Free Julia London by Wicked Angel The Devil's Love

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 comer 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 Abbeyshe 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 naïveté 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 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 beforeshe 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