“I thought perhaps you might be curious as to Lady Arcane’s fate,” he said with a brittle smile.
Drawing in a slow breath, Angel forced herself to meet his gaze. “Certainly, I would wish to know whether Lady Arcane suffers greatly.”
He drew back, disguising his features in the shadows of the bed’s drapes, and Angelica had the strange feeling that, in doing so, Lord Malvern resembled the “Lucifer” of her dreams. It was all so odd, even the flicker of moonlight presented no difficulty in her appraisal of every line of his fashionably dark countenance. She had studied his multitude of expressions often enough.
Without question, Lord Malvern remained the most handsome man of her acquaintance. Some fortunate woman will wake each morning to look upon him. The idea that another would know what she could not brought an ache of loneliness to Angel’s heart.
“Although the duke asked that Mr. Roddick keep his diagnosis from the duchess’s guests, the surgeon sings your praises for recognizing what plagued Lady Arcane. Although he is not the traditional physician schooled in such matters, Roddick believes the girl will know a full recovery, but it will be several days until she is up and about again.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am pleased to hear it. I hope Lady Falonwick will accept my calling on her daughter.”
“The viscountess also praised your astute response. I am certain Lady Falonwick will wish to offer you her gratitude.”
“I would not have noticed Lady Arcane if you had not directed my attention to her,” Angel acknowledged. His expression softened, and he reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She swallowed hard. “Is there—is there more you meant to say?”
A sardonic smile crossed his lips. “Why is it I cannot remain long from your side, lass?”
Angel blushed. She prayed Lord Malvern would never know how tenderly his deep, husky voice caressed her soul. “We have discussed our situation upon numerous occasions,” she began, but her voice trembled more than she would like. “When your memories return, you will place me from your life, but for now, I remain your anchor. I realize how frustrating it must be for you to travel familiar paths, but none with a history to make you whole. I am sympathetic to your dilemma, and I feel a certain sense of guilt for having caused your accident, but you must recognize these late night encounters cannot continue. Soon someone will discover our secrets, and my reputation will know ruin. I must beg you not to succumb to your need for my company.” It took all of her self-control not to catch his hand and claim a bit of happiness. “We have made the only sensible decision in this matter.”
“Yes, we have.”
He glared arrogantly at her. Lord Malvern stood wearily. She knew from the slant of his shoulders his dark eyes flared with icy coldness.
“You should also be made aware someone laced Lord Newsome’s drink with laudanum,” he announced without emotion.
“The viscount?” Forgetting her earlier modesty, Angel scrambled to her knees upon the mattress. “If Lord Newsome had eaten what Lady Arcane ingested, his lordship could have died in his sleep.”
“So says Lord Remmington.”
Angel heard the tangible disgust in the marquess’s tone. Her stomach clenched in regret. If Lord Remmington made her an offer, Angel would be placing a wedge between the marquess and the earl. It was enough to make her have second thoughts regarding the Earl of Remmington. “Who would wish to be done with Lord Newsome?” she inquired.
“We are uncertain. Sir Alexander thinks there may be a connection to Lady Sandahl’s continued illness, but we are at a loss to know how. There are no rumors of a connection between the viscount and the countess, and the ton thrives on such gossip.”
“How may I assist you? Do you wish me to approach Lady Sandahl or Lady Mathild? I could pretend to wish a connection to my father’s family.”
Lord Malvern stiffened. “Heaven forbid! Make me a promise, Angel. You will not go near the Sandahls. If there is a relationship between the countess and Lord Newsome, your curiosity could place you in danger. I could not bear it if you came to evil.”
Amazement struck her dumb. The marquess spoke as if he cared for her. Was it possible? She spoke with true dismay. “If you insist, my lord.”
He raised his hand to caress her cheek. “Whether I like it or not, I brought perfidy to my father’s threshold. I cannot involve you further in what occurred. I only meant to warn you of something greater than an accidental poisoning operating at Devil’s Keep.”
“How?” she whispered. “How did you endanger your family?” His hand fell to his side, and Angel felt bereft of his warmth. “That is the real issue.” He chuckled in irony. “Without my memory, I possess no means of solving the puzzle. I will share with you one bit of what the baronet and Lord Remmington claim as my history before my accident. We once believed Lord Newsome hired men to follow my family for I hold numerous vowels belonging to the viscount. Now we suppose a possible connection between Newsome and the Sandahls. It is all so convoluted I can think of little else.”
“Why did you not confide in me previously?” It was foolish for her to feel betrayed. After all, they had known each other for less than a fortnight, but she could not recall a time when Lord Malvern was not part of her life.
His lordship shrugged away her question. He took her into his arms, resting his chin upon the top of her head. Angelica buried her nose in his chest, and his scent filled her lungs. It was all so natural—so exquisitely comforting.
“I did not tell you of Lord Newsome nor did I speak of the service I perform for Sir Alexander and the government because I meant to protect you. My world without my past does not speak of a future. Even so, what kind of man would I be if I risked harming those I hold most dear?”
* * *
An anxious entreaty arrived at his door just as the dawn split the dark sky. He did not know how long he had held Angelica, but Hunt had been sore to leave her. The heat of her body had entered his in an enticing prelude to perfection. At length, he coaxed her to return to her sleep with promises to answer all her questions upon the morrow.
“Discover the alarm,” Hunt instructed his valet who had been shaken from his cot in Hunt’s dressing room. Meanwhile, Hunt buried his face in the pillow, attempting to return to his dream of Angelica succumbing to his touch. He did not care if he had no dreams beyond those of Angelica Lovelace. She was perfect for a man’s yearnings.
Mangan responded to the door, but his man had no opportunity to prevent the intrusion of Lord Remmington, as the earl shoved the valet from his way. “Wake up, Malvern!” The earl pulled the pillow from Hunt’s grasp. “Newsome is no longer in his rooms.”
Hunt bolted upright. “How so?” He shoved the bedding aside and reached for his breeches and shirt. “I thought the viscount had enough laudanum to keep him abed until at least midday.”
Remmington tossed Hunt’s discarded jacket in his direction. “Newsome’s man swears when he retired, the viscount was out cold. Sir Alexander does not know whether Newsome experienced another bit of Bedlam or whether he met a more sinister fate.”
Hunt paused as he stuffed his shirttail into his breeches. “Perhaps Newsome’s delirium was a farce. Mayhap he means menace under the duke’s roof.”
Remmington looked up in surprise. “There is that possibility also.”
* * *
Angelica thought it odd that Lords Malvern and Remmington, as well as Sir Alexander, did not break their fast. Neither had Lord Newsome. However, after the marquess’s disclosures last evening, she knew something of import must have occurred to draw the gentleman from the table.
“Lady Falonwick remains by her daughter’s side,” Lady Gunnimore explained when she noted Angel’s close survey of the room’s occupants.
Angelica blushed, but she permitted the countess to think she remained worried over the girl’s health. “Beca reports that Mr. Roddick expects a full recovery, but the girl was more ill than anyone thought.” It was important that Angel not disclose Lad
y Arcane’s true diagnosis.
“You were quite ingenious in your handling of Lady Arcane’s situation. I was sitting nearer to the girl than were you, but I did not notice Lady Arcane’s distress. However did you know to assist her?”
Angelica could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, but she willed it away. “I just happened to glance up to see how you and Papa got along with the duke and duchess. Lord Malvern caught my eye and nodded in Lady Arcane’s direction. Evidently, he had inquired of the girl’s health when he noted how pale she became. I believe the marquess was at a loss to know how to assist the girl without breaking with propriety. As Lady Arcane’s expression relayed her suffering, I thought it only prudent to act.”
Lady Gunnimore nodded. “It would have devastated Lady Arcane’s reputation to have been ill at the duchess’s table. You saved the viscountess’s daughter from sorted gossip.”
“It was Lord Malvern who took first notice of the situation,” Angel argued.
“But the marquess turned to you for assistance,” Lady Gunnimore insisted. “His sister was beside him, but he sought your sensible nature to solve the girl’s dilemma. I believe Lord Malvern holds you in deepest regard,” the countess whispered conspiratorially.
Angel frowned in irritation. “Lord Malvern is the duke’s heir,” she said privately to Lady Gunnimore. “Despite the friendship, which has formed between the duke’s family and mine since my taking of Lord Harrison’s acquaintance in London, the marquess must look higher than an untitled American as his future duchess.” She paused to acknowledge the entrance of the countess’s son Mr. Connell with a simple nod of her head. “I know you wish me only the best, but I beg you, Lady Gunnimore, do not give voice to such aspirations again. Lord Malvern is not meant for me.”
The woman studied Angelica with appraising eyes. “I think you err, my dear, but if my comments have made you uncomfortable, I shall curtail them. I simply wanted for you what would have pleased your dear mother.”
Angelica squeezed the back of the countess’s hand. “And I am blessed by your kindness.”
“Good morning, Mother. Miss Lovelace.” Mr. Connell bowed before assuming the seat by his mother. “I understand a shooting party is forming. I mean to join them.”
“That will be pleasant entertainment for the gentlemen,” the countess said.
“That accounts for the absence of many of the gentlemen from the table,” Angel said, attempting not to draw more attention to her obsession with Lord Malvern. Before the countess could comment on Malvern being among those absent, Angel added, “Even His Grace has not made an appearance, although I suppose the duke had a very late night bringing to a closure to last evening’s unprecedented events.”
* * *
Hunt and his companions confirmed that Lord Newsome’s traveling coach and his mount remained in the Keep’s stables, but that particular fact was the only thing they knew with any certainty. None of the servants had heard Newsome’s exit, and, under the baronet’s orders, the duke’s staff had searched every room of the house, other than the quarters of the other guests.
“Should we return to Devil’s Keep?” Sir Alexander asked as they brought their horses to a standstill upon a high ridge. They had been in the saddle since six, and it was well after nine. “We found no trace of Newsome anywhere upon the estate.”
“Everyone should be up,” Hunt reasoned. “Will we search the private quarters?”
The baronet shook off the question. “We cannot do so without garnering too much interest. We must simply assume after last evening’s theatrics, no one would provide Lord Newsome board at the Keep.”
“Other than Lady Sandahl, could the viscount be wooing another of my mother’s guests?” Hunt questioned.
Sir Alexander’s lips turned up in anticipation of a taunt. “In London, the viscount called upon Miss Lovelace several times.”
“You better not be suggesting Miss Lovelace would give Newsome succor last evening,” Remmington warned. The earl’s eyes flared with annoyance.
Hunt could not admit he had spent several overnight hours holding Angelica Lovelace in his embrace. Instead, he said, “The baronet’s humor wears thin when one has not had a full sleep.” He glanced off toward where the roof of the Keep could be seen at a distance. “If I read Sir Alexander’s unspoken assumptions correctly, it is our duty to consider all possibilities. This situation began with what appeared to be some sort of intimidation to erase Newsome’s gambling debts, and it has blossomed into a twisted game of retribution. My biggest fear is we are overlooking the obvious.”
“We should break our fasts and seek clean clothes,” Sir Alexander agreed. “Then perhaps we can clear away the shades long enough to see what appears on first glance to be invisible.”
* * *
Angel tarried in the area of the morning room until half past nine. She told several who inquired if she wished to join them for entertainments that she had had a restless night and meant to return to her quarters until later in the day. As her assisting with Lady Arcane had become common knowledge among the duchess’s guests, no one thought twice of her excuse.
“You were very clever,” her father proclaimed with a smile of admiration upon his lips. “My Victoria must be dancing happily in Heaven for her daughter’s name is upon everyone’s lips.”
Angel shrugged with a note of self-chastisement. “In this instance being a hoydenish American proved beneficial. Tending to Lady Arcane was not below my position.”
“Nonsense!” her father declared. “You learned from your earliest showings. Now, all who look upon your fine countenance also recognize a woman of intelligence and of empathy. All those qualities will prove well for marriage prospects. I have already heard from several gentlemen, who took note of your eligibility.”
Angel wished one of those men was Lord Malvern. Beyond the marquess’s regard, she held few opinions on those who attended the duchess’s entertainments. She had spent most of her time with Lord Remmington, and even though she enjoyed the earl’s company, she remained uncertain whether she could align herself with the gentleman. Lord Remmington is Malvern’s dearest companion, she whispered internally to a constantly conflicted conscience. I must maintain distance from the marquess if I am to know marital contentment.
Taking note of the hour, Angelica thanked the duke’s footman for his patience and exited the room. With a sigh of exasperation, she set her course for her quarters. She wished she knew what had taken Lord Malvern from the manor, but there was little she could do to satisfy her curiosity.
I suppose I could use the same servants’ passages as his lordship to seek him out, she thought while listening to her father and Lady Gunnimore plan their day. Of course, being caught doing so would ruin me for life.
Reaching the fourth storey, Angel turned to the left, for her quarters were at the end of a long passage in the East Wing, but she had taken no more than a dozen steps before a loud moan brought her to a halt. She listened intently. The sound came a second time. Looking around for a footman or maid to assist her, Angel paused at the nearest door to listen for movement, but she heard nothing. Therefore, she tiptoed to the next one, but she still discovered nothing unusual. Nevertheless, on the third try, a deep moan and a mumbled “please” rewarded her.
Angel sought others, even going to the head of the stairs to look for assistance below, before she returned to the door to knock.
“May I be of assistance?” she called.
For several long seconds, no one responded, and she feared she had stumbled upon a couple enjoying a late morning’s assignation. Angel recognized the fact young ladies were not supposed to know of men and women in the “throes of passion,” but the Lovelace property in Virginia was a “working farm.” Some under her father’s employment “worked” harder than others.
The thought brought a blush to her cheeks, and she stepped away from the door to make her escape before anyone took note of her. However, a distinct “Help me” drew her to the door aga
in.
“Yes, I am here,” she called as she turned the latch. “How may I be of service?”
She eased the door open to reveal a small sitting room and beyond it, the suite’s bedchamber. She approached with caution. Shadows covered the exterior room as the drapes remained drawn, and the sharp smell of a chamber pot had her covering her nose.
“Where are you?” It had not occurred to her before Angel stepped through the portal that the person in need might be a gentleman. Her heart raced with the possibility.
For that reason, she knew gratitude when a very feminine voice said, “In the bed.”
Angel left the door open as she rushed to the person’s side.
“Are you ill?”
“Please.” The woman caught at Angel’s arm. “I ... I must ... escape ... this room.”
Angel recognized the woman. It was Lady Mathild’s mother, Lady Sandahl. Lord Malvern’s warning whispered in her ear: ‘You must not become involved with the Sandahls.’ Yet, Angel’s heart told her to stay. “You are receiving kind care, my lady. Perhaps you wish for me to find your daughter or Lord Sandahl.”
“No!” The countess’s fingernails dug into Angel’s arm. “I must escape.”
Angel looked about the room. Nothing appeared out of place. “Are you well enough to walk?” She was not certain whether she should assist the countess or call for the lady’s maid.
“With your support,” Lady Sandahl declared. She shoved at the bedding draped across her before half crawling to the bed’s edge. “Your hand,” the countess demanded.
Reluctantly, Angel braced the woman to her feet. “Slowly,” she warned.
“We must—not tarry,” Lady Sandahl announced through gritted teeth as she willed herself forward.
Angel noticed the stained nightgown the woman wore and the odor of gastric issues. “Do you not wish me to summon your maid?” she suggested.
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