The Devil's Love Read Free

had
    opportunity to tell her?
    She pulled her cloak tightly about her as she recalled the day she had pleaded
    with her aunt to let her remain in Virginia.
    “Nonsense,” Aunt Nan had said. “Are you going to leave that poor man standing on
    the dock in Portsmouth waiting for you, his arms laden with two dozen roses?
    “Yes!” Virginia had cried, “he’ll have his best coach, at least the size of Mama’s parlor, with four grays waiting to take you away!”
    Aunt Nan had added he would probably sweep her to the altar that very day, for
    he would not be willing to wait for her one more moment. Abbey had paled at that
    remark. Aunt Nan had read her expression and cuffed her on the shoulder, sternly
    reminding her it was every woman’s duty to follow their husband to the marriage
    bed, without complaint, and lie there patiently while he did that. Virginia and
    Victoria had snickered behind their hands as Abbey’s expression had turned to
    horror, but Aunt Nan had insisted, “You are not the first and you certainly won’t be the last woman to make do with it.”
    Otherwise oblivious to the bitter cold, Abbey unthinkingly pulled her hood up
    over her dark head as a steady rain began to fall, and recalled how her emotions
    had warred during the voyage. Part of her doubted that Michael esteemed her as
    her father had claimed. But then again, her papa would never lie to her, so it
    had to be true on some level. Part of her doubted he was the heroic figure she
    had dreamed about. After all, how many pirates could one man fell? But her papa
    had said he was that and more. Perhaps the stories had been embellished, but
    surely they were grounded in truth.
    She sighed quietly as she absently counted the masts bobbing in the port ahead.
    The part of her that had seen Michael through her father’s eyes all these years
    had finally won out over the doubts. She had nothing to fear. Michael Evan Ingram, Marquis of Darfield and Viscount Amberlay, loved her with all his heart
    and even now, was standing on the dock, waiting for her with two dozen roses in
    his arms.
    She abruptly turned on her heel and marched back to her cabin. She was not going
    to meet the love of her life in anything less than her best traveling clothes.
    Michael Evan Ingram did not meet her on the docks of Portsmouth‘
    instead she was
    met by a severe-looking woman with coarse gray hair and brows knit into a
    permanent frown.
    Despite the jostling crowd of passengers and stevedores that crowded the dock,
    Abbey found the woman. Had it not been for the wooden sign the woman carried
    with the words “Abigail Carrington” crudely painted, Abbey would have missed
    her.
    “I’m Abigail Carrington,” Abbey said uncertainly as she bobbed a quick curtsey.
    The woman’s mouth puckered as she eyed her from the top of her head to the tips
    of her toes.
    “Show your trunks to Mannheim there, and he’ll load ‘em,” she said curtly.
    She
    then turned abruptly on her heel and, tossing the sign to the gutter, stalked
    toward a sleek black coach emblazoned with a coat of arms bearing the name
    Darfield. Abbey glanced nervously to the man she had indicated, who was every
    bit as bedraggled as the woman.
    She refused to dwell on the fact that these people were the last thing she had
    expected. For some reason Michael had sent them, and therefore, there had to be
    more than met the eye. For the moment, she would not allow herself to wonder why
    he had not met her himself.
    “Git in the coach. Too cold out here for a young lass,” Mannheim said through a
    gaping smile as he struggled with her trunks. Abbey hesitated only briefly, the
    cold and thickening snowfall propelling her toward the coach. There were no
    coachmen—only a driver who did not even acknowledge her. Abbey timidly opened
    the door of the coach and peered inside.
    “Git in, git in!” the woman barked, and shivered violently to make her point.
    Abbey hauled herself up, promptly tripping over her