Angel of Ash

by Law, Josephine

  She needed this, human comfort, a touch of another not riddled with deceit, or an opportunistic view point of how best to end her innocence. Marco nodded, and held his elbow for her hand which she gently placed, the tears calm for the moment.

  “I will admit to knowing no knowledge of your heart or what has recently passed. But I do know this, do not let him see you suffer; do not let him allow this power over your soul. Come with me, we shall dance the night, and ease your burdens, leave them here in these dark gardens. Join the light again, my beauty. You deserve so much more.”

  She followed, she had no choice. He was right; she’d not appear weak, not in public, not for Asher who had castrated her love in public. Never for him, never again.

  They strode through the glass French doors, the curtains wrapping them in silken flesh for all to brief a moment before once more they were upon the ball room floor, Marco sweeping her in his arms, protecting her…lifting her…falling for her. “Brave a smile, for me, my lady, none forced…and live again.”

  She did, only because the enticing music gave ease to a pain filled soul.

  Marco returned her smile, sweeping her away, until finally, Angel began to forget to remember to breathe, to live. Her thoughts began to recede of Asher and his hurtful words and the woman upon his side. Her lips trembled briefly, but Marco would not let her resort to self-pity.

  “Be not of drear, I will lift you up…” he said and did just that to Angel’s surprise, swinging her in the air to the astonishment and pure delight of not only Angel but to others close to them.

  What a splendid couple, the guests commented.

  Beauty doubled, some were heard to say.

  They must be lovers look how they dance together, they were heard.

  If not now then soon, others returned.

  Asher turned, he’d missed the whispered words of a couple of beauty upon the floor, until he heard Love’s name also mentioned. He turned from the woman next to him, his eyes swiftly seeking, searching for her which was not hard. The floor had emptied all except a lone couple still dancing to the enticing sounds of the waltz, everything else forgotten except each other.

  Red shone over his eyes, he felt his heart stop before starting again, and blood rushing to his heart, his mind…rage shook him. How quickly she’d forgotten her words, love, the bitch, she knew nothing of love. Deceit was her game. Jealousy burst through his veins as Angel was twirled in the air upon the dark arms of another.

  Asher did not know what came over him, only knew that one moment he was standing still, the glass of wine in his hand slicing through his palm and the next moment he was moving swiftly towards Angel and him, hate in his every footstep.

  Gasps were heard among the crowd as Asher walked menacingly towards them, he’d not be made the fool of, never again as he tore Angel from Marco’s arms, one hand fisted, wrapped around her slight upper arm as the guests looked on with open horrified curiosity.

  “I see you have already whored yourself for another, my lady, when moments ago, your wide tear filled eyes asked for my sympathy,” he gritted out to the utter horror of Angel as she gasped in shame, struggling from his vise.

  “How dare you!” Marco interrupted, breaking Asher’s contact with a swift move of his arms and hand. He noticed Asher’s look; the man was coldly drunk, hanging to sanity by a thin thread, swiftly unraveling. “Apologize to the lady, immediately, you bastard, or you shall pay with your life!”

  Asher laughed, coldly, as Angel looked with angst between the two men. “She was good, but not that good. Definitely not worth pistols at dawn.” He said, smirking at Angel, his eyes roving over her body in a disgusting way. “My apologies of course, never let it be said that my mother raised a bastard. I apologize to the whore of the year, the best actress this side of the hemisphere.”

  Anthony looked up from the beauty at his side, as her gaze, along with others, drew to the small trio standing in the midst of the vacantly empty ballroom floor, more than forty feet away from others, but the ballroom carried sounds, as it was meant to do, and their words, such harsh, bitter words carried to every single person upon the floor. Anthony groaned in despair, racing towards the trio, and managed to arrive just in time to see Angel smack Asher upon the face, so hard the slap carried and echoed through the room, well after she’d yanked her hand back.

  “How could you?” She uttered to him in a fierce whisper in shock at his words as the embarrassment ate away at her. “How could you do this, Asher?” She asked in growing hurt, turning away from him, from Marco, from the faces of the crowd.

  But it would not be so easy for her, as Asher grabbed her arm once more, to swing her towards him. “And how could you?” He yelled back at her, in his drunken state he cared not for anyone, not even for the woman before him. “You are just like the rest of them, aren’t you? Promising words of love in bed, but so soon you find another, a damn black widow. Act the innocent, for you do it well, but we know we both know how quickly you spread your legs within days of meeting me.”

  “Asher!” Anthony cried in horror at his words as the entire ball room floor fell to an achingly void silence, his words ringing through in everyone’s ears.

  A shudder ripped through her body as cold sweat beaded upon her forehead, a deep red flush of shame escaping to her cheeks as she shook in dread.

  Angel could do nothing, simply stare, hurt, angered, embarrassed, and pained at his cold eyes, the weight of two hundred pairs of eyes upon her. His grip loosened but Angel was to mortified to care. This could not be happening, she thought wildly to herself. Please, God erase these moments, she prayed fervently, but nothing happened. Her prayer was not answered.

  Shock was seen upon Marco’s face, upon Anthony’s. Shock at Asher’s words, this horrifying predicament they all found their selves in, embarrassment for her, Angel read upon their faces.

  “You bastard!” Walter yelled, rushing in and before anyone could stop him, he threw a wild punch at Asher, untrained, which Asher, even though drunk easily dodged before he threw his own fist, meeting Walter smartly in the face where a scream was heard in the crowd, her aunt as she struggled to the group with her husband close on her tails.

  “Stop! Stop!” Angel cried, rushing in between Asher and Walter before Marco and Anthony had a chance to react.

  “No, Angel, stop!” Marco yelled, knowing that she’d be hurt as Asher threw one fist after another at Walter, while Walter managed to get in a few good shots. But Angel did not hear, as she tried to pull the two men apart, stepping between them.

  The duchess was the first to Angel’s crumbled side, as screams were heard from the ladies, the hostess rushing towards Angel who was surrounded by Lee, Walter and Anthony.

  “Call a doctor!” Marco yelled and footsteps were heard rapidly leaving the floor.

  Asher stared in shock, taken in Angel’s crumpled body upon the floor. It felt as if a heavy hand had lifted from his head, he knew he was no longer drunk; the horror of what he had done cutting him like a knife. “Noo…” he managed to utter, taking a step towards Angel, where he was instantly stopped by Anthony, Marco and the younger Henry who’d reached him.

  “You have done enough damage, you bastard,” Marco gritted through his teeth.

  “Damn it, it was an accident.” Asher returned.

  “As were your words, were those to an accident. I have never seen one who purports to be a peer of the English aristocracy treat a woman so abominably as you have. How dare you!” He said, grabbing Asher by the lapels and shoving him, the two enraged.

  “Enough!” Anthony cut in, stepping between the two men. “No more, damn it, no more. We must see to Angel immediately, Asher you have fed the gossip mills enough garbage for a decade, I’ll not have you sully the Hawthorne name one minute more through the gutter any longer.”

  Asher stood, still, taking in Angel upon the floor, the faces surrounding him. He’d not sulk off. “Let me see to her.”

  “I’ll be damned if I let you wit
hin a hundred miles of my niece ever again!” The elder Angel cried, as Henry lifted Angel in his arms, his face filled with worry at her to still form, her form achingly still.

  “It was an accident!” Asher yelled in anger, deep guilt ridden hurt gnawing at his insides. My God, what had he done, he thought to himself the past few moments hitting him in the stomach like a heavy fist.

  Angel’s family wrapped around her, shielding her from Asher’s haunted eyes as they were escorted to a nearby room, while it seemed as if every pair of eyes were upon Asher’s. Accusing, mean, unsympathetic. He didn’t care, he couldn’t care.

  “You have done enough damage here, cousin, let us leave.” Anthony proffered anger in his every word. “We can do nothing for them now. They do not want us.”

  Marco stalked off the floor following the family as Anthony stared at his cousin. “Are you now at peace, cousin? I do hope so. You have single handedly destroyed two families, Angels’ and ours with your disparaging, disgusting words and actions for the night. You have made me ashamed to even call you cousin.”

  Chapter 7

  “You must marry her!” Maria cried to her second son, the most hard headed, coldly cynical man she had ever come across. All because of the hatred eating away at his heart over a woman who’d long since died. “You ruined her reputation, Asher, Anthony told me of the words you spoke, words in your drunken state you do not even remember and yet you refuse to do right by this woman. How did you feel when Hunter was miscarrying Gabe’s child and it was you standing in these shoes? How can you even think that marriage will not be a recourse? You seduced her, a woman who was under our protection and then embarrassed her in front of the whole of London!”

  “Not the whole of London, mother, you grossly exaggerate.” Asher cut in.

  Maria tightened her lips, anger in her every word. “Do you honestly think that the whole of London has not been told of your damnable words? I have heard of your words, here in the country of nosey do gooders who wish to know the next state of what will happen.”

  “Your mother is right, Asher, for you to actually believe that you will not marry Ms. Barrett is a gross assumption upon your part.” Ethan bit out; angry and upset at the lack of respect Asher showed his mother and the rest of the family, which included Caleb, Anthony, Hunter and Gabe. Hunter so far, quiet, stewing in anger.

  “And you all have heard my words, I have told you a long time ago I shall never marry, do you not believe me?” Asher said exasperated.

  “Then you leave us no choice, Asher. You have disgraced this family enough. You are no longer my son, from this moment on, if you do not do right by Ms. Barrett, you are no longer welcomed into this house. Upon the morrow I will call my steward and have you permanently removed from my will. You will not have any contact with anyone carrying the Hawthorne name. Do you understand? Asher, do you understand? You will be dead to this family from this moment on. I won’t to never view your face upon the Hawthorne land until you have amended the grave and horrid rights to an innocent.”

  Asher stared; not revealing how much those words pained him. He could not; emotion had long since left him.

  “And the same goes true for us, as well,” Gabe stated. “You will no longer have any further contact with our son or daughter. I will not have a man who does not honor his duties around my children.”

  Asher stared at Hunter as his sister met his glare full throttle. “How could you do such a thing, Asher,” she asked, hurt and angry. “I warned you, I warned you to leave her be.” Pausing, she breathed heavily. “And I warned her…I warned her that you would break her heart.”

  The wedding was to take place momentarily, an unwilling groom, and a wounded bride. Angel stared outside her bedroom window of her uncles’ grand estate, the front driveway achingly empty. Not even Asher’s own family would attend the rushed wedding, Angel catching wind that the rift with his family deep, impenetrable. She fought back the anger and sadness that would do no good. Her efforts to have Hunter at her wedding had been rebuffed by Asher, cruelly, almost sadistically so. He seemed to find great pleasure in making her miserable with his acrid words and bitter voice.

  A knock sounded upon the door as Angel’s stomach was filled with butterflies. It was time. Opening the door, she was surprised to find Walter standing there, instead of her aunt. He looked at her wildly, with large, hurt eyes. “You don’t have to marry him, if you do not want to,” he immediately said.

  “Walter, I told you, it is not meant to be,” she said kindly, battling down her own fears to comfort him. “I am sorry, please, you must understand.”

  “No, I don’t. He will treat you cruelly and yet you would willingly go with him, willingly marry that bastard when I have offered you my name, instead. It does not matter about him, you should know this by now.”

  “It does matter, Walter. It matters more than you will ever know or understand.” She quietly spoke.

  “You love him, still, don’t you?” He asked in growing horror, searching her eyes, which Angel dropped with shame, knowing she should not, knowing that he’d hurt more times than not and still she’d continue loving him. “How could you, how he dishonored you, disrespected you and embarrassed you in front of a crowd of two hundred. Well, fine, go to him; allow him to abuse you further, allow yourself respect to be degraded when I offer you so much more. Just remember this, every dark night in which you cry after he has spoken words treacherous to your soul, you remember that you buried yourself, Angel, no one else but you can stop this joke of a wedding. No one but you.”

  He left her, his words angry and bitter, the heavy thud of his boots drifting away from where Angel stood frozen. She knew he was right, she knew the next days, week’s months and perhaps even years would be filled with nothing except pain for her. Yet, how could she turn away, when he had so much of her soul, already. Resolutely, Angel squared her shoulders, when inwardly she quaked with fear. With growing trepidation she escaped the small confines of her heart and soul and walked sedately down the hall, and then the stairs, and then another hallway before reaching her uncle’s study.

  And there, as she opened the door and closed it firmly behind her, she stepped into the unknown.

  The ride to London was quiet, Angel’s attempts at conversation rebutted, fallen flat beneath the carriage wheels. She would try harder, she promised herself. She would be the perfect wife, for him, so that no blame would be cast upon her shoulders. She’d love him until her dying days, she promised herself, and one day, one day, he’d love her back, or so she hoped.

  Please, God, let him love me, she prayed offering him a small smile when he glanced her way.

  But he did not return the smile, instead glancing over her around her to the window past her shoulders.

  It does not matter, Angel thought, she knew he was upset. He did not want to marry her, and even though those thoughts hurt her soul, she battled them down, that and the fear that would do her no good. Instead, respecting his need for silence, she stared outside the window, or down at her immobile hands, frozen still so that she would not disturb him, silent, quiet, a perfect, beautiful statue. Whatever he needed her to be, she would become, anything to get him to trust her, to love her perhaps just a bit.

  The hours passed by achingly slow, for both the occupants in the carriage, dusk settling over the countryside like a fine veil upon a widowers shoulders. Angel grew tired, but refused that weakness of sleep, just in case, just in case he wanted to speak to her. She’d not slept well for several days, since that night, but tonight sleep did not matter when all she wanted to hear was one word spoken in a gentle tone, one small infliction on his part, one caressing touch. But Angel waited in vain.

  When the carriage finally stopped for the night at a country inn another days ride from London, Asher escaped the small confines of the box, walking away without a backwards glance at his wife, as Angel stared at his retreating back with horror and then embarrassment as the head coachmen, reached inside, helping her down the
stairs which he drew.

  “My lady,” he offered kindly and Angel hated the look upon his face, one of pity and sympathy.

  She nodded hesitantly, and allowed his help, following Asher’s heavy footprints inside and there she stood uncertainly, just on the inside of the door as Asher spoke with the proprietor, informing them of the accommodations in which they would need. But he forgot her, as he saw to the needs of his coachmen, and turning away from the proprietor was stopped seconds later as the proprietor looked from him to Angel.

  “Sir, is the lady with you? The one at the door?” He asked, loudly, his words overheard by the half dozen people inside the room and Asher’s coachmen.

  Stopping, Asher spared the innkeeper a look before continuing up the stairs. At the third step he finally spoke. “My wife,” he bitterly said. “Find her a room.”

  As Asher stared outside, the empty whisky bottle in hand, he cursed, swiftly and fiercely to himself, angered at a woman long ago dead. He should have been deadened to the pain a long, long time ago, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t make himself, wouldn’t allow himself to forget, her words, her actions…the innocence she’d taken from him. And now, here he was, saddled with a wife he did not want but still wildly desired. It would bode no good, for either of them.