Page 21 of A Perfect Gentleman

Had Abby been in a lighter mood, she might have laughed at the stunned expression on Graeme’s face. His hand fell away from hers. She climbed out of the carriage and strode toward the hotel door. Let him pay the hansom driver; it served him right for taking over her carriage—and her meeting.

She didn’t bother to send the doorman a hard look. What did the man’s disloyalty to her matter when she doubted she would be here for long? Graeme had forced her hand. She had hoped to spend enough time with him to overcome his initial dislike, even perhaps to arouse some modicum of desire, so that he might agree to her offer.

But it was clear he was determined to believe the worst of her, even about something as insignificant as this letter. Abigail had no chance of softening him to the idea. All she could do was throw out the bald truth and see if Graeme would be reasonable about the whole thing. She feared there was little chance of that. His enmity seemed unshakable.

Inside her suite, she ripped off her cloak and gloves, tossing them onto a chair. Going to the sideboard, she poured herself a glass from the decanter of brandy and took a drink, grimacing at the heat that seared her throat.

Her head ached. She pulled the pins from her hair, letting the heavy mass tumble down, and began to massage her scalp with her fingertips. She felt close to tears—she wasn’t sure whether from disappointment or anger—but she refused to cry. She had vowed years ago never to shed another tear over Graeme Parr. Not that it was about him. The loss looming before her was larger than that.

She was jerked from her thoughts by a loud knock at the door. Hope rose in her chest, and she started forward. She made herself stop and draw a calming breath, before she opened the door.

It came as no surprise to see Graeme standing in the doorway. Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips as his eyes went to her hair, falling over her shoulders. No doubt he found it reprehensible of her to answer the door in such dishabille. She lifted her chin and sent him a challenging gaze.

He cleared his throat. “May I come in?”

Abigail shrugged and walked away, leaving him to step inside and close the door. She swung back around to face him, crossing her arms.

“You cannot simply drop that on a man and walk away,” he told her. “What the devil are you talking about?”

She raised her brows. “Surely you don’t need me to explain how I would acquire a baby.”

His mouth tightened. “Of course not. But why did you come to me about it?”

Anger rushed through her. “You think I’m the sort of woman who would cuckold you instead?”

“I didn’t think anything. I never considered the matter.”

“Naturally. You wouldn’t have cared what I did.” Abigail could not keep the touch of bitterness from her voice.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You’ve made it perfectly clear. I understand how you feel. I even understand why you feel that way. However, I cannot change the things that have happened. I have to make the best I can of my situation. This last year I came to realize that despite all my wealth, all the parties, the title, the multitude of things that others might envy me for, I do not have a life. You and my father, you see, got what you wanted from our marriage. My father has the connection to aristocracy that he craved. And you, even though it was at the expense of sacrificing your heart, received the money you needed to rescue your estate. What did I get? An empty marriage, an empty house. An empty life. I want more than an endless round of shopping and parties. I want a child.”

“I—I see.” Graeme glanced around uncomfortably, then picked up the glass of brandy she had set down and slugged it back. “You want a real marriage.”

“No. I can live without a husband. I no longer expect to have romantic love. I don’t need to be sheltered or supported or have companionship. But I do want the fulfillment of a child. I want to have someone to love and—well, there’s no need to explain my reasons. Suffice it to say that I intend to have a baby, and since I am married to you, you seemed the logical choice for a father.”

He avoided her eyes as he poured himself another drink.

“I could, of course, take a lover,” Abby went on. “But whatever you think of me, I am not the sort of woman who breaks her wedding vows. And it seems wrong to present you with an heir that is another man’s child. I presume that is something that would bother you, as well.”

His gaze flew to her then, and he said in a strangled voice, “Yes, I mean no, I shouldn’t want that.” He cleared his throat. “But don’t you think that this is, ah, a trifle . . . cold-blooded?”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Abby gave him a bright smile. “I believe I’m getting the hang of being a noblewoman.”

“Is this a jest to you?”

“No. It is no jest. I want a child. Don’t you? You need an heir. That’s the way it is with the nobility, isn’t it?” Abby took a step toward him. “Come now, you always do what a gentleman should, make whatever sacrifice is necessary for the family. It would only be one more.”

“It is hardly that simple.”

Abby knew she was going about it wrong. She could not argue him into it; he was obviously far too stubborn for that. And this was too important to lose. Pulling on whatever acting skills she had, she summoned up an arch tone. “I understand that it may be . . . difficult for you to perform your, um, duty. Since you love another woman, I mean.”

A dull flush reddened his cheeks. “I realize that you find me an object of ridicule.”

“Nonsense. I find it admirable, rather, that you have stayed true to your love these many years. Not many men would have remained celibate all this time.” He shifted uncomfortably, and Abby pressed her point. “Most men would have found . . . other outlets, shall we say?”

“This is hardly a fit topic of conversation.” His color deepened.