The Rake's Midnight Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

start at her breasts and work his way down until he had discovered every part of her and she was utterly quiescent beneath him… His body stiffened at the thought, so aroused that he was almost painfully erect.
    ‘My Lord!’ Her voice was a lash, dragging his thoughts back to reality. ‘I demand that you let me go.’
    Hanwood let go of her elbow, but only to take her by the shoulders. He shook her a little, cursing softly. ‘I swear you have bewitched me! Do you know what I would like to do to you? Right here, right now?’
    Abbey stared up and him and saw her own desire reflected all to clearly in those onyx eyes. Heat flared between them, a flash of fire so intense that Abbey’s knees went weak at the idea of him seducing her, right here, in amongst the polite society surrounding them. Dear Lord, I might just let him do it , she thought dazedly. Hanwood sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself. He dropped his hands abruptly and Abbey stepped back. She was breathing fast, shaking like a leaf in a wind. Turning to go, Hanwood reached out to stop her once more. ‘Wait!’
    ‘If you touch me again I will swoon!’ She told him tightly, ‘Is it a scene you want, my lord? Because if you do not let me be, that is exactly what you shall get! I do not want you to come near me again. Never again!’
    And Hanwood was forced to watch her walk swiftly away from him, swallowed up in moments by the crowd.

Chapter Four

    Hanwood stood before his library window and stared unseeingly out at the well- tended gardens beyond. It had been almost two weeks since he had met Abigail Margate and he had learned several things in the intervening days.
    The first was that an itch, left unscratched, could slowly become a torment that ended up a relentless fire within. The second was that society, with all of its rules and conventions, was a serious impediment to a man who wanted nothing more than to strike up a conversation with a woman. And the third, by far the most irritating of them all was that Abigail Margate was the one thing in his life he could not order to his liking.
    Frustration had been building in him, a slow, steady swell that needed an outlet, sooner rather than later. One thing was certain; he needed to talk to Abigail Margate!
    He had chosen to ignore her strictures not to seek her out, calling at the Margate’s residence in Half Moon Street the morning after the ball, something he would never have envisioned doing a week before. While specifically asking to see Abigail, he had found himself making silted small talk with Lady Margate who had appeared both flustered and bemused by his presence in her best drawing room. After no more than ten minutes, when it became obvious that Abigail had no intention of putting in an appearance, he had taken his leave.
    Two more morning calls had followed, unprecedented attentions on his part but as Abigail forbore the usual whirl of social functions, he had no choice but to go to her.
    To no avail; the wretched girl remained out of his reach.
    Turning from the window, Hanwood uttered a soft curse. ‘Enough of this! Damn the chit, she will see me!’ He strode from the room. ‘Have my phaeton brought round immediately.’ He told a footman and, slightly alarmed by the look on his master’s face, the man hurried to obey.
    When the Earl drew his phaeton up to the curb in Half Moon Street twenty minutes later he handed the reigns to his groom. ‘Walk ‘em,’ he instructed tersely. ‘I will return shortly.’
    His mood was as bleak as the grey sky above, temper that had been simmering for weeks threatening to explode. He rapped at the knocker and Hudson, the butler, opened the door and eyed him with mournful regret. They’d been here before. ‘Is Miss Abigail Margate at home?’
    ‘She is not receiving today, milord.’ It obviously pained Hudson to say so.
    ‘Is she home?’ Hanwood repeated impatiently.
    Hudson hesitated. Usually callers could be fobbed off with the knowledge