Read Elizabeth Thornton for Free Online Page B

am with names.”
    “But you never forget a face.”
    It was a private joke. Hugh was referring to the time Abbie had made a social blunder when she was introduced to one of Bath’s leading citizens and claimed she remembered him and his daughter from somewhere. The “somewhere” turned out to be a hotel on the outskirts of Reading when the gentleman had told his wifethat he was with his mother in Falmouth. There was no daughter.
    “Hugh,” she said, “why aren’t you wearing your spectacles?”
    “I only wear them when the print is small. Why do you ask?”
    “No reason. It’s just that you look different without them.”
    Now she knew where the awkwardness between them originated. It was with her. Her damnable family had put ideas in her head. She wasn’t seeing Hugh as her best friend but as the romantic figure Harriet had described. She had to rein in her imagination before she spoiled everything.
    “What is it, Abbie? Why do you stare at me like that?”
    “You haven’t told me what you think of my new gown,” she said, then she stifled a groan. This wasn’t how she’d planned to put their friendship back on the right footing. The question was too personal. She should have asked him about his books or the state of the assembly’s finances. Dear Lord, what must he be thinking?
    Hugh was thinking that he’d deliberately engineered this private tête-à-tête to question Abbie about Paris, to determine what she’d done to arouse the suspicions of a member of His Majesty’s intelligence service. But when he saw the swift rise and fall of her breasts and heard the slight hiatus in her breathing, his thoughts changed direction.
    Easy
, he told himself,
slowly
. This was Abbie. She wasn’t used to thinking of him as a lover. He wanted to tempt her, not terrify her.
    As casually as he could manage, he dropped the paper he was holding and slowly crossed to her. “Your new gown?” he said. “I think your gown is …,” his eyesmoved over her slowly, “charming. Quite rustic, in fact. Is this the rage in Paris, this shepherdess’s getup? It suits you, Abbie.”
    “Shepherdess!” Her confusion was swamped by a tide of indignation. She glanced down at her gown. “It’s no such thing! I don’t know why I asked for your opinion. You’ve never shown the slightest interest in ladies’ fashions.”
    “Oh, I don’t know.” He smiled into her eyes. “I occasionally think of other things besides Roman ruins and the price of candles. I’m not as dull as you think, Abbie.”
    There flashed into her mind a picture of Barbara Munro, the beautiful actress whom Harriet insisted was once Hugh’s mistress. She blinked to dispel the image. Once she would have said that Hugh had never entertained a carnal thought in his life. He was too wrapped up in his intellectual pursuits. Now she didn’t know what to think.
    His eyes had narrowed on her face, not the clear, guileless eyes she knew so well, but cat’s eyes, sharp and watchful, seeing everything.
    When he tried to take her hands, she took a quick step back and rushed into speech. “I don’t think you’re dull. Why, you know more about Roman antiquities than anyone.”
    “Praise indeed,” he said dryly. “Shame the devil, Abbie, and tell the truth. Don’t you find me too tame for you?”
    “I don’t think of you as ‘tame.’ You’re … well … solid, and dependable.”
    “I see,” he said, and with a whimsical smile, returned to the desk.
    “Oh, Hugh!” Abbie went after him, cut to the quick to think that she’d hurt his feelings. “You don’t understand.”
    “What don’t I understand?” He propped himselfagainst the desk, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded her steadily.
    “Your friendship means a great deal to me. Hugh, you know how much I admire you and enjoy your company. I wouldn’t want anything to spoil what we have.”
    “What could spoil it?”
    She answered with feeling, “My family for a start.” When