Julia London (20 page)

“Wait!” she cried. Michael glanced up expectantly. She frantically sought something to say, something to distract him so she could think. She had to think! “Wh-what of the thousand pounds?” she stammered.

“You won it. It’s yours.” He shrugged and turned back to the table.

“Bank draft or cash?” she asked hurriedly in a bid for time.

“Bank draft or cash?” He chuckled. “Why, whichever you prefer. Lady Darfield. And before you ask, I shall have Sebastian deliver it to you first thing in the morning,” he added, anticipating her question. Abbey nodded numbly, still staring at the table.

“Would you like to reconsider?” he asked. Abbey flinched; this was just fabulous! Now he would think her an unwelcome obligation, a silly child,
and
a coward.

“Absolutely not,” she said imperiously, then, for good measure, added, “What are you waiting for?”

Michael laughed and turned back to the table. As he concentrated on the shot, Abbey turned slowly away; she could not bear to watch. After what seemed to be an extremely long time, she heard him strike the ball, and closed her eyes tightly as she counted the balls dropping into the pocket.
One, two, three
 … Her eyes flew open. Only three! Her heart sank on a wave of bitter disappointment.

Four
. Elation surged through her, and clutching her cue tightly, she whirled toward the table.

“You missed an amazing shot of truly incredible skill, wouldn’t you say, Anderson?” Michael drawled.

“Yes, my lord,” the footman replied blandly.

Abbey grabbed the railing and gaped at the empty table. “How in God’s name did you do that?” she demanded. “Did you
cheat
?”

Michael shouted his laughter, then swept a hand to his heart and bowed deeply. “Madam, you wound me.”

Abbey laughed nervously, but inside, she was reeling.
Three months
. She had promised to wait three months before deciding if this was heaven or hell. Good Lord, what had she done? She felt the color drain from her face and impulsively thrust her cue at the footman.

“The excitement has exhausted me, I’m afraid. With your leave, I think I would retire and contemplate how I shall spend my thousand pounds,” she said with forced lightness. It was the truth; she was emotionally drained. Her heart was thudding against her chest, threatening to break free and spill, raw and exposed, on the billiards table.

“Of course, madam,” Michael said with mock formality. He was hardly ready for her to retire. “By the by, I have some business associates who will be here in the morning, but afterward, I would like to take you riding,” he said as he took a brandy the footman handed him. Abbey stopped cold, and he could have sworn her spine snapped a little straighter.

“Riding?”
she asked. A little hysterically, he thought. It occurred to him that she might not
want
to ride with him. Perhaps she did not want to wait three months, either. Perhaps he had foolishly pushed her to remain with him when she preferred to go. Perhaps he was the biggest fool of all. He had his chance to end this sham marriage, but he had let a pretty face cloud his judgment.

“That is, if you want to go,” he said coolly.

Abbey half turned toward him. “I would enjoy it very much,” she said politely, but Michael could see it was a lie, and it disturbed him greatly.

“Two o’clock, then,” he said curtly, and turned away. When he heard the door close softly, he jerked his gaze to Anderson.

“Not a word about the fourth ball if you value your employment, Anderson,” he warned.

Startled, the footman shook his head furiously. “
Never
, my lord.” He gasped, truly affronted, then smiled approvingly.

“Talk with Mr. Hanley, the stable master. He will see that a tame mount is saddled for you,” Sarah said in an attempt to soothe Abbey the next morning.

“It won’t do any good!” Abbey despaired, squirming as Sarah tried to fasten her gown.

“Really, it’s not so difficult, mum! After a few minutes, and you’ll think you were born astride. You will make yourself sick if you keep fretting so!”

“Fretting?” Abbey laughed hysterically. “You call this fretting? This is panic. Sheer, unadulterated
panic
!”

“Mr. Hanley will see to it,” Sarah said emphatically.

Abbey sighed. This was really a bad idea. She had stupidly agreed to risk her fool neck just to be with a man who didn’t care for her. Spending time with him would only make it harder to leave when the time came. And she would have to leave, her foolish wager notwithstanding. Nothing else was fair, nothing else made sense. Least of all her absurd agreement to go riding when she had never before been on the back of a horse.

“Go and see Mr. Hanley,” Sarah said again as she finished with Abbey’s gown.

Abbey marched woodenly from the room, her imagination running wild. She could envision herself being trampled beneath the hooves of a high-spirited horse like the one she had seen Michael ride. Mounting anxiety caused her to fairly fly down the stairs and out the door in search of Mr. Hanley, the only one who could help her now. Outside, she picked up her skirts and raced for the stables, careering ungracefully about the curving path to the stables, and almost colliding with Sam and another gentleman who appeared around a corner. In the face of her impending doom, she had completely forgotten Michael’s mention of appointments this morning.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed genuinely, knowing full well she looked ridiculous running down the path. “I was … that is, I was …” she stammered, then smiled brightly. “I’m off to the stables!” she said cheerfully, bobbed a curtsey, and circled widely around the two men.

“Lady Darfield, it’s a pleasure to see you again. You are looking quite well,” Sam said with a playful smile on his handsome face.

“Thank you, Lord Hunt. You look to be in remarkably good health yourself,” she said, frowning slightly at him.

Sam’s grin deepened. He obviously was not content to let her sidle by. “It would appear we detain you from an important … ah, appointment?”

“Not at all,” she said coolly. “It’s just a bit chilly this time of morning. I was hurrying along to keep warm.”

“Might I suggest a wrap?”

Abbey glanced at the stranger. “You might,” she forced herself to reply.

Sam almost laughed, but caught himself after seeing her pointed look. He glanced at the gentleman with him; his smile faded as a distinct change came over his hazel eyes.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Malcolm Routier,” he said, his voice noticeably cooler. “Mr. Routier, Abigail Carrington Ingram, the Marchioness of Darfield.” Abbey slid her gaze to the tall, amber, almost yellow-eyed man and immediately noticed
his look of shock. She lifted her chin and sank into a polite curtsey.

“Surely, madam,” Mr. Routier exclaimed, “you are not Captain Carrington’s daughter?”

Surprised, Abbey blinked. “Malcolm Routier? My father had a business associate with that name. Why, of course!” she said, recalling the name.

“I am he.” Routier’s amber eyes took on an odd glint. “We have had the pleasure of meeting once before, my lady.” At Abbey’s puzzled look, he added, “Perhaps you do not recall? It was in Bombay, at the governor’s soirée.”

Abbey could hardly remember the governor’s party, much less meeting the man. “I confess I do not recall,” she admitted.

With a winsome grin, he said, “It was several years ago, madam. You were quite young.” Abbey glanced at Sam, who now seemed oddly perturbed.

“Perhaps we did,” she said uncertainly.

“Lady Darfield, if you will excuse us, we won’t keep you any longer,” Sam interjected. “Lord Darfield is undoubtedly waiting,” he continued, and gave Routier an uncharacteristically dark look that puzzled Abbey.

“Of course. A pleasure, Mr. Routier. Good day,” she said, and slipped through the paddock gate. She did not turn back and walked as slowly as she could make herself until she was quite certain they were far enough along the path they could not see her, then she dashed into the stable.

She paused inside so her eyes could adjust to the dim light. A horse in a nearby stall snorted right above her shoulder, surprising her, and she let out a little shriek as she whirled toward the beast. Michael’s huge black stallion snorted again, impatiently, and studied her closely with one enormous black eye. Abbey gaped at the horse. She had never been so close to the huge animal; he had to be at least a foot taller than she and was as terrifying as he was large.

“A magnificent piece of horseflesh, wouldn’t you agree?”

For the second time, Abbey started and turned abruptly to see a tall, dark-haired man.

“My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you,” he said, flashing an apologetic smile that was all white teeth. He nodded toward Samson. “Darfield has fine taste in horses, I’ll give him that.”

“I suppose,” Abbey muttered, and glanced warily across her shoulder at the huge beast.

The man cocked his head to one side as he considered her. “I suppose Samson seems a bit intimidating.”

Abbey yanked her gaze to the stranger, assessing him. “A bit,” she admitted suspiciously.

“I am Alex Christian,” he said, extending his hand.

“Abbey Carrington. Ingram. Abbey Carrington Ingram,” she clarified. If the man was shocked, he was careful not to show it, but smiled broadly.

“I have some business with your husband, but I had not anticipated I would have the extreme pleasure of making your acquaintance, Lady Darfield. Are you interested in horses?” Forgetting he was a stranger, Abbey sighed unconsciously and looked at the stallion again.

“I am really rather unfamiliar with horses. I had hoped there would be one a little … 
smaller
.”

Alex Christian laughed and strolled to Samson and stroked his nose.

“Most are considerably smaller than this beast,” he said fondly. “I noticed several mares; you would be much happier astride one of those.”

“Really?” Abbey said quickly, and pivoted on her heel to examine the other stalls.

Alex strolled casually from Samson’s rather spacious stall to a smaller, neighboring stall, where a roan stood patiently.

“This one is much smaller, and I rather think a gentle sort,” he said, and patted the horse’s neck. Abbey was quickly at his side.

“How can you tell?” she asked anxiously, hoping something as obvious as a marking would indicate gentleness in a horse.

Alex glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a faint smile of amusement on his lips. “See how she keeps her head
down? And she doesn’t snort and stomp about like Samson. This horse is used to having many riders on her back.” As if hearing him, the roan dipped her head and nudged his pocket.

“Ah! I see!” Abbey exclaimed gleefully. “And if one was to ride her, do you suppose she would, say, go
left
if one wanted?”

“Yes,” he laughed, stroking the roan’s nose. “I suppose she would.” Abbey glanced at Alex as he cooed softly to the horse. He had a warm, inviting smile, one that made the corners of his green eyes crinkle. With dark-brown hair just a shade lighter than hers and a face tanned by the sun, he was a very handsome man, almost as handsome as Michael. Almost.

“And then I suppose it follows she would also go right?” she asked shyly.

Alex laughed again and nodded. “I think if one were to tug on her rein just so, she would do just about anything. If I were to ride her, I would do thus.” He smiled and, taking a bridle from a post nearby, looped it loosely over the roan’s head and demonstrated. Abbey watched attentively, trying to memorize everything he showed her. He had just suggested they look at a sidesaddle when the stable master, Mr. Hanley, bustled inside. Alex and Abbey turned simultaneously turned toward him; the stable master stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at them.

“Your grace!” he exclaimed, and hurried quickly to the stall at which Abbey and Alex stood. Startled, Abbey looked at Alex.
Your grace?

“It’s quite all right,” the duke said, waving Hanley off. “Lady Darfield was showing me some of the mounts.”

Mr. Hanley looked nervously at Abbey who, having quickly recovered from her shock, smiled beguilingly at the flustered stable master.

“His grace is quite enamored of the stallion,” she offered cheerfully.

Mr. Hanley turned red in the face. “Lord Southerland, my humblest apologies. Had I known you were within, I would have attended you
immediately
,” Mr. Hanley said, emphatically emphasizing the last word.

“Not to worry, Hanley. Lady Darfield and I have quite enjoyed our chat.” He turned to Abbey and smiled, bowing slightly. “I believe Lord Darfield is expecting me. If you will be so kind as to excuse me.”

Abbey smiled and nodded, dipping lightly into a belated curtsey. With a warm smile, he strolled away, his gait at once graceful and powerful.

“Thank you!” she called after him. Looking over his shoulder with a warm grin, he nonchalantly waved a hand. Abbey turned her attention to Mr. Hanley, who was still a little pale after finding the duke unattended.

What in God’s name had she been thinking? Abbey wondered helplessly when she emerged from the house at promptly two o’clock, dressed in a turquoise riding habit Tori had made for her in the event she should encounter a mule in England. She nervously fidgeted with her borrowed riding crop as she watched a young man lead an enormous gray mare from the stable outfitted with a sidesaddle. Michael followed behind on Samson, who pranced impatiently beneath him, forcing Michael to rein hard to control the beast as he neared her.

“Good afternoon, madam. I took the liberty of selecting Desdemona for you,” he announced with a succinct nod. “She’s perhaps a little green, but I think you should have no trouble.”

Abbey’s heart sank. Mr. Hanley had promised she would be given a very,
very
tame mount. Michael gave her a curious look, then motioned toward the mare with his head.

“If you please, Lady Darfield,” he said expectantly.

Abbey peered up at him, then slowly slid her gaze to the horse, who was yanking her head against the stableboys tight hold. Abbey’s stomach lurched.