Julia London (25 page)

“My life has been rather unremarkable, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, please, Lord Darfield, you are overly modest! What of your giving that entire treasure to the Spanish orphanage? I can think of no man who would have been so generous, can you, William?” she insisted.

“Not another soul,” he agreed as he strained to reach a pastry.

“I don’t believe I have heard this story,” Sam said through an amused grin at his post near the hearth.

“It would be just like him not to tell you, Lord Hunt. Allow me. Several years ago a pirate ship was wrecked off the coast of Spain. A veritable king’s ransom was aboard that ship, and Lord Darfield retrieved it—after rounding up the scoundrels, of course. He returned what he could, but as not all of the treasure was identifiable, he gave what was left, in its entirety, to a small orphanage in Spain. He didn’t keep one single trinket for himself!”

Sam glanced at Michael with a gleeful glint in his green eyes.

Michael prayed for patience and scowled thinly at Sam.
“Lady Haversham, nothing of the sort ever happened,” he avowed.

Lady Haversham looked puzzled and turned to glance at Abbey. “Why, I am
sure
you are being too modest, my good lord! Captain Carrington told the whole story to Lady Darfield!” she insisted. Michael glanced at Abbey’s back and saw her shoulders stiffen. He wanted to muzzle Lady Haversham. In one particularly long wind over the course of the evening, she had single-handedly revived the tragic deception. He casually crossed the room and slipped his arm around Abbey’s waist. She sagged against his chest.

“I must warn you, Lady Haversham, that my wife has a tendency to embellish any action on my part to make it seem as if it were some heroic deed. But I assure you, I am not nearly as good or as righteous as she believes,” he said, and caught a breath in his throat when she lifted a poignantly grateful gaze to him. He suddenly wished their guests were gone so he could gaze into those eyes at his leisure.

But his guests were not even remotely ready to depart. The rest of the evening was spent at the card table after Michael suggested Abbey show them what tricks she had learned. Abbey happily taught Lady Haversham how to cheat, despite Lord Haversham’s strong objections, who was quite convinced his wife would never lay an honest card again. Michael and Sam exchanged several looks of amusement and surprise at what Abbey demonstrated. As with everything else, Abbey was remarkably good at cheating. Lady Haversham would never be able to cheat, Sam remarked, because she could not keep her expression blank. Lady Haversham objected to that, and insisted she was as blank as the next person, to which Abbey could not contain a fit of giggles.

When they finally attempted a game of loo, Lady Haversham’s attempts at cheating ended up costing poor Lord Haversham more than she could have lost honestly. Abbey steadily gathered a small mound of coins and, in the last hand, threw the game to Michael. It was so flagrant that he gave her a disapproving look while Lord and Lady Haversham argued. Abbey met his look with a smile and a mischievous wink.

It was well after midnight when the Havershams departed with pleas for the Darfields and Sam to join them at their home soon. Once their carriage left the drive, Abbey mumbled her excuses to Sam and Michael and made a quick escape to her chamber to sulk over the humiliating evening.

Sometime later, Abbey stood quietly in front of the window, bathed in the moonlight that spilled into her room, contemplating how horribly turned around her life had become.

When she heard the door open quietly, she sighed and lifted her gaze to the full moon. “Thank you, but I don’t require anything, Sarah.” She heard the maid move across the room.
Not now
, she thought miserably.

“Really, I prefer to be alone,” she insisted weakly.

“I prefer to be with you,” Michael responded softly. Abbey caught her breath; she did not move, did not say a word. She felt him move behind her, felt his fingers touch her arms and gently caress them. Her skin tingled at the contact; she instinctively leaned against him when he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

“Abbey,”
he whispered softly in her ear, giving her a sharp bolt of pleasure. She imagined his gray eyes as they had looked in the meadow. God, how she had longed for him that day. Now, with his arms securely around her and his warm breath on her neck, she was filled with a stronger desire than she thought possible. It seemed to course through her of its own accord, begging for his touch.

His hand lifted from her waist and gently caressed the nape of her neck. Abbey remained silent as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought it to his face before letting it fall softly. His arms found her waist again, and holding her firmly to him, he began to hum an old English tune in her ear, swaying gently.

Several moments passed without a word; there was nothing but the moon spilling over them, the twining heat of their bodies, and his soft, low hum. Her desire was great; when he
pressed his warm lips against her neck, Abbey closed her eyes and sighed softly, gratefully.

He grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him. His gray eyes, dark, silvery pools, languidly swept her face as he carefully brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“You are an amazing woman, Abbey,” he muttered as his gaze settled on her mouth. With his thumb, he traced the set line of her chin, then her lips. He slid his hand behind her head and took hold of a handful of her lush mane. It felt like silk as it slid through his fingers. He imagined her hair draping her body in his bed, resting against her bare breasts. He slowly pulled the thick, satiny tresses over her shoulder. Her violet eyes, wide and wary, remained steadfast on his face.

“You are not angry?” she asked softly, and shifted her gaze to the top of his chest, where tiny curls of dark, crisp hair peeked from beneath his pristine silk shirt.

“Angry? Why on earth should I be angry?”

“Because of the things Lady Haversham said.”

Michael laughed softly. “I found it highly entertaining. But later I shall insist you explain your confrontation with cattle rustlers.”

Abbey closed her eyes and softly groaned with remorse. His fingers brushed lithely across her cheek.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured.

“I am not beautiful.”

Michael responded by kissing her eyelids. “I would beg to differ, madam,” he said thickly, then lightly brushed his lips across hers. She shifted closer to him. Pleased, he tenderly stroked the contour of her cheek while his lips descended again, gently molding hers.

Abbey quickly yielded; lightning coursed up her spine as Michael’s tongue began to explore her heatedly. Any apprehension swiftly dissipated and was replaced by a desire that made her feel as if she were floating on air. His hands softly swept her body, leaving a trace of fire in their wake. She returned his kiss by carefully exploring his lips and mouth, and he responded by tightening his embrace about her. She
was surprised at how her body responded with a will of its own, pressing against him as if it sought to melt into his sleek frame.

He finally drew back and gazed down at her. “You are magnificent, sweetheart,” he whispered.

The small endearment made her heart pound, and she sighed.

That small, contented sigh ignited a flame within him.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face upward. His kiss, both urgent and tender, made her dizzy with desire. He slipped an arm around her waist to steady her. Abbey’s head fell back as he pressed his warm lips against her neck. His hand fluttered across her breast, sending a wave of sheer pleasure down to the tips of her toes, and she grabbed his shoulders, afraid for a moment she might fall.

“I want you, Abbey,” he whispered against her skin. Abbey did not answer. He lifted his head and looked down at her, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. Desire mounted in him so quickly, its intensity stunned him. “I want to make love to you.”

“I … don’t know,” she whispered.

He smiled seductively and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Are you afraid?” he asked, idly kissing the hollow of her throat.

Abbey went almost limp in his arms. “I don’t think so. Are you?” she forced herself to respond.

He chuckled deep in his throat, then unexpectedly swept her into his arms. “No,” he said emphatically, and turning on his heel, he carried her into his chamber, to the massive, four-poster bed. He set her on her feet, kissed her again with some urgency, then reached behind her and began to undo the buttons of her gown.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Unbuttoning your gown.”

“B-but your
valet
!” she whispered frantically.

Michael grinned. “Would you prefer Damon do it?” he teased as he deftly moved down the long row of buttons.

Abbey blushed furiously. “You said—”

“Forget what I said, forget everything except the simple fact that I want you desperately.” His hands came to her shoulders and gradually pushed the gown down her arms. It fell to the floor in a cloud of lilac and gold, leaving her in only a thin chemise.

“Good God,” he breathed in genuine appreciation, to which Abbey’s eyes widened. She was so unlike any other woman he had ever known; this was no feigned pretense of innocence. In spite of her incredible beauty, it was apparent no one had ever told her before. When he reached to untie the tiny ribbon that held her chemise, she nervously grabbed his hand.

“Michael, I don’t know anything!” she suddenly pleaded.

He stopped, realizing how truly innocent she was, and wrapped her in a warm embrace. “What do you know?” he asked calmly.

“Nothing, nothing at all! Just that I am to lie there while you do … 
that
.” Michael kissed the top of her head, gently pried her fingers from his hand, and again pulled on the ribbon of her chemise.

“That,”
he said patiently, “is the most pleasurable experience a man and woman can share, despite what you may have been told.” He saw her look of doubt and continued. “When a man makes love to his wife, he covers her with gentle kisses to show her how beautiful he finds her,” he said as he pulled the second ribbon free, revealing her voluptuous breasts. The two succulent globes were as perfect as he had imagined. He palmed a dark nipple that rose quickly to his touch.

“That’s all?” she whispered skeptically.

He laughed softly as his fingers splayed across her breast and nipple and squeezed gently. “Something else may arise, but I think it better if I show you.” Before she could disagree, he covered her mouth in a stupefying kiss and slipped the thin chemise from her shoulders and down her sides. Her skin was like satin beneath his fingers. Abbey shivered; from desire or fear he did not know, and he gently eased her down onto his bed.

He quickly shrugged out of his shirt. She was lying there as
he had imagined she would, dark luxuriant hair framing her voluptuous body. God, but she had a beautiful body, from her breasts, to her slender waist, to the flare of her narrow hips, and her long, shapely legs. In the faint moonlight, her skin glowed radiantly. Her dark eyes flicked over his upper body, but when he freed his rigid member she flinched.

“Dear God,”
she whispered softly. Michael had been with only one other virgin in his life, and he had been a young, bumbling lad then. It had been painful for them both, but he had learned. He hastily lowered himself to her and crushed his mouth to hers until, at last, her hands curled around his neck. Michael lifted his head and looked down at her.

“You lie there as you are now, while I,” he said as he slipped a hand to her breast, smiling when she arched at his touch, “cover every inch of you with kisses.”

“But what …”

“Don’t be afraid.” He smiled, then kissed the tip of her nose. Her gaze slipped to his mouth. His pulse coursed madly in his neck as he lowered himself to claim her again. Her breasts, rubbing seductively against the fine mat of hair on his chest, were contributing to the urgent need building in him. He began a slow, seductive exploration of her body as his mouth slanted over hers, demanding more and more from her. He returned a hand to her breast, then let it slide down her side, pausing on her flat stomach while he rubbed subtly against her, his member thickening with the contact of her rose-petal skin. When his fingers brushed deliberately against the inside of her thigh, she inhaled softly, so softly that Michael had to grit his teeth in an effort to maintain control.

Abbey was not conscious of anything but his touch, both alarmed and titillated by the response it evoked deep within her. She gasped when he brought his mouth to her breast, but when his hand slipped between her legs and stroked the silken folds there she thought she would come out of her skin. She was fast losing control; her thighs parted for him as if they had a will of their own. He muttered something incomprehensible against her breast before he slipped his fingers deep inside her. Abbey lifted uncontrollably against his palm.

It was not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to like it But like it she did; in fact, she
reveled
in it. A curious mix of pleasure and budding anticipation swept through her. She needed him to do … 
something
.

“You’re ready for me, sweetheart,” he whispered as his fingers gently probed her, then slowly withdrew, stroking her as he did, then repeated the excruciatingly pleasurable motion. Abbey felt herself falling away, and she pushed her hands against the headboard, moaning softly.

“Not yet,” he murmured against her stomach. She did not know what he meant, nor did she care. Her body screamed for release from the sensual weight that pressed against her; she writhed as he moved his thigh in between her legs and lifted himself over her. Her breathing was ragged; he kissed her breast as he laced her fingers with his above her head. With his other hand he guided her to feel his passion. Abbey jerked away when she felt the velvet head, alarmed by the size of it. Michael, not deterred, guided her hand between her legs while he brushed the tip against her. Shuddering uncontrollably, Abbey was astonished at the waves of desire crashing through her.