found yourself in similar circumstance, what your reaction might be.”
“I would hope that I would remember the young woman has traveled thousands of
miles to marry a man she has not seen since she was a child. She believes—or
believed—that man loves her and has romanticized that notion to her great satisfaction.” He took a sip of brandy. Michael, saying nothing, turned his broad back again.
Sam sighed heavily. “Well, at the very least she seems to be a rather pleasant
sort. There is no need to treat her ill.”
Michael shook his head and pushed away from the window seat. He strolled toward
the fireplace, absently swirling the whiskey in his glass. “There is no need to
treat her in any
fashion,“ he said after a moment. ”She shall be well attended here while I am in
Brighton.“
“You might at least try to acquaint yourself with her. She’s not the hellion you
described. And after all, she may one day be the mother of your heir.”
Michael threw the whiskey down his throat, slammed his empty glass on the
mantel, and turned to glare at Sam. “You need not remind me of that” he said,
yanking impatiently at his neckcloth. Suddenly the study was stifling.
“It is not wholly inconceivable that she is as much a victim in all this as you
are,” Sam continued, unperturbed, as he placed his snifter down.
Michael snorted scornfully. “If she would but listen to reason, she would not be
the helpless victim in your eyes now,” he muttered angrily before stalking to
the corner of the room and yanking hard on the bell pull.
“It’s really none of my affair—”
“You are right.”
Jones appeared before Sam could respond.
“Jones, get the vicar here. Today. Straightaway,” Michael barked. Jones bowed
and left immediately.
“What are you about?” Sam asked, startled.
“About? I am going to marry her. Or at least make her think I am,” Michael growled and plopped unceremoniously into a leather chair. Sam gave him such a
disapproving frown that he could not help wondering what feminine charms had
swayed his friend so quickly. Good God, not two days ago the two had shared in
his misery. Well, in a matter of a few hours Sam could join him at his wedding—or at least what he hoped would be enough of a wedding to frighten the
little hellion away for good.
Alone in the room Jones had shown her to, Abbey grew increasingly inconsolate.
She longed for the comfort of her aunt and her cousins and felt a pang of homesickness so deep that it doubled her over. Her aunt had made her come here.
She had reminded Abbey she had a fortune to collect and a man who loved her
impatiently awaiting her arrival. Aunt Nan had put her on the first ship out of
Newport after the papers and news of her father’s death had arrived from the
West Indies. But had Aunt Nan known what awaited Abbey, she would never have
sent her. Aunt Nan believed Michael loved her.
With tears burning in her eyes, she cursed the memory of the man she held dear.
The summer she had spent on her father’s vessel had been one of the happiest of
her life. Michael had been kind to her and, in her recollection, had indulged her childish fantasies. Of course, there was the one exception of the unfortunate doll incident, but the Michael she remembered with vivid clarity and
admiration was not the Michael she had met today.
Abbey fought to keep the tears from falling, but failed. When had Michael’s
heart turned from her? Why hadn’t he told her father? Alone in the large, unfamiliar room, she bitterly swallowed the fantasy. Not only had he made it
clear he did not want her, he also made it clear that he resented her. She felt
physically ill, and as she lay despondently on the bed, fighting down waves of
nausea, she grudgingly recognized it was her own naivete that was to blame.
At last she pulled herself off the bed and moved to the gilt-edged vanity.
She sank onto a silk-covered bench and began brushing her hair with