Miss Abigail's Beastly Beau by Maggie Dallen (amazing books to read TXT) 📕

plummeted toward the ground as she recognized it for what it was. The tone of one about to deliver bad news.

It was the voice of rejection.

Her hands balled into fists at her side as he continued. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like I did. I’m sorry. That was a mistake.”

She shook her head as the words echoed and repeated in her mind. A mistake. A mistake?

He couldn’t truly mean that.

“You’re a good girl, Abigail—”

“Don’t.” Her voice cut through his words like a whip. She swallowed to control her emotions. “Don’t talk to me as though I’m a child.”

“One day you’ll want—”

“And don’t presume to tell me what I want.” Her voice was tight, her jaw clenched as she fought back tears.

“I’m sorry. But when you go to London you’ll see that you’re better off without me. You’ll go to these extravagant events and parties, and you’ll meet men of your own class, and you’ll—”

“I don’t want parties,” she snapped. “I don’t want gowns or soirees, and I don’t need some stuffed-shirt nobleman or some fun-loving dandy.”

“Abigail, you say that now, but you are still young and inexperienced.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “You’re talking to me as though I am a child again.”

His sigh sounded weary. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Oh drat. Now she did sound like a child. Emotions were welling up inside her and more than anything she wanted to stomp a foot and demand that he kiss her again.

Then he would see. Surely she could not have been the only one to feel it. She knew she wasn’t. “I don’t know why you’re pushing me away,” she said.

Ugh. She’d sounded far too plaintive and pathetic, but there was nothing for it. Something told her that if she did not get the truth from him this night, she would miss her chance.

He would only continue to back away, and then she would be gone. Off to London while her heart remained here.

“You deserve better, Abigail.”

She stared at him through the darkness, wishing she could see his eyes. “Better than what?”

“Me.” The answer was brisk.

“But what if you are who I want?” Her heart was racing in her chest as she forced the words out. Her pride was stinging, her chest aching, and yet she had to speak now, for this might very well be her last chance.

“You deserve a proper gentleman, Abigail.”

There it was again. His insistence that he was not enough. She straightened at that, annoyed on his behalf. “You are more of a gentleman than any gentleman I’ve ever met—”

“But that’s just it, Angel. You haven’t met many gentlemen. I’d guess you haven’t met many men at all.”

She opened her mouth and closed it, then opened it again to let out a choked sound. She was torn between heartwarming hope at the term of endearment, righteous anger at the condescending words, and a searing disappointment as she heard the resolve in his voice.

He sounded so certain. So hard. This was not a man who would waver.

She gave into the urge to stomp her foot in the snow as tears of frustration welled. “But you like me,” she said. “I know that you do.”

He was quiet for a long moment, and that moment seemed to last an eternity.

Oh no. What if he didn’t like her? At least, not as much as she’d thought. She’d always believed one-sided love to be something in novels. She’d never thought it could happen to her.

But perhaps she was naive. Maybe she was just as sheltered and innocent as he seemed to believe.

He didn’t speak. Not one word, but that silence seemed to be her answer. He was too kind to tell her outright that he didn’t care for her. Not like that.

“I see,” she said as she took a step back, her heart aching and her limbs shaking.

He growled softly and then he was marching toward her, that stern brown drawn low in a glower that ceased terrifying her two seconds after meeting him. “You don’t see. You’re too good for the likes of me.”

She cut him off with a psh sound of disbelief.

He reached for her and when his hands gripped her upper arms, she felt the heat of his touch all the way through. “I know you don’t understand now. But soon enough you will be in London and you will be courted by gently bred young men who want the same things you do—”

“You’ve never asked me what I want. How do you know that you don’t want the same things?” Drat. Now her voice was wobbly. Her vision was growing blurry with unshed tears and her hands were shaking as she lifted them to rest against his chest.

He tilted his head down, his voice so soft it was more of a rumble than a sound. “I cannot give you the life you deserve.”

The life she deserved.

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her whole body was trembling and her lungs felt as if they might burst. She couldn’t think. Reason deserted her. What words would help him to see all that he had to give? All that she could offer him?

With her mind stalled and her heart on fire, she once again acted on instinct. Going up on her toes she pressed her lips to his and felt him still.

Just like the first time they’d kissed, heat coursed through her and her mind went deliciously blank. The world came down to sensations and emotions, and those two seemed inextricably intertwined.

For one gorgeous moment, he responded with all the fire she felt, all the passion she sensed in him every time they met.

And then it ended. He gripped her arms again and pushed her away. Gently but firmly, he set her away.

His grip might have been gentle, but the movement cut through her as surely as a dagger cutting into her chest. “I cannot give you what you deserve.” His voice was gruffer than she ever heard and for the first time since she’d