“Fine,” she said softly. “I agree to the terms. I will go to your home and allow you to teach me…some mysterious thing that has to do with billiards. And then I shall beat you at whatever it is.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I look forward to it, madam.” He tilted his head toward her and then slipped away, leaving her staring after him.
And wishing it was the fire of competition burning in her blood rather than…something else. Something dangerous, indeed.
Nathan paced the halls of his study later that evening, trying to pretend that he was thinking about work or anything else besides the woman about to join him. Asking Abigail to his house—unchaperoned no less, as she had not brought her lady’s maid with her to the gathering earlier in the day—had all the potential of being perilous.
“Except that you have control over yourself,” he muttered out loud. “Whatever attraction you might have toward Abigail isn’t enough to turn you from being a gentleman. Even if it were, she hates you. She would never see you as anything but an adversary. Nothing untoward could ever happen, alone or not alone together.”
He said the words, he tried to believe them, but he jumped when his butler stepped into the doorway and announced, “Mrs. Montgomery is here, sir. I have put her in the parlor, as you requested. Supper will be served in half an hour.”
“Thank you, Gardner,” he said. “I will join her directly.”
The butler stepped away, and Nathan turned to the mirror above the sideboard to give himself the once-over a final time. He smoothed an errant lock of hair and straightened his frock coat. If anything was out of place, surely Abigail would mark it. He needed to be well armored to face her, in this, their latest battle.
When he was certain he would pass her judgment, he made his way down the hall. The parlor door was shut and he paused before it, trying to calm his unexpectedly racing heart. This was ridiculous. He had spent evenings with plenty of ladies before. Evenings that had ended with much more delight than this one would. He had no reason to be nervous as a green boy.
He steeled himself and entered the room.
Abigail was standing at the fireplace, staring up at the portrait that was mounted above the mantel. The picture was of his mother and father, commissioned just after their marriage. The previous duke stood stiff and straight while the duchess was in a chair in front of him. The painter had perfectly captured their expressions. He: annoyed. She: bored.
Either image could have come to life from his childhood memories.
“Good evening, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said.
She pivoted from the painting and speared him with a glare. “You are most frustrating.”
He blinked. “That is an inauspicious start. What have I done to offend you with only a brief greeting?”
She folded her arms, meant as a shield against him, he thought. “The way you say Montgomery. You always emphasize it. Like an accusation or a way to crow and hold it over me.”
He moved forward a step, and for a moment his part in their usual sparring fell away. “That is not my intention, I assure you. I did not realize I was doing it.”
“You always have,” she said, her tone a little softer, more pained. “From that first moment you and Owen stormed into my house to confront Erasmus and we found him dead. I’ve always heard that accusation in his name.”
“He nearly destroyed my sister,” Nathan said softly. “I suppose I may say his name with disdain without meaning to. I will try not to do it again.”
She stared at him, seemingly in shock that he would acquiesce. She cleared her throat after what seemed like a lifetime. “Last year you called me Abigail, just as Owen and Rhys do.”
He nodded. “Yes. When there were three Mrs. Montgomerys to manage, it made sense to refer to each of you by your Christian names. But now that the others have taken new names, I did not wish to invoke your considerable animosity toward me by continuing to be so forward.”
She shifted, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to sort out a response. “I suppose that is a fair point. It is familiar to go by my first name. But I do hate the last. And since I will likely never change it as Pippa and Celeste have, I must learn to live with the disgust it engenders in me to hear it.”
“Would you prefer that I call you Abigail?” he asked slowly. “At least when we are in the company of our closest friends or…” He swallowed. “Alone.”
She pursed her lips. If the discussion weren’t so painful, he might have laughed, for he could see how much she twisted herself both wishing for what he suggested and wanting to find a reason to cut him to shreds for doing so.
At last, she cleared her throat. “That would be agreeable.”
“Then it seems only fair that you should call me by my given name, as well.”
Her eyes went wide. “That would be utterly inappropriate.”
“As is what you just requested of me,” he said with a laugh. “But these are unusual circumstances, are they not?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “No. I call you Gilmore. Is that not familiar enough to satisfy you?”
He leaned in a little closer. “Do you not know my Christian name?”
She blinked, and the look of abject terror that crossed her face in a flash was enough to tell him what he needed to know. Still, she was bound to be contrary with him and she folded her arms. “Of course I do.”
He smothered a laugh. “Then what is it?”
Her foot tapped restlessly beneath the hem of her skirt. “We all know what it is—why should I have to say it? The request is very different when it is made by you, Gilmore. The title of duke demands some respect and—”
Now he did laugh. “Please don’t try to convince me that you hold any respect for me, my dear lady. We are not in mixed company—you do not have to pretend for the sake of propriety. You do not call me by my name because you do not know my name. Admit it and I will share it with you. Unless…you want to hazard a guess?”
Her gaze narrowed further. “Cain? Beelzebub? Lucifer?”
“So close. Nathan.”
She was quiet for a beat. “Nathan,” she said at last. “Well, that almost seems like a nice, human name. Is it a family one?”
“In fact, it is. My mother’s favorite brother was named Nathan,” he explained. “He died when she was very young.”
She swallowed, and for a moment he saw the flash of pain across her face. He knew its source. The previous year he had done a deep dive into this woman’s history when he had not been certain of her role in Montgomery’s schemes and come up with a great deal about her. He did not address it now—he could not imagine she would wish him to.
“I suppose that if you are kind enough to call me Abigail in private that I cannot refuse you when you ask me to call you Nathan under the same circumstances.”
“An acquiescence that deeply pains you, I know,” he teased. “And I thank you for it. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes,” she said, and he thought it was through clenched teeth.
“You are a fan of sherry, I think?”
“Y-Yes,” she said, eyes going wide. “How did you know that?”