Too Wicked to Marry Read Online Free PDF

get revenge?"
    This stung, and his answer was an angry shout, filling the gentle space of the walled garden. "I no longer blame every creature in skirts—"
    "Including Angus MacTavish the ghillie," she interrupted.
    "—for wounding my heart. Not breaking," he hastened on, before she made some other remark intended to throw him off course. Oh, he knew his Abigail, all right. He had her cornered and she was fighting dirty. He considered this progress, though her distrust stung. He supposed he couldn't blame her for being skeptical, nor could he blame an upright, moral woman for doubting that a man of his former habits could change. For the love of a good woman he could do it, wanted to do it, would do it. "Marry me," he said again. "That's all I'm asking."
    "All?"
    "We can spend the rest of our lives working out the rest."
    She looked up at the sky, blue dotted with puffy white clouds. The air was fresh and sweet, freed for a time from London's usual sooty grit by a hard, windy rain the day before. The garden was a tame, pretty place, and she found herself longing for heather and gorse and the wild landscapes of home. She should have left a week ago, gone home to the people with whom she could truly be free. She had probably not gone because she knew that her family would have told her the same thing she now so disastrously faced: it was time to move on—her usefulness in the Kestrel household was at an end. It was over.
    Control the situation
, she told herself.
Deal with it later
.
    Martin did not know exactly how she managed it, but one moment he held Abigail close; the next he was standing with empty arms, while she was several feet away from him. He sensed instantly that the distance was more than physical. She stood still as a statue, and the green eyes that surveyed him were hard chips of ice.
    "Abigail."
    She held up a hand when he would have come closer. "Enough."
    This time she definitely meant it. He did not push his luck for the moment. Martin carefully clasped his hands behind his back. "Why don't we have a seat on the terrace. I'll ring for some tea and we—"
    "The butler's on holiday," she reminded him. "So is Cook, and most of the maids. And I believe the ones that are left have started their weekly half day off by now. They have lives you know nothing about, Martin," she pointed out. "Especially since you are not supposed to be here."
    "Are you telling me I can't get a cup of tea in my own house?"
    "Not unless you plan to make it yourself."
    He tilted his head to one side and looked her over from head to foot, wearing plain black and white, her rich brown hair twisted up in a simple knot. "This is where you remind me of our relative positions in this household, bob me a curtsy, and offer to fetch the tea for m'lord, isn't it?"
    "That was next on the agenda, yes," she agreed.
    He shook his head. "Too easy, Abigail."
    Martin noticed Abigail's gaze shift over his shoulder just as he heard a footstep behind him. Martin turned to see his valet approaching. He was more than irritated at this interruption, but he also knew that circumspect Cadwell would not have disobeyed an order not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary. "What?" Martin demanded.
    Cadwell gingerly held out an envelope and backed away when Martin snatched it from him. "How the devil did the Turkish ambassador know where to find me?" he asked once he'd ripped open the envelope and read the message inside. Neither Abigail nor the valet ventured an answer. He folded the paper, waved Cadwell off, and turned back to Abigail. "Rather urgent business," he apologized. "You'll have to excuse me while I send off an answer."
    She relaxed ever so slightly as she said, "I understand."
    Oh, no
, he thought.
This is no time to be smug, Miss Perry, I'm only giving you a momentary respite
. "This isn't over," he warned. "You and I are going to settle this today. Stay here. I'll be right back."
    "Of course, Martin," she answered as he started back