Julia London (7 page)

She could see what was happening. He was bullying her into some ridiculous arrangement, for reasons that completely eluded her. Her fingers drummed loudly on the arm of the settee as she contemplated his motive. Perhaps he did not love her anymore. It was certainly possible. As she glared daggers into that handsome face, she thought he should have politely explained to her that he no longer loved her and even perhaps that he loved someone else. She was not so childish that she would not understand. She was not some foolish chit who thought grown men did not have intimate liaisons, nor was she incapable of grasping that his affections for her may have changed.

He should have politely explained, but no, he was determined to humiliate her so that
she
would cry off. But then why didn’t he just say so? she wondered helplessly, until it struck her. It was her money. What was it Aunt Nan had said? If she refused him, she would lose her dowry. They had all laughed about it at the time, because it had seemed so patently absurd. But here the monster sat, wanting her money and not her. With sick regret and fury like she had never known, Abbey seethed.
Oh, no, Michael Ingram, you will not be released so quickly
. No, she would make him suffer before she would even entertain the idea. She smiled sweetly at him and hoped to high heaven he did not notice the trembling in her limbs.

“So that we are very clear, let me say that I do not relish the thought of being married under such ridiculous terms,” she said. Her rage threatened to escape in a shrill scream when he looked inordinately pleased. “Do not misunderstand me,” she continued softly. “I will not release you from this marriage if my own father begged it of me, which, of course, he cannot do as he is interred somewhere in the West Indies.” She grinned when his smug smile faded. “That’s right, Michael. You may keep me in Southampton or keep me in a cage, but I will not release you!”

Michael blanched at the unexpected turn of his game. Her eyes sparkled like rare gems as she smiled triumphantly at him.

“Abigail, I am giving you fair warning. I will make your life miserable—”

“I don’t care.”

“I am not a man given to the whims of women. I have no patience for games. You will do as I say, when I say, and how I say. It is well within my right to demand such from you, do you understand?”

Abbey laughed at him. “I understand clearly. I just don’t give a deuce about your terms and conditions!”

Michael’s face darkened and he leaned forward, glaring at her with eyes of cold stone. “Pay attention to me,
Miss Carrington
, for I mean every word I say. You will know no pleasure, none at all,” he said in a low, threatening voice.

She leaned forward, so that their faces were only inches apart, with an equally scathing gaze.

“As
I
mean every word, Darfield!” she whispered heatedly.

Michael stared at her. Good God, but she was openly challenging him. In some small measure, he grudgingly respected her feisty spirit. He stood and walked slowly to the fireplace eyeing her like prey. She blithely pretended to be examining the sleeve of her gown. Despite his anger, he could not help appreciating that she was really quite stunning.

Alarmed at what he was thinking, he forced himself to stop his perusal. He decided to make his terms more onerous. “I am not quite finished,” he said smoothly. She smiled sweetly.

“I will want an heir as soon as is reasonably possible,” he said as he carelessly placed an arm on the mantel.

Abbey giggled irreverently. “And what would you consider reasonable?”

“You know precisely what I mean. I expect you to conceive quickly.” It was an outrageous statement designed to send her running.

But Abbey only laughed. “I believe you have the upper hand in that, do you not? Shall I lift my skirts now? Or perhaps you intend to wait until we are actually married? Is that reasonable? Would you consider that quick enough?”

Michael fought the urge to smile at her equally outrageous remark, especially when delivered with such an enticingly sweet smile. He forced himself to glower at her.

“I do not appreciate such inappropriate talk,” he said gruffly.

“I was only responding to your demand. Obedience in all things, is that not what you implied?”

With feigned indifference, Michael looked down at the toes of his boots. Bloody hell, she was gaining on him. He was loath to admit that he had miscalculated where the little hellion was concerned, but he had one other trick up his sleeve, one that would stir irrevocable hatred in most women he knew. He made a great show of looking at his pocket watch.

“I really must wrap this up quickly. I have several things to
do before I am expected at the home of my dear friend, Lady Davenport, this weekend,” he said matter-of-factly, then glanced surreptitiously at her through his long lashes.

Abbey, who thought that had to be the most perfectly ridiculous and transparent ploy she could have imagined, worked to keep from laughing.

He hesitated, waiting for her reaction. When he got none, he continued. “While you are in the country, I insist you do nothing to sully my honor or your good reputation—I am, of course,
assuming
it is a good reputation.”

Abbey managed to maintain her serene expression, but her hand tightened into a fist in her lap. Michael turned his face slightly so she would not see his thin smile. If he could have patted himself on the back for the last word, he would have.

“You flatter me, sir! I don’t have one as yet, but I do not doubt whatever reputation I gain will be inextricably linked to your good name.” A devilish little smile played on her lips as she slowly lifted her gaze to his.

Michael lifted a brow. “I believe you have just thrown down the gauntlet, Abigail.”

“Oh, no, sir—you did! I merely picked it up.”

The smell of defeat at his own game was beginning to irritate him. With a frown, he considered her for a long moment. Despite her ability to play the game, her violet eyes exposed an odd mixture of anger and hurt. He could hardly blame her; he himself would not have believed he could be such a cad, but circumstances had forced him. He decided to make one last attempt, and in three strides, he moved to stand directly in front of her, peering down at her with his fists planted on his hips and as grim a face as he could muster.

“I strongly recommend you not fight me on this; you cannot possibly win. I do not desire a wife, and if I am forced to
keep
a wife, I will exact my revenge on you every waking hour. Think long and hard about what I’ve said before you make up your mind, Abigail.”

“You should have thought about that before you signed that silly agreement, or whatever it was,” she responded quietly. His eyes narrowed with undisguised rancor. She stood
unsteadily. “If you will excuse me, I think I should like to freshen up. Anything would be infinitely more pleasurable than this interview.” She looked him directly in the eye, brazenly daring him to say anything more.

The sparkle in those angry violet eyes captivated him. He surprised himself by suddenly catching her upper arms and jerking her to his chest. Abbey flung her arms wildly, but he easily caught them and pinned them behind her back. He held her close, her slender body pressed against the full length of his hard, muscular frame. His gaze swept from her flashing eyes to her mouth, pursed with fear.

“I am not given to assaulting women, if I correctly interpret that look. But you will be my
wife
, and I will touch you whenever I please.” Fear clouded her eyes and he took pity. He continued, a little more softly. “Abigail, your father’s will is clear in its stipulations. If we do not marry, your father’s business associates will not receive their shares. My father’s debts cannot be repaid. My family will lose our ancestral home and you will lose your dowry. But I can settle all of that if only you will agree to end this so that we can lead our lives as we wish. I will attempt to settle a sum upon you to compensate the loss of your dowry if you will but end this now.”

Abbey could not think straight and stared helplessly at him. He seemed different now, almost sad. What game was he playing with her? Whatever his motives, she did not want to be chained to a man who did not want her and openly resented her. Her eyes stung with tears of bitter disappointment; she blinked and looked down. Michael gingerly slipped two fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his.

“I think I hate you,”
she whispered before he could speak. A raw emotion flashed in his gray eyes just before his mouth swept down on hers. It happened so swiftly and so brutally that she could not react. He crushed her to him, pressing her into his hard chest and thighs. His tongue battered at her lips, insisting she open to him. Abbey struggled, but Michael pulled her even closer than she thought possible. His body, hard and lean, burned her like an open flame. Squirming
against him, she gasped for air, and Michael plunged his tongue inside her soft, sweet mouth.

Abbey was immediately caught in a gulf between fear and a depth of emotion she could not possibly understand. His mouth was cruel until the roiling emotions crashing through her made her relent. Then he softened, his lips carefully molding hers, his tongue gently probing, willing her to him. Humiliated and deeply hurt, Abbey felt a single hot tear fall down her cheek, followed by the tender stroke of Michael’s thumb as he swept it away. His kiss was drugging her, sweeping her from reality, sparking a flame in her she had never before felt. The assault on her senses seemed endless, and when he at last lifted his head, a shiver coursed her spine and made her shudder violently.

She had never been kissed, not like that. Stunned, Abbey could do nothing but stare at his lips, conscious of a lingering warmth that spread slowly down to her toes. He was smiling down at her, a cocky, self-assured smile, and as the magic of the kiss began to wear off, she slowly grew embarrassed and resentful. It was cruel thing to have done after everything he had said. Abbey pushed angrily against his chest, stumbling backward.

“
That
was badly done!” she spat. He laughed and folded his arms across his chest. Without so much as a glance at him, she brushed past him and walked with regal grace to the door. Michael reached it before her and yanked it open, standing in the doorway so that she would have to step around him to quit the room.

She could not resist looking at him. He stared deep into her eyes, and Abbey suddenly knew those piercing gray orbs could see right through her bravado. She raised her chin a notch.

“Think on what I have said, Abigail,” he intoned with a bow.

She bestowed a sufficiently hateful glare on him and snapped, “My name is
Abbey
!” before sweeping out of the room.

Michael closed the door behind her and stood with his hand on the brass handle for a long moment, commanding himself to get hold of his conflicting emotions while he savored her taste on his lips. He had expected an ugly spinster! A dirty, ragged hellion! Not a woman like
that
.

Angry with himself, Michael marched straight for the sideboard, poured himself a large whiskey, and downed it in two gulps. She was absolutely radiant, and certainly more so than he would have ever dreamed possible.
Very good, Michael. Crush her then lust after her. Very charming
. He turned abruptly and walked to the mantel, deep in thought. He could not forget the look in her eyes when he told her he would not have her under any circumstances. The contagious smile and sparkle in her eye had dimmed rapidly, and he thought he had never seen a more dejected look in his life. But he was determined to feel no pity or esteem for her. He was determined to dissuade her from this ridiculous marriage.

But why, in God’s name, did she have to turn out to be such a beauty?

He unconsciously gripped the back of a wing-backed leather chair and glared into his empty glass.

The circumstances were loathesome at best, and revolting in every way. From the day he had received the papers from Carrington’s solicitor, Mr. Strait, he had been plagued with resentment and fury. Mr. Strait’s letter made it very plain that if Michael refused, he would be breaking a very legal agreement and risk certain lawsuits from half of London. On top of that, Abigail Carrington would lose every penny her father had left her; all but a paltry annuity would go to pay his debts.

Michael could have lived with those two possibilities. He was sure he would be vindicated if he fought the absurd agreement in the courts. If the little beastie lost her money, well, he was sorry for that, and would have settled a sum on her that would at least allow her to live in relative comfort the rest of her days.

What drove him to despair was the reality that in trying to sort through all this mess, he might lose his family’s ancestral home. He could not drag his family’s name through the mud once more.

Moreover, Carrington had partnered with some of the most influential businessmen in England. If they were forced to suffer losses because Michael welched on the agreement, it was
he
who would suffer irreparable harm, even if he won in the courts. No one would do business with him; he would be shunned and his powerful shipping trade could be ruined. He would become a social outcast—again. In short, he would do just as well to leave England altogether and start life anew.

A frown wrinkled the bridge of his nose as he recalled how his own solicitors had confirmed Strait’s interpretation of the legal documents. Resentment still boiled in his veins. Rationally, he understood that he had signed a legally binding document when he was nineteen and had been fully cognizant of what he was doing, even if he had not been fully cognizant of all the consequences. And he further understood that his own father had done his part to make sure Michael would pay all his days. He expected as much from the old man, but not from Carrington. Michael could only assume the captain had not
told him about the debt so that he would be forced to marry the little hellion.

And Carrington had tried to sweeten the pot with the lure of a substantial dowry. But that was little comfort to Michael—he did not need or want the young woman’s money. Just the thought of accepting it made his stomach knot.