It can be easy, my dears, to have one’s attention drawn to inappropriate members of the opposite sex. Do not be naive when entering society. There are many men who are entirely unsuitable for you but will be devastatingly handsome and ridiculously charming. Stay strong and remember to seek that hidden gem. Charm alone will not carry you through a relationship. Consider the quiet men, the men who are not quick with their compliments, even those who cannot dance. Those men will make steadfast and excellent companions. Keep your head, my dears, and you will do well.
The pain in Benedict’s wrist intensified as they brought out the kickshaws. Even having taken a fair amount of Collis Browne’s vile concoction and having his wrist strapped up didn’t help. Not when he kept trying to ball his fist.
And he wouldn’t be balling his fist if he wasn’t having to be witness to Angelina fawning over Sutherland.
What the devil kind of game was she playing? Why did that dry old stick interest her? Apparently they had a friendship of sorts but she really was paying him far too much attention and he suspected people were beginning to notice. He took a long sip of wine and placed the glass down with too heavy a hand. Angelina’s head whipped his way.
“You should not drink too much. Not after taking Chlorodyne.”
“You’re not my mother,” he grumbled.
A brow arched. “Thank goodness.”
He pressed his lips together and tried not to inhale her scent or admire the way her golden hair was piled in an artful hairstyle. Tiny pearl clips had been scattered amongst the curls, catching the light every now and then and the ridiculous part of him kept likening her to a fairy or an angel. He almost snorted at himself.
They dined in a secondary hall. A vaulted ceiling was lined with ancient beams. Flags hung from them while wrought iron chandeliers dropped on long chains to sit above their table. There was just under thirty in their party but the table could seat at least forty by his reckoning. The marquess and marchioness were not far from him, just in earshot, but other members of the party were well out of his hearing. He glanced up at the ceiling, down the length of the table and back to Angelina.
Aware his charms were failing him, he drew in a breath and aided her with the kickshaws while Sutherland made some remark to her that had her giggling. What could he possibly be saying that could be so funny? The man had no sense of humour. Angie needed a man who could make her laugh properly. One who could make her blush too. He’d managed that. He might have been addled on laudanum on Christmas Day and the day after, but he’d made her blush.
Really, he wanted to do it again. It wasn’t the best time to admit to his feelings for her, even subtly. He’d approached Fairfax already this evening but found himself distracted by Angelina’s proximity. And by proximity, he meant as far away as possible from him. Yet he couldn’t fail to be aware of her laugh, her movement...hell, he could swear her perfume lingered in every inch of the air. His gaze kept slipping over and admiring the silver evening gown she wore. Even now, he couldn’t concentrate on his meal with those creamy shoulders in view.
What he wouldn’t give to stroke a finger over them. Or press his lips to them. He glanced at her neck as delicate diamond earrings tapped against it. If he put his mouth there, just beneath her ear, would she sigh?
Damn it, Benedict wanted to find out. He reached for his wine glass then thought better of it. If he was to keep his head tonight and do what he’d been vowing to do—offer Fairfax a business proposition he couldn’t resist—he had to keep his head straight. How likely that was with Angelina around was another matter.
Throughout the main meal, he managed to keep his conversation with her to a minimum. Of course, it helped that she kept ignoring him and turning her attention on Sutherland and one of the Carlton daughters—the one with all the freckles and really quite a charming smile—endeavoured to draw him into her conversation. He thought he was doing quite well until she mentioned his injury and how awful it must have been to be alone in his room on Christmas day.
“I said to mama we should have come to your room and entertained you but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
Benedict smiled but couldn’t help thinking of Angelina’s diligence. She was under no obligation to come to him yet she had hardly left his side the past two days. But why? Did it mean something or was this his foolish hopeful heart wishing for more, reading into things that did not exist?
Most likely.
“You are most thoughtful.”
Benedict tried to summon her name and some ounce of charm but failed. Angelina next to him, fawning over Sutherland threw him off. He didn’t think he’d ever had so much trouble talking with the fairer sex. Maybe he’d be better off getting foxed. At least his tongue wouldn’t feel as though it had been frozen in a block of ice.
The servants cleared away the plates. Benedict took a swallow of wine under Angelina’s reproachful glare.
“Only a sip,” he said with a grin.
“If you get foxed and fall over and injure yourself, do not expect me to feel a drop of sympathy,” Angelina told him archly.
“It is very unlikely I shall get foxed from one sip but I’ll admit that I’m disappointed you no longer care for my wellbeing. You made quite the nurse.”
Her shoulders stiffened and she kept her voice low. “I did what anyone would.”
“Anyone?”
“Yes, anyone.”
He dropped his voice to match hers, keeping his tone as wicked as possible. He had to regain his composure here and the only way he knew how to was to behave as scandalously as he could. “But not just anyone was in my bedroom. Alone.”
Her amber gaze flew to his. Benedict offered a knowing smile.
“Are you trying to ruin me?” She leaned away to allow a servant to clear her plate. “Because you know, you are too late.”
The words jabbed him, ran like razor blades down his insides. He forced himself to meet her gaze. How could anything so perfect be seen as ruined? From her fair, long lashes to her creamy skin and the tiny freckle under one eye to her wide mouth and rare but perfect smile. She was perfection.
“You’re not ruined,” he said gruffly.
“I’m not a fool either.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Had she intended to imply she wouldn’t be swayed by his words? Because he’d damn well try his best to convince her that she was so much more than a supposedly ruined woman.
“You’ve never been a fool, Angie. Nor have you been ruined. Look at you, how could anyone see anything other than a courageous, beautiful woman?”
Angelina stared at him. Her mouth moved but no words came and she paused before trying again. “No one sees that.”
“I do.”
She didn’t get the chance to respond and he regretted that. The servants entered with Christmas puddings on silver platters, each already aflame from the brandy that had no doubt been poured generously over them. The scents of spices and alcohol filled the air. A few people clapped for the spectacle as they were laid on the table, the blue flames still burning eagerly.
Once the flames had died down, the puddings were served. Each domed cake was cut into slices and handed out. Benedict heard Oliver say something he suspected was meant to be witty but this time Angelina said nothing. She appeared too lost in thought. Even when the fruit-filled cake was handed over, it took her several moments to pick up her fork and tuck in.
“Watch out for the sixpences,” the marquess bellowed from his seat at the head of the table. “We don’t want any broken teeth!”
Benedict tucked into the pudding and savoured the richly flavoured dessert. Spices danced on his tongue and the succulent dried fruit added a pleasant tang. He tried to concentrate so hard on it that he didn’t notice the coin until he’d bitten into it.
Grimacing, he pulled the sixpence from his mouth and laid it on his plate.
“Oh, Lord Calderton, aren’t you lucky?” the Carlton girl declared.
The marquess leaned in and Be
nedict lifted the coin with a feigned smile. Whoever had invented this tradition was a bloody idiot.
“Well done, Benedict, and your smile is still as charming as ever.”
Beside him, Angelina snorted. His grin grew genuine.
“Is there something wrong with my smile?”
“Not at all. It’s simply how you use it.”
“You mean, like how you use your derisive snorts?”
“I...” She lowered her fork. “I do not snort and they are not derisive.”
“What are they then?”
“Disbelieving.”
“So you do snort.”
“Oh!” She humphed. “You are a frustrating man.”
He caught the hint of a smile. The hint of the Angie he’d known. “So I’ve been told. But enough about you, what about me? What do you mean how I use my smile?”
Angelina rolled her eyes. “You know precisely what I mean. You use it to your advantage. Look, even now you’re trying to be charming and attractive.”
“Is it working?”
“Benedict Britton, you really are the most—” She paused when her fork struck something hard and she revealed a sixpence.
“Looks like I’m not the only lucky one.” He turned his attention to the marquess and raised his voice. “Looks like Miss Ashdown is a lucky one too.”
“Both of you?” the marchioness asked. “Goodness, it must be some sort of sign.” She offered a mischievous smile.
Benedict knew well indeed what the older woman was implying. She was hoping for a match of some kind. Of course, she had no idea that Angelina would never let it happen, especially if she found what he had done.
“Just good luck,” Angelina said in a placating voice, clearly determined that any ideas the marchioness had of something between them were crushed.
“Very good luck indeed,” Benedict added. “But then, I already feel lucky. I think myself the luckiest man in England to be sitting next to you.”
“Benedict,” she hissed, “just stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being charming!”
“Is it working?”
“I do not see why you feel the need to lavish these compliments on me—they are entirely wasted.”
“Is it so very wrong of me to wish you to see yourself as I do?”
She peered at him intently, placing down her fork and pressing her hands into her lap. “You hate me.” He opened his mouth to protest but she lifted a hand. “I know you do, don’t deny it. I’m not sure what sort of game you are playing but I can tell you I want no part of it.”
He absorbed her words. She thought he hated her? No, that wasn’t right. He adored her. Hell, still loved her. It didn’t matter that she’d put on this facade of propriety, his Angie was waiting beneath, simply ready to be unleashed. She was the one who hated him, yes?
“You are entirely wrong, Angie. I do not hate you, not one bit.”
Chapter Seven
Miss Manners says...
Whilst it is never advisable to be coarse and blunt, it does not do to play games. One does not want to appear as though one is simply biding her time until the next eligible gentleman comes along and it certainly does not do to spread one’s attention. A man enjoys the knowledge that your attention is on him and him alone and it never serves a lady to seem inconstant. Choose your man and choose him wisely then devote yourself to the cause, my dears.
After two days of endlessly long and huge meals, Angelina found herself grateful for the light supper the marquess and marchioness had opted for that night. As they rested in the drawing room while several of the men slept in the wingback chairs by the fire, she couldn’t help let her gaze slip to Benedict.
He’d been nothing short of entirely confusing since he’d broken his wrist. At present, he was speaking with Lord Fairfax. Both men cradled their whiskies while they talked with heads bowed. She probably should not be feeling so charitable but she couldn’t help hope Benedict persuaded him to help with his invention.
She eyed the long length of him and admired his emerald green waistcoat. His arm remained splinted but if it caused him pain, he made no show of it. The slash on his head was red but it would heal well, as she had declared yesterday when she’d aided him with removing the bandage. Now his black hair was back to being perfectly combed in a beautifully rakish manner.
She recalled how soft his hair had felt beneath her fingers and wondered why it was she felt the need to offer her aid to him all the time. After all, she hadn’t been responsible for his fall.
But those words—all of his words really—they echoed through her mind incessantly.
He did not hate her.
How could that be? Why would he have sabotaged her engagement if he hadn’t? Was there some other reason? She longed to find out but feared the truth. What if it was something worse? The past was the past. Was it not better for them all to simply move on?
Except her whole life was spent living in the shadow of her past—in the shadow of Miss Manners really. After so many days of putting on a performance, of watching her every move and trying to prove to everyone that she was the perfect woman, every inch of her felt dried and shrivelled. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could do it. At home, she could let loose and be herself but not here. Her every movement was watched, every word listened to carefully. Miss Manners should never slip up.
Oliver strolled over with a drink in hand. He passed it to her and sat on the window bench beside her. The drawing room was one of the few places in the castle that ignored the medieval theme. Angelina suspected the marchioness had something to do with that.
On the walls, powder blue flocked wallpaper dominated whilst the ceilings were pure white with gold touches to bring out the decorative plaster. The room easily held all of the guests and was probably the size of most ballrooms. Here, by the window, the warm flickers from the fire touched her skin but a slight draft seeped in through the tall window. She was grateful for it. It kept her alert.
“All alone?” Oliver said, taking a sip of his whisky.
“I’m just thinking.”
“Uh oh, that sounds dangerous.”
“Oliver, I never thought you to be one of those men who were scared of a thinking woman.” She regretted the words when she said them.
A lady should always agree with a gentleman and not express individual thoughts. Sometimes, she wanted to strangle Miss Manners.
“Not at all. But you’re a clever woman, Angelina. If you are thinking, I have no doubt something interesting is about to happen.”
She sighed. He had no idea. “It will be New Year’s soon.”
“Indeed. I always like the New Year’s. A time to start afresh and all that.”
“Do you need a fresh start?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I suppose not. But I do thoroughly intend to drink less whisky.”
She laughed and glanced at his still mostly full glass. “I hardly think that’s a resolution you need to stick to.”
“What about you? Anything you intend to change?
What could she say? Yes, her marital status, that she needed a husband, or that actually she was beginning to wonder if her job was even worth it. Did she really want to spend the rest of her days under the crushing influence of Miss Manners?
But without her, she was nothing, nobody. Just a ruined woman with no future. If she could just rise above Miss Manners, show her editor that she was more than a columnist. However, after nearly seven years of being her, she doubted anyone would see her as anything more.
Apart from Benedict. Her gaze flew to him and she found him staring at her. Her heart bounded against her chest. They stared for a while—too long. Everyone around them had to have noticed. Oliver certainly had.
“Angelina?” he prompted.
“Forgive me.” She broke the connection, almost breathless from it. “I-I suppose I shall just work harder, that is all.”
“I think you work too hard as it is. I never see you
at things like this normally.”
“Perhaps you are right,” she murmured, sneaking a look at Benedict to find his gaze still upon her.
She should do it really. Declare to Oliver that she wanted things to change. He’d wanted to marry her once and he still seemed interested. Surely he would jump at the chance? And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to.
If she tried to picture their future together it seemed hazy. When she thought of him kissing her...well, quite frankly, she couldn’t imagine it. Instead he would be replaced with a darkly handsome man, a man she should hate. So why oh why could she not summon all that anger that she should be feeling toward him?
This whole thing had been a fool’s errand. How could she marry Oliver? How could she subject either of them to a loveless, passionless marriage? No matter what Miss Manners said about them being a perfect match, the old Angie was too close to the surface. Perhaps she had been drawn up by Benedict, Angelina wasn’t sure, but the fact was, the idea of marrying Oliver seemed utterly ludicrous now.
“A proper game,” someone suddenly declared. “We should play a game.”
Angelina swung her attention over to Elizabeth Carlton. If anyone needed some help from Miss Manners it was her.
The marchioness’ lips quirked at the younger girl’s enthusiasm. “I am not sure what you consider a proper game, my dear, but I’m fairly certain charades is a game.”
Elizabeth’s mother gave a non-too subtle cough but was ignored. “Hide and seek! We should play hide and seek. This castle must have so many places to hide.”
A few of the younger members concurred and Angelina had to assume they all intended to sneak off somewhere away from the adults.
“Who shall be the seeker then?” asked Miss Carlton.
“I don’t mind,” volunteered Oliver.
“I can help,” Angelina offered. She would welcome the chance to escape the room, the occasional look her way and her thoughts. And Benedict.
“You only need one seeker,” Benedict said dryly, shooting a look Oliver’s way.
Oliver smiled. “Lord Calderton is right. The game will be over far too quickly otherwise. Why do you not hide?”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 62