Secrets of a Perfect Night by Stephanie Laurens, Victoria Alexander, Rachel Gibson Page B

enough to return. All through breakfast, all through the drive home, he made not one reference to their difference of opinion, nor to the fact that Abby had shared her bed and her body with him throughout the night.
    By the time the gig was back in the cottage’s stable, and Esme, Agnes, and Bolt reassured of their health, Abby was casting him suspicious glances. He ignored them and continued in even-tempered vein.
    Exceedingly suspicious, as Abby well knew.
    After dinner, as was his habit, he followed Esme and Abby to the parlor. Once they’d settled in the armchair and on the chaise respectively, he took up a stance by the mantelpiece and fixed his gaze on Esme. “Aunt Esme”—she had insisted he call her that—“I would like to ask you and Abby to accompany me to London in a few days’ time.”
    Esme glanced up from her crochet and smiled. “Why, of course, dear. When would you like to leave?”
    “No!” Abby sat bolt upright and stared at her aunt. “I mean”—she flicked a violent glance at Adrian—“we can’t just up and go off to London purely because Dere asks us.”
    “Can’t we?” Esme frowned. “I really don’t see why not, dear. It’s not as if we have any pressing engagements to keep us here. In fact, we don’t have any engagements at all.”
    “But…but…think of the propriety.”
    Esme stared at her. “At my age?”
    “No—at mine!”
    “But, dear, I’ll be there, too—under Dere’s roof, I mean.” She smiled up at Adrian. “I presume that’s where we’ll stay?”
    “Indeed. Hawsley House is large and fully staffed.”
    Lips compressed, Abby turned her sights on him. “And just what are your plans?” she inquired.
    Adrian smiled at her—for the first time that day, he let his intent light his eyes. “I’d thought to ask your advice on refurbishing Bellevere. God knows, no gentleman should ever have to undertake such a task on his own.”
    “Gracious heavens, no!” Esme declared. “Just imagine—nothing would match.”
    Adrian inclined his head, but kept his gaze on Abby’s upturned face. “And, of course, I’m keen to get the house fully livable again, and I’m afraid it won’t meet my standards until the refurbishing’s complete.”
    Abby wondered if she was interpreting him correctly. “So you won’t reopen the house, and hire more staff, until the refurbishing’s done?”
    “Precisely.”
    His lips curved just a little; Abby tensed.
    “Until the refurbishing’s completed to my satisfaction and all is in place, as it should be, at Bellevere, I really can’t see any point in returning to the moor.”
    Abby returned his steady gaze with a narrow-eyed look, but her heart had sunk. Adrian knew her far toowell—he knew she could never bear to be the reason he didn’t come home. Why London, she had no idea, but she couldn’t see how it would change things. Leaning back, she returned his cool smile. “I see. So—when do you wish to leave?”
     
    As soon as humanly possible was the real answer; although Adrian disguised that admirably, Abby sensed his impatience. She still couldn’t see the reason for it, so remained constantly on guard.
    They arrived at Hawsley House in Curzon Street late one afternoon after three days on the road. Although Abby had visited the capital and the gardens at Kew on a number of occasions, this was her first excursion into the heart of the ton. As Adrian handed her from the carriage and they followed Esme up the front steps of his town house, she inwardly approved the relative quiet and cleanliness of the fashionable quarter.
    Once past the imposing front door, she discovered she also approved the clean, almost austere lines of Adrian’s house—there was no gilt and nothing fussy in sight. Except for the spray of flowers on a side table, and indeed, they provided a nice splash of color against the otherwise severe decor.
    Adrian’s gaze alighted on the flowers, and he gave his characteristic almost-smile. “Ah—how