Julia London by Wicked Angel The Devil's Love Read Free Book Online
Authors: Wicked Angel The Devil's Love
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 dispell 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 herunaccomplished, 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 until her nerves had settled. What foolishness. Michael had waited long enough, and so had she. Smiling bravely, Abbey took a deep breath and lifted her chin high. With all the bravado she could muster, she swept through the doors of the study, with Sebastian, Sam, and Jones crowding in the doorway behind her.
He was leaning against a massive writing table, his weight settled on one hip, his arms folded across his flat stomach as he eyed her. His inky black hair was wavy and thick, and brushed past his collar. His breeches hugged his muscular thighs until they reached his polished Hessians. His gray eyes narrowed as he perused her, and unthinking, Abbey gasped with sheer joy. She had, of course, recognized him immediately. Perhaps he was a little taller and a little fuller, and his skin bronzed by the sun, but he looked
exactly
like the Michael she remembered.
Only more handsome. Impossibly handsome.
She was propelled by an unseen force toward him, her gaze locked with his fierce one. “Michael!” she exclaimed as she approached him, appalled by the nervous pitch in her voice and forgetting her manners.
He raised a brow.
“Michael?”
he repeated incredulously.
Abbey walked slowly, taking in every detail of him, from the way his brows burrowed into a frown, to his full lips set in an implacable line, to his strong jaw clenched tightly shut.
He was magnificent.
And he was not happy to see her.
Abbey stopped and peered into his stoic face. No, perturbed was more accurate. Surely she was misreading him. Perhaps
his
nerves were frazzled, too. Her laugh was softly nervous. “Were you expecting someone else?” she joked, immediately wishing she had not, and smiled expectantly.
Michael did not answer right away but blatantly studied her, his frown deepening all the while. She
“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 dispell 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 herunaccomplished, 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 until her nerves had settled. What foolishness. Michael had waited long enough, and so had she. Smiling bravely, Abbey took a deep breath and lifted her chin high. With all the bravado she could muster, she swept through the doors of the study, with Sebastian, Sam, and Jones crowding in the doorway behind her.
He was leaning against a massive writing table, his weight settled on one hip, his arms folded across his flat stomach as he eyed her. His inky black hair was wavy and thick, and brushed past his collar. His breeches hugged his muscular thighs until they reached his polished Hessians. His gray eyes narrowed as he perused her, and unthinking, Abbey gasped with sheer joy. She had, of course, recognized him immediately. Perhaps he was a little taller and a little fuller, and his skin bronzed by the sun, but he looked
exactly
like the Michael she remembered.
Only more handsome. Impossibly handsome.
She was propelled by an unseen force toward him, her gaze locked with his fierce one. “Michael!” she exclaimed as she approached him, appalled by the nervous pitch in her voice and forgetting her manners.
He raised a brow.
“Michael?”
he repeated incredulously.
Abbey walked slowly, taking in every detail of him, from the way his brows burrowed into a frown, to his full lips set in an implacable line, to his strong jaw clenched tightly shut.
He was magnificent.
And he was not happy to see her.
Abbey stopped and peered into his stoic face. No, perturbed was more accurate. Surely she was misreading him. Perhaps
his
nerves were frazzled, too. Her laugh was softly nervous. “Were you expecting someone else?” she joked, immediately wishing she had not, and smiled expectantly.
Michael did not answer right away but blatantly studied her, his frown deepening all the while. She