Julia London (51 page)

Surely Michael had long since retired. She would have to wait until the morrow to see him, and even then, what would she say? She wanted to beg him to forget the past. She wanted to tell him she loved him and had always loved him. She wanted to feel his arms around her, his lips against her skin, his weight on her in bed. Without realizing it, she found herself standing outside Michael’s room. A thin ray of light spilled into the corridor from his door, which was slightly ajar.

She stopped, staring at the door. Was he awake? Should she knock? What would she say? Maybe he had fallen asleep without realizing the door was open. Maybe Damon was in there with him. She could not stop herself from moving silently toward the door, the only sound being the faint rustle of her skirts. She grasped the brass door knob and looked down at her white knuckles.
Knock, you idiot!
she commanded herself, but her hand, reacting to some other set of commands, slowly pushed the door open.

A fire was crackling at the hearth. A book lay open on a leather chair pulled directly in front of the fire. There was no
sign that anyone was about. She breathed a sigh of relief; Michael was not even inside. With the tip of her toe, she nudged the door a little farther. Her curiosity and her desire to be near him were causing her to be outrageously nosy. She shoved herself in behind the partially opened door. This room, she thought longingly, craning her neck to see past the door. How many blissful nights had she spent here? How many nights had she drifted off to sleep with his arms wrapped protectively around her? How many mornings had she watched him shave, and how many times had he come to stand beside the bed and smile down at her?

Her toe nudged the door a little farther, and it creaked softly on its hinges. She stopped and waited but did not hear a sound.

He was not within.

Abbey boldly pushed the door open and stepped inside, smiling as she looked up at the green ceiling with its medallions and ornate moldings. Her eyes fell to the Aubusson carpet, and she impulsively kicked off her slippers. She crossed slowly to his wardrobe and ran her fingers across the smooth mahogany. She pulled one door open and reached for a handful of dozens of neckcloths that hung there. She brought them to her face, relishing the feel of the cloth against her skin and inhaling his masculine scent. After a long moment, she dropped them and watched them swing gently against the peg before closing the door.

She moved to the basin and lightly fingered his brush and comb, then picked up his razor and ran a finger down the cold blade. She could picture him now, bare to the waist, his face lathered as he scraped at his beard, the muscles in his chest and stomach moving softly with his breath. She smiled as she put the razor down and walked toward the bed. She ran her hand along the rich damask bed hangings as she glided to the foot of the bed and grasped one of the tall, mahogany posts.

Her soft shriek startled her more than him. Michael stood next to the velvet drapes in the dark recess of the window, wearing a black velvet dressing gown. In the dimly lit room, he was barely distinguishable from the draperies. His bare feet
were braced apart, his hands clasped behind his back, and he was watching her intently.

“Dear God! What are you doing?” Abbey gasped, more mortified than frightened by the unexpected sight of him.

He did not answer for a long moment. “Waiting for you,” he said hoarsely.

Abbey’s hand immediately flew to her throat. “I’m … I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were expecting us—”

“No. Waiting for
you
, Abbey. Waiting every night for you to come through that door.”

“Waiting?” she echoed breathlessly.

He nodded, taking a step toward her, his hands swinging down to his sides. “Waiting.”

“For me?” she whispered weakly, mesmerized by the passion smoldering in his gray eyes.

“Every minute, every hour.” He took another step; he was standing directly before her, his hands clenched at his sides as if he sought to restrain himself. “Waiting for you to understand how much I love you,” he whispered, then cautiously reached up and stroked her burning cheek with his knuckles.

“Michael, you must know—”

“I must know that you love me, too.”

Abbey’s breath caught in her throat as his hand moved to her neck and gently pulled her forward. His other hand swept across her waist and to the small of her back. “Do you love me, Abbey?” he whispered as his mouth descended to hers.

Desire unfolded within her, and she hungrily accepted his probing kiss. Her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him toward her.

He lifted his head. “Do you love me?” he whispered again. A powerful rush of emotion came over her.

“I have always loved you”—she gasped—“and I always will. But I’m afraid …”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No, darling, don’t be afraid. I will never hurt you again, I swear it on my life. I love you, Abbey, no other but you. There will never be another woman for me, no mistress, no one. Only you. Only my darling Abbey.”

She gasped softly. There was such emotion in his voice, and God, how she wanted to believe it. He pulled her to him, pressing his hard body against every inch of hers, and claimed her mouth again. His hands slid down her back, releasing the tiny buttons as they moved. The draft of air on her back suddenly awakened her senses, and she pushed back.

“Michael, listen to me …” she whispered against his chest.

He moaned very low in his throat and pulled a pin from her hair. A long, thick tress floated down between them. He pulled another pin free.

“You must listen. I want to put it all behind us, truly I do. I want to look forward …” He began to nuzzle her neck, muttering his agreement against her flushed skin. She closed her eyes and willed herself to speak.

“But I am afraid, so afraid it will happen again,” she insisted.

He slowly dragged himself away from her neck. “Abbey. I love you. I need you. I do not ever want you from my side. I do not ever want to be from your side. I promise you I will be faithful, in all respects. There is nothing that will ever change that.” His voice was as intent as his expression. Abbey’s heart climbed to her throat.

“I love you, darling,” he said again, his sweet breath brushing her face.

Unbelieving, Abbey slowly lifted her eyes. He was smiling down at her with such adoration that tears welled in her eyes. She did not deserve this.

“What about the baby?” she said, barely above a whisper.

“It was an unfortunate, terrible tragedy. But it wasn’t your fault,” he said tenderly as he pulled another pin from her hair and caught the falling tress.

“What if—”

“I don’t care,” he said, anticipating her question. “It’s you I want, don’t you understand that?” He cupped her face and tilted it upward. “If we are blessed with children, then so be it, and I will cherish each one of them as I cherish you. If we are not, it matters little, because I will still have you.
You
are
what’s important.
You
are what makes me happy.
You
are the air that I breathe,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Abbey was not aware that she gripped the lapels of his dressing gown, or that she buried her face against the soft down of his chest. She was only aware that hot tears stung her eyes as the depth of his love settled around her. He said again in a voice thick with emotion, “I love you, Abbey, more than life. God, I need you so.”

“Oh, Michael!” she breathed against his chest.

He swung her up in his arms, marched to the door and slammed it shut with his foot, then turned and strode to his bed. He set her on her feet and pulled the gown from her shoulders, heatedly caressing her as he did. He stroked her breasts through the thin cotton chemise she wore, rubbing the pads of his thumbs across her nipples, which rose instantly to his touch.

“I have missed you so,” she whispered as he cupped her breast.

He smiled as his hands found the straps of her chemise and pushed it to her waist. It slid from there to the floor, pooling at her feet. “I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart. God, how I have missed you,” he said thickly, and lowered her onto the bed. He removed her stockings then stood back to admire her naked body for a moment before stripping off his dressing gown. His manhood, pulsing with desire, sprang forward as he lowered himself onto her.

“Promise me you will never leave me,” he demanded. His hands had started their exploration of her, fluttering quickly between her thighs.

“Never,” she whispered.

“Never,” he echoed, then crushed his mouth to hers.

His kiss was intoxicating; everything ceased to exist except his taste, his scent, the feel of his body straining against hers. Abbey moaned as his fingers slipped inside her. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue delving into every crevice. Her hands flitted across the soft down that lightly covered his chest and found his nipples. He groaned; his kiss became
more urgent. When he lowered his head to her breasts, Abbey arched, bringing herself closer to him. He suckled one, then the other, and, with his tongue, began to paint a moist path down her belly. He paused to kiss the scar she bore, which was slowly beginning to fade, and then moved to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

“Michael,”
she breathed. She heard his low chuckle before his tongue darted between her warm, soft folds. She lifted up off the bed; the pleasure he evoked was excruciating, and she writhed uncontrollably beneath him. He cupped her buttocks in his strong hands and laved her slowly, tantalizing her with each stroke. Abbey was lost on a sea of passion. Her body screamed for release; her hands curled in the dark mane on his head, urging him, pleading with him to end the torture. Michael was unrelenting in his exploration of her body, and when he felt her begin to tighten with anticipation of release, the stroking of his tongue intensified, bringing her to the brink.

Abbey imploded and was carried away by pure ecstasy. Wave after wave of sweet convulsion coursed through her. She arched her back, giving into it, rejoicing in it. He lifted her and entered her with a savage thrust, and Abbey gasped in complete exhilaration.

“My God … Abbey, my love …” he whispered as he braced himself above her and began to move inside her. Her hands found his back, her legs wrapped around his hips. She pressed herself against him, letting her head fall backward, exposing the creamy white skin of her throat to him. As his strokes intensified, she felt warm tears trace a path from the corner of her eyes to her ears.

“I love you, Michael,” she whispered intently as his strokes lengthened. A deep, low groan emanated from somewhere above her, and, with a final, powerful thrust, she felt his seed spill deep within her. Michael shuddered violently with release before sinking on top of her and burying his face in her neck.

“Good God, how I have longed for you,” he whispered, kissing her neck and the path of her tears.

Abbey choked on a sob. Moved by the intensity of their lovemaking and the beating of his heart against hers, the emptiness she had felt for so many weeks was gone. That place in her was suddenly filled and overflowing with love and desire for her husband.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Michael whispered, coming up on an elbow and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“I’m so … sorry, I’m so very sorry!”

“No, darling, I am the one who is sorry.” Michael began to pull away from her.

“No! No, no, please stay,” she whispered.

He smiled down on her, then wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his side. “I was foolish, sweetheart … I should never have put you in the situation I did. You did nothing wrong, nothing at all.”

“But I did, Michael! You were right. I wasn’t completely truthful in the beginning …”

“Hush … It’s all history now. It’s over. What’s important is I have you here with me now and your solemn promise you’ll never leave me, isn’t that so?”

Abbey nodded slowly. He was too good to her, better than she deserved. The tears would not stop.

“Don’t brood on the past. What do you say? We shall live at Blessing Park and take periodic voyages to America, so your cousins can see our children and make outlandish hats for them. We shall grow old together, watching our children mature and have children of their own.
That’s
what you shall brood upon, all right?”

Abbey wrapped a lock of his hair around her finger. “And if there are no children?” she whispered.

“Then we shall grow old together, delighting in each other, and, of course, the Havershams. Your cousin will make new hats for you, and I will compliment each and every one. And we will take voyages around the world, and you, my sweet, will play for me at night. You don’t know how I’ve missed your music.”

Abbey pushed closer into his chest, truly healed by his
powerful embrace and tender words. “I would ask one thing,” she whispered.

He made a sound in his throat as her tongue darted across the hardened nub of his nipple; she felt his member lurch inside her.

“Anything, my love,” he said, very softly.

“I shall play for you at night, but then you must promise to play for me, too.”

He chuckled, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth as her hand found the juncture of their bodies. “As God is my witness, you will never want for love,” he said as he rolled onto his back. She straddled him now and began to move slowly, seductively. He cupped her breasts.

“Indeed? What if I am heavy with child? Fat?” She giggled.

“I don’t care, I shall wait until you have borne your children.”

“If I smell of dogs and sheep? Shall you wait for me then?” she teased.

Michael did not answer immediately as his attention was with her seductive movement. Above him, Abbey giggled. Michael looked up. She was radiant.
His wife
. His beautiful wife was back where she belonged. He pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek, and she leaned into it, her soft violet eyes glowing with love.

“I shall always wait for you, my love,” he whispered.

Abbey sighed contentedly and lowered herself to her husband.