Julia London by Wicked Angel The Devil's Love Read Free Book Online Page A

flushed under his intense scrutiny and attempted to dissuade him by smiling, but to no avail. The man who stood in front of her now looked angry and a little disappointed.
    “I daresay I was,” he finally answered with a coolness that Abbey immediately took for indifference. Her worst fear, that he would not find her to his liking, seemed to be becoming a reality.
    “You were?” she asked with some confusion. The small seed of doubt she had so admirably quashed was now growing wildly out of control. He was supposed to be telling her of his great esteem and how interminable his wait had been. Instead it seemed he did not want her, did not even like her in fact!
    “Is—is something wrong?” she forced herself to ask, despite the blasted tremble in her voice.
    “I’m rather taken aback. You do not look like the Abigail Carrington I recall,” he said bluntly.
    Abbey’s violet eyes grew wide as it dawned on her that he must not remember her. The fact that
he
might not remember
her
had not once crossed her mind. She laughed with great relief. “Oh, dear, I thought certainly you knew me as I did you! Perhaps my sketch artist was not as skilled as yours.”
    “I beg your pardon?” he asked coolly.
    “It’s been quite a long time, has it not? I know the waiting must have been unbearable for you; it certainly was for me,” she said, and smiled broadly, like a simpleton, she thought, as she desperately looked for some sign of warmth from him.
    Coolly dismissing the others, Michael pushed slowly from his perch, and walked around the writing table to take a seat. She remained rooted to her spot, looking at him as if she had seen an apparition. Very reluctantly, he silently acknowledged that she was even lovelier than he had fist thought when shehad crossed the threshold. In fact, he thought, she was remarkably beautiful, which served only to increase his agitation. He could see a resemblance to the little hellion, but the transformation from the image in his mind’s eye to the woman before him was more than his brain could comprehend. Gone was the look of stunned confusion, and in its place, an expression so benign that the only hint of anxiety came from her fist clutching at the skirt of her gown.
Don’t be a fool
, he told himself.
This woman is the same hellion
.
    “You may help yourself to some tea,” he decreed curtly, and motioned impatiently toward the silver service.
    Abbey frowned slightly and warily took a seat on the edge of the settee. She seemed to be unsure about the tea, and eyed the silver service suspiciously before finally pouring a cup. As she added two cubes of sugar, Michael cleared his throat.
    “Abigail—”
    “Abbey,” she interjected softly as she reached for more sugar.
    Michael snapped a cool gaze to her. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Abbey. I am called Abbey,” she said, and dropped two more cubes of sugar in the cup.
    “That’s quite enough.” At Abbey’s look of surprise, he gestured toward her teacup and clarified, “Quite enough sugar.” He no earthly idea what made him say that; he certainly could not care less how much sugar she put in her tea.
    She paused for a moment, then shrugged, and he averted his gaze to the window while she stirred her tea. He listened to her dainty sips before speaking again.
    “We have much to discuss.” When she did not respond, he continued without so much as looking at her.
    “First, may I say I hope your voyage was uneventful,” he began with smooth, practiced politeness. He looked at her from the corner of his eye; she was staring blankly at him.
    “As for our … 
predicament
—”
    “Predicament?”
    “Our
predicament
,” he repeated, spitting out the word as if it were acid, “the terms of your father’s will dictate I act with some haste.” He paused, momentarily unsure how to proceed.
    Abbey was uncertain as to what was happening. He seemed exceedingly resentful, and the brusque tone of his voice was making her stomach churn.