Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T here was something about him, Abigail thought as her eyes found Charles's dancing figure — the crimson-haired lady clinging to him, her eyes gleaming with delight. Was that his betrothed? Or just a friend?

She had to know more about him. He was intriguing — far too much so for her own safety, she feared.

Abigail steeled herself, taking a deep breath before approaching the group of debutantes. She knew she needed more information about the Duke of Grouton, and these girls were her best chance at getting it, even if it meant enduring their snide remarks and haughty attitudes.

As she drew near, the girls looked up and a sniggering coursed through the group. "Well, well, if it is not the Scottish lady," one of them said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Abigail forced a smile, determined not to let their tone get under her skin. "I was hoping you ladies might be able to tell me a bit more about the Duke of Grouton," she said, keeping her voice light and casual. "I find myself quite intrigued by him."

The girls exchanged knowing glances, their fans fluttering in a flurry of movement. "Oh, he's simply dreamy," one of them sighed, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "Those piercing blue eyes, that devilish smile... It's no wonder he's the talk of the ton."

"But he's a terrible flirt," another chimed in, leaning forward conspiratorially. "They say he's never met a woman he could not charm, but he's never serious about any of them. Many have tried to win his heart, but none have succeeded."

Abigail frowned, processing this information. "So, he's a rake, then?" she asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

The girls tittered, shaking their heads. "Not exactly," the first one said. "He's never ruined anyone, at least not that we know of. But he is rather roguish and dangerous. A man like that, with his wealth and his charm? He could break a girl's heart without even trying."

"But surely there must be more to him than just his reputation," Abigail persisted, unwilling to let the matter drop. "What about his family? His interests? There must be something that drives him beyond the pursuit of pleasure."

The girls looked at each other, shrugging. "Who can say?" one of them said. "The duke is a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, tied up with a bow of scandal. All we know is that he's rich, handsome, and utterly unattainable."

Abigail nodded, filing away this information for later. It was clear that the Duke of Grouton was a complex man, one who played by his own rules and kept his true self carefully hidden behind a mask of charm and wit. Perhaps the women were right — he seemed to be quite dangerous indeed.

As she pondered this, one of the girls leaned in, her eyes glinting with malicious glee. "Why the sudden interest, Lady Abigail? she asked, her voice syrupy sweet. "Do not tell me you've set your sights on the duke yourself?"

The other girls laughed, their voices high and mocking. "Can you imagine?" one of them crowed. "The little Scottish upstart, thinking she has a chance with the Duke of Grouton? It's too funny for words!"

Abigail felt her cheeks burn with anger, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. My brother is a duke — not some commoner, she wanted to scream. But she kept silent. She knew that no matter what she said, these girls would twist her words, and use them as weapons against her.

"I was merely curious," she said tightly, fighting to keep her composure. "But I can see that my questions are not welcome here. If you'll excuse me, ladies."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She could hear the girls' laughter following her, their voices rising and falling like the chittering of birds. But she refused to let their cruelty bring her down. She'd gotten what she needed from them, and now it was time to take matters into her own hands.

As she made her way back to the ballroom, Abigail caught a glimpse of a familiar figure slipping out onto the veranda. Her heart skipped a beat, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

The veranda was crowded with people, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine and the hum of conversation. Abigail scanned the crowd, her eyes searching for the duke.

She found him leaning against the balustrade, his back to the room as he stared out into the night. As someone stepped out onto the veranda, he turned, his expression filled with weary disbelief. But when he saw that it was Abigail, his face split into a grin; that same mischievous, boyish smile that made her pulse race.

"Lady Abigail," he said, straightening up and sketching a bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Abigail took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "I need your help, Your Grace," she said, her voice low and urgent. "I am new to London society, and I find myself at a loss when it comes to navigating its intricacies. I need someone to show me the ropes, to teach me the rules of this world and how to bend them without breaking them."

Charles raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And you think I am the man for the job?" he asked, his voice teasing.

Though her face flushed, Abigail lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I do," she said firmly. "You seem to know this world better than anyone."

Charles studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took a step closer, his eyes intense and searching. "And what will you do for me in return, Lady Abigail?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Abigail's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with indignation. She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist easily, his fingers warm and strong against her skin.

"Not what I meant," he chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Though I can't say I am not flattered by the thought."

Abigail yanked her hand away, her face burning with embarrassment. She glanced around the veranda, suddenly aware of the curious stares and whispers of the other guests.

Charles followed her gaze, but paid it no mind. Instead, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "I'll help you, Lady Abigail," he murmured, his voice low and conspiratorial. "But I'll expect something in return. A favor, perhaps, or a promise of future assistance. I am a businessman, after all, and I never give something for nothing."

Abigail swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "And what sort of favor might that be, Your Grace?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Charles grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, I am sure I'll think of something," he said airily, his tone thick with laughter. "But for now, let's just say that I am investing in your future, Lady Abigail. And I always collect on my investments."

"Investments?" Abigail let out a laugh, her heart racing. She was suddenly quite uncertain that it was wise to ask his help, though there was something that stopped her from verbalizing her doubts. "Is everything a business with you?"

Charles laughed at this — though it was a rather bitter sound. "Everything in life is a business, Lady Abigail," he said simply, then he took her hand in his and his lips brushed over the soft skin of her hand quickly. Abigail gasped at the sensation and she yanked her hand away quickly, her face flushed.

"I shall call on you in the morning," he said, his eyes never wavering from hers. "And our first lesson shall begin."

With that, he walked away — leaving her breathless and quite uncertain of what it was she was getting herself into.