more than he could fathom. Strong, tumultuous emotions raged within him. God in
heaven, she was carrying his child.
“You have done the right thing, Sarah,” he ground out, ignoring her wailing.
“That will be all.” He placed his arms on the desk and leaned into them.
“My lord—”
“Go!” he shouted. He heard Sarah scurry across the carpet and shut the door
behind her.
He could not fully absorb it. A child. His child. The very suggestion had a powerful effect on him that he could not begin to understand or digest. A peculiar surge of pride washed over him.
And love.
Lord, but he had never wanted her more than he did at this very moment.
He would
deal with their situation later, but for now all he wanted was Abbey, and the
consequences be damned. He pushed himself from the desk and marched across the
study, flinging the door open with such force that it hit the wall. “Jones!” he roared as he made his way to his chamber. He could not wait to hold her in his
arms, to lay his hand across her belly and feel the life within her, his life.
He wanted her in his arms so he could show her what he would never find words to
describe.
But Abbey had already left for the evening in the company of the rotund Lady
Paddington.
Abbey’s gaze swept the crowd in search of Galen. She had been at the Wilmington
Ball for nearly two hours, and still he had not come. She leaned against a pillar with her arms folded across her middle, one slippered foot tapping steadily against the marble tile. She personally would throttle Sarah if she had
not delivered the note.
A young fop she recognized as the younger son of the Earl of Whitstone approached her, smiling charmingly. Abbey frowned; the tempo of her tapping foot
increased. She was in no mood for idle chatter tonight and had already thanked
her lucky stars that the ebullient Lady Paddington was engaged in a fierce war
of loo with the other prowlers.
“Good evening, Lady Darfield.” The young man bowed.
“Good evening, sir.”
“I was watching you from across the room. I noticed you had not stood up in some
time and thought perchance that might mean there is space on your dance card?”
he asked hopefully.
Abbey forced a smile. “Oh! Well, you see, I twisted my ankle in a turn about the
park this morning, and I’m afraid it’s far too tender to contemplate dancing,”
she lied sweetly.
“Indeed? I had not noticed a limp,” the young Whitstone remarked as he eyed her
tapping foot skeptically. Abbey glanced down at her feet and frowned.
Aunt Nan
was right. She could not tell a falsehood convincingly if her very life depended
on it. Even this little fop knew it. But not Michael, damn him!
“Lady Darfield.”
Abbey whirled toward Galen’s voice, forgetting the young man. She gasped softly;
her cousin looked horrible. His brown eyes were dull, set deep in his haggard
face. She glanced uneasily toward the young fop. “If you will excuse me, sir,”
she muttered, and walked quickly to Galen, leaving Whitstone gaping at her
perfectly fine stride.
“I was afraid you had not received my message,” she whispered. Glancing furtively about, she grabbed Galen’s arm and led him toward a corner of the room
where a stand of large potted plants had been moved to make room for the dancers.
“I needed some time to think.”
Abbey fairly shoved Galen behind one of the giant plants and faced him, her
hands on her hips. His gaze slid over her and landed on the floor, where it remained. Abbey’s brows snapped together in a frown. He looked positively
despondent, and she could only guess it was because he somehow suspected he had
been discovered.
“Galen, I know about the dolls,” she began.
Galen held up a hand and shook his head. “Say no more, little one—”
“No, you say no more! You have not been very truthful with me, Galen. It’s all a
lie, isn’t it?” she demanded.
Galen surprised her by nodding, immediately and effectively taking the wind out
of her angry sails. She sagged against the wall, her arms dropping to her sides.
A part of her had hoped he would deny it. God, why couldn’t he deny it?
“But why?” she murmured.
Galen shrugged and lifted his brown eyes to her. “He left me without a farthing,
Abbey. I was his only surviving male relative, and it just seemed so grossly
unfair. Darfield is a very wealthy man—he doesn’t need your dowry, and at the
time, my plan didn’t seem quite so horrible.”
Abbey’s jaw dropped at his confession. She could not fathom her beloved cousin
would do this to her. She simply could not accept it. Galen looked nervously at
the crowd and took a step farther into the shadows behind the plants.
“I should have told him this afternoon. If only I… His pain is quite evident, cousin. I think he loves you very much.”
That was a laugh. A very painful laugh. Abbey found her voice. “He doesn’t love
me, and I fear the opportunity has been lost, thanks to your little charade.
He
suspected you from the beginning, and like a fool, I defended you!” she choked.
Galen sadly nodded his head.
“How did you do it? The will, I mean. And the cuff links? The doll? How did you
do it?” she demanded.
Galen sighed wearily and shoved his hands in his pocket. “Strait,” he muttered.
“Apparently, out of necessity, the man learned your father’s signature years
ago. There were times when the captain was not present to sign, and he vested
Strait with the authority. Over time, the solicitor became quite adept at it, and when pressed, he signed the forged document, for a percentage. As for the
cuff links, they were in Strait’s possession. He had intended to send them to
you, as he knew they meant something to the captain. The doll? That was my idea.
I recalled one you had dragged about as a little girl and recently, by chance,
happened upon one very similar to it.”
“Mr. Strait was involved?” she whispered.
Galen paused. “Not willingly,” he sighed.
His confession shattered her into what felt like a thousand pieces. For a brief
moment, she recalled the Galen of her youth, laughing on the decks of the Dancing Maiden, his dancing brown eyes shining down on her. Her heart wrenched
at the memory; she could not fathom her beloved cousin participating in such a
scheme. A scheme that had destroyed her marriage.
“I cannot believe this, Galen,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Why didn’t you come to me? I would have given you everything I had.” A tear
slipped from her eye and traveled quickly down her pale cheek.
Galen sullenly watched its path. “I know. That’s why I didn’t press my claim. I
could see it was destroying your happiness—‘’
“Could you?” she shot back. “You’ve destroyed my marriage before it had a chance
to begin. I can never win back what I’ve lost, not now. You know that, don’t
you? I only hope he believes you and does not continue to think that I…”
She
caught a sob in her throat. “That I did this to him!”
“We can go to him now, if you’d like. I will tell him everything,” he said solemnly.
Abbey stared at him, her mind warring with her heart. Why did all the men in her
life betray her?
“You go. Tell him everything,” she ground out angrily. “If I go with you, he’ll suspect we are scheming. If he believes you, I’ll know it. One way or another,
I’ll know it.” She pushed away from the wall and backed away from him, shaking
her head in disbelief.
Galen, with his hands shoved in his pockets, watched her, misery etched on his
face. “Abbey. Little one. I am so very sorry. You cannot know how sorry,”
he
said softly.
She bit her lower lip to keep a torrent of tears from gushing forth. God, she was sorry, too. Sorry her father had not provided for him. Sorry he had felt compelled to go to such incredible lengths. Sorry that he had ruined the near-perfect life she had with Michael. “It’s too late,” she whispered, and turning on her heel, walked away, her heart breaking for the hundredth time.
Galen’s own heart was breaking, too. She was right, his apology was too little,
too late. He had destroyed her happiness, and he had never, ever wanted that. If
he could roll back the clock, he would. If he could erase that fateful, chance
encounter with Malcolm Routier in Calais, he would. If he could have undone the
steps they had taken to defraud Darfield, he would gladly do it. He had not understood how deeply Darfield felt about her until he had seen him this afternoon. The man had a wild look in his eye, but when he spoke Abbey’s name,
something flickered in his gray eyes, something hauntingly touching. He should
hardly be surprised. He could have loved her, too.
Over the last several days, Galen’s distaste for this unspeakable scheme had
grown so great, he should have walked away from it. But Routier had
pushed him,
threatening him. At first, he had used the fact that Galen owed him five thousand pounds. But Routier’s motivation was not money. Galen had come to that
realization rather slowly, but he had recently seen the incredible hatred the
man bore for Darfield. What motivated Routier was a desire to see Darfield ruined, whatever the cost. He would never be able to undo what he had done, but
at least he could stop Routier from ruining Darfield. Galen pushed away from the
plants and began to make his way to the exit, determined to find the marquis.
He was nearing the door when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Off so soon, Carrey?” Malcolm Routier asked blandly.
“You could say that.”
“I was expecting to see you this afternoon, my friend. Were you favorably detained?” Routier asked slyly.
“I am not going through with it, Routier,” Galen bluntly admitted.
Routier’s yellow eyes went hard as stone. “Pardon?” he asked, forcing a smile
onto his thin lips.
“You heard me. I’m not going through with it.”
Routier laughed politely and, glancing around them, grabbed Galen’s arm in a
painful grip. “Surely I misunderstood you. You have no choice but to go through
with it.”
Galen jerked his arm from Routier’s grip and walked outside, away from the
heavily trafficked foyer. Routier followed him.
“Have you forgotten that you owe me?” he hissed at Galen’s back.
Galen shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“No, I have not forgotten. Turn me into the authorities if you will, but you will not force my hand in this.”
“What’s the matter, Carrey? Your pretty little cousin not willing to warm your
bed just now?” he snarled.
Galen whirled and shoved Routier up against the brick wall, ignoring the startled looks of guests arriving at the Wilmington home. “Don’t, Routier,”
he
muttered through clenched teeth, “or I will break your bloody neck.”
Routier shoved back, then casually straightened his waistcoat. “You are a
goddam
fool, Carrey,” he muttered as he straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. “Do you
have any concept of what I’ve done for you? I planned it, I made sure we got
what we needed from Strait so you could make your little claim to a half million
pounds. I made sure he wouldn’t get in the way—”
“ What?” Galen gasped.
Routier rolled his eyes. “Did it ever occur to you that when asked, the honest
Mr. Strait might talk about what I made him do? How would that have looked for
your claim? Did you ever think of that?”
“I thought he agreed to do it for a percentage!”
“You thought wrong. He was an honest man if nothing else.” Routier sighed
coldly. At that moment, Galen thought he was the biggest fool in all the world.
Not only had he destroyed his cousin, he had effectively had a man murdered. He
might as well have pulled the trigger himself, and all because the captain had
never forgiven his immaturity, his lack of responsibility. Good God, how ironic
that was now! Carrington had been so bloody right! Look what he had done to
Abbey. To Darfield. To Strait.
“You disgust me,” he muttered angrily, speaking to Routier but also to himself.
Then he turned on his heel, walking away from Routier for good, to find Darfield.
Routier’s eyes narrowed. That bastard Carrey was about to cost him his one
chance to ruin Darfield. He turned and walked back into the foyer, his mind
racing. He was not through yet. Not yet. Darfield may keep his windfall, but he
would know suffering at Routier’s hand.
Abbey stood near the doors opening to the terrace, glaring down every would-be
dance partner. As usual, she was a whirl of conflicting emotions. She wanted to
go home, crawl into bed, and try to forget the whole, horrible affair. But she
was afraid to go home. What if Galen was there? She was not certain what Michael
would do when he learned the truth, but she could not think it would be good.
And on top of that, she had the very real problem of no transportation.
Until
Lady Paddington was ready, she was stuck. So she stood, awkwardly and alone,
deflecting gentleman after gentleman, completely preoccupied with thoughts of
Galen. Oh, God, how his betrayal stung. It stung as deeply as the captain’s,
almost as deeply as Michael’s.
“Good evening, Lady Darfield.”
Abbey glanced to her right and smiled thinly. “Mr. Routier, what a pleasure,”
she said politely.
“No, lady, the pleasure is always mine. Forgive me, but you look rather tired