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Angel's Devil

Page 9

by Suzanne Enoch

He shook his head. "Before that, mainly." He cleared his throat. "When... when I was wounded at Waterloo, I slid down into a damned muddy ditch. One of my sergeants landed across me with a lance through him. It was chaos there for awhile, and anyway... I was left for dead."

  "My God," Simon whispered.

  "I lay there for two days before one of the grave-diggers found me." He turned to see Simon staring at him, white-faced. "I had a great deal of time to do nothing but consider my situation." He looked away. "The whole episode was quite enlightening, actually."

  "I hope so," his cousin returned slowly.

  James forced a smile. "That doesn't mean I've become some sort of bloody saint," he muttered.

  "That would be too much to expect," Simon agreed, smiling when James glared at him.

  "Very amusing." James looked out the window once more, then at the sight of the Graham ladies touring his garden, turned and headed for the door. "I would appreciate, however, if from this point you would make an effort to acknowledge my no-doubt amateurish and half-hearted attempts at respectability."

  "I shall do my best, cousin," Simon answered dutifully.

  Supper passed relatively uneventfully, though James was coming to realize that few things seemed to be uneventful where the Grahams, and especially their eldest daughter, were concerned. His eyes kept going to her, for she looked especially lovely in a dark peach gown that brought out the red highlights in her hair. Whenever he realized he was staring he deliberately turned away, but that did nothing to keep the girl out of his mind. In fact, he'd been having impure thoughts about her since he'd first set eyes on her in Dover. James glanced over at his cousin. The only thing he could do about that was to make certain Simon never even suspected.

  The next morning before breakfast he went down to the stables and found Henry, and surprisingly, Angelique, there waiting for him. He had the horses and pony saddled, and the three of them, and Brutus, started off toward the lake. India was a well-bred animal, and had cost him a prize mare in trade, but the delighted look on the boy's face as he rode along made it worth the price. When the two had settled, he nudged the restless Demon into a trot. The gray mare, Heaven, easily kept pace beside them, and he noted that Angel was holding her back. "Ready for a bit more, Henry?"

  The woods at the edge of the lake were still covered with the morning's dew, and mist hung in the tops of the trees. It was his favorite time of day, and he had dreamt of riding the trail while he had recuperated in France. In those visions he had been alone, however, not accompanied by a nine-year-old boy, his madcap sister and a large brown mastiff. Feeling almost domestic, he looked at Angelique.

  "Enjoying the view?" he asked.

  She smiled at him. "It's beautiful here."

  "Yes, it is," he replied, looking straight at her. He wasn't surprised when instead of blushing she shook her head and laughed at him. It seemed that if he had seriously intended to seduce her, a fresh approach would have been required. Old methods, which had netted high flyers far less naive than she, merely seemed to amuse Angel. Of course she would never take his advances seriously anyway, for they both knew his purpose was only to get her married to Simon as soon as they could manage it.

  He guided them north toward the main road and finally up the winding, tree-lined drive to Abbonley. It was a shorter ride than he liked, but he didn't want to tire Henry or India on their first outing together. "Do you enjoy his paces?" he asked the boy when they had reached the path to the stables.

  "He's top of the trees, Lord James. Does he jump?"

  James laughed, wondering where the boy had learned that expression. His sister, most likely. "We'll give it a try tomorrow."

  "Yes, please!"

  Niston was waiting for them when they returned, and Henry was clearly bursting to tell him all about their excursion. James turned to see Angel eyeing the stables reluctantly. "What is it?" he asked, though he could guess.

  "Oh, nothing," she answered, sighing.

  "I have to ride down to the village and inspect the new school,” he said, pulling Demon in a tight circle when the horse threatened to continue their morning's ride without him. "I thought to do it this morning. Do you wish to accompany me?" he asked, though he hadn't until that moment decided to go.

  The reluctant look cleared from her face. "If you don't mind. I've done nothing but sit in a coach for two days," she noted with her usual candor.

  "Angel, I think your mother—" Niston began with a frown, glancing from James to his daughter.

  James understood the look. "Hastings?" he yelled for the head groom. "Saddle up! We're riding into Esterley."

  Thomas cleared his throat. "Very good," he muttered, turning to follow his son when Henry insisted on helping put up India.

  "Splendidly done," Angel whispered, grinning at him.

  It was a moment before he realized what she was talking about. He inclined his head. "Of course, my lady. Anything for the cause."

  Once Hastings appeared, James led the way east. With a glance at Angel, he kicked Demon into a run. In a moment she and Heaven were thundering behind them, and he noted again that she was a fine rider. The mare was no match for Demon, however, and after a mile or so he slowed and allowed her to catch up.

  Angelique was laughing, her bonnet blown back off her head and her copper hair flying around her face. She was breathtaking. "Better?" he asked, all his pure and brotherly thoughts toward her crumbling into dust. This holiday was going to be even more difficult than seeing her in London, he abruptly realized. And with them in the same house, there was nowhere for him to run.

  Angel nodded vigorously, obviously unconscious as to the knots she was making of his insides. "Much. How far is the village?"

  "About another two miles, beyond the rise there," he answered, pointing. She nodded, then with a laugh sent Heaven into a gallop. He gave her a head start, then, grinning, turned Demon after them.

  The wood and brick school had been erected on the east edge of the village. As they made their way through Esterley, James was greeted by the dozen or so villagers out and about in the cold morning. He returned the welcomes with a smile, for he hadn't had much time to come into the village since his return to Abbonley.

  "You are well-liked here," Angelique stated as he swung out of the saddle and stepped around to help her down from Heaven. Behind them Brutus bounded up the steps into the school, then appeared at one of the windows to bark at them.

  "Surprised?" he queried, letting his hands linger around her waist for a moment.

  She tried to straighten her hat again and looked up at him. "No." Hastings rode up behind them, and she turned to face the school. "So tell me about your project, my lord," she commented, stepping up to peer into a window.

  He handed Demon's reins over to the groom and followed her around the front of the building. "I merely thought it made sense to educate my tenants."

  "It doesn't to a great many other landowners, I'll wager," Angelique noted, folding her hands behind her back and critically eyeing the brickwork.

  He glanced over at her. Angelique Graham might be something of a madcap, but she was certainly far from one of those empty-headed trinkets who simpered their way through their debuts every Season. "And what do you think?"

  "I think the London wags failed to note several significant things about you," she commented, pausing to watch him as he stepped back to eye the structure from a distance.

  "It's not one of the more exciting things I've done, I'm afraid," he agreed.

  "One of the best, though, ye ask me, milord," Hastings put in stoutly.

  The construction looked solid from the outside, and he knew Hastings had gone several times to view the building. His youngest son would be one of the children attending the school. "Thank you," James replied, smiling.

  Brutus reappeared and reared up on Angelique's shoulders, favoring her with a sloppy kiss on one cheek. "Brutus!" she admonished, stumbling backward, and James quickly stepped forward to catch her before she coul
d fall.

  Her silky copper hair spilled out over his arm as her hat came loose, and she looked up at him with a grin. "My hero," she chuckled. "I keep telling Brutus to be certain to have all four legs on the ground at all times, but I don't think he understands."

  He found himself lost in her sparkling hazel eyes. To cover his abrupt discomfiture, James quickly scooped her back upright and then bent to retrieve her hat. When he glanced at Angelique she was dabbing at her damp cheek with an embroidered handkerchief.

  "How's that?" she inquired.

  "Perfect," he returned. Stepping forward, he took the handkerchief from her. "That's the one you were working on in the coach, isn't it?" he queried. "I don't think the roses turned out crooked at all."

  She looked up at him curiously. “You remembered that?''

  "I remember everything about you." Her eyes remained on him as he held her gaze. After a moment she turned away again, almost quickly enough to hide her blush. As she disappeared up the steps into the school, he wondered if Angelique realized that sometime this morning, flirting with her had ceased to be a game.

  Chapter Eight

  Simon paced in front of the stables as they approached. "You rode early," he said, frowning as he came forward to help Angel dismount. He was dressed to ride, she noted with dismay.

  "I wanted to show Lady Angelique my school," the marquis returned before she could answer, stepping around her and heading for the manor. "She's quite progressive-minded," he continued over his shoulder.

  He seemed in a hurry to leave them. Angel gazed after him, not certain whether to be vexed or amused. She turned back to see Simon wiping a disapproving look off his face, and she tried again to straighten her hat. "It's a nice school," she declared. It had impressed her, as had the marquis's obvious interest and pride in the structure, and the good he thought it would do for the local children.

  "Another of James's foolish and impetuous ideas," Simon said, obviously out of countenance with the two of them.

  "Simon, you should have seen Papa's face when your cousin asked me to go riding," she soothed. "If this continues, we could be married by Christmas."

  Simon gave a reluctant smile. "Sooner than that, hopefully." He gripped her fingers. "But tomorrow you must ride with me."

  She smiled back. "Of course."

  For the next few days, in fact, she rode with Simon, he choosing midmorning as more suitable to her delicate sensibilities. It gave her little chance to ride as she would have liked, as she had ridden with James, but she said nothing. That hadn't been at all proper, and she would simply have to get used to the idea of doing without galloping.

  The morning before the Stanfreds were to arrive she rose later than usual, and had to rush to dress in her blue riding habit and meet Simon. "Master Simon," Hastings greeted them as he came out of the stables. "My lady."

  "Good morning, Hastings. Saddle Admiral and Heaven, if you please."

  As the groom nodded and turned for the stables, James emerged mounted on the hunter, Pharaoh. With a nod at them and a kick, he sent the stallion off at a gallop toward the lake.

  "He's a grand rider, ain't he?" Henry's admiring voice came from the manor path, echoing her own thoughts. She'd been curious to try Pharaoh herself, though she hadn't found an opportunity to bring it up with the marquis.

  "Henry, why don't you stay here with Hastings?" Simon unexpectedly suggested. "He'll help you practice your jumps."

  In the blink of an eye Henry's stubborn and disappointed look turned to a pleased smile. "Would you, Hastings?"

  The grizzled head groom grinned at him. "My pleasure, Master Henry."

  As soon as they were mounted, Simon started them off at a sedate trot along the lake path. "Are you enjoying Abbonley?"

  Angel nodded. "It's enchanting," she smiled, gazing over to her right where she could just see the glitter of the lake through the trees.

  "My father's estate at Wansglen is a great deal like this, though not nearly so grand." He glanced over at her. "Of course Turbin Hall is quite interesting, as well. Have I told you it still has some of the original furniture from when Henry the Eighth came to visit my great-grandfather?"

  "It... hasn't been touched at all since then, you mean?" Angel queried.

  "Oh, heavens no. Grandmama refers to it as the Talbott museum." He gave a short smile. "None of this modernizing James is so fascinated with. Windows, for example. With the tax on them, how many does one actually need? And yet James even had more put in for his kitchens. I'll admit mat some innovations might be handy, but after awhile a place loses its sense of history, don't you think?"

  "Oh, of course," Angel returned weakly. She'd several times complained that her mother treated Niston like a museum, where no one was supposed to move a stick of furniture without first conferring with all the ancestral bones buried in the family cemetery. And Niston was less than half as old as Turbin Hall.

  When they reached the picturesque stone bridge that spanned the stream by the far side of the lake, Simon unexpectedly stopped and dismounted, then stepped over to help her down as well. He took Angel's hand and led her over to sit on the low wall of the bridge beside him.

  "I'm pleased you came here," he said, "and I hope that this plan with James hasn't offended you. I know he can be something of a... rakehell, I suppose is the word."

  "Not at all," she answered truthfully, for she enjoyed the marquis's spirited company, and his flirting. He wasn't at all high in the instep like many of the titled English. Apparently, being a rake had its advantages. Sometimes she wished she could emulate him, for then she could behave as she fancied, and hang the consequences.

  "That pleases me," Simon commented, obviously not reading her thoughts. With that, he took her chin in his hand and drew her face toward his, then kissed her gently on the lips. He repeated the action, then sat back a little. "It's been far too long since we did that last," he said.

  "When you proposed to me?" she returned, smiling. Jenny Smith had told her last Season that being kissed was like thunder and lightning, but Jenny could be rather silly and believed all of those giddy novels she read. Kissing Simon reminded her of a gentle breeze, calm and safe and steady. And, she admitted for the first time, rather less than exciting.

  That thought unexpectedly left her quite sad, and she took her leave of Simon once they returned to the manor, only to find that her family had driven into Esterley with Lady Elizabeth. She walked through the garden, trying to lighten her lowered spirits, but nothing helped. If their plan was working as well as they believed, they could be married by the end of the year. She should be ecstatic. Instead, she felt unaccountably lonely. She left the garden and went inside, wandering through the multitude of elegant rooms.

  Finally she found herself outside her favorite room at Abbonley. The library door was open so she walked in, heading straight for the closest of the tall, narrow windows that looked out over the garden. For several minutes she sat there, gazing out pensively.

  "What troubles you, Angelique?"

  Angel nearly jumped out of her skin. She whipped her head around to see the marquis seated in one of the overstuffed chairs close to the fireplace, his gleaming Hessian boots stretched out in front of him with ankles crossed and a book in one hand.

  Blushing furiously at being caught moping like a pea-goose, she started to rise. "I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't know you were in here."

  He waved her back toward the sill. "Don't leave on my account. Just taking advantage of the lull." James looked at her closely for a moment, making her wonder again if he could read her thoughts. "Would you like a glass of Madeira or something?"

  "It's a bit early for that, don't you think?" she returned

  testily.

  He glanced up at the clock on the mantel, then shrugged in his single-shouldered way. "I suppose so." He smiled a little grimly. "I was never much good at remembering what hours were socially acceptable for drinking."

  "And now?" she asked, intrigued by his c
omment.

  "And now I don't have to worry about it," he replied. "Part of my reformation, you know,"

  "That's good, I think," she commented quietly.

  "Thank you," he answered, then cocked his head at her, his eyes studying her face. "You haven't answered my question."

  "Which question?"

  "What troubles you?" he repeated softly.

  Angelique looked back out the window and shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought something would be a certain way, and it wasn't."

  He nodded. "I've found that to be true of a great many" things," he responded, typically cynical.

  She lifted her chin. "You mean Desiree?" she asked boldly.

  Several emotions, not all of them pleasant, played across his lean features. "Do I have a lantern above my head that lights every time you say that name, or something?" he finally asked.

  "That's a bit absurd, don't you think?" she responded, relieved that he wasn't shouting.

  "I am simply trying to figure out why you relate every minuscule particle of my conversation to my sordid past with Desiree Kensington. You use her name like a knife blade, you know."

  "I do no such thing."

  "You do," he argued. "And I'd rather you fling the spear of Miss Peachley in my direction, if you don't mind."

  That only served to remind her that he'd selected Lily Stanfred as his future bride. "I'd fling neither at you if only you'd let Lily alone," she returned.

  James Faring sat back and looked at her. "Am I so horrible that you can't stand even the thought of your friend being wed to me?" he queried. "Would I be such a terrible husband?"

  "Yes," she answered, rising and moving to the fireplace. There was a lovely pair of Egyptian-style candlesticks there, and she lifted one to examine it.

  "Why?"

  "Because she's all wrong for you. Lily is very... nice. And you would be completely bored with her. Unless you like to speak of the latest Paris fashions or the weather."

  She felt James walk over to stand behind her. "That's not a very kind description of a friend," he murmured in his dry voice. "Besides, I asked why I was wrong for her, not why she was wrong for me."

 

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