The Devil's Love (37 page)

he forget the little gingham dress he had torn? He lifted the skirt of the curly-headed doll. It had bloomers, just like the ones he had ripped apart to

make knee britches.

An ill feeling swept over Michael as he looked down at the doll he clutched in

his hand. What I recall is being terrorized by an older boy, who incidentally

decapitated the one doll I had as a child. Abbey had said that the first day she

was at Blessing Park. He dropped the doll and strode quickly to the bell pull.

Jones appeared almost instantaneously. “There is a leather trunk in the attic,”

Michael said gruffly. “Have it brought to my rooms immediately. Fetch Sebastian

and have him dispatch a messenger to Blessing Park. I want Withers here first

thing in the morning.” He pushed past the startled butler and headed for his

room.

When the trunk was brought to him, Michael threw the lid open and peered inside.

It was stuffed with articles from his youth. He ignored the keepsakes and dug

through, intent on finding the long-forgotten item. After tossing aside a rusted

knife, a pair of heavy boots whose leather had long ago cracked, and a weathered

hat, he found what he was looking for. There, buried beneath some old clothes at

the bottom of the trunk, was a small doll made up to look like a little pirate.

It was the same doll he had doctored after severing the head in a moment of

anger. It was the very same doll he had intended to return to the distraught little girl after seeing her search the decks for her damaged toy. But Carrington had put her on the boat for Rome before he had the opportunity to

return it. Why he had kept it all these years, he did not know.

He sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at the doll in his hand. It was

all beginning to make some sense, or at least he tried to convince himself it

was.

Galen Carrey, or someone behind him, was trying to destroy him.

Suddenly he

needed to talk to Sam. He stood abruptly, dropped the pirate doll carelessly on

the bed, and paused only long enough to shrug into a forest-green coat before

vaulting down the stairs, calling for his mount.

Michael found Sam at White’s and dragged him from a game of whist.

Sam protested

loudly—he was winning, for once— but Michael ignored his objections and pushed

him toward a private room in the back. Sam sat in a huff, but as Michael began

to relate the whole fantastic tale, he watched his friend’s eyes widen with astonishment, then narrow with suspicion. Sam slowly shook his head as the

weight of Michael’s words registered.

“What do you think, Darfield?” he asked softly.

Michael sighed and thrust a hand through his dark locks as he thoughtfully eyed

Sam. “I don’t know. The will is a forgery, I would stake my life on it. This purported cousin of hers was a bit nervous, and I find myself wondering if someone has put him up to it, someone like Routier.” Sam sighed wearily.

Michael

watched his friend silently consider the facts. Sam’s loyalty was one of the

most admirable qualities about him, something Michael had relied upon time and

again. But until this very moment, he had never known how important it was to

him.

“What about Abbey?” Sam asked slowly.

Michael shrugged and looked at his drink.“It is rather hard to believe she could

carry on such a fantastic lie. That woman cannot hide a single emotion, much

less a deception so huge that it implies she acted—” He stopped short of saying

that she must have acted in his bed, in his arms, at his table—it didn’t matter;

Sam instantly understood what Michael was thinking, and nodded slowly.

“Yes, but I can’t help thinking…”

“What?” Michael prodded.

Sam sighed again and lifted his gaze to Michael. “Think about it, Michael.

She

obviously has known him for many years, and despite having corresponded with

him, she lied to you about his identity. For the sake of argument, suppose she

and this Carrey fellow were attached and wanted to be together. It would explain

her lie and the embrace you witnessed.” A rush of heat invaded Michael’s neck.

“Michael,” Sam continued, his expression tense, “you are my oldest friend.

Believe me, I do not want to think it any more than you, but I cannot help thinking you have known her for less than three months. It would not be the

first time you were the target of some nefarious scheme.”

Michael understood the direction Sam’s thoughts were taking, and his heart

slammed against his ribs in denial. “But what about the shot?” Michael protested.

Sam shrugged. “Perhaps it has nothing to do with this and was truly a mishap.

But then again, perhaps someone wanted you dead, someone like Carrey.

It would

be much more convenient for them, if she was married, to collect a fortune without you in the way,” Sam said slowly.

Michael glanced away, remembering that day. He had been proud of Abbey for not

panicking and falling into a fit of hysterics. But was that because she was expecting it? Had she been waiting for the shot to fell him? The thought was

devastating; God, she could not have deceived him so completely!

“I believe that Routier is somehow behind this. I needn’t remind you he has publicly vowed to ruin me on more than one occasion,” Michael insisted.

“Perhaps,” Sam agreed weakly.

“Come now.” Michael huffed. “Short of killing me, what could she have hoped to

gain?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered slowly. “I only know that she stood to lose her

inheritance if she did not marry you. If she married you, her chances of getting

at least something had to be improved. And despite your most callous efforts to

convince her otherwise, she did not cry off when given the opportunity.

Michael,

if she and Carrey wanted to be together, the only thing they had was an ill-conceived, dated contract. Perhaps they planned this together. Perhaps he

thought to put you out of the way. Perhaps they hoped to embezzle the funds from

you. But you cannot deny that the evidence points to at least the possibility

she is involved.”

Sam’s argument put a voice to Michael’s worst fears, yet he could not wholly

believe it. There had to be another explanation, he thought, shaking his head in

furious disagreement. “It is Routier, I am certain. Abbey may have lied to me

about her cousin, but she most certainly did not connive to have me killed, Sam.

She may be that idiot’s lover, but she is not a killer. No, Routier is behind it.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “I cannot deny that he would do just about anything to

see you ruined. But consider this. Routier would not possibly know what the doll

looked like. Abbey would.”

Michael inhaled sharply; the thought had not occurred to him. But Carrey could

have known what the damn doll looked like, and a half-dozen other sailors.

It

looked bad, very bad, but he simply could not believe she had betrayed him so

thoroughly, not yet, not without more proof.

“What do you intend to do?” Sam asked softly.

“Find Strait,” Michael responded bitterly. Until he talked to the solicitor, he did not know what to believe. He gulped his brandy to dull the twist he felt in

his gut.

Abbey stared blindly at Jones. “He wants to see me?” she asked for the second

time.

“Yes, madam.” Jones looked pained. Abbey stood unsteadily from the chair she had

been sitting in since she had fled the drawing room. She must have sat for hours, staring blindly at a portrait on the wall. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. In one moment, she fretted over Galen’s struggle, seeing him as victim of

another lie perpetuated by Captain Carrington. In the next, she wondered if her

father really could have changed his plans so abruptly, plans he had obviously

been building for over a decade. And she bled for Michael, the real victim in

her father’s twisted dealings. Then she would panic that he somehow thought she

had done this to him, not the captain. That was followed by anger that he was so

quick to judge her. If the last few months had meant anything to him, he would

know she had not. But then again, why should he? The Carringtons had not exactly

been paragons of truthfulness thus far.

And if he did not believe her? Abbey could not face that possibility.

“Did he say anything?” she asked, her voice trembling under the strain.

Jones

shook his head.

Abbey nodded dumbly. “Thank you, Jones,” she muttered, and started slowly for

the door. Her legs were leaden; she could scarcely make them move. But she could

not and would not avoid him, no matter how much she feared him at the moment.

When she reached the ground floor, she stopped in front of the closed oak door

that led to his study, staring at it, trying to muster her courage. Several minutes and several deep breaths passed before she grasped the brass knob and

pushed the door open.

She wanted to crumble when she saw Michael standing rigidly at the window, his

back to her. She knew instinctively by his stance that he did not believe her.

His hands were clasped firmly behind his narrow waist and his sinewy legs braced

apart. She had a fleeting memory of the pictures she and her cousins would draw

of the fearless captain standing at the helm of his ship. He did not turn.

“Why you did not tell me about your cousin?” Michael said, going directly to the

point in a voice smooth as ice.

Abbey’s hand fluttered instantly to her forehead, but she quickly dropped it and

steeled herself. “He did not want to present himself until his circumstance had

improved. He thought you would think ill of us.”

“Of ms?”

“He thought you would think ill of him for not having a proper situation, and me… he thought you would think ill of me because of him.”

“So he asked you not to tell me of his existence?”

“For just a time,” she murmured.

His shoulders tensed. “And you were merely honoring his request?”

Although the

tone of his voice was impersonal, almost casual, he still had not turned to face

her.

“I—I did not see the harm.”

“You did not see the harm in lying to me?”

Abbey’s stomach flipped. “I did not lie to you. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

Michael said nothing. The silence seemed to create a huge gulf between them, and

Abbey was suddenly frantic to fill that void.

“I thought… I thought he would come to Blessing Park soon, with a post, a

respectable post. He was quite embarrassed, not only for himself, but for me. He

was afraid you would think he was trying to take advantage.”

“Did it occur to you I might think he was taking advantage by virtue of sneaking

around behind my back?”

Abbey faltered. Michael’s voice was cool and even, and so detached she could not

tell if he was angry or merely inconvenienced. “I thought… I guess I thought…”

Her voice trailed off. Good God, what had she been thinking?

Michael slowly turned around. His face was devoid of any expression, except for

his eyes, and they were burning. Abbey swallowed a surge of fear. “What did you

think, Abbey? That I would receive the news about your cousin much better if he

had a post? That I would forget you had lied to me? That I would readily accept

his explanation for the sudden and improbable appearance of a second will?”

Abbey unintentionally shut her eyes. Her worst fear—that he would think she was

part of her father’s deception—filled every fiber. “On my honor, I did not know

of the will. He said he was waiting for important news, but I did not know what

it was. Like you, I thought my father’s last testament was delivered to me in

America.”

“Are you being truthful with me now? Or shall I discover more facts you and this

cousin of yours were ashamed to give me?”

“You cannot believe I had any knowledge of that second will, Michael,” she heard

herself say. She slowly opened her eyes to see a wickedly wry smirk twist his

lips.

“Why not? Strange wills seem to follow you. If you are as blameless as you would

have me believe, why did you not tell me about his letters or his visit?”

His accusatory tone sparked something inside her. Could he stand there before

her and honestly believe she would betray him so completely? Did he think their

lovemaking a lie? Was the day at the cove a lie? Was every day of the last three

months a lie?

“I didn’t tell you about his first letter because you had fled to Brighton,”

she

snapped, “and as you made it quite clear you intended to live separately from

me, I saw no point in boring you with the arrival of the second. As for his visit, I had no idea he was in Pemberheath and encountered him quite by chance.

I might have told you then, but you had absented yourself for a second time

without word to me!”

Michael’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Pemberheath? You had occasion to see him

in Pemberheath?” he asked, clearly startled, but did not allow her to respond.

“Putting aside, for the moment, that you were forbidden to go to Pemberheath

without my express permission, you should have told me immediately of your

encounter. I can’t believe you could be so naive, Abbey. A distant cousin does

not appear, unannounced, on the door of a wealthy young heiress without cause.

Or perhaps you are not so naive. You did not seem surprised when he fired upon