Page 63 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Fortenberry. Aunt Tessa mentioned him the other day. I wish I had paid more attention when Father was still alive.” He was silent for a moment, thinking, his hand idly stroking up and down her arm. Abby settled against him, enjoying the warmth of his arm around her, the faint scent of his shaving soap, the quiet companionship. This was what she had once hoped for, she thought. She had not known enough about passion to even dream of that, but she had yearned for this sweet feeling of being joined to someone, of belonging.

She wondered how many moments like this she would have. She feared it would change when she became pregnant. As Graeme had pointed out, the child would be a connection between them always. But the arrival of an heir would mean there was no reason to share a bed anymore. However much Graeme appeared to enjoy their lovemaking, she could not help but fear that he would be relieved to be free of the obligation. Tears welled in her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away. She was not about to waste this lovely moment thinking of losing it.

“I remember he used to have a money box for the charity,” Graeme mused, obviously unaware of the emotions chasing through Abigail. “I think Father would get payments from donors and keep them in there, but at some point, he would deposit it in the bank.”

“So someone could have slipped money out of that box before he took it to the bank. Do you think he knew who it was who had taken it?”

Graeme’s lips brushed her hair. “It is kind of you to assume it was someone other than my father. I’m not entirely convinced of that yet.”

“Why else would Mr. Baker have told his wife that? He was trying to sell me information. He’s bound to have had something more than that vague statement.”

“Let’s say you’re right and it happened that way. I’m unsure how we will discover the culprit. I doubt he left his chit in the box as replacement.”

“No, but perhaps Mr. Baker wasn’t the only person who knew about it. There might have been suspicions among the members.”

“True.” Graeme sighed. “Nothing for it, then, but to dig through all this correspondence.” Yet he did not move to pull them out of the trunk. “Of course, we could return to it later.”

“Indeed?” She drew back, giving him an arch look. “And what would we do instead?”

“I can think of one or two things.” He trailed his forefinger down her cheek. “You never did explain what else your ‘mentor’ taught you about gentlemen’s preferences.”

“What—” Abby began, puzzled, then her face cleared and she laughed softly. “Oh. Those things.”

“Yes. Perhaps you’d care to demonstrate some of them to me.”

“I might—though some of them I didn’t quite understand. Perhaps you would be willing to explain them to me.”

“Indeed.” He leaned in to murmur in her ear, the touch of his breath on her skin sending a shiver through her. “I would be most willing.”

Abby rose lithely to her feet, and he followed, but when they reached the door, to her surprise he merely turned the lock. Another tingle of excitement ran through her, and she looked up into his face. “Here? Now?”

His smile was slow and sensual. “Here. Now.” He took her hand, pulling her gently to him. “If that suits you, my lady.”

“That suits me very well,” Abby said and went into his arms.

There were, as it turned out, a number of things Abby had been shown, and Graeme’s explanation of them was detailed and thorough. As a result, they missed afternoon tea altogether, and their work was abandoned until the following day.

The next afternoon, they sifted through the rest of the trunk. Most of the papers were letters written to Lord Reginald, mixed in with a few receipts. There was nothing to be learned from them other than the names of men who had contributed to the fund, which Abby jotted down.

“Most of these letters are from this Colonel Rollins your grandmother mentioned.”

“I think the fund was his idea. Father knew him from his club.”

“He seems a likely candidate for the embezzler. He did a lot of work with the society. It seems as if he was the one who determined what soldiers or societies received payments from the fund.”

“Mm. He might have had access to the money. On the other hand, several of these letters are recommendations of a worthy recipient, which would indicate that Father was the one who actually handed out the money, based on the colonel’s opinion.”

“Rollins would be the best person to talk to. He’d be likely to know the most about what went on in the charity.”

“Yes, but unfortunately he died two years ago. I asked Mother about him this morning.”

“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.” Abby leaned over to dig into the bottom of the trunk. “Ha!” She waved a piece of paper. “Look. The board members are on this letterhead.”

Graeme grinned at her and snatched the paper from her hand, settling back against the wall to study the letter. Abigail watched him. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves as they worked. His hair fell carelessly down over his forehead, and he looked so relaxed and at ease that it made something in her chest ache. She wished she could hold on to to this small, unimportant moment forever.

“Fortenberry. He’s a pompous old fool, but at least he’s still alive. Here’s Mrs. Ponsonby’s husband, George. He was a good friend of Father’s, as I remember, but he’s dead, as well. Carrington Jones—I don’t know him. Sir Laurence—that’s James’s father.”

“I thought your aunt said he wasn’t involved in it, just contributed.”