The Devil's Love (54 page)

“Madam Nan does not care for kippers,” Jones responded.

Michael chuckled. “Somehow, I am not surprised. Send a boy for our mounts, would

you? We’re to Pemberheath.” Michael and Sam both accepted a riding crop from a

footman and moved forward. The men stopped simultaneously at the door.

“Good God,” Sam whispered.

“I do not believe it,” Michael said softly at the exact same time as they stared

out at the sea of hats.

“The milliner has struck with fury,” Sam remarked.

“Pray she does not fashion men’s hats,” Michael agreed before stepping outside.

“G’day ladies!” he called brightly.

The sound of his voice sent a shiver of delight up Abbey’s spine, and she whirled about, smiling brightly. She was puzzled by the curious look on his face

until she remembered the godawful hat she wore. The warmth of embarrassment

crept into her cheeks as he approached her, and she shyly looked at the ground.

Why, oh why, did Ginny have to bring her a new hat?

“Where are you going?” Victoria demanded, more of Sam than Michael.

“Pemberheath. We have some business to attend to,” Sam replied. Abbey glanced up

covertly. Michael was studying her hat, all right, with his head cocked to one

side. His warm gaze slid from the contraption atop her head to her eyes.

“New hat?” he asked calmly, a smile playing at the corner of his eyes.

“Ginny,” she said simply.

“I gathered as much,” he said, then winked at her.

Abbey blushed furiously, mortified that his nearness was causing such a heat to

build within her. He was standing so close that she could smell the spicy scent

of his cologne. She stared at his broad chest, impeccably covered by the white

lawn shirt and ruby-red waistcoat trimmed in gold. His black hair brushed the

top of his collar, and a black neckcloth, the same shade as his hair, contrasted

sharply with the white collar. She thought, rather giddily, that he looked quite

tanned and healthy.

She was so engrossed with her husband and the slow warmth of desire spreading

through her that she did not notice the horses being brought around.

When Samson

snorted directly behind her, she jumped and let out a little shriek that jerked

every head toward her. She tried to get away from the horse, stumbling into

Michael. He caught her by the arm, holding her close to his chest. With a look

of bafflement, he glanced down at her, then to the horse. A light dawned in his

eyes, and he pulled her back a few steps, away from the horse.

“What on earth is the matter?” Nan all but shouted.

“N-nothing. The horse startled me, that’s all.”

Nan’s eyes narrowed skeptically, then she shrugged and turned back to Sam, who

was now surrounded by a sea of silk flowers, bobbing excitedly about him like

little boats.

“If there is anything you need while I am away, you need only ask Sebastian,”

Michael was saying to her as Abbey tried to calm the tremor in her hand.

“We shall be fine, thank you,” she murmured.

“We should return by nightfall,” he continued.

“We are to dine with the Havershams tonight,” she said, moving to put him between her and the huge horse. “Lord Haversham is away and Lady Haversham is

having a ladies’ evening. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Whatever you want, whatever makes you happy, Abbey, I want you to

have,” he said softly.

She dragged her gaze from the horse to him. His gray eyes were sparkling as they

slowly perused her face, lingering on her lips. Abbey’s blush only intensified,

and she nervously stepped backward.

“What would make me happy,” she whispered softly, “is a different hat.”

Michael

grinned broadly, his teeth glistening against his lips. Good God, her knees were

growing weak as they always did when he looked at her like that. She could not

tear her eyes away from him while a million questions popped into mind.

Was it

possible that the emptiness she had felt could be filled again? Could she really

leave him and return to America? Could she somehow put the horrid events of

London behind her?

“Abbey!” Victoria said emphatically. She jerked her head around to her

cousin

who had managed to come stand at her elbow without Abbey’s noticing.

“Didn’t you

hear me? Sam said he would teach us to ride!”

“Splendid,” Abbey murmured, unable to keep her gaze from slipping to Michael

again, who was still smiling at her, melting her with the intensity of his gaze.

“Not today, as they are to Pemberheath. But on the morrow. He says there is a

fine gray mare, Desdemona is her name, and he will teach us all to ride…”

Victoria stopped and frowned at Abbey when she began to laugh.

Giddiness

suddenly came bubbling forth at the mere mention of Desdemona, and Abbey could

not stop her laughter. Michael watched her with a gleam in his eye, chuckling

low along with her. The more she laughed, the more she found it impossible to

stop.

“Aye, Desdemona is a fine horse, indeed! How terribly thoughtful of you, Sam!”

she managed, then fell into another fit of laughter.

Sam smiled and tipped his hat while the cousins looked at each other in confusion. “I thought you’d approve. Darfield, if we are to make it Pemberheath

before nightfall—”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” He surprised Abbey by grasping her hand and bringing it

to his mouth. His lips barely brushed her skin, but the effect on her senses was

explosive. The laughter abruptly died as a furious blush heated Abbey’s face. He

swung easily on to his horse and looked down at her as if he wanted to say

something. Finally he spurred his horse forward, but not before bestowing a look

on her that made her pulse race madly.

Getting the Taylor women dressed for the evening was an affair in and of itself.

Abbey thought Sarah looked exhausted, and Molly completely frazzled.

Tori and

Ginny each tried on several gowns before deciding what they would wear.

Abbey’s

spacious bedchamber was strewn with brightly colored gowns and petticoats. Even

Nan insisted on having her hair dressed. It was painfully obvious that it was a

rare occurrence for her, because she wailed at every stroke of the brush on her

hair and complained that the pins stabbed her scalp.

Abbey dressed herself. Sarah and Molly were too preoccupied with the demands of

her house guests, which was fine by her. She had never cared much for the

assistance of a maid, but for the months she had been in England, it seemed

impossible to escape that single protocol.

She was sitting on the settee leafing through a magazine Ginny had brought from

Boston when she heard the rap on the door. She rose, motioning Sarah to continue

what she was doing, and giggled at the dozen hair pins Sarah held in her mouth

as she fought Ginny’s thick blond tresses.

A servant bowed deeply when Abbey swung the door open. “The master requests an

audience in the formal study, milady.”

Abbey’s pulse immediately began to race. “When?”

“At once, if you please, milady.”

“Tell Lord Darfield I shall be there directly.” Abbey shut the door and looked

back at the expectant faces.

“You look startled! Is something wrong?” Nan demanded.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Abbey said hurriedly, and quickly moved to the far side

of the room. “I must fetch my slippers,” she called, and slipped into the closet.

“What did that man say?” Nan called.

“Nothing, Aunt. I am wanted in the study, that’s all,” she called back.

In truth, his summons made her anxious. Could he be displeased with her? She

shook her head as she searched for slippers. How ridiculous; what on earth

should he have to be displeased about? Just because the last few times he had

summoned her had been to accuse her of wrongdoing or to explain his own was no

reason to overreact. Her family had been on their best behavior. Galen was gone.

Abbey found the light-blue slippers she was looking for and pulled them on her

feet. She was being absurd. He probably wanted to tell her he was leaving on

business, or that they were temporarily out of ale, or some such nonsense. It

was no more than that.

She smiled as she exited the closet and told the women she would meet them in

the foyer when they were ready. Before Nan could say anything, Abbey was out the

door.

When she reached the door of the study, she rapped lightly and heard him bid her

enter. Very gingerly she opened the door and peeked around it. Michael was

leaning against his booted foot propped upon a window seat. He looked as if he

had just returned from Pemberheath; he had discarded the formal dress and wore

his shirt opened halfway to his waist. His tousled hair fell artlessly across his open collar. He looked wonderfully virile.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked timidly.

“I did. Please come in.”

Abbey tentatively crossed the threshold. Why in God’s name was she so nervous?

“Is something wrong?”

Michael lifted a brow. “Wrong? No.”

Abbey clasped her hands behind her back and stood, feeling terribly self-conscious under his searching gaze. She noticed she was rocking back and

forth on her feet and made herself stop.

“How was your day?” Michael asked casually, dropping his foot to the floor.

“Very well, my lord.”

Michael crossed slowly to the sideboard and poured a glass of water.

“Won’t you

have a seat?”

Abbey’s eyes flicked about the room, expecting to discover the reason for his

invitation lying in the open somewhere.

“Would you prefer to stand?” he asked again, and she realized she had not moved.

“You sent for me?” she said again, suddenly desperate to know what he wanted.

“You seem preoccupied,” he remarked. Abbey’s hands shifted to the front of her

gown, where she clasped them tightly in dreaded anticipation.

“I apologize. It’s just that Aunt Nan and the girls…”

“I see. Your mind is on your guests.”

What did he mean by that? “Yes, I suppose it is.”

His gray eyes slid from the water in his hand to her, and he seemed to hesitate

for a moment. “I had not meant to detain you from your guests,” he said coolly.

Abbey did not respond. He seemed mildly irritated when she did not. “I suppose

there is no need to ask if you would like a drink,” he remarked. “Naturally,”

he

added sardonically when Abbey shook her head. He set his glass down and took

several steps until he stood in the middle of the room. The late-afternoon sun

coming in the windows behind him framed him in a soft light. With his weight on

one hip and his arms folded across his chest, he frowned at Abbey. She thought

he looked quite imposing.

He thought she was acting peculiar.

“I intended only to inquire as to your day, Abbey. Nothing more,” he said in a

clipped tone.

Abbey took an involuntary step backward. “It was uneventful, my lord,” she said

softly. Why in heaven was she acting so reticent? She almost seemed afraid of

him.

“My name,” he said with more irritation than he would have liked, “is Michael.

Stop addressing me as your lord.” He immediately held up his hand in regret. “I

apologize. I hope your evening with the Havershams is entertaining.” He turned

away from her. Obviously he had been foolishly encouraged by her demeanor last

night and this morning. Her feelings for him had not changed, and the disappointment was overwhelming.

“Thank you,” Abbey said behind him, and reached for the door. She opened it but

could not resist a look over her shoulder. He had moved to the windows and was

staring straight ahead, intent on something beyond her view.

Abbey slipped quietly from the room and hurried down the corridor. What in the

bloody hell was the matter with her? He had called her to politely inquire as to

her day! So why did she feel so nervous? What was she so afraid of?

Disgusted

with herself, she flew up the marble stairs and into her private study.

Shutting

the door behind her, she paced in front of the hearth.

She knew very well why she was afraid—she had thought of little else that day.

She was afraid of being hurt again. She had somehow reconciled the hideous

events of London, but she could not overcome the fear of something like that

happening again. The only way to protect herself was to keep a respectable

distance. Her fear translated into trepidation at the thought of being alone with him. She knew instinctively she would not be able to resist and would be

helpless to stop from falling madly in love with him all over again. And what

would happen if he rejected her again? She could not be able to bear it a second

time, she was certain of that.

Supper with Lady Haversham was a delight to the Taylor women, who regaled each

other with increasingly outlandish stories. Abbey picked at her food amid the

feminine mayhem and forced herself to laugh or respond at appropriate moments.

All evening she had been haunted by an image of Michael, standing at the window

of the study, looking out over the garden. The more she had thought of

him, the

more she had realized how foolish she had been these last several weeks.

What an

idiot she could be at times. And unforgiving. And petulant. She loved him dearly, had always loved him, would forever love him. And he loved her.