Angeline suspected that the women would find it amusing if they knew that not only did Draxford not have time to spare for his ward, he didn’t even recognize her from Eve. And then she recalled with embarrassment how she’d been dressed or more aptly, not-dressed like Eve. Woefully bad at hiding secrets, Angeline found herself blinking overmuch. The women were too busy discussing Draxford to notice her discomfort, but Mr. Stanbury raised an eyebrow in question. She quickly shifted her gaze to her plate.
Mr. Grey patted his pursed lips with his napkin. “I hate to disillusion you, my dears, but after years as a soldier and a stint as a prisoner of war, it’s doubtful he will resemble a hero from one of those romances you females devour.”
***
Angeline feeling unsettled, wandered in and out of the downstairs rooms. At twenty she felt more an orphan than she had at five, when her father had slain her mother and her lover, and then used the same knife to pierce his own heart. Kind, bookish Silas, her father’s dearest friend, had come to the rescue then. Now her future was dependent on a man who didn’t even realize she was alive.
She passed the billiard room, stifling a cough as cigar smoke billowed from the doorway. Above the click of balls, men could be heard grumbling about the boxing match. She imagined the rain had cut short their shooting parties and they were eager for another violent diversion. Down the hall, someone was playing a pretty little tune on the pianoforte. Angeline peeked her head into the parlor. An older woman dozed by the hearth, a book open on her lap. Benjamin, the only other occupant, was ensconced in a winged armchair, staring raptly at the girl playing the instrument. A half-empty bottle of liquor stood beside his foot and the hand that rested on the arm of the chair cradled a glass brimming with liquid. Today he seemed to be matching the pace of his brother’s imbibing.
Angeline wondered if Olivia Mayhew knew he was there. Judging by the tense way she bowed her slender neck, it was easy to surmise that she did. Angeline, feeling she was spying on Benjamin’s private misery, hurried away. His palpable sense of longing reminded her of her own unrequited feelings for Draxford. Overwhelmed by loneliness, Angeline went upstairs in search of her sketch journal.
Thinking to exit through the front door, she found the entrance hall occupied. Lord Wetherby had actually planted himself in front of the mullioned windows that bracketed the large oaken door. “I think we shall have some sport after all, Stanbury,” he called, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Isn’t that your man coming across the lawn?”
Mr. Stanbury, with a string of male guests in tow, made an impatient gesture to a liveried servant to open the door. “Draxford’s not my man, I’m wagering on the beast he’s fighting. Turley has the instincts of a cutthroat.”
Angeline found that being short could sometimes be a blessing. She was able to peek between gaps in the male wall assembling in the hall while remaining invisible. Draxford doffed his hat as he stepped over the threshold, his brows lifted wryly in question at the eagerness of the reception.
With his great height and the broadness of his shoulders he made the other men look insignificant. Was it any wonder Mr. Stanbury’s male guests had tried to tear him down one moment and in the next greeted him as if he were a conquering hero? The impression he made only increased in impact as his commanding presence filled the room. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed his hat and coat to a waiting servant. His gray eyes scanned the crowd with a sharpness that suggested he was trying to find a particular target. Angeline swiftly turned on her heels and almost crashed into Emily Smithfield.
Emily registered the near collision with a sour pull to her lips while keeping her eyes focused on the prize. The tendons in her neck stood out starkly, as she craned her neck. “He’s changed all right, but for the better, I’d say,” she muttered. Angeline felt that Emily would need more than her hand to fan away the blush now darkening her cheeks.
Behind her, Angeline caught snippets of the conversation as Mr. Stanbury greeted him. “My stable manager swore he’d seen you ride up earlier. Thought perhaps you’d been washed away, old boy.”
Angeline stopped midstep to listen to Draxford’s response. “The man was mistaken. Got caught in the downpour, and took refuge in your greenhouse.” Thank goodness he’d thought to lie. She hated to think of Mr. Stanbury’s reaction had their stories matched up.
“I hope you took the time to appreciate my prized lily?” Was she imagining that bitter bite to Mr. Stanbury’s question?
“Never saw a lovelier one.” Draxford’s dangerously deep voice sent a shiver through her entire frame. She couldn’t help feeling as though that comment was directed straight at her retreating back. Convinced that his keen gaze was now boring into her, Angeline hastened her step, certain that her cheeks were turning a brighter pink than Emily’s had.
CHAPTER THREE
Stanbury did not turn around as Nicholas shut the study door. He was staring out the window as if mesmerized. He lingered there for a few moments longer, before dropping the drapes in place. He greeted Nicholas with a lift of his glass then limped across the room and settled into the chair behind the desk. His fingers were white-knuckled as if he feared someone would wrest the glass from him. Stanbury’s excessive drinking was beginning to take its toll. The sharp lines of his face were blurring from the drink. And he was sweating though the day was cool. Stanbury’s sorry state did not deter Nicholas from helping himself to a generous glass of whiskey.
“Injure your leg?” Nicholas asked.
“A touch of gout.”
Nicholas, dropped into the chair opposite the desk.
“I finally arranged that match you’ve been angling for.”
“I assumed that, from the urgency of your missive,” Nicholas said dryly. “Turley’s here?”
“In the village to be precise. I wouldn’t have that animal in my house.” Stanbury flipped open the wooden box on his desk and motioned toward the cheroots inside. Nicholas declined with a shake of his head. “The lieutenant was only too happy to participate. Believes he has a score to settle with you as well. Poor chap, thinks he got raw treatment in your battalion.”
Stanbury set his glass down long enough to light a cheroot. He took a couple of puffs and then resumed sipping. “I’m praying you’ll do some serious damage to the swine.” He gestured with the smoking cheroot. “If I were in your place I would break the man’s jaw and worse.”
“Of course,” Nicholas answered dryly.
Stanbury smiled in response. “You’re right, I’m no bruiser. I haven’t the guts for a bloody fight. Never had.” He peered at Nicholas over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowing slightly before tossing back the last of the drink. “I do wish you’d spared a shot in the heat of battle after Turley evaded a court martial.” Stanbury had used his connections to place his younger brother under Nicholas’s command, fully expecting that Nicholas would keep Benjamin safe. And Nicholas had expected it of himself. But, he could never have predicted the circumstances that would leave Benjamin marred for life.
Turley had been a disgrace as a soldier, and everyone in the company had wished him to hell. But as far as Nicholas was concerned, felling a corrupt comrade during the chaos of battle went beyond justice to cold-blooded murder.
“All water under the bridge now.” Stanbury spit the platitude out with obvious bitterness. He rose unsteadily and returned to the window, pulling back the drapes once more to stare outside.
Nicholas’s curiosity got the best of him. He caught a flash of one of Constance’s over-sized hats as he joined Stanbury at the window. “A bit close to home. Since when do you moon over your cousin?”
“Christ, man, you are pathetic. Is Constance the only woman you ever think about? I didn’t want the girl to get freckles, and since she is so very fond of the outdoors, I insisted my cousin lend her a hat.”
The lone female sat on a st
one bench at the entrance to the gardens. She was sketching in a book--something from memory it seemed because she never glanced up at the view before her. One of Stanbury’s massive hounds bounded up to her and nudged her with its nose. The girl turned to scratch the dog’s head and Nicholas glimpsed her profile. His pulse began to pound. The minx who’d stretched out naked on the fur and moaned his name now sat demurely in the garden.
Nicholas had been amused to see her scurry away the moment he’d entered the house. Though her back had been to him, he’d recognized her from the tiny waist and pert, spank-worthy bottom.
“Who’s the beautiful brat?”
“Don’t you recognize her?” Stanbury grinned. “That, my friend, is your ward.”
Nicholas choked on a gulp of whiskey. “The hell you say.” He narrowed his gaze to get a better look. Just a few short years ago she’d been a scrawny urchin with scabbed knees. Beyond the impudent attitude, Angel had transformed completely.
“She’s supposed to be in bloody Yorkshire. What the devil is she doing here?”
The girl bent low over her book, the hat obscuring her features again. Though Silas had adored the girl, he’d often been too busy with his books and his nature studies to pay her much mind. Left to her own devices, Angel had cropped her hair short and borrowed clothing from the stable boy.
When Nicholas had sent a missive to Mrs. Withers offering a premium if she were to find his ward a suitable mate he had thought it a challenging task, one that required additional compensation. He’d pictured Angel Kent as a grown-up version of the boyish little imp who used to climb his uncle’s trees. She, on the other hand, had known very well who he was and had lied through her pretty white teeth.
Stanbury was still grinning like a jackass, doubtless he was eager to share some miserable news with Nicholas. “Still a bit on the wild side,” he said. To which Nicholas could attest to, after all she’d been unchaperoned deep within Stanbury’s estate.
He fought the heat surging through his veins as he recalled her splayed so provocatively before the hearth, spreading her legs and stroking the prettiest pink pussy he’d ever seen. He clenched his jaw. How many men had she opened her legs for?
“Why is she here?” Nicholas bit the question out again.
“I invited her. You see, as Silas’s closest neighbor, I was witness to the blossoming of her beauty--”
Nicholas groaned with disgust. “For Christ’s sake, control yourself, man.”
Stanbury rapped the window. “Mrs. Withers assumed the invitation would lead to a formal offer of marriage. I explained that as an eligible bachelor in much demand I had the right to expect my prospective bride to have at least a few accomplishments. And her social skills are abysmal. I don’t believe she’s spoken to anyone but my brother since she’s been here.” Stanbury knocked the window again with more force. The girl’s head popped up and she glanced up at the window and then quickly looked away.
Obviously flustered she stood up abruptly spilling her drawing supplies. As she bent to retrieve them her shawl slipped from her shoulders. Even from this distance Nicholas could see the expanse of bosom exposed by the low cut neckline. In an instant she’d re-draped the shawl to hide her cleavage. Why the devil was she dressed like a damned doxy? The surrounding area seemed suddenly alive with men rushing to her rescue. His blood boiling, Nicholas wanted to kick them all on their arses as they scrambled to collect the scattered items.
With a stiffly executed curtsy Angeline accepted the proffered items then fled the garden.
Nicholas shot a hard glance at Stanbury who had been watching the whole scene with perverse amusement. What kind of a man had he become?
Stanbury dropped the drapes back in place and turned to face Nicholas. “Bad luck for you, it seems. Mrs. Withers has decided to cut the nursing leads. If the vixen had been a bit more accommodating I would have already taken her off your hands.”
Nicholas felt his temper rise and not because the woman he’d hired presumed to drop the girl at his doorstep. He would simply appease Mrs. Withers by increasing her stipend. But he could not as easily shake off his reaction to Stanbury’s proprietary attitude toward Angel. His hand curled into a fist as he considered getting some practice in before the fight.
“Accommodating in what manner?”
Stanbury held up a hand as if to forestall Nicholas’s anger. “Nothing untoward, I assure you. I only wish to be treated with a little nicety. I know she can be sweet, since she is amiable with my brother.”
“Curious, that you did not ride hell-bent for the preacher. You usually act first and worry about the details later.” Nicholas had never known Stanbury to put off his pleasures. Perhaps abducting an unwilling female was too much even for him.
“Constance convinced me that this was the right course of action. Besides I can visit Angeline whenever I wish,” Stanbury said with a sarcastic curl of his lips.
“There’s not a chance in hell that chit is coming home with me. Once I pay Mrs. Withers’ blackmail you’ll have to travel to Yorkshire to court her.”
“Afraid, the old bitch fled this afternoon. And in such a hurry she left behind her detachable curls.” Stanbury took another drag of his cheroot. “Whyever did you entrust that precious child’s care to that harridan?”
“Silas’s solicitor wrote me, suggesting she was ideal for the position. That her references were unimpeachable.” Nicholas rubbed a hand over his face. What had Silas been thinking giving him guardianship?
“Calm yourself, old boy. I have every intention of marrying the girl. I merely require a bit more polish on the diamond.
“Just today she came running in, her dress sheer from the rain. I refuse to contemplate what would possess the girl to remove her corset.” He gave Nicholas a nasty half-smile. “There isn’t anything you’d like to share with me is there? Fact is, I gave up on hothouse flowers years ago. Didn’t have the touch. In a fit of pique I had the building demolished.”
Nicholas shrugged at being caught out in a falsehood. “I attempted to share a roof. She found my presence an insult.”
“I’d be angry too if my own guardian didn’t recognize me,” Stanbury said. “Though your swift and unhappy reunion doesn’t explain her state of undress. She was as good as naked in that wet garment.”
Stanbury backed up a step. “You’ve only just taken possession of her and you’re already acting like a fire-breathing father. It’s a good thing I’m not stepping in the ring with you. I had no idea you’d developed a fondness for the little thing.”
“I am not her bloody father.”
Stanbury took a long pull on his cheroot. “You want rid of the responsibility and the solution is obvious. You finally have an excuse to invite Constance to your home. You know how she loves a challenge. She can teach the reckless darling to behave and you can convince my cousin that you’re not a brute or at least that you’re a marriageable brute.”
“I tried to convince Constance of that five years ago.”
“What had you expected? You had nothing but a handful of campaign medals to offer her then.”
“A measure of faith would not have gone amiss on your cousin’s part.”
“She couldn’t have foreseen how you would power through the military ranks as you did.” Stanbury blew out a plume of smoke. “You know it’s quite common for a man to give it another go,” he said with a cynical chuckle. “You’ve inherited two fortunes in the span of two years and I hear you’ve a bloody knighthood in your future. I’d say your odds to snag her hand are much improved. ”
Though it went against his nature to ask again, Nicholas had been considering it. He knew Constance would be the perfect choice to head two newly acquired households. With her at the helm a man could be assured his affairs at home were running smoothly. But to have his worth reduced to a balance sheet made his b
lood run cold.
“So, will you be renewing your proposal?”
Nicholas folded his arms across his chest and met Stanbury’s sly, inquisitive look with a cold stare.
Stanbury flinched, dropping his gaze, focusing instead on his half-smoked cheroot as he stamped it out. “Back to my future then. I’m prepared to offer a reverse dowry for your ward’s hand. I know you’ve taken an interest in that long dormant mine of Silas’. I’ll allow you access through my property.”
Nicholas had coveted that strip of land. It was a straight shot to the harbor. Bypassing the crumbling, circuitous canal system and getting the coal to market with efficiency would modernize the whole operation. Yet he paused to consider.
“Did you hear me, man? I’m willing to have those sooty old carts rattling past my windows day and night, for God’s sake.”
Still Nicholas hesitated.
“Imagine running a mine which is able to deliver what it produces in a timely manner. I daresay an enterprise like that may even be enough to keep a man like you satisfied…for awhile at least.”
In frustration, Nicholas dragged his hand through his hair. Why had Silas entrusted his beloved Angel to him? Stanbury had the right of it, his ruthless, ambitious nature made him unworthy of the responsibility. He swiftly calculated the value of that cargo pathway. Would it really be such a filthy deal? The girl needed a husband and Stanbury could afford to keep her in luxury.
“All I ask, is that you give Constance a month to mold the girl. Then polish it off with a party to reintroduce her to the denizens of our provincial enclave.”
“So you reckon a month will turn the girl in your favor?” Draxford found it impossible to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
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