Miss Foxworth's Fate Read online

  “Oh yes, Abby. The next time. And there will be many more next times, I can assure you.” Philip’s eyes blazed. “But not today. You must rest and heal a little before we can move on to other things.”

  Abby was torn. Part of her wanted to protest his calm assurance that they would do...this...again, and another part desperately wanted to find out what those “other things” he was talking about might be.

  She sniffed. It seemed like an inadequate response, but it sufficed until she could get her jumbled thoughts in order.

  Philip merely grinned. “How about some food?”

  Her stomach rumbled loudly in response, and his grin became a laugh. “I’ll take that as a definite ‘yes’.”

  Mother Nature seemed to smile on their meal, shedding brilliant rays on their naked bodies and telling her creatures to serenade them. Abby drifted on a sea of contentment as she polished off her second blackberry tart and declared herself full. Philip tossed back the dregs of his wine and joined her, lying beside her and pulling her into his body. She marveled at how perfectly her curves matched his, and how comfortably her head rested on his shoulder. Replete and sated, their conversation lagged, and they both allowed the beauty of this idyllic moment to creep into their minds, lulling them into a light doze.

  Abby jerked awake as a hand gently circled her breast.

  “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just that this little bit here was calling for some attention.”

  She blinked, and looked down to where his hand was stroking her skin. Her nipples were hardening and he hadn’t even touched them.

  “It’s incredible,” she breathed, “how your touch affects me so.”

  “It’s mutual, Abby,” he answered, moving his hips slightly.

  His cock lay on her thigh, a hot and heavy weight, aroused back to its full glory.

  Abby’s inquisitive mind got the better of her. After all, there were few chances for investigation of this particular phenomenon, and Philip was no Johnny Mountwell. Philip was all man, every inch of him, and she had some questions that cried out for an answer.

  “Hmmm.” She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth. “Philip, can I touch you?”

  She could have sworn that his eyes crossed for a moment, but he obligingly lay flat on his back and smiled at her. “Be my guest.”

  She noted that his words were followed by a rather large gulp. Inquiring scientific minds noticed that sort of thing and filed it away for future reference. She slid down his body, letting her hands wander where they would, finding his navel and giggling as he hissed in a breath at her light touch. “My, my. Ticklish there, are we?”

  Philip’s jaw twitched. “Not in the least.”

  She snorted, and continued her quest.

  The delicate smattering of hairs on his belly thickened out into a full bush as she found her way down to where his manhood rose from between his thighs. “My goodness,” she muttered, seeing the ridges and veins that rumpled its smoothness.

  Tentatively, she reached out a hand and ran her fingers lightly up and down.

  Philip’s gasp and shudder surprised her. “Am I hurting you, Philip?”

  “Not at all,” he choked. “It’s something a man much enjoys. Forgive me if I show my pleasure...just ignore me. Carry on with what you were doing. Pleeeeease...”

  Swept by a new sense of boldness, Abby did, indeed, carry on. And to judge from the moans and stifled gasps, Philip was desperately trying to hide a great deal of pleasure.

  She ran her fingers around the ridge that circled the head of his cock, and watched, fascinated, as a small bead of moisture oozed from the tiny slit at its tip. Touching it delicately, she brought it to her lips. He’d tasted her, and she’d practically drowned him. What harm could there be in this tiny drop?

  It was salty-sweet, tangy to her taste buds, and she rather liked it.

  One thought led to another, and before she realized exactly what she was doing, she had placed her mouth on him, running her tongue up and down his length. There was no “Eeeeeuuuuww” this time. Just a gusty sigh from Philip and a great deal of curiosity on her part.

  It was her blend of curiosity and eagerness that would probably kill him, thought Philip.

  Never had a woman touched him quite like this. While he’d enjoyed such things in the past, it was different with Abby. He grunted to himself as she found a particularly sensitive spot and tickled it with her tongue. Everything was different with Abby.

  She lit a fire inside him that consumed him, his heart, his soul, and his back teeth. And if she kept up what she was doing, he’d be coming all over her back teeth very shortly.

  Her questing fingers discovered his balls, and her touch took his breath away. Gently she fondled them, weighing them, rolling them slightly, seeming fascinated at the way they hardened in her palm as she cradled them.

  “So different,” she murmured, leaning closer for a good look. Well, hell. Now she was in imminent danger of getting an earful.

  Damn it. He had to stop her. Sometime over the next century he was definitely going to stop her. Still keeping a warm hand around his balls, she returned her attention to his cock, sliding the entire head into her mouth, and quite cleverly, if inadvertently, reproducing almost the exact feeling of sliding into her other places.

  Philip clenched his teeth and waited for his jaw to explode. Or his balls. It was a toss-up which would happen first. He gasped in air to his starving lungs. “Abby, Abby...you must stop, love.” No. Nooooo.

  “Why?”

  Philip’s mind blanked. He couldn’t think of a single reason why at that particular moment, but he knew there had to be one. Just give him a year or two and he’d find it. “Because,” he ground out. “Because I’m going to come any second if you keep that up.”

  She eased her mouth from his cock, which lost no time in reminding him he was a complete dolt. “I think I’d like to see that, Philip.”

  Her quiet words acted like a fuse on gunpowder, and his entire body shuddered with the thought.

  She kept her hands around him, stroking him slowly up and down, as if encouraging him. “It’s only fair, you know. You watched me as I...when I...” She blushed. “You know. I’d like to see you, watch you as you reach your peak, too.”

  Philip closed his eyes and offered up a prayer for guidance to his guardian angel. Should he? Shouldn’t he? Did he have any choice at all?

  She lowered her lips once more, and he gave up the fight. Within seconds his body tightened beneath her touch, and he felt her draw back as she sensed the changes beneath her mouth.

  He couldn’t hold it, didn’t want to hold it, and he let his iron control go.

  With a cry of pleasure, he came, spurting his seed into the sunshine, and watched by the eager green eyes of Abigail Foxworth.

  His one and only love.

  Chapter 9

  The drive home to London was accomplished in good time, with the two participants of the curricle exploring the new relationship that now lay between them.

  Abby drew great pleasure from the occasional brush of Philip’s thigh against hers, and found herself continually watching his strong hands as they held the reins. She battled to force away images of what those hands could do when allowed to roam freely on her skin.

  “Philip, I...”

  “Abigail, we...”

  They laughed as they broke the silence at the identical moment.

  “Ladies first,” chuckled Philip.

  “I am trying to find the words to thank you for today,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if I can. How do I thank you for what you showed me today? For the experience you let me share?”

  Philip’s grin broadened. “By letting me do it again?”

  Abby joined his laugh, but shook her head slightly. “I don’t see how that could be possible.” She knew that her words had a sad overtone to them, but was beyond controlling it. “It was quite acceptable for the eccentric Sir Philip Ashton to escort the equally
eccentric Miss Abigail Foxworth to a scientist’s house for a short excursion. But we can’t continue that sort of trip without becoming noticed. And I hate being noticed.”

  She stared absently over the horses’ ears at the road ahead. “Not that I would mind doing it again, Philip. Never think that. But we must accept the reality of our lives. You are who you are and I am who I am. Society has put very well-defined structures around us.”

  She turned to Philip, letting her eyes show her emotions. “I cannot, and will not, devastate Aunt Eugenia or Grandmama by becoming your mistress.”

  A muscle twitched in Philip’s jaw and his eyes narrowed. “I would never ask such a thing of you, Abby. Get that right out of your head.”

  “Then we must put today from our minds. Treasure it as a precious memory, and move forward with our lives.” Abby folded her hands tightly, clenching them against the pain her words sent to her heart.

  The muscle twitched again, and Philip was silent for some time. Abby wondered if he had a headache perhaps, since his brows were now drawn together in quite a fierce frown.

  They were now approaching the outskirts of town, and would be at Abby’s front door in a short time.

  Philip took a deep breath. “Abigail.”

  She jumped at the harsh sound of her name as it gusted from his throat. “Yes?”

  His fingers tightened on the leathers. “I have no intention of asking you to be my mistress. I shall not ask you to be my anything. I am going to tell you. For once and for all.”

  He turned to her, eyes blazing. “You will be my wife. You will share my bed for however many years God sees fit to grant us. I don’t care what bee is in that silly bonnet of yours about marriage, but there is no other acceptable or desirable course for us. So get it through that lovely head. It’s a fait accompli.”

  He negotiated a tight turn onto Abby’s street, as she felt the first hot words of denial rising in her throat.

  The horses drew to a standstill, and Philip glared at her. “I shall be calling on your aunt at noon tomorrow. At that time, you will agree to accept my proposal of marriage. If you don’t, I shall make it quite clear where and how we spent today. I don’t care what I have to do to get you by my side, Abby. No price is too great.”

  Her eyes blazed in their turn. “How dare you?” She hissed the words at him. “Just because we’ve lain together doesn’t give you the right to order my life around like that.”

  “Yes it does.” Philip bit the words off, clenching his teeth. “You’re mine, Abby. As sure as the sun rises, and the stars come out at night. You gave me a treasure today, and a memory that will never fade. I want us to make more such memories. I want us to experiment with a variety of scientific equipment and a whole lot of bedroom equipment.”

  His words made her dizzy and she shut her eyes.

  “I want to fill you with our children. Make a life and a home with you. I’ve never asked another woman to marry me, and I’ll be damned if I let the only one I want turn me down.” He nodded at the door.

  “Now get down and go inside, before I really lose my temper and put you over my knee.”

  For a blinding second, Abby’s heart lurched at the thought, and then she hardened her heart. “I shall refuse to see you.”

  She clambered down from the curricle unaided.

  “No you won’t, love.”

  She risked a look at his face. His dear face with those amazing eyes blazing down at her. “Don’t try any of your mesmerism tricks on me, Philip Ashton.”

  A grin eased the tension around his jaw. “I don’t need to. We mesmerize each other, Abby. Think about that. Think about us, tonight, as you slip into that cold bed of yours. And think about a lifetime spent slipping into a hot bed with me.”

  His gaze gentled, and he passed her the long-forgotten bonnet from the rear of the curricle. “I love you, Abigail Foxworth.”

  Abby’s jaw dropped as he slapped the reins on his horses’ back and clattered off down the street.

  In a daze, she turned and mounted the steps to her home, nodding absently at the butler as he opened the door to her knock.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Abigail.”

  Abby dredged a polite smile from somewhere, her heart and mind still tumbling around in a far-off emotional vortex.

  “I’m glad you’re here. Your aunt asked you to attend her in the Salon as soon as you arrived. You have a guest.”

  Jerking her thoughts back into reality, Abby nodded and tossed her bonnet on the small hall table. Glancing in the mirror she gasped and did her best to straighten her tousled and windblown hair.

  Green eyes gazed back at her. The green eyes of a woman who’d experienced passion, lust and a healthy dose of desire. Confused eyes, scared eyes, and ones that could offer no answer to her dilemma.

  Sighing, she entered the Salon. Three women were inside.

  Eugenia was stalking the length of the room in what was, for her, a quite unusual display of agitation. The Dowager was seated on an upright chair, looking amused, interested, and aloof, all at the same time.

  The third woman was standing next to the empty fireplace, one hand resting delicately on the mantel.

  She was tall, and very elegantly gowned in a dark green traveling dress. Abby received a quick impression of a bonnet and gloves tossed casually on a side table, but her eyes were drawn back to the graceful stranger.

  Abigail looked closely at her.

  The woman turned her head and met Abby’s gaze for the first time, some unknown emotion flickering in their depths.

  Their vivid green depths. Eyes that were as vivid green as Abby’s. She had a superbly-coiffed head of dark red hair. Hair that was exactly the same shade as Abby’s.

  “Who...who...are you?” Abby’s voice stuttered in shock.

  The woman smiled gently, her full lips curving around perfect white teeth. “Hello, Abigail. I’m your mother.”

  Stunned beyond belief, still reeling from her experiences with Philip, and shattered at this final shocking revelation, Abigail Foxworth did something she’d never done in her life.

  She fainted.

  *~~*~~*

  “Drat it, Angelica. You made the poor girl faint. Why the devil couldn’t you have stayed in Italy?”

  The unusually acerbic tones of her aunt brought Abigail swimming back to consciousness. The foul-smelling stuff that she waved under Abby’s nose helped, too.

  She coughed and found herself on the floor of the salon with three worried faces bending over her.

  She shut her eyes for a moment and waited for the buzzing sensation in her ears to subside.

  “Abby, dear, speak to me. Abby?”

  “That stuff is awful, Aunt...” Abby coughed again and pushed her aunt’s hand away from her face. She pulled herself up on her elbows and found a graceful hand extended towards her.

  Without a murmur, she accepted it and eased herself back to her feet. It seemed natural to allow herself to be led to a couch and settled against the cushions, the stranger taking a seat at her side.

  No, not a stranger. Her mother.

  Abby’s lungs heaved. “I believe you said something about being my mother?”

  She amazed herself by not squeaking as she stared at this woman, so much like herself, yet who was not her mother. Could not possibly be her mother. The only mother she’d ever known was settled in the country, enjoying a quiet industrious life with Abby’s father.

  The woman smiled. “It seems a bit silly, I know, but I should introduce myself. I’m Angelica diConti, and yes, my dear, you are truly my daughter.”

  “But you’re dead...” wailed Abby.

  “And she should have bloody well stayed dead, too, if you ask me,” grunted Eugenia.

  Abby ignored the interruption, spellbound by the youthful face so like hers that was smiling warmly at her.

  “I had every intention of staying dead, Eugenia. There is nothing in England for me any more. Nothing but you, my dear...” She raised a hand and gentl
y touched Abby’s cheek. “So when I heard that you needed me, I decided to pay a short visit. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “I...I needed you? I don’t understand.” Abby knew her voice was plaintive, but she was all at sea now, confused and scared and fighting the urge to bury her head beneath the sofa cushions until all this went back into the bad dream it must surely be.

  Angelica glanced over at the Dowager who managed to look guilty and defiant at the same time.

  Eugenia gasped. “You, Mama Wetherford? You invited this...this woman here?”

  “Oh cut line, Eugenia. If I’d had my way, this would have come as no surprise at all to Abby here. But nooooo.” She thumped her cane crossly on the ground. “You namby-pamby snirps had to string a line of Banbury tales from here to John O’Groats, and let this poor gel think her mama was dead.”

  Abby placed her cold hands on her hot forehead. “I’m confused.” And that had to be the understatement to top all understatements.

  Angelica laughed quietly. “Will you let me tell you about it, my dear?”

  Abigail raised her head. “It would seem there is much to tell, isn’t there? You’re alive, you’re very lovely, and you look like me. And you’re my mother. Back from the dead.”

  The Dowager guffawed. “Well, I’ve heard Venice described as heaven a few times, but I think that’s going a bit far, gel.” Her wrinkled eyes narrowed. “Eugenia.”

  The abrupt command jerked the woman out of her temper and she turned to blink at the older woman.

  “Get those lazy servants in here with a tea tray. We’ll be dust dry long before we’ve finished thrashing this thing out, and damn it, I’m hungry.”

  In a matter of moments the Dowager was enjoying more than her fair share of cream cakes, accompanied by that most English of restoratives, a nice cup of tea.

  Sipping her own carefully, Abby sighed and turned to her mother. “Now. May I have the full story? The truth?”

  Green eyes met green eyes as a moment of honesty passed between them.

  “Yes, Abby. The whole truth.”

  *~~*~~*