Angel's Guardian

by Scottie Barrett

  Constance tucked a proprietary hand in the crook of his arm. “Major Draxford, you’ve finally emerged from your lair.” She smiled up at him. “You are a most reluctant host,” she chided. She ushered him into the entrance hall to see the guests off. Having been flattened by his encounter with Angeline, he did not have the energy to object when she acted as though she were mistress of the house, taking a prominent role in wishing the guests a safe journey.

  Where the devil was Angeline? His own selfish thoughts had preoccupied him. He hoped she wasn’t wasting any tears on him. Once the door shut on the final attendees, he excused himself with a bow to Constance and went in search of his ward. He made a quick survey of all the rooms on the first floor. His frustration building, he returned to the ballroom and found Tabby stacking cups on a tray. “Has Miss Kent retired for the evening?”

  The maid avoided looking at him as she busied herself with the dirty dishes. “I believe she’s taking some air, sir.” Tabby’s hesitation set off alarms.

  Nicholas could not recall seeing Stanbury leave. He sobered quickly as he took the steps two at a time into the garden.

  If Stanbury was with her he would break him, simple as that. This violent instinct was not part and parcel of being a guardian. It came from a white-hot jealous place. But if he was no longer bewitched, what the hell was firing his temper?

  The silhouette of an entwined couple amidst the statues in the garden made his heart thunder. At his approach the couple pulled apart. Benjamin stepped out of the shadows. His partner was too tall to be Angeline. The relief Nicholas felt was a physical thing.

  “Impeccable timing,” Benjamin chided. He was still wearing a mask. Besides his eyes, only his lips and chin were visible. How, Nicholas wondered, did he kiss wearing that damned thing?

  Benjamin did not bother with an introduction, but then none was needed. Olivia Mayhew had been in love with Benjamin seemingly forever. She discreetly smoothed her hair and straightened her garments as she hurried out of the garden.

  Benjamin waited until the woman was a safe distance away, before removing the mask. “Sweating like a pig in this thing.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Olivia’s a lovely girl, but she places great stock in physical beauty…or at least she insists on the features being in all the right places. I almost think the girl would agree to marry me if I could bear to keep this blasted thing on day and night.” He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. “Enough about me,” he said as he pulled his gaze from the woman’s retreating form. “Christ, Drax, you look a man possessed.”

  “Where’s your brother?”

  “Angeline,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “Guardianship seems to be taking a toll on you.” He inclined his head in the direction of the stables. “I think she prefers the company of those lads over the high-toned lot at the party.”

  Sweet laughter drifted to him as he crossed the drive. His shoulders didn’t relax until he finally caught sight of her. Her hair was still tightly coiled atop her head, but tendrils had broken free at the temples and the nape. She’d shed her shoes. Her bare toes peeked from the hem of her gown.

  As he approached, the smile on her lips quickly faded. John, the stable boy, jumped up from his crouched position and stuffed the remains of a pink pastry into his mouth. Someone had laid a cloth atop a hay bale. All that was left of the party fare she’d delivered were a scattering of crumbs and a brandy bottle on its side. She shied a bit as he drew near, and then quickly decided it better to defend her actions.

  “Why shouldn’t they enjoy some of today’s festivities?”

  “They should.” He picked up the empty bottle. “But not the last of my brandy, brat.”

  Wick gave a shout of hoarse laughter.

  Why hadn’t Constance suggested rewarding the servants for their hard work? Wasn’t running a household her expertise?

  “It’s late. Come to bed,” he said and thought how like an invitation that sounded.

  After bestowing a quick kiss on Wick’s weathered cheek, she slipped on her shoes then picked up the basket.

  She trailed behind as if she had no wish for his company. He shortened his strides until she came alongside him. “You do not seem the same girl who just danced every dance.”

  “I’m a bit weary and the waltz unsettled me some, it is quite dizzying.”

  Jealousy, like a vicious kick to the gut, almost bent him double. “You danced a bloody waltz with him?”

  He was rigid with anger. “A goddamned waltz,” he repeated, “yet you neglected me utterly.”

  She answered with a rather sheepish smile and lifted her gloved hand, skimming the tips of her fingers along the tattoo on his neck. She quickly yanked her hand back, as if she’d been stroking a dangerous animal. “I should have said earlier. I think the mark makes you look piratical and altogether more handsome than any man has a right to.”

  He had barely felt the warmth of her fingers through the glove and yet his cock was already straining the fabric of his trousers. He turned to look at her. “And did you favor the bastard with the final dance, as well?” He recalled the music drifting in as she’d entered the study.

  She shook her head. “I danced with Benjamin. I’m afraid, Mr. Stanbury did not even ask. You went to all this trouble and I failed. I followed Constance’s suggestions to the letter, yet he did not even hint at a betrothal.”

  “Because I warned him off.”

  “Why?”

  “He isn’t right for you.”

  “Why are you suddenly so choosy? You offered Mrs. Withers a bonus to marry me off. If she’d been successful, you would have returned from war and found me already wed.”

  He broke out in a cold sweat every time he imagined that outcome.

  “Perhaps with a little coaxing Hugh Stanbury will yet offer.”

  His heart thudded to his boots. He had not expected her to plead on the man’s behalf. “If he dares, I will refuse permission.”

  “And I will reach my majority soon and your permission will not matter.”

  “Watch it, sweeting, you are perilously close to having me turn you over my knee.”

  She did not have a ready response for that.

  On impulse, Nicholas took a detour at the secluded lily pond.

  “Come, brat, don’t you think I deserve a kiss of apology for all I’ve endured this evening?”

  She tipped her head quizzically and looked at him. Her eyes widened as he took the basket from her hands and set it on the rim of the fountain. She lifted herself on tiptoes, gripped the lapels of his jacket to steady herself, and craned her neck. Her legs trembled against his. His achingly hard erection confirmed what his mind already knew. It had not been Angeline in his study.

  His hands were shaking when he swung her around and stood her up on the wall of the fountain putting her at eye level. His stubble rasped against the silk of her glove as she stroked his jaw. Her soft breath caressed his lips and desire slammed through him. When she pressed her plush lips to his, her fingers digging into his hair to pull him closer, his heart threatened to break from his chest.

  It was the most innocent kiss imaginable, yet his self-command was faltering, hell it was disintegrating. Mustering every last reserve of discipline, he forced himself to stand rigid then gently removed her hands from around his neck. She quickly sidestepped him, lifted her skirt and leapt to the ground. With her eyes averted, she gathered her belongings. Her slight frame was shaking with indignation. Even in the moonlight he could see that a blush stained her cheeks, and that she was biting her lower lip to stop it from quivering.

  Suddenly, she whipped around and faced him. “Frankly, I think it is you who owe me an apology. You acted abominably tonight. Stomping around in that miserable mood. What kind of madman works from sunrise to sunset and then drinks all night? I never once saw yo
u eat anything. ‘Tis a marvel you can stand upright.”

  Her distress was his salvation. It was the second time that night she’d shown concern for his wellbeing. He put out his hand to hold her there. The silken skin of her arm made him swallow a groan. She trembled beneath his light touch. “Did Constance borrow your mask?”

  She shrugged away from him. “Why would she? Hers was nearly identical.”

  Of course he hadn’t noticed the similarities, he’d been entirely focused on Angeline.

  What a bloody fool he was, believing he’d concealed his unholy attraction to his ward. Despite Stanbury’s pretended outrage tonight, the bastard had known. The duplicate hairstyles and masks, the shared pomade had all been part of a scheme. No doubt, Stanbury had waited in the wings ready to burst in and catch them in a compromising position.

  How disappointed he must have been to see his cousin rush out with barely a hair out of place.

  Delayed panic seized him. It had been far too narrow an escape. With the cream of the county as witnesses, even a rough bastard like himself would have had to do the right thing by Constance.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Angeline was relieved to find the entrance hall empty of people. She was certain that her cheeks were still burning bright with embarrassment.

  She was such a dithering fool when it came to the man. Vowing one moment to have nothing to do with him for his own sake and the next moment kissing him on command. A kiss that he had not returned. Despite all the alcohol he’d imbibed, he’d stood as unbending as he always did. She winced inwardly. Clearly, he’d only been asking for an innocent peck on the cheek.

  She hurried down the hallway to the comfort of Silas’s favorite room. She turned the knob and instantly braced herself on the door jamb as her world turned upside down. Save for stacks of books, tied and likely ready for carting away, the room had been emptied. Silas’s desk along with the mementos that had cluttered it for decades were gone. Someone had begun the process of stripping off the maps lining the walls. Angeline’s lungs constricted. Her sight blurred by tears she nearly stumbled right into Draxford as he exited his study.

  Draxford caught her arm as she skirted around him. “What is it?”

  “Stone-hearted bastard,” she cried and jerked out of his grasp. She picked up her skirts and ran the length of the hall and through the kitchen to the mudroom. She kicked off her satin slippers and stuck her feet into the smallest pair of riding boots she could find. She searched the pegs lining the wall for an oilskin coat that wasn’t so large that it would drag on the ground, but hearing the approach of footsteps she settled for a moth eaten shawl. She flung it around her shoulders and fled out the back door.

  The fog had grown thicker on the ground. The moist air penetrated the threadbare shawl as she walked the length of the lawn. Rubbing the goose bumps from her arms, she strode past the long-abandoned chapel where she used to play with her dolls. At night the dark stone building looked haunted. There were cracks in the windows which resembled spider webs and dead ivy draped the edifice.

  Weak kitten mewls drifted to her.

  The cries built as she neared the overgrown hedges along the wall. Obviously, Kit had not yet worked his magic in this remote part of the estate. Through a gap in the branches Angeline spied a tiny kitten whose crying mouth seemed to take up half its face. Crouching at the base of the hedge, she stuck her hand in, but the feral animal shrank back. She got on her hands and knees and the dampness seeped through her dress. Her hair caught on the branches and as she yanked it free, her bun tumbled and the last elegant vestiges of the evening were undone. The ends of her hair trailed through the underbrush collecting twigs and dried leaves as she stuck her arm deep into the scratchy bush. She scooped up the writhing ball of fur, then tucked the kitten in her shawl and headed toward the barn.

  It didn’t take long to find its mother, the silver tabby had made itself comfortable in the empty stall. Obviously, she’d been moving the kittens and grown weary of carrying them across the yard. Thankfully, the tabby accepted the neglected kitten with a thorough licking.

  Angeline shook the leaves from her hair as she left the barn. A light drizzle had started to fall. The dress was already muddied and probably in a state beyond repair, Angeline saw no reason to spare it from additional damage.

  Once outside the circle of the rushlights which still burned around the perimeter of the property, she had to rely on the moon for illumination. She glanced up at it. The rain clouds were scattered but closing in. It would not be long before they would block the light. Though she always felt she knew the property well enough to navigate it blindfolded, she wasn’t sure that this was the night to test that assumption. But despite the brewing storm and her better sense she kept walking. She’d denied her true nature for weeks, and her restless spirit ached to be indulged if only for a few precious moments.

  To guide her, Angeline found the narrow creek which ran through the property. She followed the dark slow moving water as it curved toward the dowager’s house. Absently, she rubbed her bottom lip and gave a frustrated cry. How little control she had where Draxford was concerned. She’d instantly forgotten all her good intentions.

  Out of the corner of her eye she spied the great slabs of statuary at the rear of the dowager house. She hurried past their home, an overgrown garden of tentacled plants and chaotic rose bushes. The marble carvings, depictions of violent mythical tales, still had the power to frighten her. A groan emanating from deep within the garden made her heart beat frantically. Someone or something shifted among the statuary. There was another groan which spoke of misery. Keeping her eyes averted from the statue of Perseus holding aloft the severed head of Medusa to her left and Ares, the god of war, slaying Poseidon’s son to her right, Angeline approached. Benjamin sat on the grass using the pedestal of the statue of Zeus to prop himself up. His mask had been ripped asunder and the pieces scattered about him.

  “My dear Angeline. I daresay, you’ve discovered me at my most dignified,” he drawled. He pointed to the nearby bench. “I’d started there. I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here.”

  With some effort she got him back onto his feet. He slung his arm heavily around her shoulders. Staggering under his weight she managed only to get him as far as the bench.

  She began plucking the pieces of the mask off the ground. “That is exactly what my heart looks like. Torn pieces of tawdry fabric.” He took a long swig from a half-empty bottle. “Leave it, Angel. Let her see what she’s done to me.”

  Angeline doubted that Olivia would be back tonight, nor that she would find him in this rarely visited garden, but she let the fabric flutter from her hands. He patted the seat beside him. The instant she sat down he slung his legs over the arm of the bench and used her lap for a pillow.

  “Perhaps she would have me if I wore a damned mask for every occasion. I could don a pink-cheeked, penitent’s face for attending church. A dashing one with elegantly lifted brows for those romantic evenings. A garish grinning one for when I’m meant to be the life of the party. What think you, Angel? Will that melt her cruel heart?”

  She combed the hair away from his brow. “I’m convinced she cares for you.”

  “Cares?” he nearly sputtered the word. “What a weak, insipid sort of word.” He pressed the heels of hands into his closed eyes. “I am determined to harden my own heart in response.”

  “When you figure out how, please share the details.”

  He lifted his hands from his eyes and stared up at her. “Poor thing and here I am moaning about my own wants.” He reached up at an awkward angle and stroked her cheek. “Who has broken your heart? I’ll slay him for you. Unless, of course, the cad’s my brother.”

  “It’s Draxford. I was once infatuated with him, but now I find myself--”

  “Angel, my dear, the man’s a machine,” he said, interrupting
her before she’d made the embarrassing admission that she’d managed to fall desperately in love with her guardian. He clapped his hand over his heart as he continued, “I can say this because he’s a good good friend of mine, but Drax hasn’t got any need for romance or any of that rot. The man ain’t mortal.”

  Though she’d been screaming furious with Draxford just minutes ago, she had to bite her tongue not to jump to his defense. To remind Benjamin that Draxford had battled Turley in the ring to avenge him. To let him know that Draxford intended on offering him the estate manager position.

  And hadn’t Draxford given Farmer Wykes another chance? And hired her savior Kit as master gardener? And with a pang, she recalled him sleeping slumped in a chair in a boiling hot room night after night, keeping constant vigil over her despite the mildness of her illness.

  “What say, you and I get married. We’d make a fairy tale couple. Beauty and the beast.” Benjamin’s slurred proposition jolted her from her thoughts.

  He scooped his hand around the back of her neck and tugged her head down, she managed to pull back some and land the kiss on his scarred cheek. Not discouraged, he kept his hand hooked around her neck and angled his face. She quickly covered her mouth and he ended up kissing the back of her gloved hand.

  With a grunt, he dropped his head back into her lap. “I wouldn’t want to kiss an ugly blighter like me either.”

  “’Tisn’t that and you know it. I just can’t bring myself to kiss another man.” Not yet, at least. Not until she was wed and had no other choice.