The Devil's Love (56 page)

The tears

would not stop.

“Don’t brood on the past. What do you say? We shall live at Blessing Park and

take periodic voyages to America, so your cousins can see our children and make

outlandish hats for them. We shall grow old together, watching our children

mature and have children of their own. That’s what you shall brood upon, all

right?”

Abbey wrapped a lock of his hair around her finger. “And if there are no children?” she whispered.

“Then we shall grow old together, delighting in each other, and, of course, the

Havershams. Your cousin will make new hats for you, and I will compliment each

and every one. And we will take voyages around the world, and you, my sweet,

will play for me at night. You don’t know how I’ve missed your music.”

Abbey pushed closer into his chest, truly healed by his powerful embrace and

tender words. “I would ask one thing,” she whispered.

He made a sound in his throat as her tongue darted across the hardened nub of

his nipple; she felt his member lurch inside her.

“Anything, my love,” he said, very softly.

“I shall play for you at night, but then you must promise to play for me, too.”

He chuckled, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth as her hand found

the

juncture of their bodies. “As God is my witness, you will never want for love,”

he said as he rolled onto his back. She straddled him now and began to move

slowly, seductively. He cupped her breasts.

“Indeed? What if I am heavy with child? Fat?” She giggled.

“I don’t care, I shall wait until you have borne your children.”

“If I smell of dogs and sheep? Shall you wait for me then?” she teased.

Michael did not answer immediately as his attention was with her seductive

movement. Above him, Abbey giggled. Michael looked up. She was radiant. His

wife. His beautiful wife was back where she belonged. He pressed the palm of his

hand against her cheek, and she leaned into it, her soft violet eyes glowing

with love.

“I shall always wait for you, my love,” he whispered.

Abbey sighed contentedly and lowered herself to her husband.

Michael scrawled his signature across a bank draft Sebastian handed him. A

sudden silence caused him to lift his head; the quill pen stilled on the paper.

The music had stopped. He handed a sheaf of papers to Sebastian and turned to

greet the young boy who burst through the French doors and onto the terrace.

“Papa, Papa!” the boy cried as he threw himself into his father’s waiting arms.

“Aidan, how is my boy?” Michael asked cheerfully as he tousled the boy’s hair

and hugged him tightly before putting him on his feet. “Have you finished your

music lesson?”

The boy nodded vigorously. “Mama said I may play with an orchestra someday!” he

announced proudly. Michael doubted his young son knew what an orchestra was.

“That you will, son.” In truth, all three of his children showed the promise of rare talent. He no longer had to imagine an orchestra when Abbey played.

With

Alaina on the pianoforte and Alexa on the violin, the three women of his family

played sweet trios. Aidan, his youngest child, was showing even more promise

than his sisters on the strings. Michael sat down and gathered the boy on his

lap.

“Aunt Tori and Uncle Sam are coming for supper, did you know?” he asked. The

little boy frowned.

“She has a baby, Papa, and it cries all the time. Mama said that’s what babies

do, but I don’t remember ever crying like that!” he averred, and folded his arms

across his chest and nodded for emphasis.

Michael and Sebastian laughed.

“I assure you, my little prince, you also cried,” Michael told him.

Aidan wrinkled his nose and tilted his head as he looked up at his father.

“I

did?” he asked incredulously.

“You did indeed,” Michael said again, then leaned forward and whispered,

“But

not as often as Alexa, and certainly not as loudly as Alaina.”

“No one could ever cry as loud as Alaina,” the boy said, rolling his eyes.

As if on cue, two young girls came bounding through the French doors.

“Papa!” they cried in unison. Michael smiled warmly at his two young daughters.

Alexa, with her hair the color of coal and crystal-blue eyes, resembled him.

Alaina had her mother’s mahogany hair and violet eyes. Aidan, the youngest, was

a peculiar mix of them both, with his father’s black hair and his mother’s violet eyes. Michael thought the three were the most handsome children he had

ever seen and thought himself rather objective in his assessment. Of course,

when he had mentioned that to Sam, his good friend had differed, and pointed to

his own son and new daughter as proof that he and Tori had produced the more

handsome offspring.

“What are you doing, Papa?” Alaina asked as she poked through some

papers he had

left on the wrought-iron table.

“I am waiting for your mother, my love. Kindly keep your hands to yourself.”

The girl immediately pulled back and turned her lovely face to him. “Where is

she?” she asked.

“She has gone to Pemberheath, pet.”

“You are forever waiting on Mama! Every time she goes away, you say the same

thing,” Alexa declared, fingering his neckcloth.

“Yes, Papa, why don’t you make her stay? Then you won’t have to wait so terribly

long!” Alaina added. The three children turned expectant faces up to him.

“Because, my dear ones, if your mama never left, I would never wait for her.”

“But why do you want to wait for her all the time?” Alexa demanded.

Michael smiled and caressed his daughter’s cheek. “If I don’t wait, sweetheart,

I may well forget why I wait for her.”

“Why do you wait, Papa?” Aidan asked.

“Because I love your mama very much. Now go and find your nanny. Your aunt and

uncle shall be here soon.” The three children scampered off, knocking into one

another as they tried to crowd through the door at the same time.

Sebastian rose. “I think I should assess the damage to the study,” he remarked

dryly, and followed the children inside. Michael turned back to retrieve some

papers he had forgotten, and caught a glimpse of Abbey walking with Withers

through the garden. Obviously, the old gardener had waylaid her as she came in

the drive to have her look at his newest accomplishment. Abbey, now thirty-four

years of age, was more beautiful than ever. He was beginning to see a few gray

hairs in her mahogany tresses, and the crinkles around her eyes were a bit more

pronounced, but she had grown lovelier with each passing year. With the birth of

their first child, Alexa, she had gained an appealing maturity.

Abbey saw him standing on the terrace and waved, her brilliant smile still

capable of sending a quiet shiver down his spine. Lord, how his life had been

blessed. He wished he could say he had earned it through years of waiting or

some good deed. But in truth, it had all fallen on him unexpectedly, like the

old stones of the ruins that tumbled to the earth. One cold day, when he was not

really looking, she had tumbled into his life and into his heart.

Abbey was climbing the stairs now, and when she reached the terrace, she walked

straight into his open arms, and kissed him lightly. “What are you doing out

here?” she asked.

“Waiting for you, sweetheart.”

Abbey laughed, her violet eyes sparkling, and linked her arm through his.

“Wait

no more, darling. I am here.”