Miss Abigail's Beastly Beau Page 2

  He stared at her hard, and this time her gaze wouldn’t quite meet his. He’d have liked to think it was because even she knew that her actions were folly. That no-good smuggler was still out there. And even if he wasn’t, Caleb was here.

  And Caleb was dangerous. He was a retired pirate, for heaven’s sake. Did she not realize yet that she should not trust him?

  “You ought to have a chaperone,” he said. Wonderful. Now he was sounding like a fretful mother hen.

  Her smile was slow and sweet. “Do you really think Hattie would be much protection, Mr. Calhoun?”

  He had a vague memory of the youngest sister. Blonde like Abigail, but even more slight, with her nose forever stuck in a book.

  “I love my sister dearly, but she is roughly the size of your pinky.” They both looked to his smallest digit and he had the oddest urge to...laugh.

  He never laughed.

  Well, rarely.

  As it was, a soft coughing growl came out and he supposed that was how he laughed. It’d been so long, he hardly recognized it himself.

  But this was no laughing matter. She ought not come to his house alone. He glanced around at the urchins. Well, nearly alone. No one to save her from him, and that was what mattered. That’s what this was about.

  She should be scared of him, and she wasn’t. The woman had no sense.

  Or maybe she had a little because as he drew closer, she kept her gaze on the basket, talking quickly. Too quickly. “And besides, Hattie is under the weather. And Minerva is gone, as you know, and Sally...” She reached out to brush a crumb from the table’s edge. “Well, Sally has left with Rebecca to go to the earl’s manor. I told you that he’d requested her there, did I not?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It seems he’s in need of her medical knowledge more than you are, and Rebecca was all too happy to accompany her to a grand country estate. And so you see, with Sally not here to minister to your injury, you must allow me to—”

  “No.” He interrupted too harshly. Curse it. Of course he’d been harsh. He’d never done anything gently in his life. And right now, his heart was thudding as a primal rage stirred in his gut. Something was wrong.

  She was not okay.

  “No? But surely your bandage—”

  “My leg has healed,” he said. “I do not need your sister to nurse me and I certainly don’t require your help either.”

  She blinked and he had the unnerving sensation that he’d unwittingly hurt her.

  Curse it all. He just barely held back a growl of annoyance at his own bad behavior. But for once his behavior wasn’t the real issue. Something was the matter with her if she was prattling on like this.

  The girl could talk. In fact, he’d come to grow somewhat used to her filling the air with that sweet voice of hers. But this was different.

  If only he could see her eyes again. But she was still looking away from him, fidgeting with her apron. “I suppose if you don’t need my help, I still ought to bring you food now and again. After all, a gentleman like yourself—”

  She went silent and still when his fingers touched her jaw. Lightly. He was as gentle as he knew how to be as he turned her cheek so she was facing him.

  There it was.

  He could see it now, and the sight of it made him filled with so much anger it was all he could do not to tear down the walls of this cottage. “You’ve been crying.”

  Chapter 2

  You’ve been crying.

  She sniffed and pulled her head away, moving to the far side of the cramped room. “Really, Mr. Calhoun. You make it sound like some sort of accusation.”

  Her voice was bright, her smile cheerful. She glanced over.

  He was not buying it.

  Oh my, but his glower was fierce. She supposed he’d terrified many enemies with that stern expression. Combined with his enormous stature and his excessively broad shoulders, the overall effect was quite intimidating.

  Or, it would be if he were not so...so...

  Well, not nice. That wasn’t the word. And no one was as far from the word ‘sweet’ as this fellow. But there was something very nice about him. And yes, she’d even call it sweet. Something cozy and warm, at the very least.

  There was definitely something about him that made her feel safe.

  She tilted her head to the side as she studied him. Perhaps that was a side effect of him having saved her life. She’d found him oddly endearing before then, of course, but when he’d leapt in front of that scoundrel Roger and blocked the knife intended for her...

  Well, who could be afraid of a man who put his life on the line for hers?

  “Who made you cry?” He stalked toward her now, his tone so low she could feel the rumble of it in her chest as if he brought with him a storm and his voice was the thunder.

  She blinked in surprise before catching herself. Who’d made her cry? What a silly suggestion. “No one.”

  His grunt sounded like a harrumph and she pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. He truly was rather adorable when he fussed.

  Not that she would ever tell him that. He seemed to think he was quite terrifying. And she supposed he would have been if she hadn’t come to know him so well. And now...

  Well, he looked as though he would tear the earth apart to seek vengeance on whomever upset her.

  For some reason she couldn’t explain, that thought made the ridiculous stinging sensation return in force, and before she could stop it tears hovered on her lashes. She widened her eyes—a sort of last-ditch effort to keep them from spilling over. Instead, they filled her eyes to the point that all she could make out was the hazy form of Caleb Calhoun.

  Mr. Calhoun who had frozen. Even through the tears she could see him standing there. Hovering before her, his eyes widening as well. “Do not cry.”

  She sniffed, torn between a laugh and a sob. “Is that an order?”

  “Yes.”

  She sniffed again, the sensation settling somewhat as though her body knew better than to cross this giant, even if she and her little ones did just that on a regular basis. She drew in a deep breath and blinked away the tears, using the sleeve of her dress to swipe away what lingered.

  “Better?” he asked. Those thick dark brows were drawn down low. Goodness, he truly must have been a terrifying sight for his enemies.

  Luckily for her, he was her friend. Whether he knew it or not.

  Whether he wanted to be or not.

  After all, surely a man who saved her life was a friend. She couldn’t think what else to label him...and so she’d befriended him.

  Without his knowing.

  She took another deep breath and this time she flashed a smile at the room at large because her young charges had stilled, watching her closely. Anxiously.

  “I’m all right,” she told them.

  As if the room exhaled as one, the tension fled the premises, and they went about their play. The sound of their chatter and laughter was a balm. It soothed her, even as she knew it irritated others around her.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  She broadened her smile. “I’m not crying.” Not anymore.

  That not-quite-a-lie earned her a growl that she took to mean ‘don’t prevaricate.’

  His growls had quite the vocabulary. It was amazing how much this man could convey with grunts and glowers.

  She, on the other, was clearly expected to speak. To open up to him, as it were. She wet her lips as she studied him. Finally, she gave her head a shake. “I don’t think I shall tell you.”

  She turned, heading toward the door. Her little army, as her father referred to the children, would fall into line behind her. They always did.

  “Who was it?” Oh my, he was snarling now.

  Abigail bit her lip. She really oughtn’t take such enjoyment in his frustration. It was probably quite wrong of her.

  “Tell me who made you cry,” he demanded.

  She shook her head. But too bad for him, because she was tired of being
the only one contributing to their conversations. And besides, she hardly wished to cry on his shoulder because the reasons she’d been crying had been foolish. Pathetic, even.

  “Was it a man?”

  The question had her stopping short, one hand on the doorknob.

  “Was who a man?” little Edith asked.

  Abigail smiled down at her chubby-cheeked little friend with a calm she did not feel. “Nothing, dear. Why don’t you and the others run ahead, hmm?”

  The door opened and she stepped to the side as they obediently ran on ahead. The silence that followed felt thick and heavy. She could feel his heavy stare on her but that didn’t stop her from jerking back from the intensity of it as their gazes collided.

  She’d started to think she was immune to his glares, but none of the others had felt anything like this.

  “Who hurt you?”

  She shook her head. This was ridiculous. “No one.”

  He leaned forward as if he could read the truth in her eyes if only he leaned in close enough. “Someone must have done something.”

  All at once his demeanor changed. Wariness stole over his features. It did not suit this fierce warrior. “It wasn’t, er, that is...” He scratched the back of his neck as he eyed her closely. “I didn’t make you cry, did I?”

  He looked so horrified, so uncomfortable...

  She burst out in a laugh before smothering it with a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled as he let out a long exasperated sigh. “But how would you have made me cry?”

  “Well...” He looked around as though the answer might be hidden behind the stacks of unopened crates he’d no doubt lugged over here himself from the tavern. “I know I’m not always easy to be around.”

  Her chest seemed to swell and tighten at once at the admission and her lips curved up with an affectionate smile. “You’re really not as bad as you believe.”

  His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Calhoun, I’m afraid I know your secret.”

  There was that wariness again. “You do?”

  “Indeed.” She smiled. “Your bark is far worse than your bite.”

  He gave a guttural sound that she’d heard only a few times before. A laugh, she suspected. Amusement flickered in his eyes as he leaned in close and she was struck by a wave of warmth, as though this man were a walking, talking furnace. “You should not tell that to my enemies.”

  She giggled. Giggled!

  Abigail never giggled, but the silly sound escaped before she could stop it. It was a rare day indeed when the fierce and grumpy pirate teased.

  And that was what he was doing.

  He seemed to realize it at the same time she did and he drew back with a frown. “Well then, if it wasn’t my ill manners that upset you, what was it?”

  She bit her bottom lip as she studied him from that thick black hair, to the dark eyes that seemed to hold more mysteries than she could imagine. Every time she looked in his eyes, she wondered what all he’d seen. Where he’d come from. How he’d come to be here.

  But it wasn’t her place to ask. Just like it wasn’t his place to pry into her personal life.

  Her gaze caught and held on the scar that marred his jawline. It wasn’t a particularly handsome face to begin with. Not in the traditional sense, at least. His features were too harsh, too broad, too fierce. She could far easier imagine him in battle than she could in a ballroom.

  And yet, he was compelling. Attractive in a way that was not refined and far from ordinary.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  She let out a huff of a laugh.

  He was also not patient. Not in the least. And he was used to having his way, this much had become obvious by his commanding nature and the way he strode through the world as if he owned everything in his purview.

  “Well what?” she shot back. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the children playing outside waiting for her. They’d need to get back to their families soon enough, they all had chores to do and she had a home to get back to as well.

  Just a very empty one.

  “I’d best be going,” she said. “I promised the children I’d read them a story before it gets too late, and the book they want to read is at my house.”

  Also, this little cottage, run down as it might have been, had seemed cozy and comfortable when there were others around. Now that it was just the two of them, it merely felt too small. And too warm. And lacking in oxygen.

  He gave a jerk of his chin toward the door as if sending her on her way but as soon as she stepped through, he followed behind her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Walking you home,” he said.

  “But your leg—”

  “Is fine,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

  Her face fell before she could stop it, and she didn’t turn away quickly enough.

  He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so gruff.”

  She shook her head. “It’s all right.”

  He fell into step beside her, his leg wasn’t even causing the slightest limp anymore. It had been nearly a fortnight since that dreadful night in the cave. Abigail had known the knife wound would heal in time. Sally had told her before she’d left that he was out of danger from infections and that it would heal just fine on its own now.

  Abigail really had no need to keep bothering him with visits at all.

  “Why do you look like you’re going to cry again?”

  “I’m not going to cry.” She was. But she’d let herself wallow in self-pity after she got home and the children ran off and this giant beside her was nowhere to be found. She felt foolish enough for being such a watering pot without this man standing by as a witness.

  They walked in silence for a few moments, but she should have known he would not let it go. One thing she’d come to know well after weeks of daily visits was that his gruff nature was only rivaled by his stubbornness.

  He took a step forward and in front so he blocked her path. The children kept going so she did not even have their laughter and chatter to distract her from his very sudden closeness. He was so close that she had to tip her head all the way back.

  It was uncomfortable, really.

  But that discomfort was nothing to the unease that swirled within her. Or...perhaps not unease. She wasn’t sure what it was.

  Something was fluttering in her belly and her heart felt too big, and far too enthusiastic.

  She had to draw in a deep breath to steady herself against this sudden uptick in her pulse and the way her limbs felt too heavy and her body too warm.

  This man was many things, but above all he was magnetic. Undeniable. Even her body seemed to know this. It responded as though she were a puppet and he her master.

  She frowned at the thought. No man would be her master. Certainly not this man. He didn’t even like her. And he’d made it clear that he was not staying in their little town for long.

  His fingers touched her jaw again. And just like the last time, she froze and heated to molten liquid all at once. And like last time, she knew it was useless to fight against him when he urged her face upward so her gaze would meet his.

  If he’d used strength—if he’d displayed any of that brute force which his friend Marcus had said he was known for—then she would have fought it.

  But he was not tough and other than his callouses, he was far from rough.

  He was...gentle. Tender. He touched her as though the slightest caress might cause her to shatter. “Tell me.”

  So simple. So gruff. Not an order, though. If he’d used his typical tone of command she might have been able to turn away with a laugh. But he hadn’t. He’d simply asked. There was a hint of a plea in his voice that made her heart lurch, and his eyes were filled with such sincere concern it made her lower lip tremble all over again.

  “It’s nothing really, I’m just...” She drew in a deep breath. “Just lonely, that’s all.”


  That wasn’t all, in truth. But it was the easiest to explain, even if hearing the words aloud did make her feel utterly pathetic. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes, and the ringing sounds of children around her made her words feel even more ridiculous.

  She took a step back so his hand was forced to fall away. His touch unsettled her, and it did not help her to think. Glancing around at anything but him, she hurried on. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Minerva only just left. And it is not as though Sally and Rebecca will be gone for long.” She started walking again, dodging the large body before her to catch up with the children. “And Hattie won’t be sick forever. Although the way that girl reads, it’s sometimes easy to forget she’s in the house at all. And then there’s Father, of course—”

  “You’re lonely.” The words fell on top of her like a boulder as he fell into step beside her.

  The way he said it sounded like an accusation, not a question. She shrugged. She supposed it would be difficult for a man like him to understand. “I suppose you enjoy being on your own.”

  He made a noise in his throat.

  Right, then.

  She assumed that was all he had to say on the matter, so when he actually spoke, she started. “After a lifetime at sea, living in cramped quarters and surrounded by men, I wouldn’t say I relish being on my own, but I am enjoying having my own space for once.”

  She tilted her head back so she could stare up at him as they strolled slowly up the hill that led to the old fort. The cliffs were on their right, while her home sat at the end of the path and to the left.

  He glanced down at her with his brows drawn together. “What?”

  “That’s just...” She cleared her throat. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.”

  He let out a huff that she suspected held amusement.

  When the silence threatened to stretch into awkward territory, she plucked at the fabric of her skirts and tried again. “You were not there the other day,” she said. “To see Marcus and Minerva off.”

  He kept his gaze straight ahead, frowning after the children. Was he annoyed by them or worried about them running off out of sight?