The Devil's Love (24 page)

He had

to admire her; for a woman who had just been shot at, Abbey was behaving

remarkably well. He would have expected her to fall into a fit of hysteria.

He

glanced up at the sky. The storm was moving in quickly; the temperature had

dropped dramatically since the shot was fired.

“Please hurry. The storm is almost upon us,” Abbey said, having reached the same

conclusion, and held out her hand to him. With chagrin, Michael realized he was

light-headed. He glanced down at the small, turquoise jacket she had stuffed

into his waistcoat and swallowed. It was soaked in blood.

“Give me your leg,” he said to Abbey, and pushed her up onto Samson’s back. With

what strength he had left, he clumsily scrambled up behind her, and sent Samson

galloping toward Blessing Park.

In blinding sheets of rain, Samson made his way home without help from either

rider. Abbey gripped the saddle horn as Michael’s weight sagged against her.

Half afraid he was dead, she was too frightened to look at him and kept her eyes

glued to the path in front of them. When at last the horse entered the long, circular drive, Abbey shouted to a groom coming from the stable.

“He’s been seriously hurt!” She shrieked as she slid awkwardly from Samson. The

groom caught Michael and helped him to the ground. Abbey gasped with fear when

she saw him; his dark curls were plastered to his ashen face. He attempted a

weak smile for her benefit, but she whirled toward the house and ran, screaming

for Sebastian as she crashed through the front door. Sebastian, and Sam, who had

stayed on after Routier and Southerland departed, heard her screams and bolted

from the front drawing room, meeting her halfway down the corridor.

“It’s Michael!” she cried. “He’s been hurt! Someone shot at us, and he fell…”

Sam was already striding swiftly down the corridor, ordering Sebastian to send

for a physician right away. Sebastian dragged a dazed Abbey into the drawing

room, where he yanked frantically on the bell cord several times. Jones appeared

almost instantaneously, and with one look at Abbey, soaked to the bone and a

look of horror on her face, he barked at a footman to fetch Sarah. Abbey pushed

past the stalwart butler and ran to the foyer in time to see Sam dragging Michael through the door and Sebastian rushing to help them up the stairs.

Shocked, Abbey watched them struggle up the marble stairs with Michael hanging

limply between them. It was not until Sarah firmly grabbed her elbow that Abbey

allowed herself to be led to her chamber.

Sam had assured her Michael was in no danger of dying. Sarah had persuaded her

to bathe and change, and except for that one diversion, she had paced her sitting room, where Sam had banished her while the physician attended to Michael’s wound. When she heard a door close down the hall, she rushed into the

corridor and accosted the physician as he made his way to the stairs.

“How is he? Is he all right?” she asked desperately.

The elderly doctor peered at Abbey over his round spectacles. “Allow me to

present the Marchioness of Darfield, Dr. Stephens,” Sam mumbled.

“When did Darfield take a wife?” he demanded.

“A few weeks ago,” Sam muttered uncomfortably.

The physician frowned as he perused Abbey from the crown of her hair to the hem

of her skirt, then glanced disdainfully at her wringing hands. “Stop your pouting, young lady—I’ve sewn him up and he shall be good as new on the morrow,”

he commanded gruffly.

“You’re quite sure?”

“Certainly I am!” he barked.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Abbey sighed, relief evident on her face, and disappeared

into her sitting room.

“What the hell is Darfield doing with a wife?” Dr. Stephens demanded again of

Sam. “I’ve not heard a word of it.”

“It’s rather a long story, Doctor. I will save it for Lord Darfield to tell you,” Sam said as he showed the doctor out.

Sam immediately returned to the master chamber and strolled in, ignoring Michael’s annoyed glare from his bed, where he lay propped against a mountain of

pillows.

“I was not jesting, Sam. I am not going to lie here like some infirm old man,”

he barked.

Sam settled into an armchair of soft suede and stretched his legs onto the matching ottoman, crossing them at the ankles. “You lost a good amount of blood.

The least you can do is lie there until the morning and replenish the black stuff that runs in your veins. If you don’t, you’ll scare the staff half to death. Some of them already believe you are not quite human.”

Michael grumbled irritably.

“Now that we are alone, what the hell happened?” Sam asked.

Michael exhaled loudly and shook his head. “I don’t know, other than someone

fired at us. She was standing in the open, in the meadow, and I was near a lone

oak. We were in the bloody open, and I knocked her to the ground. Must have

sliced my chest on a rock.”

“Do you think it was poachers?”

Michael quickly shook his head. “No. We were in a meadow—not any large game

there. It may have been a trespasser, but I think not. We were too deep within

the estate.”

Sam was clearly startled. “But who in the devil would want to harm you?”

“I don’t know if the shot was fired at me or her. I am sure Carrington made some

enemies along the way, but I can’t think of what anyone would hope to gain from

her death.”

“He probably added some strange codicil to that blasted will of his,” Sam muttered angrily.

“He may have, but that doesn’t make any sense now that she’s married.

Her

fortune belongs to me; in fact, I have put it in trust.”

“But it cannot be widely known she is married, or that she is here,” Sam

speculated. “If someone were after her money and thought she was the orphaned

daughter and sole survivor to the Carrington fortune, that might explain an attempt on her life. If money is owed and stipulated in the will, I suppose one

would have an easier time collecting through the courts if there were no survivors.”

Michael moved his arm and grimaced at the pain. “If that is true, then I should

let it be known widely that I have married her. Can you get a notice to the Times?”

“Of course, but still, it makes no sense. Who besides your staff would have

known you were riding today? It’s not likely someone could stake out the whole

of Blessing Park and happen to have been there this afternoon. Whoever it was

had to know where you were going.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed as he considered Sam’s remark. “Abbey doesn’t know how

to ride. I had her on that damned nag Desdemona. If someone had been following

her, they could have easily skirted around and waited ahead—it took us more than

an hour to go a distance of only a few miles. However, I can’t believe it was

anyone in my employ—they all adore her.”

“Then who?” Sam asked, bewildered.

“In addition to the locals, my solicitors, you, and Southerland, there is only

one other who knows she is here…”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he nodded. “Routier. I was rather surprised to see him

with Southerland in Pemberheath.”

“Quite by accident, Alex assured me. Routier was on his way here to collect on

the settlement of Carrington’s estate.”

“Indeed?” Sam frowned and pressed his fingertips together. Malcolm Routier was a

ruthless rake and unsavory businessman. Long ago he and Michael had usurped

Routier’s supposed trade routes. It had been too easy. Routier had not really

fought it, which led them to suspect Routier made his money from pirating, and

not the legitimate trade he would have everyone believe. When Michael had

threatened to expose his scheme, Routier had done his best to shame Michael by

spreading vile rumors about the Devil of Darfield. And then, purely by chance,

Routier had had the singular misfortune of falling in love with Michael’s sister, Mariah. Michael had, of course, refused his offer. Humiliated, Routier

had vowed in private circles to see Michael brought down, a threat at which

Michael had laughed openly.

“What are you thinking?” Michael asked.

Sam reluctantly continued. “Could she be lying? I mean, is there not a possibility she could be mixed up in something? After all, you don’t know her,

not really.”

Michael’s chest tightened at the suggestion. “No! Absolutely not. In the first

place, I have had her thoroughly investigated. In the second place, I would know

if she had lied.”

Sam looked doubtful.

“Sam, that woman can’t hide a thing. Every emotion she ever has is as clear as a

picture if you only look in her eyes,” he insisted. “She could not hide an illicit arrangement with Routier. I will send a note to my solicitor in the morning and have him get Bow Street on it,” he said, settling gingerly against

the pillows, grimacing with pain. “In the meantime, I do not want her out of my

sight,” he added with a yawn.

Sam grinned.

“What’s so damned funny?” Michael snarled, his ill humor worsening by the minute

as the light dose of laudanum Stephens had given him clouded his mind.

“It wasn’t so very long ago that you never wanted to see her again. Now you do

not want her out of your sight,” Sam observed happily.

Michael glowered at him. “Thank you for that astute observation, Hunt. I have an

obligation to protect her, or have you forgotten she now carries the Ingram name?”

“How could I possibly forget that monumental fact?‘’ Sam laughed.

“I should hope you are quite finished amusing yourself.”

“All right, all right!” Sam laughed. “I’ll leave you be.” He left, chuckling as he walked out of the room. Michael frowned deeply. He did not like that Sam

could see right through him, not one bit.

He was awakened from a peaceful sleep a short time later by the creaking of the

door being opened slowly. He jerked upright and gasped at the stab of pain. The

glow of a candelabra filtered silently into his room, and he relaxed, assuming

it was Jones or his valet, Damon.

But to his surprise, it was Abbey who slipped through the door behind the light.

With a candelabra in one hand and a violin and bow in the other, she took several steps into the room and peered toward the bed.

“Are you awake?” she whispered cheerfully when she realized he was watching her.

“I am now,” he said dryly.

She pushed the door shut with her foot and crossed the room until she was

standing next to him, holding the candle high. She leaned over and inspected his

face.

“Sam said you were not shot after all, that it was only ‘a deep gash.’ I was fairly convinced it was a bullet. Those hunters must not have seen you behind

the tree,” she said.

Michael did not say anything to that; a dim shadow of doubt scudded through his

mind. You don’t know her, not really, Sam’s voice echoed.

“The doctor said you will be fine, perhaps a bit sore,” she announced.

Michael smiled lazily. “Have you come to nurse me back to health, then?”

Her laugh was melodic. “You would not want me nursing you. I can birth a calf,

but when it comes to humans, I am quite hopeless. Ask Withers,” she said, then

flashed a cheerful smile.

Michael warmed at the sight of it; he was already feeling better. If she would

just sit on the edge of the bed…

She moved away from the bed.

“I don’t believe knowledge of a cow’s anatomy will help me. Perhaps you would

play for me instead?‘’ he asked as he struggled to stack some pillows behind his

back.

“What?” she asked, then glanced at the violin in her hand. “Oh! I was playing

for Sarah and Cook—well, really, I was learning to play from them. They are

teaching me a Scottish dance to play at the wedding of Sarah’s brother.

He’s a

groom in your stable, you know.” Of course Michael knew that, but said nothing,

admiring her as she wandered about his room and examined his belongings. “It’s

next month. They are having the wedding here, did you know? Withers said next

month should be exceptionally fine for a garden wedding. It took me two full

days to convince him that we could rope off the roses just so, and no one would

touch them. That man lives in constant fear of someone touching his roses!

Doesn’t it seem lovely? A garden wedding?” She sighed wistfully as she leaned

over a dresser to inspect a small portrait of his sister.

“I was on my way to bed,” she continued, seemingly unaware that he was not

participating in the conversation, “and although Jones said you were not to be

disturbed, I thought a look wouldn’t be so very harmful. I thought I would see

for myself that you are quite all right. That shot came terribly close to you, I

think.” She stopped her perusal of items on his vanity and glanced at him from

the corner of her eye. “I am sorry if I woke you,” she added softly.

“I’m not.”

She smiled happily. “Well. Jones was rather emphatic when he said you needed

your rest. Quite emphatic, really, so I suppose I should go,” she said as

she

started toward the door, pausing to inspect some of his things on the hearth

mantel.

“Won’t you play for me?” he asked.

Startled, she glanced over her shoulder. “Surely you don’t want to hear music

now.” She laughed.

“On the contrary, I would very much like it,” he insisted.

“Jones said—”

“The devil take Jones.”

Delighted, Abbey smiled. “All right,” she said, placing the candelabra on a writing table, “but you must promise to bear Jones’s wrath when he learns of