Julia London (15 page)

“Then let me broach the subject of my allowance,” she finally continued. “I have no need of money. You may have it.” She thought he would appreciate her straightforward
manner with such a sensitive topic. If his sarcastic snort was any indication, that was hardly the case. His resentment of her had seemed to vanish at supper, but it had grown by leaps and bounds in the short time they had been in his private library. It was obvious Lord Rude would make an appearance tonight after all.

“I know by law it belongs to you—rest assured, that fact was made perfectly clear before I ever left America—and I am telling you I relinquish it freely,” she clarified. She waited for him to respond, but the room was filled with only the sound of a ticking clock. At the very least he could thank her for being so reasonable about the whole thing! Why did he not say anything? His silence made her even more nervous, and she whirled around, leaned against the table, and studied him for a long moment, as he did her. He did not seem the least bit appreciative of what she was trying to do; instead he looked angry. She wondered what he could be thinking as his gaze swept her.

“If I may be perfectly frank, Michael—”

“Please,” he said coolly.

She sighed with great exasperation. “If I may be perfectly frank, I think you should know that I understand your, uh,
circumstance
, and I do not mind in the least. In fact, I think it rather explains a lot, and I have no animosity toward the situation whatsoever.”

Michael’s brows lowered with his suspicions. “My circumstance?”

“I have no desire to interfere, but I would ask for some consideration in return for my … 
discretion.
”

“Of what circumstance do you speak?” he asked slowly.

Abbey sighed impatiently. “I supposed there is no delicate way to say it, is there? Very well. I am trying very hard to say that I understand about you and Lady Davenport, and I—”

“Lady Davenport,” he said acidly.

Abbey flinched. “Yes. Lady Davenport. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t—”

“Trying to tell me what? That as far as you are concerned,
it is perfectly all right for me to have a
circumstance
with Lady Davenport?” he half stated, half asked.

Abbey was momentarily startled. “No, I was … well, on second thought, I suppose I was,” she said thoughtfully.

“That’s what you suppose,” he echoed, his frown deepening.

“Yes!” she declared impatiently. She was being as charitable as she knew how, and he actually seemed annoyed with her! The Devil of Darfield certainly had audacity. He put his snifter down and stood slowly, drawing to his full height of more than six feet, and started toward her, slowly and deliberately. The muscles in his jaw were working, a sign she intuitively knew was not a good one.

“Really, I think I am being quite reasonable!” she fairly shouted as panic filled her. “Your resentment of me is quite evident, and you have made it perfectly clear your affections may lie elsewhere! I have been told Lady Davenport is very beautiful, and I can hardly blame you!”

Michael continued his slow approach, moving like a cat preparing to catch its prey. Abbey instinctively braced herself against the table, gripping it so hard that her fingers ached. His cold, stone-gray eyes were impenetrable, and she knew that she had hit a deep, dissonant chord.

She frantically attempted to explain again. “Really, Darfield, I do not know why this angers you so! I am trying to convey that I quite understand your circumstance and will not stand in your way!”

Michael came to a halt just inches from her. She could feel his brute strength, thinly restrained, emanating from beneath his expensive clothing. His breath fanned lightly across her face, and Abbey could look no higher than his mouth, which was drawn in a tight, grim line. She was, for once in her life, truly frightened, and could feel the quaking in her limbs and the pit of her stomach. He suddenly grabbed her arms and gripped them tightly.

He jerked her to him and smiled sardonically when she gasped. “The only
circumstance
I shall have is with my wife, Abbey. Whatever is in that devious little mind of yours, know
this: If I ever suspect, even for a moment, that you are cuckolding me, I will have your pretty little head on a platter. Do I make myself clear?”

Abbey recoiled from his deadly tone. “I would
never
,” she whispered.

His grip tightened painfully; his eyes slipped to her mouth. “You are my wife, Abbey, for better or worse, and I expect you to act the part.

She inhaled sharply and leaned backward in a vain attempt to escape him, forcing herself to look into his inviolable eyes.

“You misunderstand me, sir,” she rasped. “This is obviously an unbearable situation for you, and I only wish to chart a course we can both abide in relative comfort,” she murmured helplessly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a twisted grin. “I shall dictate a course that makes it bearable, I assure you,” he muttered coarsely, then covered her mouth with his.

Abbey struggled against him. Forcing her lips apart with his tongue, he plunged deep inside her mouth. The sensual attack ignited a smoldering fire within her, and against her will, forsaking every shred of dignity she had, she responded. He released his painful grip on her arms and slid his hands behind her back, caressing her spine and pulling her more closely to him. She instinctively arched against him and could not contain a small moan when he pressed his swollen manhood against her belly. Michael’s kiss became more urgent then, and she clutched his shoulders as her body responded to a desire that seemed to batter uncontrollably for release.

He groaned and tightened his embrace, crushing her to him. His lips slid to her lobe and he flicked his tongue in her ear. Suddenly adrift on a sea of consuming desire, Abbey closed her eyes and dropped her head back. Michael pressed his lips against the warm hollow of her throat, while one hand began to travel slowly up her side. When he cupped her breast, she almost came out of her skin. Her eyes flew open and she pushed hard against his chest.

Michael growled. “You are my
wife,”
he insisted against her lips.

Trembling uncontrollably with a peculiar mixture of fear and desire, she panicked. She wrenched her head away from him and desperately pushed against his chest. “
No!
I can’t do this, I can’t!” She gasped.

Michael groaned, but released her and took a step back. Gasping for air, Abbey’s gaze unthinkingly traveled his masculine frame, her eyes widening at the sight of his manhood straining against the fabric of his trousers. She dragged her gaze to his face; he wore an expression of pure lust.

She thought she would be ill.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

“I … this is rather inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?”
he all but shouted.

With a trembling hand, Abbey brushed a strand of hair from her eye and searched frantically for an excuse.

“I have my monthly flux,” she lied, blushing furiously. Michael blinked. He ran a hand through his thick hair, then turned his back to her.

She stumbled away from the sideboard as Michael fell into a leather chair and reached for his brandy. He shook his head violently, ran a hand through his hair again. Snarling to himself, he tossed his head back to drain the snifter of brandy. Still reeling wildly from the heated kiss and the terrifying emotions that roiled within her, Abbey stared at him in silence.

“Perhaps you should retire.” The cool, steady aloofness had returned to his voice. Abbey unsteadily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What about our arrangement?” she asked nervously.

“Good God, woman, to
hell
with your bloody arrangement! Go to bed!”

Abbey wanted nothing more than to do just that, to be gone from him. She had tried to be magnanimous, had tried to indicate she knew he needed time, and now he was acting as if she were the most distasteful thing he had ever encountered. He was a scoundrel of the worst kind, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to get away from him. She began to move toward the door.

“Abbey.” His voice, cold as ice, sent a shiver through her. She stopped and turned slowly to face him.

He ruthlessly studied her face for a long moment before speaking. “If I ever discover you are cuckolding me, I may very well kill you. Believe me.”

The mere suggestion was so vile, Abbey recoiled. “How
dare
you insinuate such a thing?” She gasped.

“How dare
I
?” he asked, laughing cruelly. “You come into my home and give me your
blessing
to have an adulterous affair and think I will not understand? What possible motive would you have for that, unless you think it gives
you
license to seek your own lover?” he asked nastily.

Abbey’s gut lurched; she stumbled to one of the leather chairs and gripped the back of it for support as she realized she could no more love another man than she could take her own life.

“No, no …” She moaned at his misunderstanding. “I only wanted to give you time! I know you need time to remember that you once cared for me!” she blurted.

Startled, Michael’s brows knit in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Abbey swallowed hard to keep tears from falling. “I thought you would want time to end your liaison,” she rushed. “I know you had to wait a very long time, and I am sorry for that, because
I
didn’t want to wait, either, but Papa said it wasn’t the right time, and I
know
things may happen beyond our control! If you need time to end your liaison before you remember how you waited all those years, then I would gladly give it to you!”

As if watching some fantastic play unfold, Michael leaned forward in his chair. “I haven’t the slightest notion what you are talking about,” he said quietly.

Abbey took a deep breath. She must be babbling; she obviously was not making any sense. “Even though you waited all those years, I can understand that you were not ready for my arrival—”

“
Waited
all those years?” he asked incredulously, and looked at her as if she spoke a foreign language.

A feeling of sick dread began to descend on her. She nodded slowly, uncertainly. “The years we have been promised. You were waiting for me, Papa said you—” The dark look of pity that washed over Michael’s face told her everything. In that one instance, with that one look, he told her that her papa had lied. He had never
waited
for her. He had never
loved
her. He probably did not even remember she existed! He had not come to see her in America because he had not known she was there! He saw her realization, and his pitiful expression only deepened. Abbey suddenly clutched her hands to her stomach and whirled away from him.

“Oh—oh my God
!
”
she stammered.
“Oh my God!”
In a single, defining moment, her whole world, everything she had ever known or believed, came crashing in on her. A wave of nausea rumbled over her and the room began to surge to the right. Sickened, Abbey lurched for the door.

“Abbey!” Michael cried from behind her. She stumbled forward, away from him, desperate to find the door and flee before he could see her crushing humiliation. He caught her from behind and dragged her up against his chest, his arms tightly around her middle. Abbey sagged against him.

“I think I am going to be sick,” she managed to get out. He muttered an oath under his breath and swept her into his arms.

“Please let me go!” she begged him, mortified he should see her engulfing shame at having been so
stupid
. What a fool she had been! What a naive, hapless little fool! He had told her the truth, but she had not heard it until this very minute. He had
never
loved her, he had not even liked her! Everything that had happened to her since she had set foot in England tumbled roughly in her mind. Michael had told her he married her because of her father’s will. He had begged her to end it before they both suffered irreparable harm. Withers had told her he did not like her when she was a little girl. She had heard none of it. With a choking sob, she finally understood that all her life she had believed he loved her and was waiting for her, and he had been sailing around the world not even
remembering
her! The painful realization that her dreams had been nothing more than a fantasy concocted by her father was
surpassed only by the revolting realization that her father had
lied
to her about everything.

Michael moved with incredible swiftness down the long corridor. Abbey buried her face in the soft wool of his coat, desperately swallowing her nausea.

“How could he? He could he have done this?” She moaned, not realizing she had voiced her thoughts aloud.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Michael responded tightly. She heard his boots strike the marble staircase and felt herself being propelled upward. She heard Sarah cry out when he kicked open the door to her chamber and heard him mumble something to Sarah when he gently lay her on the bed. Abbey instantly rolled away from his probing eyes and buried her face in a pillow. She could feel him standing there, staring down at her, and thought she would die of shame. After what seemed to her to be an eternity, he turned and left her bedside. She barely heard the soft exchange of voices as the tears she had tried to hide now seeped out of her uncontrollably.

Michael cursed long and colorfully as he slowly made his way back to his library. The physical longing he felt for her had not been diminished by the sudden and awful realization that she had been duped by her own father. No, it had actually intensified. For the first time, he saw in her eyes very painful evidence that she might not be a part of Carrington’s plot but a victim. She had been a mere child when the agreement had been struck; at least he had known what he was doing when he signed the blasted thing. But now they were two adults, each caught in the grip of betrayal from beyond the grave. Each forced into an untenable situation by their fathers.

He poured a brandy as a servant picked up the glass he had dropped when it looked as if she would faint. He walked to one of the windows, pushed aside the thick drapes, forced the window open, and took several deep breaths of the gray night air. Against his will, he had enjoyed this most pleasurable evening. He had basked in the glow of Abbey’s natural beauty, feeling a vague longing every time she smiled at him.
He had never known anyone like her, not really. She was so wildly unconventional, so worldly and innocent at the same time. And her natural and unfettered response to his kiss had startled him, unleashing a passion he had not known since he was a young man. He might very well have taken her there, on the library table, had she not come up with the obvious lie about her monthly flux.