Then again, what did he know about love or even affection?
His family held none for him and none for each other.
His older brother had been mean, hateful even, though Chad had tried to form a real relationship with the man. Had that been his failing or William’s?
“Isabella,” Bash said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “He’s a good man. I wouldn’t be in business with him if he wasn’t and what’s more, he’ll keep your sister safe and…” He reached up and touched his wife’s face. “You know I would never do anything that would hurt your family. They’re my family now too.”
“No,” Chad heard Abigail mutter, her glass clinking down on the table next to her. “Drat it all…”
He settled back in his chair, taking another sip of his wine. Bash was winning, which gave him an incredible sense of satisfaction. Did he just like victory or did he actually want to marry Abigail? Maybe he did.
A thread of anticipation traveled through him. She would prove even more entertaining than he’d first imagined.
Isabella let out a long sigh and looked at her sister. “Perhaps Abigail could have
a bit of time to get to know Blasph…Blackwater and then we can reconvene the conversation?”
“What?” Abigail squeaked. “No!”
Isabella touched her husband’s forearm. “We’ve a ball to attend tomorrow night. The king’s. The baron could join us. It would both serve to make sure Abigail remains safe and allow them to get to know one another.”
A ball? They wanted him to attend a ball? Did they not know him?
But Abigail’s look of dismay had turned self-satisfied. Somehow she knew he hated balls and that attending one would be awful for him.
“What an excellent idea, dear sister,” she said.
He grunted as he took a large swallow from his glass. Courtship was going to be painful.
Chapter Three
The next evening, Abigail stood between Eliza and Isabella as she attempted to ignore the whispers that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. The king’s ball was a disaster.
She swallowed as her chin notched higher, determined not to listen. She still managed to catch a few of the words as a group of ladies passed by, giving her pointed stares.
“Alone with a man on a busy street.”
“In his arms.”
“Indecent.”
Abigail bit her tongue to keep a retort from passing her lips.
She glanced at the dance floor. Emily danced effortlessly in her duke’s arms. He looked down at her sister with such tender concern that Abigail’s heart gave a jealous beat. Not that she needed a man to protect her, but still. It would be nice to inspire such devotion.
The Duke of Dishonor had been the very man who’d rescued her from the attackers. He’d chased Emily through half of London to make sure she was safe. Of course, they’d been caught together, which is why Abigail was ruined.
Then her mouth turned down. Not ruined yet. She looked back over her shoulder to see the Baron of Blackwater, leaning against the wall. That devil was supposed to be her savior.
He’d tied his hair back, though the long locks still looked unfashionably scrappy, but his waistcoat and pants were impeccably fit to his large frame.
She looked back at the whispering women, stiffening her spine. She’d just imagine what they’d say about her engagement to the Baron of Blackwater. Out of the frying pan and into the fire…
He did not look at her with tender devotion. Granted his eyes were on her even now, but he looked…irritated rather than excited. She sighed, knowing full well she sparked the emotion in many.
Eliza snapped her fan against the palm of her hand, making a loud sound.
The women nearby went silent even as Eliza stepped forward. Eliza was tall for a woman and her gaze held the sternness of a lady who’d experienced real hardship. Her eldest sister was as strong as she was sharp, and the other women were right to fear Eliza’s wrath now. She’d flay them with words alone.