The Devil's Love (12 page)

am sure that if he truly wanted the honor, he would be here to do it.

Really, he

has no grounds to object!” she replied cheerfully.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Darfield, but I must insist—”

Abbey had already skipped down the steps to the waiting carriage. With a sigh of

resignation, Sebastian stood beside Jones and watched as she chatted amicably

with the Havershams’ footman, who looked stricken by the unusual familiarity.

“She will cause trouble if Lord Darfield does not return soon,” Jones remarked

dryly. He struggled to suppress a smile when Abbey patted the footman on the arm

before climbing into the carriage. The poor man looked helplessly at Jones and

Sebastian.

“He shall have no one to blame but himself,” Sebastian replied with a sniff as

the carriage pulled away from Blessing Park.

The Havershams, an elderly couple with no children, were more than delighted to

host a marchioness, and a pretty, youthful one at that. Abbey was delighted with

her hosts. They were open and warm, and Abbey found herself talking freely about

her life, the Havershams hungrily hanging on to each and every word. They laughed loudly as Abbey regaled them with tales of her year in Egypt, where she

had learned the very tasteless belly dance. Pressed to demonstrate, Abbey

reluctantly agreed despite a gnawing sense of impropriety, and by the end of the

afternoon, Lord and Lady Haversham were coaxed into trying.

When she returned to Blessing Park late that night—a bit in her cups, Sebastian

ruefully noted—Abbey could hardly contain her glee as she recounted how Lord

Haversham had slowly gyrated while peering through his monocle, and Lady

Haversham, who could not gyrate, had instead bounced up and down.

Sebastian had

listened politely, bid his lady a good evening, then marched straight to the study and poured himself a big, stout whiskey.

The very next day the Havershams appeared at Blessing Park to fetch Abbey for an

outing to Pemberheath. Once again Sebastian pleaded with her to remain, and once

again Abbey blithely ignored him.

“There is an old priory there I should very much like to see. Do you know that

Simon de Montfort spent a fortnight there?” she asked him, her enthusiasm

infectious.

“Yes, madam, I am aware of that. I am quite certain the priory will still be standing when Lord Darfield returns. Please, could your visit not wait until then?”

“Really, Sebastian, is he such an ogre he would deny me a simple excursion to a

priory?‘’ she asked as she smoothed her hair.

“Certainly not!” Sebastian had answered too quickly.

“There you have it, then. I shall return before nightfall, and there will be no harm done, I promise you,” she said cheerfully, and once again turned on her

heel and marched out the door, pretending not to hear his blustering objection.

Several hours later and well after nightfall, an exhausted Abbey returned and

patiently explained the axle grease on her gown to a stunned Sebastian.

The

Haversham carriage had encountered a wagon with a broken wheel carrying a rather

large family. As there had been several small children in the party, they could

not very well leave them to wait for assistance. The Havershams had asked their

driver and coachmen to help lift the wagon onto a stump so that the wheel could

be reattached. But they had not had enough strength, Abbey reported, and she had

offered to lend a hand. After some wrangling, they had managed to reattach the

wheel. Abbey’s reward had been an ale that the stranded family gratefully shared

with the Haversham party. She confessed that both she and the elderly Lady

Haversham, who had held the team of mules during the repair, found the homemade

brew much to their liking.

As Abbey wearily climbed the stairs to her room, Sebastian felt as if he might

faint for the first time in his life. He hoped desperately that Lord Darfield would return before something awful happened to shame him any more than what had

already transpired.

It was late in the evening, two weeks after his departure from Blessing Park,

that Michael galloped into Pemberheath and stopped at the local inn to clear the

dust from his throat. He entered the common rooms and spoke politely to his

tenants as they greeted him with great enthusiasm. He was mildly puzzled; their

excitement at seeing him was far greater than it had ever been, and certainly

much more than was warranted.

The round innkeeper wiped his hands on his stained apron and quickly poured the

ale Michael requested.

“Lord Darfield! It’s been awhile since we had the pleasure of your company,” the

fat man rasped, his red face beaming with delight.

Michael nodded curtly as he tossed two coins onto the scarred bar.

“The whole village is talking about your lovely wife, milord. What a beauty!”

the innkeeper continued.

Michael stopped his tankard midway to his lips and slid his gaze to the man. “My

wife?” he asked quietly.

“Lady Darfield! Oh, what a pleasure she is, my lord. The lads are still

talking

about the game!” the innkeeper said with a happy shake of his head.

Michael slowly lowered the tankard. “ What game?”

“Darts. A particular forte of hers, I am sure you’d agree. After the first night she was here, the lads, you know—they had to see if it was true talent or just

luck. You never seen anything like it, the way she marched right up to the line

and hit the king’s eye without nary a blink! When she came back, the lads wouldn’t leave ‘er be till she agreed to a rematch. She’d’ve won it too, had Lindsay not hit the king’s eye at the very end,” he remarked jovially.

Michael could not believe what he had just heard; there had to be some mistake.

A horrible mistake. “Are you saying my wife was in here playing darts?” he asked

evenly.

The innkeeper’s perpetual grin faded. “She was in the company of Lord Haversham,

milord,” he replied indignantly.

“The Havershams? Here?” Michael choked. The innkeeper frowned and lifted his

double chin.

“Aye, the Havershams. They have been here before, my lord,” he said haughtily.

Michael could not believe it. He had not spent years of his life restoring the

family name only to have the little hellion destroy it by cavorting with seamen

and playing barroom games. He did not know whom he would throttle first: Sebastian, to whom he had given strict instructions to mind Abbey at all times,

or the Havershams, for bringing her to Pemberheath. Or that little hellion Abbey, his pleasure of a wife whose forte was darts! He downed the ale and left

the inn without another word, ignoring the disgruntled look of the innkeeper.

He ruthlessly pushed his mount Samson toward Blessing Park, hardly able to

contain his anger. He had left the morning after his wedding night because he

had tossed and turned, thinking of the incredibly beautiful woman just on the

other side of the door—crying. The taste of her, the feel of her in his arms had

not dissipated, and it had alarmed him. But he was a fool to have left, for the

little hellion could not be trusted! In the two weeks he had been gone, he had

gained control of himself—with some difficulty—and was prepared to face her

again. He was so much in control of his unusually unsettled emotions that he was

ready for a verbal pummeling for having left her. The tables had certainly turned. Now he was going to give her a verbal pummeling for having spent time in

an inn like a common wench, throwing darts.

As he galloped up the long drive, he was relieved to see only a few lights.

If

most of the servants had retired for the evening, he could throttle her without

interruption. He vaulted off his horse, ignoring the groom who scrambled to meet

him. He marched inside and tossed his hat, gloves, and riding crop to a footman,

barely nodding in response to his polite greeting. Without a word, he walked

swiftly to the green drawing room and threw open the door.

Inside, Sebastian sat with his head in his hands.

“Where is she?” he asked bluntly. Sebastian looked up and grimaced.

“Good evening, my lord. So good to have you back—”

“Where is she, Sebastian?”

“In her sitting room, my lord.”

Michael regarded his secretary with such a scathing look that Sebastian winced.

“I know I was quite clear in my desire to keep her at Blessing Park until my

return, so I am sure you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she has

been cavorting about Pemberheath with the Havershams, haven’t you, Sebastian?”

Sebastian’s thin shoulders drooped. “On my mother’s grave, it certainly was not

from a lack of trying,” he said wearily. Michael raised a brow at his normally

stoic secretary.

Sebastian glanced warily at his lord.“You see, my lord, the calf was finally birthed today, and the Havershams, naturally having been infected by her

excitement at the impending birth, had very closely followed the progress.

Unbeknownst to me, she sent word to Lady Haversham this morning, telling if she

truly desired to assist in such a birth—at which, by the by, Lady Darfield seems

to be quite practiced—to come at once. Well, Lady Haversham did come, and the

two of them assisted that old milk cow to bear a healthy calf, and now, naturally, they are celebrating,” Sebastian said weakly.

“Naturally,” Michael ground out. “If you are telling me what I think you are telling me, sir, I am seriously considering sending you out on the La Belle next

week as a deckhand.”

Sebastian groaned. “I did everything in my power, my lord, but she is, well, she

is rather willful at times, and the truth of the matter is, she takes such joy in the simple pleasures of life that it is really rather hard for one to resist her—”

“Putting aside, for a moment, the fact that she is a marchioness, and therefore

expected to adhere to certain standards of behavior, I trust it has not gone unnoticed by you that she is also a young woman. Are you telling me that it is

not within your power to restrain a young woman from birthing calves and playing

darts? Michael asked acidly.

“Or changing wagon wheels,” Sebastian muttered miserably. Michael clenched his

jaw tightly shut to keep himself from exploding. Sebastian’s misery was apparent. Sebastian, who had been with him forever, who was always so damned

unflappable, was telling Michael that he had not been able to control a slender

young woman! Michael sighed and tried to summon a little pity. She was, after

all, a hellion. No one knew that better than he.

“I want to see her directly after breakfast, Sebastian. Do you think you can persuade her to do that?‘

Sebastian sighed heavily. “I will certainly try, my lord,” he muttered helplessly.

Michael nodded curtly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I intend to bathe and go to

bed,” he snapped, and marched out of the room. Behind him, Sebastian

downed his

port and slumped wearily against the chair cushions.

When Michael’s boot hit the soft blue carpet at the top of the stairs, he thought he heard muffled laughter. He stopped abruptly and listened for a moment, but heard nothing. With a shake of his head, he started for his rooms,

then heard it again. He cocked his head to one side. It was coming from the

library directly in front of him. He listened carefully and could hear the feminine and cheerful giggles behind the solid oak door. The little hellion seemed to be having a soiree in there.

Impulsively he knocked on the door. His rap was followed by a moment of silence,

then the muffled flurry of movement. His irritation mounting, he knocked a little more forcefully. The door opened just a fraction, and Abbey peeked out

from behind it with laughing violet eyes and a smile on her lips that faded rapidly when she saw him.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked coolly.

Abbey blinked. “Uh, well, yes, thank you. I, uh… we… weren’t expecting you.”

“That’s obvious,” he remarked sarcastically, and slipped his boot in between the

door and its frame.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked cautiously.

“You and I are going to have a discussion in the morning, madam,” he said icily.

“Oh! Certainly!” she replied politely, then smiled enchantingly. She might as

well have punched him in the gut, so powerful was the effect of that smile on

him.

Michael swallowed and glanced past her, trying to peer into the room. He put his

hand against the door and pushed a little, but Abbey held fast.

“What are you about?” he demanded.

Abbey’s eyes darted quickly over her shoulder then back to him. “Nothing of

interest. We are sewing.”

“Who is we?” Michael asked as he pushed again, this time managing to open the

door a little wider. Abbey took one step back, but would not budge from the

door.

“Well… Sarah. Sarah is here. And Lady Haversham, too. And then we invited Cook…”

She laughed nervously.

Cook? Stunned, Michael inched inside, wedging his shoulder between the door and

frame, and peered about the room. He was greatly astonished at the sight that

greeted him. Sarah was sitting cross-legged in an overstuffed chair, her head

bent over a cloth in which she pushed a needle up and down, as if it were the

most natural thing in the world for a servant girl to loll about with her mistress. More surprisingly, Lady Haversham sat at a table, and the broad back

across from her belonged to none other than Cook.