The Devil's Love (5 page)

he sent me a history book on the Egyptian culture, so I would know what to

expect. I am particularly grateful to him for that, for certainly I would never have expected what I found there!”

“Lord Darfield sent you those things,” Sam stated doubtfully.

Abbey seemed oblivious to his surprise and smiled warmly. “He’s quite thoughtful, isn’t he?”

Sam frowned. “But you never saw him.”

“Well, not in person. But he kept in constant contact with my father.”

In disbelief, Sam stared at the foolish young romantic, who was quite oblivious

to his astonishment. Surely she could not be so naive. Something was terribly

wrong. Sam had known Michael Ingram since they were young men.

Never once had

Michael mentioned a word of Abigail Carrington, until a few days ago, when he

had requested Sam’s presence at Blessing Park to assist him in an

“indelicate

matter.”

That matter, as it had turned out, was an accursed agreement, which Michael had

been forced into at the age of nineteen so that he might borrow money and pay

the debts his father had amassed. Michael had turned to Captain Carrington,

seeking out the very wealthy captain in a desperate bid to save his family from

complete ruin.

The captain had been more than happy to oblige. The agreement they reached

stipulated that if Michael had not repaid his debts in full by the time Captain

Carrington died, he would take Abigail Carrington to wife. What at one time had

seemed a rather innocuous arrangement to care for an only child had turned into

a nightmare for Michael. At the time he signed the agreement, he had been

unaware of the importance of a simple clause that stipulated any other debts

incurred by Michael or his family against Carrington were subject to the same

terms until all debts were paid in full. Michael did not know, until two months

ago when the papers arrived, that his father had borrowed repeatedly from Carrington. As Michael explained it to Sam, he could no more extract himself

from the agreement than he could remove his own skin.

“The agreement is explicit, Sam. My solicitors have reviewed the documentation

and advise me it fully supports the claim that our debts were never repaid in

full, despite the fact that I could have given the captain double what was owed.

It would seem that my father gambled and drank away the entire family fortune

not once but twice,” Michael had explained bitterly,“and neither he nor the captain ever saw fit to tell me. I would expect as much from Father, but not

Carrington. He never told me of the accumulating debt.”

“But surely there is a way out! Are there no male relatives?”

“A son of a cousin somewhere, but it hardly matters. In the most legal sense of

the word, the agreement is rather tight. Carrington was very artful in crafting

the settlement of his estate to depend upon its execution. The captain tied so

many other financial transactions to this marriage that I would have several creditors after my assets were I to try to remove myself.”

“What are you saying, there is nothing you can do?” Sam asked incredulously.

Michael sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that. I had thought that I could delay the marriage indefinitely, but the captain made sure

other debts will go unpaid until a wedding occurs. My family stands to lose

everything, as do several of the captain’s business associates.” He paled

visibly as he spoke and turned away from Sam to stare blankly at the portrait of

some ancient ancestor.

“He was a determined man, Sam. He made sure she and her family would not balk.

Not only did he stipulate a rather large sum to his sister for relinquishing the

little hellion to England, but his will entails all of her funds in this marriage.” Michael sat up abruptly and perched his elbows on the desk so he

could rub his temples.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Carrington’s daughter has no access to money and loses it irretrievably if she does not marry me. The choice is solely hers; legally, only

she may end it. But in that event, all of her dowry, save a small annuity, will

go to pay his creditors.”

“What?”

“Everything will be lost if I do not marry her,” Michael said evenly. “My sister, my uncle’s widow, my cousins as well, and at least three of Captain

Carrington’s business associates of whom I am aware. The will outlines the

actions to be taken to collect on my outstanding debts as well as Carrington’s.”

Sam’s indignation for his friend had mounted at a rapid pace. “Can’t you pay the

debts? You are a very wealthy man!”

“I need almost a million pounds—cash—today. I am a wealthy man, true, but it

would take a considerable amount of time to liquidate my investments or access

my funds on the continent to raise that amount.”

Michael got up and crossed to a sideboard, poured himself a whiskey, downed

that, and poured another. Sam followed helplessly behind him and helped himself

to a brandy.

“In your assessment, there is no hope, no way out?” Sam asked again.

Michael

nodded slowly. A silence fell between the two men until Sam asked cautiously,

“Is she so bad?”

Michael shrugged indifferently. “I remember a savage little hellion, dirtier than a pigsty and more mean-spirited than any man I have ever met. And in

addition to that distant nightmare, for some reason, I balk at being forced into

marriage. For the life of me, I cannot determine why Carrington heaped this upon

me. Whatever his scheme was, it was worth enough to bestow a dowry of almost

five hundred thousand pounds on her.”

“Five hundred thousand pounds!” Sam exclaimed.

“Rather a large dowry, wouldn’t you agree?” Michael quipped.

Large? It was unheard of, Sam thought as he watched Michael resume his seat

behind his desk, rub the back of his neck, and stare blindly at a stack of papers. Sam pitied his friend; he had suffered so much in his life. First, there

had been the way the ton had turned their back on the family when his father

amassed debts reaching unspeakable sums. They were pariahs, treated as if they

did not exist when in town, and were forced to retreat to Blessing Park and live

in solitude. From what he could gather, Michael’s younger sister, Mariah, had

been his only true friend growing up in the shadow of a drunken, cruel father.

When Michael took to the seas with Carrington, his sister had suffered greatly

from the ill treatment. She was shunned by the ton, and after a very disappointing debut, was courted by Malcolm Routier, an unsavory character with

a dark reputation. Michael, acting in his incapacitated father’s stead, had refused Routier’s offer for Mariah’s hand. That had caused Mariah much grief,

and for a period of time she refused even to talk Michael. But time passed, and

she had, at last, married a Scot and moved to the remote Highland regions where

Michael had said she was happier than she had been all her life.

Mariah’s departure had been difficult for him, particularly since her leaving was followed quickly by the untimely and accidental death of his mother.

During

a walk around the park one day, she had tripped and fallen over a ledge. In a

freak mishap, her scarf had caught between some rocks and hanged her.

Of course,

the family’s scandalous reputation only heightened the rumors that she hanged

herself and, in some circles, that she had been hanged, with a suspicious eye

cast in Michael’s direction. It was not long afterward that Michael’s father had

at last succumbed to the liver ailments that had been brought about by years of

overindulgence.

Michael had worked hard to restore the family name, but after each scandal he

had retreated further and further into himself, shunning legitimate relationships and dallying with loose women. He rarely went to London, and when

business required it, he typically arrived late at night and left the same way.

Michael understandably despised the ton, but his elusive behavior had worked to

make him all the more interesting to Polite Society. After a few years had passed between his father’s death, everyone wanted to meet the Marquis of

Darfield or, at the very least, get a glimpse of him. Michael resented that, and

rarely left Blessing Park except to go to sea.

Until last year. That was when he had met Rebecca Davenport, a pretty, young

widow. An attachment had developed between them that drew Michael out of his

self-imposed banishment. Sam had been happy to see Michael appear in London

during the last Season, if only for a fortnight. The ton had exalted in the presence of the elusive marquis. The same people who had once turned their backs

suddenly showered him with invitations. Women threw themselves in his path, and

men tried desperately to get him to sit at their tables in their exclusive clubs. Michael had endured it for Rebecca’s sake for as long as he could but had

finally retreated to Blessing Park. He confided to Sam he despised the ton more

than ever, and not even Rebecca could persuade him to stay in London.

Their

liaison had almost ended over Rebecca’s need to be seen and Michael’s need to be

left alone.

Now this. Sam felt an unwanted pang of sorrow. If word were to get out that he

was forced to marry because of debt, a fresh scandal would erupt, vaulting Michael to the status of blackguard once again. It was grossly unfair.

“How can I help you, Michael?” Sam finally asked. Michael had shrugged and

dragged his gaze to his closest friend.

“If you would, go and get the little hellion. I suppose there will be a wedding

in a day or two,” he had replied, obviously resigned to his fate.

After a long, grueling trip through the snow, the coach finally pulled up outside the pink sandstone Georgian mansion. Abbey guessed the house to be three

stories; it was at least as large as the grandest state house she had ever seen.

But at the moment, it held much less interest for her than the prospect of seeing Michael. After all these years, excitement, anticipation, and a bad case

of nerves descended on her as she waited impatiently for Lord Hunt to help her

down from the coach.

She was disappointed when the front door opened and a middle-age man hastened

out into the snow. Behind him another, slightly older man waited at the door,

twisting his white-gloved hands nervously together. The younger man glanced at

Abbey without really seeing her, then back to Sam.

“Lord Hunt, don’t tell me you could not locate her!” he said sharply.

“Don’t be an idiot, Sebastian. This is Miss Carrington,” Sam said gruffly.

Sebastian jerked his gaze to Abbey and stared in astonishment. “M-Miss Carrington?” he stammered. Then recovering quickly, he bowed and swept his arm

toward the manor. “Miss Carrington, if you please,” he murmured.

Abbey laughed tautly. “Should I conclude from your reaction that you were

expecting a woman with two heads?”

“Certainly not!” Sebastian blustered, and motioned again toward the door.

Abbey dashed lightly across the snow to the foyer. Inside, the gentleman in

black bowed deeply.

“Welcome to Blessing Park, Miss Carrington,” he intoned. “I am Jones, the

butler. May I take your cloak?”

“Is Lord Darfield here?” Abbey asked as she shed her coat, blithely ignoring the

stunned look on the butler’s face while she smoothed the wrinkles from her

skirt.

“The marquis is here and awaits you in his private study.”

She had understood when he had not come to Portsmouth for her, but she thought

he could at least greet her at the door. Jones and the man named Sebastian stood

watching her warily, as if they expected her to do something odd, such as flee.

The thought did cross her mind, but she took a deep breath instead to dispel any

doubts.

“Which way to the study, then?” she asked no one in particular. Sebastian stepped forward, gestured off to the right, and began to walk briskly down a

long corridor of rich blue carpet and walls covered in silk.

“The marquis is waiting, Miss Carrington. We expected you an hour ago,”

he said.

Sebastian turned down another long corridor, his walk becoming even more brisk

until he came to a set of double walnut doors and stopped. He glanced at her

briefly before swinging the doors wide open. He nodded to someone inside;

Abbey’s nerves surged to her throat. Aghast, she realized her knees were suddenly shaking. She looked frantically to Sebastian.

“Is he in there?” she whispered, ashamed that her voice shook.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and stepped aside.

Abbey stood stricken, staring at the door. After all these years, she was happy

to be reunited, of course she was, but the ugly thought that he might not find

her to his taste, or find her unaccomplished, or even vapid began to tumble in

her brain. She looked helplessly to Sebastian, then to Sam.

“I—don’t think…” she started. Sam stepped forward immediately and offered her

his arm and a sympathetic smile.

“I’m a bit flustered, I suppose. It has been a very long journey… one might argue a journey of a lifetime, and I…” She was unaware that she was fiercely

clutching his arm.

Sam pulled her fingers from their death grip of his arm. “It is quite natural to

be a little anxious,” he said calmly.

Perhaps he was right, and perhaps she could stand outside the open door all day