Free The Devil's Love by Julia London Page A

a vengeance.
    “I shall return to America. There is no other answer,” she stated firmly. It was
    the best thing to do. He could have her bloody fortune, or her father’s creditors, or whoever wanted it, she thought bitterly as she regarded her pale
    reflection in the mirror. She should have agreed it was a ludicrous situation,
    thanked him for his candor, and gone on with her life. But no, she had to get
    angry and stubbornly refuse to give ground. At this more rational moment she
    realized she would not wed a man who so obviously resented her presence, not
    even for her own father, God rest his soul.
    A rapid staccato of knocks on her door startled her. The brush stilled in her
    hand as she debated opening it, but before she could react, the door flung open
    and the devil himself strode through.
    Abbey surged to her feet, dropping the brush. “I beg your pardon!”
    “Pardon granted,” he drawled as he crossed the room and picked up her brush.
    Abbey’s heart was pounding erratically, and for one insane moment, she could not
    decide if it was from his ungentlemanly behavior or his sheer magnetism.
    “What…
    just who do you think you are, barging in here like that!” she fairly shrieked.
    “I think I am the master of this house. No door will be barred to me.”
    “The door was not barred! It was shut. I should hope you would have the common
    decency—”
    “Decency”—he grinned devilishly—“is not something I concern myself with. This is
    my house. My room. My door. If I want, I shall enter.” With that, he tossed the
    brush onto the vanity and put his hands on his waist, regarding her closely. Her
    dark hair, which seemed to be all curl, tumbled about her shoulders,
    providing a
    stark contrast to her pale face and the telltale sign of tears. It was exactly what he wanted. He was moving in for the kill and ignored the thought that his
    kill was a kitten.
    “Well? Have you thought about what I said?”
    Abbey folded her arms defensively across her middle. Of course she had thought
    about it, the fool. “No,” she said hoarsely.
    Michael arched a skeptical brow as he strolled casually to one of her trunks and
    peered inside. “How much longer do you need? An hour?”
    All of Abbey’s best intentions flew out of her mind at that moment. He was bullying her, trying to force her hand, and he had aroused a stubborn streak in
    her unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her eyes narrowed.
    “Five minutes is more likely.” She strolled to the trunk he was standing over
    and, with her foot, kicked the lid shut.
    Michael lifted his gaze and frowned. So far, his reign of terror was not having
    the desired impact on the kitten. “Then your time is up. Either you agree to end
    this abomination now, or you will marry me. Tonight.”
    Abbey merely shrugged.
    “Well?” he demanded, his irritation mounting.
    “I will not cry off.”
    Michael’s heart skipped a beat. “Then come along. The vicar is waiting,”
    he said
    with a snarl, and almost smiled in triumph when she paled.
    The vicar? Abbey wanted to kick herself for being so incredibly stubborn.
    “No…
    not yet—”
    “Yes, right now. Come along,” he said, reaching for her hand.
    Abbey took a quick step backward, shaking her head. “No, you see . . I must
    change. I must change! I cannot be married in this gown.” Her eyes flicked nervously about the room.
    Michael could not suppress his smile. Just as he had hoped, the threat of a real
    ceremony was scaring her.
    “Fifteen minutes. I don’t care if you are wearing the same thing in which you
    entered this world, you are coming to the chapel in fifteen minutes, understood?” Abbey’s wide eyes fixed on him and she nodded slowly.
    Michael
    walked out of the room, shutting the door rather loudly behind him. Smiling to
    himself, he strolled down the hall to his rooms. It would be the crowning glory,
    he thought, to show up at her door in fifteen minutes in all of his finery. If he was not