The Devil's Love (25 page)

this. What shall I play… Vivaldi?”

Michael nodded, pleased that she had selected one of his favorite composers. She

placed the violin beneath her chin and plucked at one of the strings.

“I’m afraid it may sound a little peculiar. It’s difficult to appreciate it without the whole orchestra, or at least a pianoforte to accompany,” she said as

she tightened one of the strings, and drew the bow quickly across, tuning the

instrument. “You must imagine the rest. It’s really not so very hard; I do it all the time. Just pretend there is an orchestra behind me, picture it in your

mind, and you will begin to hear the music,” she said sincerely. She turned

around, her back to him, and with her bow, she gestured to the left. “Here are

the strings,” she said, and gave him a winsome grin over her shoulder. “I am the

guest soloist this evening, so there are very few violins.” She laughed gaily.

She pointed to her right. “Here are the cellos, the bass, and, or course, a viola to play tenor to my soprano.” She winked conspiratorially at Michael, then

waved her bow to the wall. “There are the horns, and there the percussion.

You

won’t hear them, because we are performing a concerto for violin.” She turned to

face him, curtsied deeply, then rose slowly and carefully placed the bow across

the strings of her instrument. The candelabra cast dancing shadows on

the wall

behind her, as if an orchestra did accompany her.

“Maestro, if you please,” she said, and drew her bow.

Michael was startled by the first notes she played. A slow, flowing rhapsody

filled the room and sent a shiver down his spine. He grew flush from the rich

sound; the strains that rose from her strings were possibly the sweetest notes

of music he had ever heard. In awe, he felt himself drifting away, and turned

his gaze to the wall as he listened to the soulful sounds, imagining Abbey in a

concert hall with an orchestra behind her. Her skill was incredible; he was astonished and moved by what he was hearing.

He slowly dragged his gaze from the wall to Abbey. She was smiling at him, and

he blushed— blushed! Without missing a beat, she asked sweetly, “Do you hear the

music?”

He did not know if he even nodded. Entranced, he watched with admiration as the

tempo of the music began to increase, and the low, sorrowful notes transformed

into higher, more robust tones. She turned away from him, strolled to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and stood bathed in faint moonlight as her bow moved

with fierce speed and grace across the strings. Her expression was remotely

serene; she seemed lost in the sea of music she was creating.

When she drew the final passionate note, she threw her head back and her arms

wide, the bow in one hand and the violin in the other, as if she were listening

to the last stanza of her imaginary orchestra.

It absolutely took his breath away.

She slowly lowered her head and smiled brilliantly.

“Did you hear it?”

Michael swallowed hard the emotion that had built within him. “Come here,” he

commanded roughly. She floated toward him and knelt at his bedside.

He reached for her, cupping her face with his hand. She lifted sparkling violet

eyes to his and leaned into the palm of his hand.

“Did you hear it?” she whispered.

“I heard it,” he choked as his chest filled with a peculiar ache. He stared into

her lovely face, marveling that she had learned to play like that for him.

It the most priceless gift he had ever received.

In a few days, when Michael had regained his strength, he, Sam, and a contingent

of men scoured thousands of Blessing Park acres for clues. Their very thorough

search, however, turned up nothing. Sam theorized that it had been nothing more

than an errant shot fired by hunters too far into Ingram property. Given that there was no evidence to support his own, darker theory, Michael did not argue,

but he remained unconvinced.

He ensured Abbey was never without a guardian, whether she was aware of it or

not, and for her own safety, Michael explained his suspicions and misgivings to

her. She thought his theory patently amusing but, at his stern look, had promised solemnly to abide by his wishes and remain at Blessing Park.

She

returned to her sitting room and dashed off a note to Galen in Portsmouth, explaining that Michael had asked her to remain at the manor, but that she was

very much looking forward to his visit.

On a cold, rainy day, Michael and Sam spent a good part of the afternoon sequestered in his library with work. But as usual of late, Michael found it difficult to concentrate. His fondness for Abbey was growing. She was so utterly

beguiling and unusual, it was impossible not to be drawn to her. And since that

day in the meadow, he had been overwhelmed by an instinctive need to protect her

from harm.

The fiercely protective feeling only intensified as letters and invitations began to pour in after the Times announced their marriage. The sight of missives

from the very people who had once deliberately shunned his family disgusted him.

In spite of the very proper salutations, he knew what they wanted. They

wanted

to see the mysterious Devil of Darfield’s bride, so that in the privacy of their

parlors they could postulate about her background, connections, and suitability

as a member of their very elite circle. They wanted to discuss her at dinner

parties and weekend soirees across England, and God help her if she did not

measure up to their lofty expectations.

So it was with trepidation that he had agreed to her request to have the Havershams to supper that evening. It was clear she considered the eccentric

couple friends, but he was torn between his desire to please her and his need to

protect her. The hopeful look in her violet eyes convinced him too easily, a phenomenon that he realized was happening more frequently. Abbey affected him as

no other person had in his life, and as extremely disturbing as that was, he

seemed powerless to change it.

Sam noticed it, too. “Bloody hell, Darfield, you’ve added that column three times. Since when have you had trouble with math? I always thought of you as

something akin to a walking abacus,” he remarked with a friendly grin.

“Since about a month or so ago,” Michael replied dryly as he examined the ledger

in front of him.

“Just a month or so ago you were a very confirmed bachelor with a distinct gift

for math. Today you are married and couldn’t add two and two if your life depended upon it.”

“Circumstances beyond my control ended my bachelorhood; I rather doubt it has

affected my ability to add.”

Sam chuckled into his cup of tea. “It seems to me you are besotted.”

“Besotted!” Michael protested. “God, Hunt, I am not some lovesick schoolboy.

However, I will admit that I am pleasantly surprised to learn that Abbey is not

the little hellion I remember.”

Sam snorted. “That’s rather an understatement. If you ask me, I think you find

yourself with a wife that far exceeds any expectation you could have even dreamed.”

“I do not believe I asked you,” Michael remarked, but could not help grinning in

unspoken acquiescence to Sam’s assertion.

Abbey dressed carefully for the supper party that evening. Although he had

relented, Michael had not wanted the Havershams to come. She could only conclude

that he doubted her ability to host. After all, she did not have what he would

consider proper training, not like the other women he had known. It was ridiculous, of course, since she had hosted at her father’s side and had attended more posh affairs than she cared to remember. But she would rather be

drawn and quartered than disappoint Michael in any way.

This would be a perfect supper party.

She had spent the afternoon going over the details with Cook, Sarah, and Jones.

They had all sought to reassure her that is was a simple matter to have the

Havershams to supper, but Abbey was adamant that the affair be flawless.

Given

the Havershams’ delight in anything Eastern, she had decided upon an Egyptian

theme. She even helped Cook prepare the Egyptian meal and an assortment of

eastern pastries, all the while ignoring Jones’s very vocal belief that a marchioness did not work in the kitchens.

In the red drawing room, she and Sarah hung diaphanous strips of red and gold

silk across the drapes, and brought cushions down from her sitting room to

scatter about the floor. When they were done, the room had a decidedly Egyptian

look about it.

She dressed in a gown of lilac-colored velvet and chiffon, trimmed in gold, that

accented her eyes. Another creation of her cousin Victoria, a piece of the velvet cloth swathed diagonally across her breasts, wrapped around her middle,

then around her hips. From there, the chiffon skirt drifted to the floor, ending

with a small train. It was an exotic, form-hugging style that accentuated her

rounded bosom, narrow waist, and slender hips. When she finished dressing, Sarah

squealed with delight.

“You look positively regal,” she exclaimed.

Pleased, Abbey held up two small diamond earrings. “What do you think?

I have a

necklace to match.”

With her head cocked to one side in serious consideration, Sarah slowly shook

her head. “I think the amethyst earrings would be better.”

Abbey flushed. She had not worn the earrings since she had uncovered her

father’s treachery; the sight of the glistening gems only reminded her of it.

“I

don’t care for them, really. I think the diamonds,” she said with a nod, and attached them to her lobes.

“Don’t care for them? Why, they are lovely! You seemed to like them before; I

never saw you without—”

“Really, Sarah, I don’t. Would you like them?” she offered impetuously.

Sarah’s

eyes grew wide as Abbey dug into a small box on her vanity and thrust the

earrings at Sarah. The maid shook her head slowly as her eyes riveted on the

earrings.

“I couldn’t, milady, I just couldn’t. They are beautiful!” she breathed.

Abbey pressed the earrings into Sarah’s hand. “I want you to have them,”

she

insisted.

Sarah gaped at the earrings. “I just couldn’t,” she mumbled weakly as she donned

them. Her astonishment turned to a wide grin as she viewed herself in the looking glass. Impulsively Sarah whirled and hugged Abbey. “Oh, milady, this is

the finest gift I’ve ever received!”

The Havershams had already arrived, unfashionably early, and were sitting with

Sam in the gold drawing room just off the main foyer. When Michael entered, Lady

Haversham jumped to her feet and promptly fell into a deep curtsey—so

deep that

Lord Haversham had to help her up.

“Good evening, Lord Darfield! What a tremendous pleasure it is to be invited to

your beautiful home!” Cora Haversham gushed. When Michael bowed over her hand,

he thought the woman might positively swoon on him. Beside her, the rotund

William Haversham adjusted his monocle and bowed.

“It’s been quite some time since we have had the pleasure of visiting with you,

Lord Darfield. Been socked away here, have you?” he asked.

Michael clasped his hand in greeting. “I’d hardly call it socked away, Lord Haversham. I have been at sea,” he answered blandly, and accepted his usual

sherry from Jones.

“Lord Haversham was just telling me about a rather remarkable game of darts he

witnessed in Pemberheath,” Sam remarked from near the window as Michael strolled

to the mantel.

“Indeed? I don’t suppose the game involved Lady Darfield?” he asked dryly.

“Indeed it did, sir! She’s rather skilled in the sport, surprisingly so! She could have easily won the match, but I think she threw it in favor of the seaman

Lindsay, who was quite flustered with his inability to best her,” Haversham said, then slurped at his whiskey.

Lady Haversham added, “Those men were rather insistent she play a rematch with

them, so much so that I was rather uneasy, wasn’t I, William? But Lady Darfield

was very composed. She remarked that she had learned long ago that when one is

in Rome, one must do as the Romans, and agreed to their challenge. I truly

thought I would be ill with fear, for they were very rough-looking men, if you take my meaning. Fortunately, they seemed so awed with her ability that they

could only stand and gape, isn’t that so, William?”

Lord Haversham’s ears had turned bright red. He looked sheepishly at Michael. “I

was never afraid for her safety, my lord. It was all rather innocent,” he insisted, then cleared his throat and glared at his wife.

“I know why they challenged her,” Sam said nonchalantly.

“The night she arrived in England, the same lads threatened her if she did not

play. She was quite feisty, really, and bargained with them. Said if she hit the

king’s eye, they would leave her alone. I thought I was going to have to do battle with the lot of them, but she stepped up and threw a perfect dart.

You

have never heard such silence fill a room so quickly.” He chuckled.

“You were there!” Abbey gasped from the doorway. Michael momentarily forgot his

desire to wring Sam’s neck for allowing her to be threatened. Framed in the

doorway, Abbey was a vision of grace and beauty. She looked like an angel, a

very provocative angel in that gown, and unconsciously, his hand fisted in his