Page 28 of A Perfect Gentleman

There was no sign of Abigail. Which was, of course, a relief. It should be a relief.

He glanced up the stairs, and his breath caught in his throat. Abigail stood at the top of the grand staircase, watching the lobby below. Topazes gleamed at her throat and ears. She wore a golden-brown dress, and a gold wrap of the sheerest material lay across her bare arms, shimmering on the skin beneath. The skirt was made from some crinkly material that twisted cunningly to the side and was caught by the bustle, so that she looked as if she were encased in meringue.

Graeme started toward the stairs, only belatedly remembering that his grandmother was with him. Fortunately, she made no objection. Abigail watched them ascend, her mouth curved up in a smile. Graeme’s pulse hammered in his ears.

“Montclair. Lady Montclair,” Abigail greeted them.

His grandmother nodded regally. “I’m so glad you were able to join us.”

“What?” Graeme, in the midst of making his bow, was brought up short. He glanced toward his grandmother, then back at Abigail.

“It was so kind of you to invite me,” Abigail replied to his grandmother. She turned her expressive green eyes to Graeme. “I hope you do not mind.”

“Mind? No, of course not.” His stomach felt as if he’d just taken a step off a cliff. Two hours or more of being enclosed with Abigail in a tiny theater box, watching her, breathing in her bewitching perfume, only inches from touching her. “My pleasure.” That, at least, was not a lie. He did not add that it would be a nerve-racking pleasure.

He escorted the two ladies to the box and was irritated to find that several gentlemen of his acquaintance intercepted them, obviously angling for an introduction. He introduced them each time somewhat tersely. “You know the dowager countess, of course. And Lady Montclair, my wife.”

“Goodness,” Abigail commented as the fourth such man walked away. “You seem to know everyone here.”

“A great many more than I care to.”

She cast a laughing glance up at him, and he had the uneasy feeling she suspected exactly why he was disgruntled.

“Arthur Dexter is scarcely anyone with whom you’d want to advance an acquaintance,” his grandmother told Abigail firmly. “Jumped-up little mushroom. His grandfather was in trade.”

“Shocking,” Abigail agreed with such a twinkle in her eye that Graeme had to hide a smile.

The countess sent her a sharp look. “In general his mother’s line is respectable, but there was always something a bit off about her uncle.”

“Scarcely Arthur’s fault, surely,” Graeme put in.

Lady Eugenia shrugged. “I suppose not, though I must say it gives him little reason to put on such airs.”

“Perhaps he is proud of what he has accomplished rather than his family,” Abigail offered.

“What a very American thing to say.”

Graeme suppressed a groan. It was shaping up to be a long evening. In addition to his own turmoil, he would have to intercede between the two women. What had possessed his grandmother to invite Abigail? He cast about for something to stave off a battle between his companions, but to his surprise Abigail merely laughed.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she agreed. “It’s difficult for some people to transcend their upbringing.”

“Precisely.” His grandmother nodded. Graeme wasn’t sure whether she had caught the subtle message in Abigail’s words. He suspected not; Lady Eugenia did not deal in subtleties.

He glanced over at Abigail. She returned his gaze with a wide-eyed blandness that convinced him she had intended the little dig at his grandmother’s prejudices. Again he found himself wanting to smile.

Why did it have to be so bloody easy to like this woman? He knew she was manipulating him, trying to bend him to her will. Just as her father had. She interspersed her threats with charm and allure, but the result was the same. She meant to control him. However reasonable James had made the matter sound last night, Graeme knew that the seemingly easy path Abigail offered was a quagmire.

He had intended to seat his grandmother between him and Abigail, but Lady Eugenia ignored his maneuvering and sat down at the end of the row, forcing Graeme to take his place between the two women. He resigned himself to an evening spent deflecting their sniping at one another.

They took it up immediately, of course. “I am looking forward to Mr. Wilde’s play. I have seen it in New York,” Abigail began pleasantly.

“Ah, well, you will find this superior,” the countess replied. “Americans have difficulty, I’ve found, comprehending the niceties of British society.”

“Yes, we tend to place more importance on substance than appearance.”

“Hopefully this evening will be enjoyable even though you have seen it before.” Graeme jumped into the breach before the dowager countess could respond. “Fortunately Mr. Wilde’s words are worth repetition.”

“Indeed.” Abigail cast him a knowing glance, but fell in with his conversational deflection. “Have you seen this actor before? I’ve heard he is excellent.”