The Devil's Love (33 page)

admire her again.

“Why do you never wear your amethyst earrings, Abbey? They compliment your eyes

so very well,” he remarked.

She colored slightly. “I suppose I grew tired of them.”

“I rather like them. Why don’t you put them on?”

Abbey guiltily averted her gaze from him. “I gave them to Sarah.”

Michael gasped with feigned shock. “To Sarah? Whatever possessed you?”

“I just grew tired of them,” she insisted. “Don’t you like my pearls?‘’

“I like the amethysts. So much so that, had I known you on your sixteenth birthday, I would have given you a pair,” he said casually.

Clearly surprised, Abbey’s violet eyes grew wide. “How did you know that?” she

demanded.

“It doesn’t matter.” He laughed and then presented the velvet box.

“I want you to have your amethysts, sweetheart.” Abbey drew a long breath as she

slowly opened the lid. Inside was a pair of large, pearl drop amethyst earrings

dangling from two small diamonds, and a matching necklace and bracelet

of

amethysts interspersed with diamonds. In addition, there was a ring that boasted

a large, square-cut amethyst stone.

‘ ’Oh, Michael,‘’ she whispered. Her hand fluttered at her throat as she gazed

in astonishment at the gems. Michael reached behind her and unclasped the pearl

necklace she wore and put it aside. Still staring at the gems, she had not even

noticed as he removed the pearls and draped the necklace around her slender

neck. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around so she could

admire the jewels in the mirror. Abbey slowly inhaled at the glittering necklace, then quickly donned the earrings and bracelet, her violet eyes sparkling like the stones.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

Michael, who thought the gems did not compare to her, kissed the back of her

neck before taking the ring from the box. “I am, at last, providing you with a

proper betrothal ring,” he said softly.

Abbey’s eyes grew misty as he slipped the ring on her finger. She held out her

hand to admire it.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” she asked after a moment.

“Not since this morning.” He laughed. He was cut short when she threw her arms

around his neck and jerked his mouth to hers, kissing him with a passion that

set fire to his blood. If she kept that up, damn the Delacortes. He had to force

himself to disengage from her before he ruined her hair and gown. Abbey laughed

lightly at his discomfiture, then turned once more to admire the amethysts, and

proclaiming them a perfect match with her gown. Michael did not know if that was

true or not; but between her sparkling earrings, her sparkling eyes, and her

brilliant smile, he was almost blinded, and blissfully so.

“Now, my darling marchioness, if you are ready, I believe we are expected

at a

ball,” he said, and with a bow and a sweep of the arm befitting a queen, he very

gallantly offered her his arm.

Abbey’s heart began to pound with anxiety when she saw the crush at the gate in

front of the Delacorte mansion. Ornate carriages, brightly clad footmen, and

dozens of guests crowded around the front steps and into the street. The Delacorte residence was at least as big as Michael’s, if not larger, and bright

lights glittered from every window. Michael helped Abbey from the coach, then

tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and covered it with his own. He smiled

reassuringly and began to lead her to the entrance. She moved woodenly, acutely

conscious that several people turned to gape at them. Fans snapped up and open

and women’s heads bent together, peering at Abbey over the tops.

Michael noticed

it, too, and put a comforting hand on her waist. When she glanced up at him, he

winked and gave her a smile that suggested he found it all highly amusing.

“It’s Darfield!”

Abbey heard the frantic whisper, then watched as more heads turned toward them

and more fans snapped open. “Dear lord,” she murmured.

“Mmmm, overly curious, are they not? Reminds me of chickens gathered about their

feed,” he whispered into her ear. Abbey smiled at that, and the whispers seemed

to grow more frenzied. Michael led her through the crowd, bowing in polite greeting to those he knew. His hand rode her waist, never leaving her, and Abbey

found it to be a huge comfort. Inside, Michael gave his coat and hat to a footman, then helped Abbey with her cloak. She heard a muffled gasp behind her

as her gown was revealed.

“Michael!” She frantically clutched his sleeve. “Am I properly fastened?”

Michael very smoothly ran his hand down her spine until he reached the small of

her back, where his hand lightly rested. He leaned down to her. “You are completely fastened, sweetheart. They are just admiring your gown.”

“Or their feed,” she murmured. Chuckling, Michael guided her forward through the

crush to the top of the stairs where the Delacortes were receiving guests.

Abbey momentarily forgot her anxiety when they reached the landing where their

hosts stood. The house was magnificent; candles blazed in crystal candelabras

hanging from huge plaster medallions across the ballroom. The walls were covered

with silk paper, except one, which was covered from floor to ceiling with mirrored panels that had the effect of making the room look even larger than it

was. Thick carpets covered the floors, but the dance floor was of marble tile.

Below them, women in fantastically bright pastel gowns and men in formal black

attire paraded about. At one end of the ballroom was a small orchestra situated

on a platform just above the dancers, partially covered with a row of potted plants. The music could just barely be heard above the din of the crowd.

On the

other end, four sets of open French doors led out onto a balcony. Of all the

places Abbey had been in her lifetime, she had never seen so many people

squeezed into one place.

Michael nudged her, and she became aware that he was speaking. She quickly

turned her attention to the couple in front of them. Lady Delacorte was a short,

squat woman with spectacles and a large ostrich feather protruding at an odd

angle from her silver hair. Her husband was just the opposite; tall and lean,

his eyes sparkling beneath his bald crown.

“A pleasure,” Abbey heard herself say, then dipped into a perfect curtsey.

“Lord Darfield, I did not for one minute believe the announcement in the Times,

but as I live and breathe, it appears you have gone and got yourself married!”

Lady Delacorte chirped cheerfully. “Lady Darfield, welcome.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Abbey said with a polite nod.

Lord Delacorte grabbed her hand and brought it to his thin lips. “Well done,

Darfield,” the older man said as he smiled down at Abbey.

“I would humbly agree.” Michael laughed.

“You are from America, no?” Lord Delacorte asked, turning his twinkling eyes to

Abbey.

“I am English, my lord, but I last resided in America.”

The man lifted his wiry brows. “English?”

“My wife has had the good fortune to live a variety of places around the world,

and therefore her British accent has been somewhat subdued,” Michael explained.

“I daresay that’s the only thing that has been subdued.” Lord Delacorte laughed

and glanced knowingly at Michael. Abbey blushed; Michael said something more to

the Delacortes and moved her toward the butler who was announcing the guests.

There were three couples in front of them, and Abbey had the misfortune of being

in a position to stare down at the ballroom while they waited to be announced.

She was unaware that she had a vice grip on Michael’s arm, and when he glanced

at his wife, he saw the terror that widened her eyes.

“I was at a ball very much like this once,” he said impassively. Abbey’s eyes

flicked to him for a brief moment, then back to the crowd below them.

“The right honorable Earl and Countess of Wellingham,” the butler called.

“It was several years ago, when men still wore knee britches. I recall a particularly stout chap who wore a pair of purple satin knee britches, a bright

green waistcoat, and a yellow coat. He looked like a fat parrot,” Michael continued.

“Mr. and Mrs. William Sounders, and Miss Lillian Sounders.”

Abbey’s grip tightened on his arm.

“The man had the grave misfortune to step on a woman’s foot at the top of the

stairs,” Michael said as he stepped forward and handed the butler the engraved

invitation. “She screeched and frightened the poor man to death, and when

he

jumped away from her, he tripped.” Abbey thought he was mad to be telling her

this story now, of all times, and she frowned up at Michael.

“The right honorable Marquis and Marchioness of Darfield!‘’ The din below them

lessened noticeably as all eyes turned toward the top of the stairs.

“He bounced like an Indian rubber ball all the way down the stairs and ended in

a colorful heap right at the feet of the Prince Regent!” Abbey couldn’t help picturing the ridiculous scene and laughter bubbled from her.

She thought she sounded hysterical.

Michael thought she sounded lyrical.

The crowd saw an elegantly beautiful woman laughing serenely with her husband as

they descended the stairs.

The minute they reached the ballroom floor, the crowd seemed to move as one

toward them, all eager for an introduction.

“Brace yourself, darling,” Michael muttered, and immediately began to greet the

faces swarming around them. Abbey swallowed hard. Miraculously, she managed to

respond appropriately to everyone Michael introduced. There were so many that

the names and faces were soon nothing more than a blur. It seemed that the men

generally greeted her bosom and the women greeted her behind forced smiles.

Throughout the ordeal, Michael stood close by, keeping her calm with subtle

touches to her elbow, her hand, or her back. At one point, she turned and bestowed a grateful smile on him; his gray eyes sparkled in response.

Someone put a glass of champagne in her hand, and Abbey drank it quickly.

Another glass appeared, and Abbey drank that, too. The bubbly wine helped; she

began to feel the tension in her body ease a bit. Even her toes began to tingle.

When a waiter came by, she helped herself to another glass and was halfway

through it when she noticed Michael had raised a questioning brow. She smiled

sweetly and downed the rest of it.

“One would think it was the Queen of England herself judging by the fawning

crowd.”

Abbey turned and grinned at Sam. “Thank God you are here!” she whispered

frantically.

“The crowd’s a little overbearing, is it?” He chuckled and moved to stand between her and an overtly curious group of young debutantes.

“A bit.” She sighed.

“It’s quite understandable. Michael has always been very intriguing to this set,

even more so now, but fear not. I have come to save you,” he whispered with a

wink. He looked over her head to Michael, who was engaged in a boring conversation with the elderly Viscount Varbussen.

“Say there, my good Lord Darfield, if you aren’t going to dance with your wife,

may I?” he asked loudly enough for several to hear.

Michael grinned. “I think not, sir. I am quite confident Lady Darfield has saved

her first dance for me,” he responded to the delight of the circle around them.

Michael nodded politely to Varbussen, and, with apologies to the small crowd

around them, he took Abbey’s champagne flute and handed it to Sam, then led her

to the dance floor.

And it was no easy feat. They were stopped no less than three times by guests

who acted as if they were Michael’s long-lost cousins. When they at last reached

the center of the dance floor, Michael bowed to her as was customary, and with a

wink, Abbey curtsied. She opened her mouth to speak, but the music began “and

Michael quickly swept her into a waltz. He looked down at those remarkable,

slightly unfocused violet eyes and felt a strong stirring in his loin.

“They cannot keep their eyes off you, sweetheart,” he remarked sincerely.

“Ha! You mean they can’t keep their eyes off my bosom, or this unfashionable

dress.” She blew away a tendril of hair that had worked its way free of her

coif

only to stubbornly drape her eye again.

“What are you talking about? Your gown is beautiful.”

“Miss Stanley remarked she was surprised I found the fabric, since it was not at

all a fashionable color this Season. Lady William agreed, and said that she

hadn’t seen such an unusual design, and was surprised I could find a modiste to

sew it,” she said, grumbling.

“I see.” Michael smiled down at her. “No wonder you are frowning. It’s not easy

being the object of envy, is it?”

“Envy?” She looked so innocent, he could not suppress his chuckle.

“Those women are insanely jealous, and will grow even more so when the objects

of their affections leave them standing alone to clamor around you, begging for

the opportunity to stand up with you,” he said as he pulled her closer and moved

toward the orchestra.

“Oh, no. I’m not dancing with anyone but you!” she said with great authority.

“Oh, yes you are,” he said cheerfully. “As much as I would like to, I can’t allow you to snub every man in here. You must dance.”

“Oh, no! No, no, I do not want to do that,” Abbey insisted with a shake of her