The Devil's Love (50 page)

“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.

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