“We did spend quite a bit of time together last year,” he said as he poured the drink and handed it over to her. “I made a study.”
“Hmmm,” she said as she sipped the amber liquid. “I don’t know if that makes me nervous or not, based on the fact that you despise me so completely.”
Nathan opened his mouth to reply when Gardner stepped into the room. “Supper is served.”
“Thank you, Gardner,” Nathan said, and motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
She followed him and they walked along the short corridor toward the dining room. He noted how she looked around, taking in the art on his walls, the portraits of Gilmores past. At last they reached their destination. They settled into their chairs. He at the head of the table, she off to his right so that they could continue to talk rather than shout down the long table.
Not that they spoke a great deal at the start. Soup was brought, and for a few moments they ate in what had to be called an awkward silence.
At last he said, “I don’t despise you, you know. You have always despised me.”
She arched a brow. “The first time you met me, you all but accused me of being party to Erasmus Montgomery’s schemes.”
He hesitated, shame flooding him. “I was…overwrought that night. I had determined that your…husband…was pursuing my sister, despite having three wives already. I was furious and ready to fight.”
“And he turned out to be dead,” Abigail said softly. “Or he made it look like he was dead, at any rate. That must have put you out. And so you turned on me.”
“I did truly think that you might have been involved in his schemes,” he explained. “You lived together when he was in London, I thought you were close. I jumped to a conclusion and lashed out.”
“Yes, you did,” Abigail said, worrying the napkin in her lap. “Here I’d just found my husband, seemingly dead, and been told he was a bigamist. While that wave was crashing over me, a very powerful man accused me of something vile. So yes, I did despise you.”
“Deservedly so,” he conceded. “My behavior that night is not something I’m proud of. The longer I came to know you, I realized that you could never have involved yourself in something so wrong. You were the ultimate victim of his crimes. I made it worse. I’m truly sorry.”
Chapter 4
Nathan’s words rang in Abigail’s ears, and she had no idea what to say as she stared at him in disbelief. When he’d invited her here, she’d known it was a very wrong thing to accept, given their adversarial relationship. She had pictured arguments or bitterness between them.
She had never imagined he would take responsibility for what had transpired between them a year before. That he would apologize to her with no air of dishonesty or gamesmanship. She looked into his dark eyes and saw…genuine regret.
Dropping her gaze away, she gave a nervous chuckle. “I think I like it better when you are a pompous arse.”
He smiled in return. “Well, I shall never stop being that in your eyes, I don’t think. I just hope I can be less a true villain.”
She swallowed. “I have known a true villain, Gilmore…Nathan. You are not that.”
He inclined his head and lifted his glass toward her. They went back to eating, and he changed the subject. For the next hour, they discussed art and music, books and politics. It was friendly, or as friendly as things could ever be between two people with often opposing views. His were, of course, the wrong ones, and she didn’t hesitate to let him know it.
But at last the final course was swept from the table and Nathan rose, a slow and frustratingly graceful unfurling of muscled limbs. He held out a hand toward her, his gaze dancing with mischief she didn’t want to like. Apology or not, he was still her enemy. She still didn’t trust him.
“Our battlefield awaits,” he said, motioning his fingers toward himself as if to beckon her to him. “Unless you want to admit defeat before we start.”
She pursed her lips. “You think you softened me up at supper, but you didn’t. I’m ready.”
She pushed to her own feet and waved off the arm he offered. He smothered a smile, and together they walked through the long halls once more. He took her a different direction this time and she stole glances at his home as they did so. Somehow she had always pictured him in this cold, sterile environment, when she dared to picture him in his private halls at all.
But this place was not that. There was formality to it, of course. The man was a duke, whether she referred to him by his first name or not. But there was also warmth here. Personality. His personality, to be more specific, thanks to the masculine décor, the choice of books and paintings. It was stylish, just as the man escorting her was stylish, even if she hated to allow him even the slightest hint of something positive to his character.
He guided her into a large room with wood paneling and leather chairs. It smelled faintly of sweet cigar smoke, and there was a silver tray on the back wall with crystal glasses and a tall bottle of Scottish whisky. The middle of the room consisted of a billiard table, covered in green baize. Three balls were in the center, and a rack of cues and maces was nearby.
She glanced at him. “I still say this wager is tilted far more in your favor than the one I made a few days ago.”
He smiled. “Except you aren’t being expected to learn to play. Which I would teach you, if you desired it.”
She looked again at the table. Her father had loved billiards and played it all the time with his cronies. She’d sometimes watched through the crack in the door, listening to them brag about their conquests, drink their port and play. She and her sister had sometimes snuck in and rolled the balls around the table with their hands, since the cues and maces were far too big to manage.
And then their mother had caught them and that had ended that. Loudly and cruelly.
She swallowed. “Perhaps another time.”
He tilted his head and looked at her as if he could see the painful thoughts in her mind. Then he shrugged. “Very well. Now, I am proficient at billiards, that is true.”
She rolled her eyes but found herself laughing. “It must be nice to think so highly of oneself in every way.”
“Not every way,” he retorted with a wink that was far too cheeky. “Just the ways that I am excellent.”
“A fine distinction,” she said with an even stare.
“What I am better at than the game is making what we like to call trick shots.”
“Trick shots?” she asked.
He didn’t respond but swept up one of the cues and set out the balls on the table one behind the other. He leaned over, and her breath caught at the sudden pure focus on his face. Then he snapped the cue forward and the ball closest to him launched up and forward, hopping over the ball next to it in line and hitting the third to send it to the pocket, where it swished in.
She stared at him, knowing her eyes were wide. “That is…damned impressive.”
He stood up and leaned on the cue, crossing one ankle over the other. “It must have greatly pained you to say such a thing to me.”
“It did,” she admitted. “I shall wash my mouth with soap when I return home to get the taste of it out.”