Julia London (47 page)

Abbey froze.

His kiss was gentle, carefully molding her lips to his. His tongue darted across her lower lip, then inside. Her own body betrayed her. Desire crashed through her like great waves against the shore. His tongue probed deeply, then retreated, only to return again, sliding slowly past her lips. When he groaned against her mouth, she instinctively responded, meeting him timidly. When he shifted his weight against her, and she felt his swollen manhood pressing against her abdomen, her heart cried out for her to stop.

But her heart was not strong enough. Michael let go of her hands so his own could float to her neck and then her breast. Abbey’s own traitorous hands slipped inside his shirt, moving over the soft down, brushing across his nipples. Michael’s kiss grew more insistent and deeper. He anchored her to him with one arm while his hand caressed her body. Abbey was dismayed by the stark physical desire and emotional need for him. She had felt so lost the last few weeks, but in his arms,
she knew where she was, and as reckless as it was, she needed him. She needed him to hold her, to comfort her, to make love to her.

Somehow, without her help, her gown came off. She was clad in silk chemise, her nipples straining the sheer fabric, and Michael took the peak in his mouth. She lifted beneath him, straining for his touch. His hand floated down her side, found the hem of her chemise, and slipped beneath. She drew her breath, slowly and inaudibly, as his fingers brushed her knee, then the inside of her thigh. When his hand swept the apex of her thighs, she moaned softly in his ear.

“Abbey,”
he whispered. “
I love you, darling
.” It was the strongest aphrodisiac he could have given her. Tears slipped from her eyes as he began to stroke her seductively, spreading her so he could pleasure her selflessly. He kissed her tears, her lips, her neck. He laved her nipples through the sheer fabric of her chemise while stroking her, exploring her, and bringing her to the edge of fulfillment. And he whispered his love to her, over and over again.

Abbey closed her eyes as tears continued to seep. She was aware when he paused to unsheath his rigid member and, despite her hurt, smiled when he slowly entered her, inch by inch. He continued to stroke her with his fingers while he moved slowly and surely inside of her. Her hands, detached from her body, fluttered over his hard frame, feeling every sinewy muscle, while her tongue painted his lips. She began to teeter on the cusp; his strokes instinctively lengthened.

“Now, darling.”
He moaned, and as she was swept away by the tide of pleasure that washed over her, she heard him call her name.

She lay there beneath his weight, the path of her tears still wet on her face. He lifted his head from her neck and kissed her cheek.

“Please don’t,” she whispered through tears of helplessness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely again and again. “I’m so so sorry I hurt you. I would that I could take it all back, that we had never left Blessing Park. I would give my life to have
those days back, to have you back,” he said softly, feathering a row of kisses from her cheek to her mouth. Still straddling her, he brought her hand to his mouth, tenderly kissed the palm, then pressed it against his cheek. Abbey’s eyes filled, almost blinding her. He sounded so sincere, as if he were in pain, too.

She was so confused! What had she just done?

“Please let me up,” she said weakly. He did, reluctantly. She slid off the bed, picked up her gown, and walked away, without a word or a backward glance, through the door adjoining their rooms.

Michael fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Bloody hell, the feel of her in his arms, the sweet, tentative response to him had been his undoing. He had wanted so badly to prove how much he loved her. He had wanted to sink between those soft white thighs and see her eyes pool with desire. He had wanted to hold her close to him, to heal her. But he had not been prepared for the enormity of what just happened. She had come to hurt him, and in her time of need, she had turned to him for comfort, the one person who had hurt her deeply. She had literally clung to him.

Michael moaned and threw his arm over his eyes. She
would
forgive him, if he had to die convincing her. He needed her too badly. He loved her too much. She was more important than the air he breathed, and he’d be damned if he would let her walk out of his life.

Not without a fight.

In all the years Sam had known Michael, he had never seen him so distraught. Not when his sister had been ruined, not when his mother had died, not even the many times his father had disgraced the family name. He watched Michael pacing the library like a caged animal, glaring madly at Galen Carrey, who stood calmly at one end of the room.

He had known there was a risk in bringing Carrey here. But the man had, after all, confessed, had warned Michael about Routier, and, in the end, had killed the bastard. In the weeks
since then Sam and Alex had kept him hidden until he could safely leave England, and Sam had softened toward Carrey. He was a young fool, there was no getting around that, and had been led astray, too easily, by Routier. But Sam suspected the young man would pay every day of his life, for the rest of his life, for what he had done. And apologizing to Abbey would not ease that torment, no matter how much Carrey hoped it would.

“She is walking the grounds just now,” Sam heard Michael say, and forced his attention back to his friend.

“Thank you, my lord. After I have seen her, I will leave immediately for Portsmouth.”

Michael paused in his pacing and eyed Carrey suspiciously. “What are your plans?” he asked slowly.

“I am off to the West Indies. I know a captain of a merchant vessel who might take on an old hand.”

“I am sure your cousin will want to hear from you from time to time,” Michael muttered.

Carrey arched a brow in surprise. “Then I will oblige her with an occasional letter,” he said carefully.

Michael’s gaze flicked over him once again, and he turned his back. “Ask Withers. He’ll know exactly where she is,” he muttered. Carrey shifted a glance to Sam, who nodded, then, without another word, he slipped out through the open doors onto the terrace.

“It was the right thing to do, Michael,” Sam offered.

“I doubt it,” he muttered. “But it’s important to her.”

“You might be interested to know I have not heard a single word about the Darfields, other than an outpouring of sympathy for what you must have endured at the hands of Routier,” Sam offered.

Michael’s gaze slashed across Sam. “You are quite certain?” he asked, a faint tinge of hope evident in his voice.

“Everyone claims to have known that Routier was a scoundrel.”

“They knew the truth all along, did they?” Michael muttered sarcastically, and sank into a leather chair. A moment of silence lapsed between them.

“How is Abbey?” Sam asked slowly.

Michael shrugged hopelessly. “Physically? Quite recovered. Emotionally? Terribly distant. Avoids me like death. Seems to think I live by a double standard.”

Sam smiled wryly at Michael, who was staring blankly into space. “Be patient awhile longer. I know Abbey loves you, as sure as I stand before you. Just wait for her.”

Michael snorted. “Unfortunately, I think I shall wait for the rest of my life.”

Just as Withers had said, Abbey was at the ruins. Galen rode to the distant fortress, and when the pile of stones came into view, he could see Abbey standing high atop a mound of rubble that had once been a tower. He reined to a halt at the skirt of the old castle and waved; she did not return his greeting, but peered down at him with a dark frown. A crippled dog, however, roused himself from his nap in the sun and hobbled forward to greet him. Galen slid from his horse and reached down to pet the hound. With a sigh, he straightened, and using a gloved hand to shield the sun, looked up.

“Abbey, it doesn’t look quite safe up there!” he called. She responded by turning her back on him. Grumbling, Galen picked his way through rocks that had fallen through the centuries until he stood just below her mound of rubble.

“I know you don’t want to speak with me, but I do wish you’d come down from there. If you should fall—”

“So what if I do?” she called down.

“Self-pity does not become you,” Galen chided her.

“Do not presume to lecture me, sir,” she said icily, but nonetheless began to climb down the mound of rocks. Galen watched as she picked her way down, coming to her side to help her the last few feet. She ignored his outstretched hand and jumped to the ground. She dusted her hands against her black skirt and adjusted her hideous hat before peering up at him.

“How did you get here? I am rather surprised Darfield
would allow it,” she said acidly. “Assuming, of course, he knows about it, or are we meeting behind his back again?”

Galen clasped his hands behind his back and gave her a disapproving frown. “I assure you he is very much aware of my presence. I have come to apologize, little one.”

“I suppose, like Darfield, you think I should curtsey politely and tell you all is forgiven.”

“I do not expect you to do a blasted thing except extend me the common courtesy of at least listening to me,” he said.

Abbey shrugged indifferently and began to walk toward what had once been the inner bailey.

Galen fell in beside her. “I know it must be terribly difficult to absorb everything that has happened, but I want you to know I never meant to hurt you.”

Abbey laughed disdainfully. “Indeed? You must have thought I would rejoice in your deception when it was all over, seeing that you never meant to hurt me.”

“Abbey, I don’t expect you to understand, I hardly do myself. But I could not go without telling you how terribly sorry I am that I did this to you. I will never be able to forgive myself.”

It was hardly adequate, but it was enough. Abbey sniffed and sat heavily on a pile of rocks that had been a bench at one time. She was not so wounded that she could not see how earnest her cousin was in his apology.

“Oh, Galen.” At last she sighed sadly. “I don’t pretend to understand, but I bear you no ill will.”

Galen sat next to her. “That’s exceedingly kind, Abbey, and more than I deserve or could have hoped for. But for some reason, I have the distinct feeling this is not about me,” he said softly.

She nodded and cast her gaze to her lap. “You should not have done it. But in the end, it didn’t matter what you did, because he never would have believed me. You see, he saw us at the arbor the day you came, and he asked me who you were. I told him you were a deckhand and knew Withers. But I didn’t tell him you were my cousin. From that, he assumed I had lied to him about everything.”

“I see. That was hardly fair of him.”

“It was
horribly
unfair.”

“Yes, but what choice did he have?” Galen asked softly.

Confused, Abbey peered at him. “He could have believed me, Galen. I never gave him cause to doubt me.”

“You never gave him any cause, but consider it from his viewpoint. What would you think?” A pink stain of embarrassment crept into her cheeks, and she turned away. “You are right, Abbey. He should have believed you. But it is not so unforgivable that he did not, is it? You were not completely truthful. And given the circumstances that followed, he would have been less than human to not at least have questioned.”

Abbey’s brow wrinkled with thought. “Even if I
did
admit there was some logic to your reasoning, which I have not, the fact of the matter is he did not trust me. And furthermore, he lied to me, too. He didn’t tell me he knew the doll you brought was a counterfeit. He accused me of cuckolding him when he had just come from the arms of his lover. I have to ask myself if the affection he professes is true. Or does he say the same thing to
her?
”

Galen chuckled, ignoring Abbey’s scowl. He had affection for her, all right. The man was absolutely besotted. Abbey mumbled irritably under her breath.

“My apologies, but the man I just left is so tormented by the thought of losing you that he can barely form a coherent sentence. He paces the library like a panther, glancing frequently out the window to see if you return. I would wager the dark circles under his eyes are from many sleepless nights plagued by thoughts of you.”

She rolled her eyes and stood, then walked slowly to what was left of the curtain wall. Galen followed her, closing the distance between them until he was standing directly behind her.

“Lord Hunt told me how he cradled your broken body, stood vigil at your bedside, night after night, praying openly for your health and recovery. I would wager that was not a man who lied about his affections. As for his lover, I think
among the
ton
, illicit liaisons are the norm. But I also think the man I saw in the library will never go back to her.”

Abbey’s back went rigid. “How can you be so sure?” she asked softly.

“Because I have it on good authority that Darfield would have given his own life for yours. He would have infused his own health into you if he could. Sam said ‘He would have brought down the moon and doused the sun’ if that’s what it took to bring you back to life. He was by no means indifferent, Abbey. He was frantic at the thought of losing you. A man who feels that strongly about a woman does not need or want a lover. Little one, men can change. I did, and you can accept that.”

Abbey glanced uneasily over her shoulder at him.

“Forgive him, Abbey. Forgive him as you forgive me. He deserves it far more than I do, and I swear to you, he is more than worthy of your esteem.”

Abbey turned to him then and Galen took her into his arms, hugging her tightly. After a moment, he kissed the top of her head and released her.

“I have said what I came to say. I have permission to write, little one. I am off to the West Indies now, and I’ll let you know if I get a post—a
legitimate
post.” He smiled. With an affectionate chuck for her chin, Galen turned on his heel and left Abbey standing at the old stone wall.

As he swung up on his horse, he was amazed at the tremor in his hands. His crime was far, far worse than he had imagined. He, and he alone, had fundamentally shaken the foundation of trust between two people who truly loved each other. And for that, he would repent until his dying day.