Page 12 of A Perfect Gentleman

Since there was nothing he wanted so much as to leave, Graeme was not so impolite as to remind his grandmother that they had come because she insisted on it. He escorted the dowager countess home, then went to his study to settle down with a brandy. But he was too restless to settle down . . . just as he had been the entire time in London, it seemed.

He began to pace. His grandmother was right; he was accomplishing nothing by ignoring Abigail. Apparently Abigail did not even notice his absence. He wished he knew what scheme she had in mind. He was certain there was one—there had been that mischievous glint in her eyes when she bantered with him, that teasing smile. He could deal with it if only he had some idea what she had in mind. Perhaps that was what she intended—to drive him mad waiting and wondering.

Letting out a disgusted noise, he set down the glass with a thunk and left the house. His steps turned toward White’s. James might be there. His cousin would doubtlessly laugh at him and point out that Graeme was a fool, but at least he could be counted on to listen and advise without emotion coloring his answer. If not James, there was bound to be someone else he knew, some conversation to take his mind off its tedious circular path.

As luck would have it, though, Graeme had barely stepped inside the door when his eye fell on David Prescott, chatting with Egmont Burrows and Manning’s son. What the devil was that American doing here? His jaw tightened as he watched the man, sipping some brown liquid—probably that ghastly bourbon Americans seemed to love—and chatting with Burrows. This brought up another issue: What was Prescott’s connection to Abigail? Was he her lover or merely one of her father’s business associates? Graeme suspected that if Prescott was not her lover, he would like to be; he had a decidedly possessive way of hanging about her.

But whatever he was or hoped to be, it seemed clear to Graeme that the man was in Abigail’s confidence. If anyone knew what she was about, it would be he. As if he felt Graeme’s gaze on him, Prescott glanced up and saw Graeme. Prescott held his gaze for a moment, direct and almost challenging.

Graeme strode forward. Egmont Burrows saw him approaching. “Ah, Montclair!”

“Burrows. Manning.”

“I’m sure you already know Mr. Prescott,” Manning’s son offered in his languid way, his eyes amused. No doubt he hoped for fireworks between Graeme and his wife’s friend.

“Indeed.” Graeme smiled tightly, determined not to provide the show the others hoped for. “I came here to speak with Mr. Prescott.” His eyes went to Prescott, carrying their own challenge.

“Of course. My pleasure.” Prescott nodded toward the other two men. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse us . . .”

Graeme made his way to a corner of the room where two wingback chairs were set at right angles for a cozy conversation. Prescott settled into one of them and cocked an eyebrow at Graeme.

“Well? I presume you have a reason for this conversation.”

“I do. I want to know exactly what you and Lady Montclair are doing here. What is she planning?” Graeme had intended to keep his tone cool, even disinterested, but the edginess he’d felt for days rose in him, making it difficult to remain aloof. “Does she intend to create a scandal? Embarrass my family in some way? I warn you, I will not allow her to hurt my mother and grandmother.”

“I don’t see that Abby’s plans, whatever they may be, are any of your business.”

The man’s use of her first name, especially the casual nickname, and the intimacy that implied, grated on Graeme’s nerves. “I’d say it’s very much my business since Lady Montclair is my wife.”

Prescott let out a short, humorless laugh. “So it’s ‘my wife’ now, is it? I was under the impression that you tossed her aside ten years ago. I’d say that doesn’t make her yours anymore.”

“I didn’t ‘toss her aside.’ ” Graeme scowled.

“That is generally what is meant when one abandons his bride on their wedding night.”

“I didn’t abandon her.” The years-old tendrils of guilt teased at him. “Is that the tale she put out?”

“She didn’t put out any tale at all. It was clear to everyone.”

“Did they expect me to welcome a bride who had coerced me into marriage by ruining my father? Price encouraged him to invest in that scheme with the object of destroying my father financially, making it impossible to do anything but accept his bargain.” Everyone knew this much. Graeme wasn’t about to reveal the full extent of Thurston Price’s threats.

“That was Thurston, not his daughter. She was blameless.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’ve found.” Graeme’s voice was thick with scorn. “She wanted to be a countess. That was all she was interested in—as evidenced by the fact that she left the country as soon as she acquired the title.”

“Do you really think any woman with an ounce of pride would have stayed after the things you said to her?” Prescott surged to his feet.

Graeme rose to face him, a flush edging his cheekbones. “I spoke hastily, in anger, I admit. I came to apologize to her for my rudeness the next—”

“For your rudeness?” Prescott took a step closer. “Is that what you call trampling all over a young girl’s feelings? Abigail knew nothing about her father’s schemes. Surely you aren’t so foolish as to think Thurston Price would have taken an eighteen-year-old girl into his confidence? He told no one. I worked for the man. He knew I had invested my savings in the stock, too, but he didn’t breathe a word of warning to me. He sure as hell wouldn’t have let his daughter in on his secrets.”

“You’re the one who’s foolish,” Graeme shot back. “I told her exactly why I had no intention of living with her, and she didn’t deny a word of it. It was clear that what I said came as no surprise.”

“I doubt she was surprised to find out her father had been engaged in underhanded activities. She knew what he was like—she had to live with the man, after all. But I can promise you she didn’t know his plans to maneuver Lord Montclair into bankruptcy. Abigail is nothing like her father, which you would know if you had ever taken the trouble to become acquainted with her. She is kind and generous to a fault. When I left Thurston’s employ, she was the one who helped me.”

“All that proves is that you have reason to be thankful to her. It means nothing to me.”

“I’m sure it does not, since clearly no one matters to you except yourself. Abigail was not privy to her father’s machinations; she certainly did not participate in them. Nor did she give a damn about your sacred title. She had to put up with Thurston Price her entire life, ashamed of the things he did and bullied by him like everyone else. She was hopeful and innocent and desperate to get away from the man. Her only fault was in mistaking you for a knight in shining armor. She thought marrying you was the answer to her prayers. Instead, you repudiated her on her wedding night.”