexciting,” she complained softly.
Miss Watson had clearly spent some time determining what she didn’t want in a suitor. What she might want intrigued him. “And you require excitement?” David scrubbed at the stubble on his jaw and grimaced at how rough he must appear. “I imagine dashing off to suitor number two’s rendezvous could have proved an adventure.”
Her brow rose haughtily. “That would depend on your definition of excitement.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
David spluttered at her bold answer, unable to believe the direction their conversation had taken. Never in a million years had he thought of engaging in banter of this nature with his innocent young neighbor. He leaned forward, eager for her next response. “There’s more than one?”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “In my experience, yes.”
David stifled a laugh as he sat back. Quite a bit had altered in the last year and in Abigail’s case the changes were rather pleasing. “I still find it hard to remember you’re all grown up. Sometimes I still think of you sneaking apples from our tree, your long hair tangled in the branches.”
“I haven’t been that young or naïve in quite a while.” Abigail stood and reached beyond him, stretching to grab the tray he’d set aside. Because of her position, her bottom was enticingly displayed before him.
The image of young Abigail Watson was banished forever, replaced by the siren leaning over his lap. He clenched the sheet and groaned. “And other times I can barely think. Abigail, take yourself out of my house before I do something we will both regret.”
She lifted the tray, her smile serene and unaffected by his warning as she lingered at the bedside. “I still need your help, but if you think better with clothes on, I’ll await you downstairs in the parlor.”
If he stripped Abigail of her clothes, and dragged her into his bed, she’d understand his predicament and state of mind. “That would be appreciated.”
“Oh, and David. What could you possibly do that would give me any regrets?” She disappeared quickly, leaving him with the compelling desire to chase after her to show her exactly what game she’d started by coming into a bachelor’s home alone. He wasn’t so old that he didn’t know how to seduce a woman if he set his mind to it. However, for the present he was undecided about the wisdom of such an action. Given what he knew of Abigail now, he wasn’t sure who’d be seducing whom.
He listened to her retreating footsteps and breathed a sigh of relief to have behaved as a gentleman despite the temptation. Abigail had taken too great a risk with her reputation by coming here, by not leaving a partially covered man as soon as she discovered him awake. Honor demanded he do the right thing by her, not seduce her. That meant sneaking her out of his house before she was discovered, and, if they were found out, ensuring they married immediately.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and hoped he and Abigail didn’t have to marry because of necessity. In his experience, that sort of union was never a happy one. No matter how the circumstance came about, both parties were often plagued by doubts and insecurities.
For David, he could imagine a life with Abigail’s honey-soft lips molded to his, her lithe body pressed against him. Conversation, too, would be worth the time spent. He’d always enjoyed their short talks. But he lived in London and worked a great deal. She’d be miserable as his wife.
He stripped off his robe and dressed in record time, ignoring the stubble darkening his jaw for the present. The sooner he answered her questions, the quicker she could leave. He’d deal with everything else later if action became necessary.
He rushed down the stairs and barreled into the parlor. Abigail had made herself at home, slippers abandoned, feet curled beside her on the sofa. She’d removed the apron but had not restored her gloves to her hands. To see her arranged so contentedly on his furniture made him wish he were not quite so honorable. After a moment, her cheeks turned a startling shade of red and she scrambled to put the slippers back on. “That was quick. Peter takes an age to dress.”
“I had a pressing need to hurry.”
She smiled, and David did his best to convince himself her look was one she might bestow on a favorite uncle. Full of trust. However, he didn’t deserve her trust. He longed to scoop her up in his arms and taste her lips again. He sat in a chair opposite, far enough away that he couldn’t take liberties if the opportunity presented itself. He would treat her as a customer of the bank and not as a pretty young woman with incredibly tempting curves. “Right then, what exactly do you need help with?”