Julia London (46 page)

“I miss dining with you. Won’t you try the soup?”

“I am not the least bit hungry.”

“Aren’t you indeed? Perhaps you would like a drink?”

“No!” she replied without hesitation.

“What, no ale? We have plenty in stock,” he said dryly.

Abbey frowned. “What do you want?” she demanded again.

Michael leaned back, pressing his splayed fingertips together. “I told you. I miss dining with you,” he said genuinely. Abbey rolled her eyes and looked away. “You are quite recovered and well enough to begin to take your meals in here, don’t you think?”

“My health is not the issue, my lord. I prefer dining alone,” she said coldly.

Michael did not intend to let her new habit of addressing him formally or her acerbic tongue deter him. “Nevertheless, I do not prefer to dine alone. Scintillating conversation aids my digestion.” The footman set a plate in front of him. “Ah, the veal looks very good this evening,” he said casually, and knifed a portion. Abbey ignored her plate. Apparently she preferred to starve than dine with him.

“You should really eat something, Abbey. You’re rather thin—”

“I shall be well enough to sail for America in a fortnight or so,” she said flippantly.

“Indeed?” Michael asked impassively, then looked to one of the footmen. “My compliments to Cook. This is really quite delicious.” He fit another bite into his mouth.

Abbey frowned. “Is there nothing you would say, then?” she demanded.

“I have remarked on the veal. What else is there?”

“That is not what I meant!”

“I beg your pardon. What exactly did you mean?” he asked calmly.

Abbey leaned forward and glared at him. “I
mean
, my lord, is there nothing you would say about my imminent return to America?”

Michael leaned back and turned his gaze to the candelabra above them, pretending to contemplate her declaration. “No, I don’t suppose there is,” he responded cheerfully after a long moment.

Abbey exhaled loudly. “What did you expect?” he smiled. She picked up a fork and began to push peas around her plate.

“I expected you would be pleased, or angry … I don’t know! I suppose I thought you would at least acknowledge it!”

“I see no point in acknowledging something that is not about to happen,” he remarked.

Abbey’s brows snapped together in an angry line. “I should have done it months ago!”

“Ah, it was no more likely then than it is now. What about some pudding?” he asked, nodding to a footman. “At least eat something, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want any pudding! Stop trying to change the subject.”

Michael nodded to the two footmen then and they quietly vacated the room. When the door closed behind them, he poured a small glass of port and held it out in the gesture of a toast.

“Abbey, I hope you will hear me with an open heart and mind,” he started. Abbey’s swinging foot slowly stopped. Now,
that
was the Abbey he knew and loved. Not one emotion would pass through her that he would not see. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“Hear what?” she asked suspiciously.

“Hear what I have to say about London, about the accident and the events surrounding it.”

“You’ve said quite enough in the past few months, my lord. I am not sure I want to hear any more,” she responded quietly. She sounded sadly sincere.

Michael set his port on the table. “I will grant you that I have said quite a lot, but is there no common ground on which we may converse?”

“Common ground?” She laughed. “How rich. We have
never
stood on common ground,” she scoffed. “You made that perfectly clear the day I came here.”

“We did. Until the day you lied to me about Galen,” he said solemnly.

That stopped her cold. Like a dozen afternoon clouds, a range of emotions skirted across her face. Disbelief, anger, hurt; they were all there.

Michael reached for her hand, but she yanked it from his reach. “I am not finding fault, I am stating a fact. I don’t blame you, Abbey. I understand why you did it, but at least try to understand my perspective.”

“And what perspective would that be? That I would betray you? That I would scheme against you? That everything I ever said to you was a lie?
That
perspective?” she shot back.

Michael sighed. “This is not easy for either of us, darling. But please understand me. I want you back. I love you will all my heart, and I always will.”

“Don’t!”
Abbey choked, and flung her hands up in front of her face, shielding herself. “How
dare
you? How dare you say that to me now?” She gasped painfully.

“It’s true, Abbey,” he said softly, “I love you.” Abbey dragged her tortured gaze from him to the candelabra. But at least she was listening.

“When Galen Carrey appeared on our doorstep, I did not believe his claim. I was nonplussed, but I could not believe you would so brazenly betray me or what we shared at Blessing Park. It did not seem possible you could have fabricated the affection or esteem you showed me.”

Abbey winced. “Thank you for that much, anyway,” she said bitterly.

“But I could not be completely sure,” he continued. “You lied to me, Abbey. You did not tell me who he was when I asked you. You had gone to Pemberheath against my express wishes and had seen him there. He had corresponded with you
without my knowledge. You gave him
money
. And you had come here under very confusing circumstances, you must admit. What was I to think?”

“I did not
lie
to you, Michael. I just did not tell you everything! I did not tell you he was my cousin. That was my crime.”

“Semantics, love.”

Abbey’s eyes flashed angrily. “You didn’t tell me everything. You didn’t tell me about your suspicions, or the doll. Was that just semantics?”

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure of your relationship with Galen.”

“Did you think to
ask
?” she asked bitterly.

“Of course. Had I asked, would you have told me about the letters and the money?”

Abbey’s eyes widened, but she would not look at him. “Had you been here, had you not left me like a dock wench, I might have. But later? I doubt it. You were not even civil to me. I can’t believe I could have told you anything you would have believed. You were too busy worrying if I was cuckolding you,” she said incredulously.

“I was,” he admitted painfully, “insanely jealous.” He was still haunted by the image of Routier and Abbey in the maze. He shook his head to clear it.

“Surely you will not try to convince me that the horrid things you said were because you were jealous!” she gasped.

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything. But the things I said were borne of jealousy. I could not stand to see another man with you,
especially
,” he muttered angrily, “Routier.”

A long, silent minute passed while Abbey stared at him, slack-jawed. She braced white-knuckled hands against the table to steady herself. “Another man,” she repeated in a strangled voice.

“Right or wrong, I believed you had lied to me, and when I saw you dancing with other men, then laughing with Routier, of all men, I’m afraid it brought out the worst in me. When I denied his offer for Mariah’s hand, he vowed to see me ruined. I saw him attempting to do that through you.” As
painful as it was, Michael was trying his best to be as honest as he knew how.

That startling revelation sent rage spiraling dangerously out of control in Abbey. Was she to understand that Routier was the man who had spread such vile rumors about Michael? Good
God
, why hadn’t someone told her? Why hadn’t
he
told her? “Let me make sure I understand you,” she spoke at last in a voice trembling with fury. “I did not tell you that Galen was my cousin. And because you were absent from Blessing Park, I did not tell you about his letters, or that he borrowed money—
my
money. And from that you concluded that we were lovers and determined to defraud you.”

Michael was silent; she did not want a response, she wanted his jugular.

“And then, despite having left me to visit your
lover
, you became jealous when I laughed in the company of
Routier
?” she shrieked. She suddenly pounded her palms on the table and pushed back. The heavy, upholstered oak dining chair toppled behind her.

“Dear God, what an incredible fool I’ve been! And I thought you didn’t believe me, that you thought I had lied about everything I had ever said to you or had
been
with you! How stupid of me! You accused me of cuckolding you because you were
jealous
! By God, Michael, you
told
me to dance with other men!” she cried. “But you
never
told me who Routier was!” She whirled and began marching toward the door. Michael came quickly to his feet and caught her before she could reach it.

“Unhand me!”
she shouted.

Michael wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He tightened his grip when she began to struggle. Her soft body was pressed hard against his frame and the familiar scent of sweet lilac wafted over him.

“I know you are angry—”

“What in God’s name do you expect?!”

“I am sorry, sweetheart, I was wrong to suspect you. I only want to go back to the way we were. I want to love you, Abbey. And I want you to love me again.”

She was not listening; her eyes darted frantically across his chest as thoughts raced through her mind. “And next time I laugh, Michael? Will you think I have betrayed you? When you look death in the face, will you ask me to give my child your name and go to your grave wondering if it is
yours?
” she cried out.

Michael sucked in his breath, realizing she had misconstrued his words the morning of the duel. “I meant if you should remarry, I wanted the child to have my name! Jesus, Abbey, you
lied
! You defended him!” he roared.

Abbey choked on a sob. “Dear God, I can love you with all my heart and
still
have enough for others! It’s not all or nothing! But you don’t understand that! You choose between your mistress and your wife, all or nothing!”

“Abbey—”

She brought her heel down as hard as she could on the top of his boot. Michael immediately let go and stepped back, wincing with pain. Abbey’s hands fisted at her sides, her breath came in angry rasps.

“Did you know,” she said hoarsely, unshed tears brimming in her eyes, “that with every doubt, you broke my heart in two?” She angrily hit her chest with her fist. “There is nothing left but
pieces,
” she rasped. Michael took a step toward her.

“No!” she shouted angrily. “Don’t come near me again! You are an
ass
, Michael Ingram, and I
hate
you,” she cried bitterly, and ran from the room.

Stunned, Michael remained standing for some time before returning to his seat and his port. He had lost her. And she was right. He was an ass.

At three in the morning, Abbey had yet to undress. The pounding in her head was almost more than she could bear. She paced about her chamber angrily, heartbroken by what he had told her and furious she had spent so much time feeling guilty, feeling
sorry
for him, believing he was the victim! She had bitterly reconciled herself to the fact that he was faithless
and had cast her aside in a heartbeat, and
that
had been more than she thought she could tolerate.

And why, good God in heaven, did he have to say
now
that he loved her, to say the words she had so longed to hear from his lips?

She stared at the door that adjoined their rooms and wondered if he was in there, sleeping peacefully while she was tormented. He had made his little confession and now his confession, his jealousy, was her cross to bear. The very idea infuriated her, and suddenly she could not go another minute without telling him what a heartless scoundrel he was. She wanted to hurt
him
, to see dejected pain in
his
eyes. Ignoring the pounding in her head, she marched to the door and jerked it open, and, passing through the dressing room, shoved forcefully against his door.

The room was swathed in darkness except for the red embers of a dying fire. It was light enough for her to see him sitting on top of the brocade cover of his bed, one leg stretched long in front of him, the other serving as a prop for his arm. He had stripped down to his shirt and trousers, and jerked his head toward her when she marched into the room. Intense fury bubbled to the surface of her consciousness. She flew across the room, intent on inflicting any pain she could. He caught her easily. His strong hold clamped around her as he rolled over, pinning her down beneath him before she realized what had happened. Abbey was speechless as she stared up at his dark face.

“I love you, Abbey, God, I swear I do. I’ll spend my life making it up to you.”

She caught her breath in her throat; his gray eyes pierced her with a look that made her weak. The realization that one look from him could still send her to her knees and make her body yearn for his touch just added salt to her wounds. Infuriated beyond comprehension, she began to kick wildly. His iron thighs closed around her, and he settled his weight on her, locking her arms with one hand above her head. She was immobilized, and no amount of struggling could free her from his hold.

“I love you,” he muttered again, his breath softly fanning her cheek.

“I
hate
you!” she rasped.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it! How
could
you, Michael? How could you? It’s so unfair! I love you so much I would have moved the heavens for you! Why couldn’t you just believe it?” she whimpered, closing her eyes against the throbbing in her temples.

“I hope you will find it in that vast heart of yours to forgive me, darling. I will wait as long as it takes,” he murmured.

His lips were so close to hers that she could almost feel them. The memory of his lips on hers made her heart pound erratically. Dear God, she was not going to succumb to him now.

But his lips brushed lightly across her forehead, and that tender gesture sent a nerve-shattering pulse down her spine and to the tips of her toes. She closed her eyes against the warring emotions he was evoking. Insane as it was, she desperately needed him to hold her, to soothe her hurt. She felt him lean down until his lips touched hers.