Читать книгу Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress - Кейт Хьюит, Kate Hewitt - Страница 9

ABBY woke slowly, languorously, a sleepy warmth still spread over her like a blanket.

‘Excusez-moi…’

Abby jerked upright, shock drenching her in icy ripples. A maid stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes downcast, a duster held in one hand.

Abby clutched the sheet to her chest—her naked chest. She didn’t have a stitch on; she looked around with a gnawing desperation for Luc. He was nowhere to be seen.

He was gone.

She felt it, just as she’d felt the connection—electric, magical—between them last night. This felt much worse—a consuming emptiness that told her he’d left like a thief in the night, before they’d even…She bit back the thought and its accompanying sob. She didn’t need to look down at the floor to see only her clothes strewn there, so carelessly, so obviously, to know he was gone. His departure echoed emptily inside her.

She glanced back at the maid who had raised her eyes to gaze at her with sly speculation that made Abby’s whole body flush. From somewhere she dredged the last remaining shreds of her dignity and stared haughtily at the maid.

‘Vous pouvez retourner dans quelques minutes…’

The maid nodded and disappeared from the room. Abby heard the lift doors swoosh open and knew she was alone.

Completely alone.

She choked back the sudden grief that threatened to swamp her. Why had he left? He’d gone to buy birth control, for heaven’s sake, and then he’d just left her here—why? Had he had second thoughts? Decided she wasn’t worth the effort? Would he ever be back? This was his room, after all; perhaps he would return. Surely…?

Abby slipped from the bed, wrapping the sheet more firmly around her as she stalked through the suite looking for clues, promises that he would be back, that he’d just slipped out for coffee.

But of course he hadn’t. In a place like this, coffee would have been delivered, along with warm croissants and the newspaper. She and Luc would have lounged in bed, drinking coffee and feeding each other croissants while they shared interesting bits of news they’d read. Then they would have made love as they’d meant to, had been about to, last night, slowly, languorously, taking their time…

Except of course they wouldn’t, now, because he was gone. It was a fantasy, just as last night had been a fantasy. What she’d felt had been a fantasy.

False.

Fairy tales didn’t happen. They were lies masked as bedtime stories, and she’d been a fool to believe in them—in him—for one moment.

Abby walked through the living room where they’d sat and talked, looking for—what? A scribbled message, a scrap of paper, anything to show her he hadn’t left so abruptly, hadn’t snuck out while she’d been sleeping with false promises of his quick return. Anything to show her last night had been real, that he’d felt as she had.

There was nothing.

Luc had taken every shred of evidence with him, as thoroughly and mercilessly as a criminal erasing his clues. The bureaux were empty, the cupboards bare.

He was utterly, utterly gone.

Still wrapped in a sheet, Abby sank on the edge of the bed, her mind spinning, desolation skirting on the fringes of her mind.

She couldn’t break down, not here, not now.

Not yet.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to think clearly. He was gone; she needed to accept that. She needed to get out of here.

She glanced down at her evening gown, still lying on the floor in a pooled heap of silk. That was all she had to wear, and the thought of walking through the lobby of the hotel in last night’s clothes made a fresh flush creep across her body once more as her head bowed in shame.

How could he have done this, have left her? After everything? And yet nothing. She’d been aching with desire, her body desperate to join with his, and he’d simply walked away! She closed her eyes, remembering the sweet, sweet pleasure of his hands on her body. A choked sob escaped her and she pressed a trembling fist to her lips. No, she wouldn’t think of that. She couldn’t, if she wanted to get out of here. She needed strength for the journey home, for surely her father was waiting for her, worried, furious, needing explanations.

What had she done?

Last night she hadn’t been thinking of repercussions. She hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d just wanted, wanted Luc, had wanted the night with him never to end.

And now it had. It had ended hours ago, and she hadn’t even realized.

With shaking hands, Abby dressed herself. Her Cinderella’s ballgown felt like rags now and left her just as bare. She shrugged on her coat and slipped her feet into the heels. A glance in the mirror showed her pale face, made strained and gaunt by the morning’s realizations. The evening gown spoke volumes about how she’d spent her night.

Abby heard the lift doors open once more and knew the maid had returned. She took a deep breath and kept her head held high as she swept towards the foyer.

‘Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,’ the maid murmured. ‘The gentleman checked out late last night. I did not realize he had a visitor.’

‘I was just leaving,’ Abby said in a cold voice, for her pride was all she had right now. Without looking at the maid, unable to bear seeing her scorn or pity, she entered the lift. As the doors closed, she sagged against the bench, the howl of misery inside her threatening to claw right up her throat and spill out in an endless rush of tears.

Somehow she managed to hold it together as she left the hotel. An almost comforting numbness stole over her as she walked alone through the opulent lobby, her head held high, looking neither left nor right. She heard the speculative murmurs in her wake, and knew she’d been recognized. She pushed the thought away, emerging into the street, the crisp morning air cooling her heated cheeks.

She hailed a taxi, relief pouring through her when one pulled up smoothly to the kerb seconds later. She slipped inside, gave her address and closed her eyes.

She’d almost fallen into a doze—sleep was the ultimate anaesthetic—when the door of the taxi was yanked open.

‘Where,’ Andrew Summers hissed through clenched teeth, ‘have you been?’

Abby paid the driver and slipped out of the taxi. ‘I was out,’ she said, her voice flat and expressionless. ‘Please, Dad, let’s not make a scene here.’

Andrew nodded jerkily, and Abby followed him up to their hotel suite.