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