Seducing an Angel

by Mary Balogh

  He had, once upon a time, she remembered, been Stephen’s official guardian.

  He said only one thing of a personal nature, and it somehow sent shivers along Cassandra’s spine.

  “You must come to dinner one evening soon, Lady Paget,” he said. “I shall have the duchess arrange it. And you may tell us at your leisure how you plan to make Merton happy.”

  She smiled back at him.

  “You must not concern yourself about that, your grace,” she said, noticing his very blue eyes, the one distinguishing feature between him and the dark-eyed Mr. Huxtable. “My hopes and dreams for the Earl of Merton must be very similar to your own.”

  He inclined his head and moved off to dance the next figure with another lady.

  After that set, Cassandra really wanted nothing else than to beg Wesley to take her home. It could not be done, however. She could not so publicly abandon the man whose marriage offer she had supposedly accepted just this evening.

  But that thought gave her another, better idea. The duke had returned her to Wesley’s side, but her brother was busy conversing with a group of friends and did no more than flash a smile in her direction. She opened her fan and looked about the room. It was easy to spot Stephen—he was striding toward her, a warm smile lighting his face.

  Oh, how he must resent her!

  And how she resented him. There must have been another way to deal with that crisis. Heaven alone knew what it was, though.

  “The final set is about to begin,” he said, “and it is mine, I believe.”

  “Stephen,” she said, “take me home.”

  His eyes searched hers, his smile arrested. He nodded.

  “A good idea,” he said. “We will avoid the crush after the set is ended. You came with your brother?”

  She nodded.

  “I will tell him I am going home with you instead,” she said. “He is just here.”

  Wesley turned away from his group even as she spoke.

  “Wesley,” she said, “Stephen is going to take me home in his carriage. Do you mind?”

  “No,” he said. He held out a hand to Stephen. “I will expect you to treat her kindly, Merton. You will have me to answer to if you do not.”

  Oh, men! They were such ridiculous, possessive creatures. Sometimes it seemed they believed women could not breathe without their assistance.

  But there was some comfort in knowing that Wesley was now a man. You will have me to answer to if you do not. There had been no one to say those words to Nigel before she married him, except her father, who had been too genial and too trusting for his own good.

  She kissed his cheek.

  “I do not expect, Young,” Stephen said, “ever to have the need to answer to you. Your sister will be in good hands.”

  They found the Compton-Haigs and asked to be excused from participating in the last dance. Lady Compton-Haig appeared charmed more than offended, and she and her husband accompanied them downstairs and waved them on their way after Stephen’s carriage had been brought up to the door.

  Cassandra set her head back against the soft upholstery of the carriage seat as the vehicle rocked into motion and closed her eyes.

  Stephen’s hand found hers in the darkness, and his fingers curled about it. She was too weary to withdraw it.

  “Cassandra, my dear,” he said, “I am so very sorry. I ought to have wooed you more privately and far less recklessly. I certainly ought to have made you a marriage proposal before announcing our betrothal to all the world. But disaster loomed for you, and it was all I could think of to do.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I was furious with you for only a very short while. We were incredibly indiscreet—both of us. I do not blame you, and I do assure you that I was not involved in any deliberate seduction. It was just—indiscreet. Unfortunately, your response will make tomorrow and the days following it uncomfortable for you as people look for the official announcement in the papers and do not find it. But they will recover. People always do. They even started sending out invitations to an axe murderer after a scant week.”

  “Cass.” He squeezed her hand. “There will be an announcement. Not in tomorrow’s paper, it is true. It is too late for that. But it will appear in the morning after’s. And we will have to decide when the nuptials will be and where—either here at St. George’s with half the ton in attendance, or somewhere more private. Warren Hall, perhaps. People will want to know either way. They will shower us both with questions.”

  Ah. She might have guessed that he would take gallantry to the extreme.

  “But Stephen,” she said without opening her eyes or turning her head, “you did not make me an offer, did you? And I did not accept. And would not accept even if you were to make one now. Not tonight, not ever. Not you or anyone else. One thing I will never do again in this life is marry.”

  She heard him draw breath to reply but he said nothing.

  They rode the rest of the way to her door in silence.

  He vaulted out of the carriage as soon as it had rocked to a halt, set down the steps, and assisted her to alight. Then he put the steps back up, closed the door, and looked up to instruct the coachman to drive home.

  “Stephen,” she said sharply, “you are not coming inside with me. You are not invited.”

  The carriage rumbled off down the street.

  “I am coming anyway” he said.

  And she realized, as she had done last week after she had chosen him, that there was a thread of steel in Stephen Huxtable, Earl of Merton, and that in certain matters he could be quite inflexible. This was one of those matters. She might remain out here arguing for an hour, but he was coming inside at the end of it. She might as well let him in now. A few spots of rain were falling, and there was not a star in sight overhead. There was probably going to be a downpour in a short while.

  “Oh, very well,” she said irritably, and bent to find the house key beneath the flowerpot beside the steps.

  He took it from her hand, unlocked the door, allowed her to step inside before him, and closed and locked the door behind him.

  Alice, Mary, and Belinda would have gone to bed hours ago. They would be no help whatsoever. Not that they would even if they were present. A glance at Stephen’s face in the dim light of the hall candle confirmed her in her suspicion that he was angry and mulish and was going to be very difficult to deal with.

  He strode into the sitting room, came back with a long candle, lit it from the hall candle, extinguished the latter, and led the way back into the sitting room.

  Just as if he owned the house.

  Of course, he was paying the rent on it.

  18

  IT was a devilishly ticklish situation.

  She had to marry him. Surely she could see that. Her tenure with the ton was precarious, to say the least. If she withdrew from this betrothal now, she would never recover her position.

  “Cass,” he said as he fixed the candle in its holder on the mantel, “I love you, you know.”

  He felt a little weak at the knees, saying the words aloud. He wondered if he meant them. He had told Nessie this afternoon that he liked her as opposed to simply liking her without the emphasis, but did that mean he loved her with a forever-after kind of love?

  He thought it might mean that. But everything had happened too quickly. He had not had sufficient time to fall in love.

  None of which mattered now.

  Good Lord, he had never before kissed a woman in public—or even nearly in public. It was unpardonable of him to have done so tonight. Especially with Cassandra.

  “No, you do not,” she said, seating herself in her usual chair, crossing her legs, and swinging her foot, her dancing slipper dangling from her toes. She stretched her arms along the arms of the chair and looked perfectly relaxed—and rather contemptuous. The old mask. “I believe you like me well enough, Stephen, and for reasons of your own you have decided to befriend me and bring me into fashion—and support me financially until I can
stand on my own feet. There is doubtless some lust mingled in with the liking because you have been in my bed twice and enjoyed both experiences sufficiently to think you would not mind trying it again. You do not love me.”

  “You presume to know me, then,” he asked her, irritated, “better than I know myself?”

  There was truth in what she said, though. He wanted her even now. Her orange-red dress gleamed in the light of the single candle, her hair glowed just as brightly, and her face was beautiful, even with its scornful expression. He was in her house late at night again, and he could not help thinking of what a pleasure it would be to go upstairs with her and make love to her again.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, and her expression softened slightly as she looked fully at him. “I believe you were born compassionate and gallant, Stephen. Acquiring your title and properties and fortune have not made you less so, as they would with ninety-nine men out of one hundred, but more so because you believe you must prove yourself worthy of such good fortune. You gallantly offered me marriage tonight—or announced our betrothal, rather. And now you are gallantly convincing yourself that you really wish to marry me. In your mind, that means that you must love me, and so you believe that you do. You do not.”

  Irritation had blossomed into anger. Yet he did wonder if she was right. How could he be in love so suddenly like this? And with someone so different from his ideal of a prospective wife? How could he be contemplating this marriage he had trapped himself into with anything less than dismay?

  And yet …

  “You are wrong,” he said, “as you will see in time. But it does not matter, Cass. Whether you are right or I am, the situation is the same. We have been seen together enough times in the past week to have aroused interest and speculation, and tonight we were caught alone out on the balcony, in each other’s arms, kissing each other. There is only one thing we can do. We must marry.”

  “And so,” she said, her fingers drumming slowly on the arms of her chair, “for one small and thoughtless indiscretion we must both sacrifice the rest of our lives? Of course it is what the ton now expects. It is what it demands. Do you not see how ridiculous that is, though, Stephen?”

  It was ridiculous and would be something worth defying if they actively disliked each other.

  “One small and thoughtless indiscretion,” he said. “Is that what that kiss was, Cass? Did it mean nothing else?”

  She raised her eyebrows and was silent for a while.

  “We spent two nights in bed together, Stephen,” she said, “but have since reverted to celibacy. You are an extraordinarily attractive man, and I do not believe I am without some charms. We were waltzing together and had become heated in the ballroom. We sought coolness out on the balcony and discovered solitude there as well. What happened was almost inevitable—and indiscreet, of course. And thoughtless.”

  “It was nothing more than lust, then?” he said.

  “No, it was not.” She smiled at him.

  “I believe you know,” he said, holding her eyes with his own, “that it was. If anyone is practicing self-deception here, Cass, it is you, not me.”

  “You are very sweet,” she said in her velvet voice.

  He was annoyed again. And frustrated. He stood with his back to the fireplace, his hands clasped behind him.

  “If you fail to honor this engagement,” he said, “there will be a horrible scandal.”

  She shrugged.

  “People will recover,” she said. “They always do. And we will have supplied them with what they most enjoy—a salacious topic of gossip.”

  He leaned a little toward her.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Under more normal circumstances we could perhaps hope to suffer nothing worse than a few weeks of severe discomfort. But—forgive me, Cass—these are not normal circumstances. Not for you, anyway.”

  She pursed her lips and regarded him with an amused smile.

  “The beau monde will rejoice over you, Stephen,” she said. “The lost sheep returning to the fold. All the ladies will weep tears of joy. Eventually you will choose one of them and live happily ever after with her. I promise you.”

  He stared at her until she raised her eyebrows again and looked downward rather jerkily. She drew her slipper back onto her foot by clenching her toes, uncrossed her legs, and smoothed her gown over her knees.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “your eyes are uncomfortably intense, Stephen, and speak more eloquently than words. It is very unfair of you. One cannot argue with eyes.”

  “You will be ruined,” he said.

  She laughed. “And I am not already?”

  “You are recovering,” he said. “People are beginning to accept you. You are beginning to receive invitations. My family has accepted you. Your brother has reconciled with you. And now you could be betrothed to me. What is so very bad about that? Do you believe I will beat you after we are married? That I will cause you to miscarry our children? Do you? Will you look me in the eye and tell me you fear I may be capable of such dastardly behavior?”

  She shook her head quickly and closed her eyes.

  “I have nothing to bring to any marriage, Stephen,” she said. “No hopes, no dreams, no light, no youth. Only chains that I drag about with me like wraiths. And the prospect of more chains that the nuptial service would hang on me as soon as I vowed away my freedom. No, I do not believe you would mistreat me. But I cannot do it, Stephen. I simply cannot. For your sake as well as mine. We would be miserable—both of us. Believe me, we would.”

  He felt a chill about the heart. There was no mask now. Her voice was shaking with the passion of sincerity.

  Marrying was something she could not do again.

  Once had been enough.

  Too much.

  There was no further argument that might convince her.

  And so he too was free, with a freedom he no longer wanted.

  Perhaps tomorrow he would think differently. Maybe by then he would have returned to sanity.

  There was a lengthy silence, during which he sat down in the chair opposite hers. He slumped slightly in it, propped one elbow on the arm, and rested his head in his hand.

  He could not feel any relief yet because there were other, much stronger feelings.

  Disappointment.

  Grief.

  Bewilderment.

  Desperation.

  Then he had an idea.

  “Cass,” he said, “are you willing to compromise with me?”

  “Half marry you?” she asked, her smile slightly twisted, her eyes —what? Wistful?

  “Let me send the announcement of our betrothal to the papers,” he said. “No, wait before you shake your head. Listen to what I have to say. Let me arrange a proper celebration of our engagement at Merton House. Let us stay betrothed for what remains of the Season. And then you can break it off quietly during the summer, when the ton will be dispersed all over England. We will decide together then how best you can be supported for the rest of your life. But at least we—”

  “I will not need your support, Stephen,” she said. “And I will even be able to pay back what you have given me. I called on a lawyer with Wesley this morning, and he is quite confident that he can recover my jewels and get the money that was settled on me in my marriage contract and in Nigel’s will. And use of the town house here too, and even of the dower house, which of course I do not want. Bruce frightened me into believing I had to make a choice between my freedom and my widow’s settlement, but he would not have given me the choice if he had believed I could be convicted of murder, would he? I have realized that during the past few days, and I have decided to fight rather than cower. I am going to be comfortably well off after all. I am going to be independent.”

  He felt a rush of gladness for her. He wished he had thought of it for himself, for of course she was quite right. The present Paget had relied upon his ability to browbeat the woman who had been terrorized for nine years by his father.

  It was as well he
had not thought of it first, though. It was good that she had, that quite unassisted she had found a way to set her life and her future to rights and also, more important, a way to heal herself.

  “And what will you do with your independence?” he asked her.

  “I’ll buy a cottage somewhere in the country and live obscurely and happily ever after there,” she said. She smiled at him, a genuine smile this time. “Wish me well, Stephen?”

  “And that will be preferable to marriage with me,” he said. It was not really a question. The answer was obvious, and it both saddened and gladdened him.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “But I will accept your compromise, Stephen. You must be allowed to be chivalrous. I will not humiliate you before the whole ton when you have been so kind to me. Announce our betrothal, then, and I will celebrate it with you and with whomever you choose to invite to Merton House. I will play the part of happy, enamored fiancée for the rest of the Season. And then I will set you free.”

  Perhaps.

  He did not say it aloud. He just looked at her and nodded. And she looked back and smiled.

  “Now that it seems I will be able to pay back everything you have paid me,” she said, “may I count myself already free of the obligation of being your mistress?”

  “Of course,” he said, inexplicably hurt. “But I never did demand much of you in that capacity, Cass. If I have pressed my company on you, it has not been because you are my mistress but because I have wanted to help you.”

  “I know that,” she said, “and I am grateful. I am also free—or will be as soon as my money and property have been safely restored to me. Since I am essentially free, then, let me issue a free invitation. Stay with me tonight?”

  He felt an instant stabbing of desire and longing. But he considered his answer. Was this wise? Did she know how to prevent conception? Should he endanger her for a third time? And it was a fine time to think of that now, when there had been those two previous encounters.

  “How humiliating,” she said, smiling, “if you say no.”