Wharton. Abbie. It was as if a load of bricks had been dumped on his head. Or he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. Yes, that was the sensation, for his heart had ceased to beat. A buzzing sounded in his ears, growing louder as each second ticked by. Then it faded and disappeared altogether.
Gradually, and in small increments, he came back to life, his heartbeat sluggish, his breathing shallow. The shock of seeing her caused his insides to plummet. Jesus, she is beautiful. Still, after all these years. More beautiful than memory served. He’d so carefully cut her from his life. From his very soul. Considering his response, the extraction had been a complete failure.
Garrett could not stop his gaze from sweeping over her form. More mature, rounded, more sweetly curved. Her raven-black hair was styled simply, piled and pinned on top of her head; loose tendrils framed her face. Her flawless, creamy skin shone in the muted light. Her dark brown eyes glistened, her look hopeful but guarded. God, get control. Say something.
But the words would not come. Instead, a long-buried memory took form in his mind: the two of them writhing in the hayloft. They were clutching each other desperately as he thrust in and out of her while she moaned and dug her nails into his back, scoring and marking him… He closed his eyes briefly in order to dismiss the erotic image, but it merely made it all the more vivid. His eyes snapped open.
“Well, this is…awkward,” Abbie said, her voice soft.
“Perhaps the two of you should head to the parlor. I’ll give you the privacy you need,” Alberta offered kindly.
Did someone speak? Garrett could not keep up with the conversation. It was as if all moved in slow motion.
Mutely, he followed Abbie to the parlor, mesmerized by her swaying hips. He was fully and painfully hard. The desire heating his blood was as real and heartbreaking as it had been fourteen years before. He buttoned his greatcoat. Be damned if he would show how she still affected him. Alberta closed the door and left them alone.
Garrett had the sudden urge to push Abigail Wharton against the wall and kiss her senseless. Tunnel his hand under her skirt until he found her heated core. Fumble with the fall of his trousers; pull out his erect cock and—
“Do you believe in fate, Garrett? A silly question, since you believe in curses. Of course you believe in fate. I did not. Until ten days ago.” Neither of them had taken a seat, but they kept a wary distance. “I saw you in Standon, of all places, a small village in the middle of nowhere. Big as life as always. There was no mistaking you. The moment that you stepped from the carriage, all my carefully packed away feelings and memories were torn asunder to haunt me once again.”
“What do you want me say?” He kept his voice as devoid of emotion as he could.
Abbie whirled about to face him. “Say? I want you to admit that you’ve been haunted by the memories. That perhaps you have regrets for the way you acted and the cruel, heartless words that you flung at me like daggers.”
Garrett defiantly crossed his arms. “Still bitter? I don’t have any regrets.”
She shook her head sadly. “Ah. You never loved me after all. I truly was young and foolish. Why am I not surprised that you have no regrets, considering our contentious parting?”
Garrett stepped closer. His arms dropped to his sides; his hands clenched into fists to keep them from pulling her into his arms. “I never said I didn’t love you, Abbie.”
Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Of all the arrogant… I asked if you loved me at our last meeting, and you gave a very emphatic ‘no.’ Forgot about all of our secret encounters, I see. It had meant nothing to you.” Anger sliced through her cool tone. “Well, I remember everything. Especially your cruel statement: ‘I will think of you now and then, but otherwise, not at all.’ It turns out that the callous statement was true. Of all the young men I could have chosen, why did it have to be a heartless bastard?”
Their affair had meant everything. The women who came after—and if he were to do a tally, it wasn’t as many as the gossips claimed—none of them came close to stirring his emotions like Abbie had. It was the reason he’d said those spiteful, pitiless words. To make her leave. He didn’t mean them, and he hated himself for a long while afterward but remained convinced it was the only way to avoid tragedy and heartache. He glanced at her hand. A wedding ring. Another solid blow to his aching heart.
“Why are you here? Seeking a carnal adventure away from your husband?” He’d no right to be hurt at the fact she was married. Selfish beast. And cruel, for his tone was a mocking one.
Abbie lifted her chin into the air. “A carnal adventure with you? Ha! Don’t flatter yourself. I am a widow, and have been for close to two years. I am content to be alone.”
That she no longer had a husband made his heart soar, but he tamped down the inapt response. “You waited for the appropriate mourning period to pass. Decided that life in a quiet country village no longer suited.”
“Oh, it suited me fine. You are the one who invaded my world and pushed it off its axis,” she snapped.
Garrett took another step closer. She stood her ground, as he remembered. “So you decided to return the favor, come here and stir up a painful episode for both of us.” His tone no longer mocked; he could hear the pain in his voice. Bugger it. Let her hear it as well.
Her eyebrow arched. “Are you in pain?”
“Bloody hell, yes.” And in more ways than one.
At such a confession, he expected her to give him a look of smug satisfaction. Instead her expression softened, but only for a moment. “We have much to discuss. But not tonight.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ve had a long journey and am utterly exhausted. Perhaps we can meet at Wollstonecraft Hall?”
Not tonight? She’s dismissing me. Perhaps it was for the best, considering his overwrought reaction to her presence. How tempting to state that there was nothing to discuss, but he should hear her out. Pathetic. He wanted to see her again. Talk to her, be near her. Inhale her evocative scent. Still the wildflower combination he remembered. God, he could hardly think straight. Blood roared in his ears…and in his still-stiff prick. He couldn’t carry on a rational conversation if he tried.
“If you wish. Three o’clock.” He turned on his heel, flung open the parlor door, and stomped down the hall. Didn’t even say good night. All he knew was he had to get away from her. Once Garrett opened the front door, he broke into a run. If he had any damned sense he would keep running and never see or talk to her again. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. The cold perspiration that had collected at his hairline trickled down his cheeks.
Abbie: the only woman he’d ever loved. And damn it all, despite his determination to never think of her…he loved her still.
He was in a world of trouble.
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