Cavendish Brothers 01 - An Unintended Journey by Catherine Gayle Read Free Book Online

as though he were their better. They shared jokes with him and slapped him on the back, and generally acted towards him as equals.
    That was new in his life. Or at least rare. Few other than the Pritchard family had ever treated him as a contemporary.
    He treasured their relations, truly, but there was always something missing when he was with the Goddard men.
    In the evenings, he would sit at the supper table with the whole Goddard family, sharing their meal and doing his best to avoid staring lustily at Abby more than was proper. Granted, no amount of lustful stares could be considered proper. So really, he tried more not to be caught doing so.
    In the nights, he would toss and turn in his bed, unable to shake the vision of Abby and her tears from his mind. Those visions alternated with another, entirely different sort of vision—the sort where Abby eagerly returned his kisses as she had done once upon a time. And more than just kisses. His dreams were incessant and randy, and they left him restless and shaken.
    But the afternoons…they were the best part of his days.
    In the afternoons, he would sit next to Abby in the carriage with her mother across from them to chaperone. They didn’t speak much, and when they did it was usually of nothing more emotionally or intellectually taxing than discussions of their journey and the weather. It wasn’t the content of their dialogues that he cherished—it was the timbre of her voice.
    When Abby spoke, her rich alto tone warmed him from the bottoms of his toes to the top of his beaver hat, flowing through him faster than a full glass of whiskey.
    Sometimes they sat in silence, save the rickety noises of the carriage wheels and the clopping of horses’ hooves from outside. In those moments, he savored the little sounds of her sighs or a light hum she made as she worked on her sewing. It had been so long since he’d heard such things from her he’d even given up hope that he might ever again. Now, he couldn’t force himself to imagine life without these little moments.
    Occasionally, he’d catch himself clenching his hands into fists at his sides, and her eyes would flicker over to him before hastily looking away. After he realized that it would catch her attention, he did it purposefully on occasion—especially since it meant he could graze his knuckles against her arm for the briefest of moments.
    After they had been traveling for a while, Abby would grow restless where she sat, shifting her weight from one side to the other. Every now and then, she’d accidentally brush against him in the process. Just a feather-light caress of her thigh against his, or her arm dusting over his fingertips, nothing more. But those soft touches would send a delicious flood of color racing to her cheeks, and he knew.
    She still wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
    By gad, nothing would stand in his way. Nothing and no one would keep him from being with her. He’d do a naked jig for Danby. He’d sell his soul to the damned Tories if he must. He’d grovel at Tristan’s feet and send burned offerings to the memory of his despised father.
    Anything.
    *
    Somehow, over the two days they’d journeyed from the normality of life at Henley Green towards the uncertainty presented in Yorkshire, Abby had managed not to cry overmuch. It hadn’t been an easy undertaking, particularly not since Wesley—no, Mr. Cavendish, she reminded herself, since they would never be more than a gentleman and a servant to each other—had taken to joining her and her mother in the carriage most afternoons instead of riding with her brothers and father.
    Now, as they rolled into Yorkshire three days before Christmas, a soft blanket of morning snow covered the roads, much as a fresh wave of tears covered her cheeks.
    Mother looked across at her from over the stitchery that had held her rapt attention. “Are you thinking of Grandmama again?”
    Would that that were the only thing causing her tears.
    Mother