The Devil's Love (36 page)

deception.

“Please don’t fret!” Galen was saying. “I will support you when you tell him; I

will explain you could not have possibly known. The matter can be kept very

quiet; no one need ever know! Don’t fret! Darfield will understand! Men on their

deathbeds change their last testaments all the time, they do!” Galen’s voice was

low, rushed. Abbey doubled over with sickening dread.

“Look, I’ve brought all the proof you need. His ivory cuff links, that doll from your youth, for God’s sake, and the will! What more proof could your husband

need?‘’ The nausea that swept over Abbey prevented her from speaking.

Too

shocked and confused to do anything, she stared helplessly at the cuff links on

the table, the doll tossed onto an armchair, and the will Galen had taken from

her and placed on the table.

She dragged her gaze to Galen, whose genuine concern was etched around his eyes.

She shifted her gaze to the doll across the room, sprawled in the chair, its black eyes staring blankly at her. It was a replica of the doll she had carried

all those years ago, but the last time she had seen it, it had no head. Did her

father repair it? Had he truly saved it for her?

And in that moment, the enormity of her anger with the captain hit her. A flood

of tears erupted, and in painful fury, she buried her face in her hands.

Galen

quickly rose to put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

Michael looked curiously at the footman stationed outside the drawing room door.

“What are you about?” he asked kindly.

The footman cleared his throat. “The marchioness is receiving a visitor, my lord.”

Michael assumed it was Sam, a frequent visitor to his home. He opened the closed

door.

He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. Abbey, with her back to him,

was bent over. A man was seated next to her, his arm draped around her shoulder.

When he looked over his shoulder, Michael immediately recognized him as the

stranger from Blessing Park. The stranger she had so warmly embraced.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Michael’s voice boomed in the drawing room

as he strode across the carpet. The man sprang to his feet, but Abbey did not

move. Michael went quickly to her, leaning down to look into her tearstained

face. “Good God, Abbey, what has happened?” he asked, suddenly and oddly

frightened.

“ Oh, Michael!” she muttered hopelessly.

Michael jerked upright and glared at the man. “By God, you had better speak!”

“Please, my lord, I am Galen Carrey—your wife’s cousin.” The name, vaguely

familiar, registered somewhere in Michael’s brain. “I am afraid I have brought

her some disturbing news,” he said softly. At Michael’s increasingly dark look,

Galen spoke quickly. “It’s about her father. It is troubling news. Perhaps you

would like to sit—”

“You had best tell me before I force it out of you.” Michael’s voice had gone

from angry to deadly calm.

Galen blanched visibly. “Lord Darfield, it is with extreme displeasure that I must inform you Captain Carrington composed another will. A later will, I should

say. Not the one you have in your possession.”

Dumbfounded, Michael glared at Carrey. Of all the idiotic things. Of all the completely insane, reprehensible things. “What?!”

“It would appear that Mr. Strait was too efficient. He began disposing of the

estate before the captain died. Unfortunately, the captain had a change of heart

and signed another will shortly before his death that effectively invalidates the first.”

It was preposterous and a little too convenient for Michael. “Impossible,”

he

muttered angrily.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. It is quite possible,” Galen said quietly.

“And I suppose this new will has something to do with you, does it?”

Galen colored slightly as he reached down to retrieve it from the table.

Holding

it out to Michael, he said calmly, “It leaves his estate to me, my lord. The dowry you received belongs to me.”

That was absurd. Michael did not give a damn about her dowry, but he was not

about to believe for one moment that the captain had penned another will.

He

took the document from Galen’s hand and quickly scanned it. It was all there,

the blasted agreement, the payment of debts—everything, but instead of a sum for

her dowry, he was supposed to have accepted the cancellation of his debts.

Carrington’s estate was left, in total, to Galen Carrey.

“This is a forgery!”

“It’s his signature,” Abbey said softly.

Her words slammed into Michael’s head; he dragged his gaze from the document to

her. She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and dull, then flicked her gaze

to Galen Carrey. All right, Galen did not kiss like that. Michael felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Galen. The embrace. Dear God, it was inconceivable,

but he had to consider that she was somehow a part of this fraud. His expression

remained inscrutable despite the thoughts racing through his mind. He carefully

folded the vellum and placed it on the table.

“My lord, your wife could not know of the second will, as she was already in

England. And I did not mention it in my correspondence to Blessing Park, only

that I was expecting some important news,” Galen interjected.

Correspondence? Astounded, Michael stared blankly at the man across from him.

She had corresponded with him? He clenched his jaw as he recalled the day he had

seen this man at Blessing Park. She had said he was a deck hand aboard the

Dancing Maiden, a friend of Withers’s. She had not mentioned any correspondence.

Or their kinship. Indeed, there had been a decided omission of any kinship.

“You, sir, are a fraud,” he announced flatly, his disgust apparent.

Galen blinked nervously. “I am truly sorry, my lord. I know this comes as quite

a surprise, but I am not lying to you. Abbey told you herself it is the captain’s signature. And I have brought some other articles, articles only her

father could have had, along with the will.” Galen motioned to the cuff links and the doll. Chafing from the familiar use of her name, Michael stared at the

articles Galen indicated. The doll triggered a distant memory, one he

could not

quite grasp.

“These are articles that could be acquired anywhere. I do not believe they signify.” Galen swallowed a visible lump in his throat. “Mr. Carrey, my solicitors thoroughly documented and authenticated the papers I received from

Captain Carrington. If Mr. Strait wishes to inform me of a mistake, I shall be

obliged to listen.” He did not miss the flicker of Carrey’s eyes at the mention

of Mr. Strait. “Until such time, however, I will consider anything you bring me,

including your trinkets, as nothing more than a pathetic attempt to defraud me.

I will thank you to leave my home,” he said calmly.

“Michael,” Abbey said weakly, “I think my father did this, not Galen.”

Michael could not believe what he was hearing. She was defending the bastard. Ice began to run through Michael’s veins; he could hardly

contain his desire to throttle Carrey. And Abbey, good God’t The last few months

had not been a lie, he was certain of that—wasn’t he? Was it possible she could

have deceived him so completely? Michael’s chest tightened painfully and he

turned an icy gaze to her. “I will speak with you in a moment,” he said coolly,

then flicked his gaze to Galen. “Leave now.”

Galen moved from the settee. “Clearly you need time to absorb the unfortunate

news I bring you. Naturally you will want to review the papers,” he said as he

walked to the door. He paused and smiled reassuringly at Abbey. “I shall give

your butler my direction. But I will call on you in a few days, little one.”

Galen’s endearment for his wife rifled through Michael like a shot; his hands

clenched at his side. He stepped in front of Abbey, blocking Galen’s view of

her.

“You will not, under any circumstance, call on my wife, Mr. Carrey. Now leave!”

With a final look at Abbey, Galen walked out the door.

The silence in the wake of Galen’s departure was almost deafening.

Abbey touched

Michael’s sleeve, but he reacted by moving away from her. Her soft gasp did not

daunt him as he turned, his roiling emotions masked beneath an expression of

stone.

“You lied to me. I asked you who he was. You said he was a deckhand aboard the

Dancing Maiden, not your kissing cousin.”

A shot of fear and remorse rumbled through Abbey. Michael’s granite eyes blatantly searched her face. “I did not lie to you, I just did not—”

“Tell me the truth?”

Abbey winced, realizing how horrible it all seemed. “I could not tell you then,”

she blurted. “He was embarrassed because…” The words were no sooner out of her

mouth than she recognized the deep hole she was digging for herself. She needed

to think, to gather her wits so she could explain everything coherently.

“You were saying, little one?” he spat. “He was embarrassed to present himself

to me? Why? Because it was exceedingly bad form to do so before he defrauded

me?”

“No, no,” Abbey replied hoarsely. “He… did not have a post,” she said lamely as

her mind raced. Terribly shaken by her father’s latest betrayal and Michael’s

anger, she felt completely inept to explain. Obviously, her responses were not

easing him in the slightest. If it was possible for a man’s face to harden any

more, Michael’s did.

“I suppose his correspondence was quite illuminating on that front,” he said in

a low voice. Before she could respond, he pivoted away from her. “I think you

should retire to your rooms.”

Panicked, Abbey debated how to explain to him. God, she was so confused! She

could mess it all up, much worse than she already had. But she could not leave

it like this. Against her better judgment, she took a step forward. “Michael, please listen to me! Galen didn’t tell me about the other will. He said only that he was expecting some important news, a post on a merchant vessel!

He was

reluctant to present himself because he felt… inadequate,” she blurted. “I honored his request—for God’s sake, he is my cousin!”

“That,” Michael drawled icily, “is a fact you should have mentioned when I asked

you.”

He stalked to the sideboard and poured a whiskey as Abbey stared at his back. He

did not believe her. Dear God, he did not believe her. She closed her eyes and

quickly, painfully, decided that until she had collected her wits and could think, she was doing more harm than good.

“You are upset, and so am I. It’s extraordinary news, for both of us,” she heard

herself saying.

Michael glanced over his shoulder at her with a look of disdain that made her

flush.

“I would rather wait until we can both discuss it rationally,” she said with a croak, and pivoting on her heel, walked unsteadily to the door. She paused at

the threshold to glance at Michael’s rigid back before fleeing upstairs to the

sanctity of her room.

Michael stared at the window, gripping the whiskey glass with all his strength

as his emotions warred. It did not occur to him even once that Galen Carrey

could be telling the truth; it was simply too preposterous. All he could think

was that Abbey’s eyes did not lie. She did not lie, goddammit!

But she had lied to him in the cove.

And she purposely had not told him of Galen’s correspondence. Bloody hell, could

she have done this to him? Could she have participated in a scheme with her

cousin to embezzle him? Could she have perpetuated such a lie over the last

months? Standing in the middle of the room, he weighed the fantastic thought. He

recalled every conversation, every night spent in his massive bed, every stroll

about Blessing Park, every single meal. And not once, not once had she shown him

anything but genuine esteem and affection. Not once had her story changed.

No, it simply could not be true.

He moved stiffly to a chair and sat heavily, staring into the amber liquid he swirled in the glass.

It could be true.

Could he have been so wrong about her? Could she have played him so completely

false? Could he have mistaken her response in his bed or the look in her violet

eyes every time their gazes met? Bloody hell, she had professed to love him! Oh,

and he had fallen for that like a stone sinks to the bottom of the river. For Chrissakes, he had never, in all his thirty-one years, been a victim of a woman’s charms. Not once! Was it possible he could have been so completely

unguarded this time?

It was definitely possible.

He recalled with some bitterness the night she had realized Carrington had lied

to her. She could not have manufactured her devastation. Or was she as fine an

actress as one would hope to find on Drury Lane?

Michael shifted his gaze from the glass he held to the table where the will lay

next to some cuff links. He sat forward, reached across the table to pick up one

of the links, and examined it closely. As he replaced it, his eye caught the doll sprawled haphazardly across a chair near the window. The toy struck a faint

chord in him. He stared at it, blinking, until it registered. In two strides, he was at the chair.

The moment he picked it up, he knew unequivocally that Galen Carrey was a fraud.

The doll was a copy of one Abbey had carried more than ten years ago.

How could