The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  “Don’t you think it’s time to do something?”

  Ian didn’t bother to look up at the sound of his mother’s voice coming from the doorway. He took a moment to answer. “Like what, mother? I’ve heard no word from her since she left. Apparently she wants nothing to do with me.”

  “Has it not occurred to you that maybe she’s waiting for you to come to her?” she said impatiently. “It’s been a week, and you’ve done nothing – nothing at all to get her back.”

  “What do you suggest I do, storm the palace walls?” Ian said in a snide tone of voice.

  “You can stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something. And you can begin by getting sober and cleaning yourself up. No woman would have you in your current state.”

  “Yes, and then what?”

  “Then you send her flowers . . . lots and lots of flowers.”

  Ian sat up, bolstered by his mother’s encouragement. “Flowers you say? Is that the way to a woman’s heart, then?”

  “No, dear, but it’s a start. Why don’t you use that legendary charm of yours to your advantage? I’m sure it would go a long way.”

  “I don’t think she’ll be so susceptible to my charms in her current state of mind.”

  “You’d be surprised by what a woman in love would be willing to forgive.”

  “You believe she’s in love with me?”

  “What I can’t believe is that you haven’t already figured it out.”

  “Then why hasn’t she contacted me?” Feeling contrary, he said, “After all, she’s the one who walked out that door, not I.”

  “That is exactly the attitude that will get you nowhere, my dear,” his mother admonished. “It is up to you to go after her, let her know how you feel.”

  “What shall I do, then, besides send her a mountain of flowers?”

  “I happen to know her father is giving a ball in her honor next week. He’s personally issued us an invitation, which leads me to believe he approves of a match between you two. It would be a good opportunity for you to see her, if you were to attend.”

  For the first time in days, Ian felt hope leap into his chest. “Indeed,” he said, rising from his chair. He stumbled a bit, almost knocking over the decanter on the floor. It reminded him of his unsteady condition. “I shall immediately order every type of flower I can get my hands on. Thank you, mother, for your advice.”

  “Uh, Ian?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “It’s the middle of the night. I don’t think any of the flower shops will yet be open.”

  For the first time, he noticed she was wearing a robe over her bedclothes. “Oh. Quite right. I’ll go to bed, then, and do it in the morning. By tomorrow afternoon, Angela won’t know what hit her.”

  “Just remember, dear, you didn’t earn the moniker, The Devil Rogue, for nothing,” she said, and then squealed when he embraced her tightly, kissing her forehead.

  Ian released her, saying with a lopsided smile, “I just needed the reminding, is all. Good night, lady mother.”

  Isabella shook her head, smiling as her son left the room happier than she’d seen him in days. It warmed her heart when he called her lady mother, as he had when he was a boy. It was an endearment he’d used to express his affection, and still used on occasion. Perhaps a little of the idealistic boy had returned. Ian had grown so cynical over the years that she’d often despaired over the path he’d chosen.

  “WHERE EVER DID all these come from?” Rosemary asked in amazement. Almost every corner of Angela’s rooms were filled with flowers. They were of every color imaginable, every variety known to the free world, and were arranged in pots, urns, and vases of varying sizes and shapes.

  “They’re from Ian.” Smiling weakly, Angela stood like a pale pearl amongst the vibrant colors and heady fragrances that battled for control over her sense of smell. It was becoming rather sickening, causing her stomach to churn in protest. She’d already lost her light breakfast this morning, without a doubt, due to her pregnancy. Now, the sweet stench of this multitude of blossoms had her running for the chamber pot once more.

  “Oh, my poor, dear Miss Angela!” Rosemary was at her side in an instant, holding her hair away from her face, rubbing her back. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Only for a few days, now,” Angela said, her voice echoing within the pot her head was currently hanging in. “Once I cast up my accounts, I’m fine.” She sat back onto her heels. “It was incredibly sweet and romantic of him, but I think it would be best to move these to another location.”

  Angela sat in a comfortable chair by the bed, Sprinkles purring in her lap, while Rosemary went to get help in removing the flowers. As soon as the request was made, an army of servants cleared the room in less than ten minutes. They removed them all except for a few choice arrangements. Angela couldn’t bear to get rid of them all. So, obviously he hadn’t forgotten about her, she thought to herself, smiling.

  “I know that smile,” Rosemary said, breaking in on Angela’s musings. “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

  “Well, don’t you think it was a grand gesture? I mean, did you see all those flowers he sent me?”

  “Yes, I saw them. I was here, remember?”

  “There’s a note, too.” Angela handed the folded piece of paper to Rosemary. “Here, read what it says.”

  “I miss you more than you know,” Rosemary read aloud. “When we meet again, you’ll never doubt it. That’s it?”

  Angela snatched the note from her friend’s hand. “Yes, that’s it. What do you think he should have said?”

  “That he loves you, that his life means nothing without you, that he’d drag himself over hot coals to be at your side.”

  “Ian wouldn’t talk like that,” Angela said in his defense. “He’s too proud, and—”

  “Dense?”

  “No! It just doesn’t sound like something he’d say, is all.” At least she didn’t think so. If he would only tell her he loved her.

  “Are you ready to forgive him, then?” Rosemary asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. But I’ve had time to consider it, and I think I should at least let him tell me his side of it.”

  “I really do believe he loves you. He was very upset when Eberly beat you. I think that’s when he realized you had nothing to do with that man’s schemes.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but I’m still confused about it all.”

  “Now you have the baby to consider. Let us hope you both can work it out.”

  “Not to mention that I’m now a princess with an obligation to my reputation,” Angela said solemnly, stroking the soft fur behind Sprinkle’s ears. “It’s not like before, when I could just disappear into the countryside. I feel I owe it to my father to make some kind of effort.”

  “What did happen all those years ago?” Rosemary asked.

  Angela repeated the story of how her father, then a prince, had met her mother at a ball. They’d fallen in love almost instantly, he’d told Angela. He wasn’t a citizen of this country, so there was a longer waiting period to marry by special license. He could have taken her to his own country and married her, but before they could make travel plans, he was called home.

  His father had been killed, his country in serious turmoil. Anna was pregnant by that time, and it would have been too dangerous for her to go with him. So, she stayed behind. Angela’s father had gotten a little vague about why her mother had married Eberly, however. He told Angela of his imprisonment, how he’d eventually escaped to retake the throne and restore his country. Many years passed before he was able to send letters to Angela. That’s when she learned Eberly had kept those letters from her.

  “That bastard!” Rosemary interjected, her outburst sending Sprinkles sprinting off Angela’s lap. “To think, all those years your real father was trying to contact you, and you had no idea.”

  Angela had wanted to scream in frustrated anger when her father had told her about the letters. Eberly
had sorely misused her in every possible way. All Ian had done was provide the means to escape The Baron’s home, not by force, but by her choice alone.

  “Well, it’s over now, and I intend to try and make the best of things,” Angela said. “When Ian is ready to come to me, I will at least listen.”

  Each day, for a week following, Angela received flowers, chocolates, and quaint little trinkets from Ian. The only thing she hadn’t received, and which she wished for most ardently, was a visit from him.

  She missed him dreadfully.

  When she closed her eyes at night, she could see his wicked smile, his perfectly sculpted body, his golden eyes, bright with passion for her. Even though in the beginning he seemed to despise her, he hadn’t actually been cruel to her. He’d been kind enough to offer his assistance in finding her real father. He’d been considerate, giving, and gentle in his lovemaking. She now realized that his actions had been triggered by the pain of his friend’s death.

  Angela knew what it felt like to lose a loved one, the denial, the anger, and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness for not being able to stop it.

  She didn’t need an explanation from him to know that she still loved him and could forgive him. But the days away from Ian’s distracting presence allowed her the time she needed to get to know her father. After he’d explained what had happened before she was born, how could she blame him for those fateful events beyond his control?

  “You’ve received quite a bit of attention from Lord Blackridge, this past week,” her father said.

  They were sitting in a cool, shaded spot in the gardens. The late afternoon sun, having made its way past the noon hour, still hung high in the summer sky. The last few days had been especially hot, and it felt good to sit outdoors, refreshed by the light breeze.

  “Do you think, perhaps, you’ll forgive him?” he asked.

  Sighing, Angela said, “I’ve already done so. If only I could see him again in order to tell him.”

  “I’ve invited him and his mother to your ball,” her father said with a smile. “I’m sure he will be there. His mother is a striking woman. Unfortunately, I was unable to make her formal acquaintance that day. Is it true she is widowed?”

  Angela chuckled at her father’s obvious interest in the lovely Lady Blackridge. “Yes, she is, indeed, a widow.”

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 23

  ANGELA’S NERVES HAD her stomach twisted like sailor’s knots as she waited to be announced. The ball was a grand affair, with every lamp, candle, and sconce in the entire building, it seemed, lit to create a dazzling, fiery brilliance. She was to enter on her father’s arm, descend the wide, carpeted staircase, and then proceed with him to the receiving line. As the guest of honor, it was her duty to greet the guests who were curious enough to be the first ones to arrive.

  The heat generated from all those illuminating flames, and the increasing crowd of elegantly dressed people already had her feeling light-headed and overly warm. The criminally tight corset she was forced to wear in order to get her gown fastened didn’t help, either.

  Her gown was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It was white satin, with hundreds of tiny pearls sewn into the bodice and at the hem. The skirt was supported by thick, frothy petticoats forming an elegant bell. The heart-shaped neckline dipped low to a point between her breasts, and dropped slightly off her slender shoulders. The fitted sleeves were made of the finest lace, draping down into a ‘v’ over the backs of her hands.

  Angela resisted the urge to pat her hair and check the diamond-studded tiara to see if it was still in place. It matched the sparkling diamond necklace encircling her throat and the diamond earrings dripping from her earlobes. The set had been a gift from her father. He’d presented it to her with the promise to replace the tiara with a real jeweled crown when they returned to Moldova. There would be a ceremony held to officially crown her as princess, he’d explained.

  “Are you ready, my dear?” her father asked.

  “Yes, I believe I am,” Angela lied. She was more nervous than any other time in her life. This was sure to be a much different experience than the last time she’d attended a ball.

  They moved together, Angela’s hand resting with delicate grace on her father’s forearm, toward the top of the stairs. Dukes, duchesses, dignitaries, ambassadors, and other important guests would join the king and his daughter in the receiving line.

  Her father was to be introduced first, then Angela, with her new name and title. She’d happily agreed when her father had asked if she would like to formally change her name to his. It was no loss to her to be no longer known as Angela Hopkins.

  The announcer pounded his heavy staff on the floor several times, eliciting a breathless silence as all eyes turned upward. In a clear, far-ranging voice, he said, “Presenting His Majesty, Matvei Vasilii Mikhail Fedorovich, King of Moldova, and his daughter, Her Royal Highness, Angela Maria Yevdokia Fedorovich, Princess of Moldova.

  “My goodness, such a mouthful,” Angela whispered to the side so only her father could hear her. It elicited a croak of low laughter from him.

  “Behave, young lady,” he murmured with amusement.

  Pasting a regal smile on her face, Angela moved down the steps with such majestic poise, one would have thought she’d been raised as a princess from infancy. She made it to the bottom without so much as an errant flutter of her gown. No embarrassing head-over-heels tumble down the stairs as she’d feared. She exhaled an inaudible sigh of relief, and then walked with her father to the front of the line.

  The sea of people parted as though commanded by a higher power, whispered comments drifting her way as they passed.

  “Can you believe it? She’s really a princess!”

  “I heard she’s had over a hundred offers of marriage!”

  “I always knew there was something special about the girl.”

  “Do you think that devil, Blackridge, will be thrown into prison for his reprehensible treatment of her?”

  That last comment startled Angela so much it threw her off balance for an instant. Her father brought his other hand over the one she rested on his arm, preventing her from stopping.

  “Don’t listen to them, my dear,” he said quietly. “There are always going to be ignorant people in this world who are apt to say ignorant things.”

  “Of course you’re right, and I never took stock in anything said about myself, but it pains me to hear such things about Ian.”

  “Don’t fret about it. Lord Blackridge is a grown man and surely used to the gossips. If you’ll recall, he already had a reputation long before this day.”

  Angela laughed softly. “Yes, he did at that.”

  As she greeted each person, some of them familiar to her, Angela kept hoping the next one would be Ian. She covertly scanned the surrounding area for any sign of his presence, but had yet to spot him. Was he coming? The deep disappointment she felt tarnished the excitement of the night’s event.

  Everyone was incredibly respectful, with a few embarrassingly obsequious encounters, adding a bit of humor to the whole situation. One woman in particular, a Lady Feathering, who had been one of the matrons to turn her back on Angela at that last disastrous ball, curtsied so low Angela thought she might scrape her nose on the floor.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, Angela heard strains of music coming from the ballroom, indicating the orchestra was tuning up and preparing to play. Her duty in the receiving line at an end, she moved with her father to dance the first waltz with him.

  Since the ball was in her honor, they were to start off the first dance alone, to be joined later by other couples. Angela felt exposed as she and her father took their position in the middle of the dance floor. She could hear the low hum of many different conversations in progress around the room, but for the most part, attention was focused on them.

  “Breathe, Angela,” her father said, squeezing her hand. “This is your mom
ent. “Relish it.”

  “I’m trying, but this is all so overwhelming, like a dream,” Angela confessed.

  The music began, and they made several smooth turns before other couples joined them. No longer feeling so conspicuous, Angela relaxed a little. Her eyes searched for Ian from every angle of the room as the dance took them in a circuit around the dance floor.

  Smiling down at her, her father said, “He will be here.”

  Angela danced with several other partners, growing more and more agitated with the passage of time. She was being escorted off the dance floor by the kindly Lord Applegate, an aging earl with a sharp sense of humor, and a harmless weakness for a pretty face, when Mr. Wardley appeared.

  “May I have the next dance, Miss H – I’m terribly sorry!” Wardley bowed. “Your highness, I would be honored if you’ll allow me this next dance.”

  “I believe I have the next dance with her highness.”

  Angela sucked in a sharp breath upon hearing Ian’s deep voice. He was the one man she most wanted to see. Her heart lurched in an out-of-synch beat when he’d spoken, staking his claim on her. He was even more handsome than she remembered. When their gazes met, Angela saw something in his eyes, something that seemed to illuminate him. He was the same, yet different. She couldn’t quite pin it down, but it caused her to tingle all over with a sizzle of anticipation. Of what, she didn’t know.

  He took her hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “May I?” he asked, looking up at her from his bent position.

  “Yes,” Angela said breathlessly.

  Ian guided her to the area of the floor where other couples had already begun dancing a waltz. The unfortunate Wardley stood watching them, once again left with his mouth hanging open.

  “It’s good to see you again, princess. Can I call you that, now that you really are a princess?” He gave her a heart-stopping smile.

  “You may call me anything you like, my lord,” Angela said in a low, husky voice. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, her breasts just inches away from the muscled expanse of his chest. They were already too close to be proper, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was that she was in his arms, floating on a cushion of air, moving as one to the beautiful melody.