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

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.
    But he would make do with the situation. He would live in his spacious Brighton town house, keeping to the seas, and leave her to rot at Blessing Park. Rebecca would not like it, but then again, there was little she liked these days. The woman was simply never satisfied, and Michael suspected until she had his name and a town house in Mayfair, she would never be. He had not as yet deemed it necessary to inform Rebecca that he had no intention of marrying her, a conclusion he had reached long before the documents came informing him he would wed the little hellion. No doubt Abbey would be relieved to marry a marquis. Her gratitude for being lifted from the bonds of obscurity and given the protection of his name likely would be so acute that she would undoubtedly pledge to make him a good wife and bear him many sons.
    He would take the sons, but he wanted nothing else to do with her.
    He poured another whiskey and began to pace. Despite what he told himself, he could not erase the memory of her remarkable eyes clouded with confusion. What in the devil was wrong with him? How had he expected her to look, happy? It was part of her punishment, was it not, her payment for her roll in this sham? Yet regardless of how much she deserved his disdain, he could not, at the moment, reconcile the image of her with it. He walked to the windows and angrily yanked the heavy velvet drapes apart and peered outside, unseeing. He did not turn when the door opened and closed softly.
    “I would wager your reunion did not go well,” Sam remarked casually. His steps fell silently on the thick Aubusson carpet as he strolled to the sideboard.
    “What did you expect?” Michael asked coolly.
    Sam wisely did not answer as he helped himself to a brandy. He took a drink and eyed Michael’s back over the rim of his glass. “Now what?”
    Michael shrugged. “I will go to Brighton and summon Rebecca,” he said indifferently as he propped a booted foot on the window seat.
    “I think there is something you should know, Darfield. That girl has no notion of the agreement. Thanks to Carrington, she believes you sought this marriage,” Sam announced.
    Michael grunted his skepticism. “That little hellion knows too well what her father did, Sam. Don’t underestimate her ability to deceive.”
    “Don’t underestimate Carrington’s ability, either, for I am telling you, he greatly deceived her. That girl is in love with an image of a man her father created from thin air. Do you know that she believes you sent her gifts over the last years? That you wrote letters to her father reconfirming your devotion and desire to wed?”
    “Really, Hunt, you do not honestly think she could believe such nonsense,” Michael snapped.
    “On my word, I think she does believe it. You should at least give her the benefit of the doubt,” Sam responded quietly.
    Michael glowered over his shoulder at his friend. “I wonder, if you found yourself in similar circumstance, what
your
reaction might be.”
    “I would hope that I would remember the young woman has traveled thousands of miles to marry a man she has not seen since she was a child. She believes—or
believed
—that man loves her and has romanticized that notion to her great satisfaction.” He took a sip of brandy. Michael, saying nothing, turned his broad back again.
    Sam sighed heavily. “Well, at the very least she seems to be a rather pleasant sort. There is no need to treat her ill.”
    Michael shook his head and pushed away from the window seat. He strolled toward the fireplace, absently swirling the whiskey in his glass. “There is no need to treat her in
any
fashion,” he said after a moment. “She shall be well attended here while I am in Brighton.”
    “You might at least try to acquaint yourself with her.