Angel's Devil

by Suzanne Enoch

  "I don't know." Henry giggled. "But don't worry. I'll protect you. Lord James would be mad if I let a bear eat you."

  "Don't you mean Simon would be mad?" she returned wistfully, wishing her, brother were correct.

  "I don't know about Simon, but Percival Alcott said you were a hoyden, and Lord James said if he ever said anything else bad about you, he would hand that fop his teeth in a bag."

  Angelique's heart began hammering. "And when was this?"

  "Last night." Henry paused while Angel pulled her skirt free from some brambles. "In the drawing room. I wanted to ask Lord James if he would help me teach India that bowing trick he does with Demon. You know which one?"

  "Yes."

  "It's a fine trick, ain't it?"

  Angelique chuckled. "Yes, it is. Finish the story, Henry."

  "I followed him upstairs. He stopped outside your room against the railing, and just stood there in the dark, looking at your door."

  A blush crept up Angel's cheeks. She hadn't been sleeping well for the past few nights. Not since James had kissed her, in fact. The idea that he'd been standing outside her door while she lay awake in bed... "I forgot to give a book to him. He was probably trying to decide whether I was still awake or not," she offered.

  Henry made a face at her. "I think he just likes you," he stated matter-of-factly. "You should marry him."

  "Henry! I'm engaged to Simon," she said firmly.

  "Indeed she is," James said cheerfully as he and Brutus emerged from the undergrowth, "and woe is we who waited too long to woo."

  "Brutus!" Henry ran forward and threw his arms around the mastiff, who lifted a wounded paw for examination.

  "So waiting was woe?" Angel laughed, kneeling to receive a rather damp nose in her ear and much amused by the marquis's good-humored silliness. It made her quite forget about Simon's ill humor.

  "Only for wooing."

  "But would you have wooed if you hadn't waited too wong, er, long?"

  James smiled softly. "Indeed, I would have wooed."

  Angel didn't quite know what to make of where this conversation seemed to be going, but she wished to follow it. "But why?" she said quietly.

  Again he seemed able to read her thoughts. "Why would I woo, or why did I wait so long to return to London?" The emerald of his eyes was bewitching, and she didn't dare look away. "The first should be obvious, and the second I will never forgive myself for."

  "Never?" she whispered.

  James knelt beside her. "Never."

  "Was he caught in a rabbit snare?" Henry queried, and Angel started and turned her eyes from James.

  The marquis cleared his throat and stood. "And the poacher who came upon that catch would have been rather surprised."

  Henry laughed. "I'll say." He looked over at Angel as she rose. "He might even have thought he caught a bear."

  Angel cuffed her brother lightly on the ear. "Stop that, you wicked boy," she admonished with a half-annoyed grin.

  "I told you, Lord James and I would protect you," Henry replied, urging Brutus toward the path.

  "We would happily dedicate our lives to such a noble cause," James elaborated with a wolfish grin.

  He was obviously forgetting something. Or rather, someone. "And what does that leave for Lily?" she returned.

  Annoyance crossed his sensitive features. "Whatever's necessary," he muttered.

  "Not changing your mind about her, are you?" she queried offhandedly, hoping he had. For her own sake, not Lily's.

  James glanced away. "I don't know," he said quietly.

  It was the truth, she realized. "Well, Lily will be relieved."

  "And what about you?"

  "Me? Oh, I'm relieved as well. I told you she would never suit you."

  He pursed his lips. "Yes, what were those requirements again? Ah, I remember. Intelligence, sense of humor, beauty, wit, charm and—what else was there?"

  "You've left out demure and respectable," she offered, swallowing.

  James waved a hand as though pushing those two qualities away. "That sounds rather dull, don't you think? I've decided to do away with them."

  "Oh, you have, have you?"

  "I have," he returned, undaunted by her tone. He tapped his chin with one long finger. "Now, who does this describe, do you think?"

  "Angel," Henry answered, grinning at her.

  "Henry, be quiet," she ordered, flushing.

  "Do you think so, m'boy?" James jumped on her brother's comment.

  "Unfortunate then, that you waited too long to woo, isn't it?" Angel cut in, and stomped ahead to walk with Brutus.

  “No wedding bells have rung yet,'' the marquis murmured behind her, but she pretended not to hear.

  She avoided James for the rest of the evening, but spent another night tossing and turning when he refused to leave her thoughts. It wasn't fair, she kept thinking, that he had been in Belgium when she'd had her Season, so that Simon was the cousin who had proposed. He didn't believe in love, she told herself over and over, James didn't believe in love and so they would never suit anyway. She would marry Simon and they would live at Turbin Hall, and she would be happy. She turned her face into her pillow so Lily next door wouldn't hear her crying. She would be happy if it killed her.

  The next morning James came into the breakfast room shortly after she did. He greeted his guests, then glanced from her to Simon, his gaze far too speculative and scheming for her peace of mind, or heart.

  The marquis reached for a slice of toasted bread. "As we're all gathered together, this seems a good time to announce that there is to be a ball at the Wainsmore estate on Saturday. All of the local gentry will be there," he went on, his jaw twitching with amusement, "including the rather frightening Agatha, Lady Fitzsimmons—"

  "Jamie," his grandmother admonished.

  "I'm not the one who saw her taking tea with her cats," James noted, and smiled as the children giggled. "Katherine and Harold wish all of my guests to attend as well."

  "Ooh, a ball," Helen said excitedly, but Henry shook his head at her.

  "He means all the adult guests," he corrected.

  James nodded. "You're quite right, Henry, and I do apologize."

  Henry grinned. "That's all right. I don't like any of that stuffy dancing, anyway."

  Helen pouted. "I do."

  "You don't know how to dance."

  "Do too!"

  "Do not!"

  Simon coughed as James elbowed him in the back. "Perhaps we can arrange our own soiree," he suggested.

  "Excellent idea," James seconded immediately, and Angel realized he must have been planning such a thing all along.

  "And I suppose a roving band of musicians happens to be travelling through the village at this very moment?" she said coolly.

  James raised an eyebrow at her. "As a matter of fact, one is. And they have agreed to play for us tonight."

  "Lord James?" Helen called excitedly.

  "Yes, my dear?"

  Helen gestured at him, and with a slight smile he came around the table and leaned down while she whispered into his ear. Angel found it a constant source of amazement that this man, who had such an awful reputation, could be so wonderful with children.

  At every turn she expected him to tire of the novelty of their presence, but he had not. Instead they had all become fast friends, and he their champion, and Angel had begun to believe that even after they returned home, she would never hear a sentence uttered by either twin that didn't include James's name. He would make a splendid father, she thought, then blushed furiously.

  The marquis nodded and whispered something back to Helen, who giggled. "It's all settled, then. Our own soiree tonight, and then the Wainsmore ball on Saturday."

  “Are you certain?'' Angel's mother asked. “That's a great deal of trouble to go through to please the children."

  "I would hope it would please you, as well," James replied. "And you should know by now, my lady, that I thrive on trouble."

  Again hi
s glance was at Angelique, and she self-consciously looked over at her parents. It was still the plan, for him to be pretending to fall for her, but he was being so... obvious about it. That was quite unlike him, and she had to wonder if perhaps he was attempting to sabotage their efforts. She needed to speak to Simon about it. She glanced at him. He was scowling as Percival recited a sonnet to Lily. Or perhaps she wouldn't speak to him about it. April was beginning to seem closer than she had realized.

  After much debate Angelique decided to wear her midnight blue gown, for it was her favorite. The silver ribbons Tess wound through her mistress's long, tumbling hair brought out its copper highlights, and as she gazed at the confused hazel eyes looking back at her from the mirror, she marvelled that she had let things go as far as she had. This had to stop, for her own sanity. It didn't matter who she loved. She had made a promise.

  That resolution crumpled as soon as she made her way down to the grand ballroom and found James lounging in the doorway talking with his grandmother. He was dressed all in dark grey, and as he glanced over in her direction her breath caught in her throat. He was magnificent.

  The marquis strolled over and took her hand, brushing her knuckles with his lips. As he straightened and looked down at her, his green eyes were twinkling and merry. "You are breathtaking," he murmured, and kissed her hand again.

  Angel felt shivery all over. Even when James Faring was behaving, he was still wicked. "Where is Simon?" she queried. Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Lady Elizabeth was pretending not to watch the two of them, and she tried to extract her fingers from his grip.

  James ignored the attempt and instead transferred her hand to his arm. "What do I care where he is?" he returned. "Have no worries, though. I shall escort you inside."

  Angel inhaled as they stepped into the ballroom. She had been inside the room before, and had found it pretty enough, with its tall mirrors along one wall and the large windows opening out to the garden, but now it seemed transformed. Gold and silver ribbons and white silk balloons and fresh roses were everywhere, and she marvelled that James had been willing to go to so much trouble and expense.

  "Do you like it?" he asked.

  "It's wonderful." She beamed, feeling as she had as a child at Christmas. "Henry and Helen will adore it."

  He looked down at her. "I didn't do this for Henry and Helen."

  She blushed. "James, please stop this," she whispered.

  "Stop what?"

  "Stop paying so much attention to me," she begged.

  "I'm only doing as Simon requested," he protested innocently. "You aren't becoming cow-hearted about this scheme, are you?"

  She looked at him closely, completely suspicious. "So you don't mean any of the things you're saying to me?" she demanded.

  "I mean them all," he murmured. "But what does that matter?"

  Before she could summon an answer to that, her brother and sister charged into the room, dragging their father behind them. "I say, Lord James, is the orchestra going to play?"

  "Yes, Henry. Why don't you go ask them to play us a waltz?" James said, nodding his chin toward the musicians tuning up in the corner.

  Henry nodded and disengaged himself from his chuckling father to go capture Jeremy and do as he was bid. James touched Angel's fingers and freed his arm. "I have dreadfully bad manners, as you are aware, Lady Angel," he said, glancing at her father, "and I have promised this waltz to someone else."

  That surprised her, but when Helen clapped her hands and pranced forward, she grinned. "Of course, my lord," she curtsied, and glanced about for her betrothed. He smiled and stepped forward. "I shall dance with Simon."

  "As you should," James returned slowly, nodding at his cousin.

  The orchestra struck up the waltz, and Simon led her into the dance. As they stepped about the floor, most of her attention was occupied watching James bow to Helen. They spent a moment studying her and Simon, then James took her sister's hands and they began a slow series of steps that quickly had Helen laughing, and, to her obvious delight, waltzing.

  Lily and Percival joined them on the floor, as did her own parents and the Stanfreds, and then Henry walked up to Lady Elizabeth, bowed, and asked if she would care to teach him to waltz. To Angel's, and apparently James's, surprise, the dowager viscountess complied.

  Angel looked up at Simon, to see that his attention was on Percival and Lily. Neither of them seemed to care that they were dancing together. "Simon, have I done something to offend you?" she asked flatly. He looked taken aback by her bluntness, but something needed to be done.

  "No. Of course not."

  "For the past four days we've barely spoken except to argue about Brutus."

  "That's not so," he protested, flushing.

  "I think you like Lily more than you like me," she said petulantly, mostly to hear what his answer would be.

  His face turned an alarming shade of crimson. "Never!" he said vehemently.

  That seemed rather extreme, and she frowned. "Do you dislike her?" she asked, wondering if they had had words over something.

  "Yes, of course. I mean, no." He swallowed. "I mean, this is a ridiculous conversation, Angel. Let's please talk about something else."

  Angel wished with all her heart that Simon would stand up to her, make her feel as exhilarated as she did when she sparred with James. It wasn't polite to argue with a female, though, and Simon always retreated, to the point that she rather felt as though she was browbeating him. It seemed the only thing he would stand up to her about was Turbin Hall, and that was the one thing she truly wanted him to give ground on.

  She looked over at James, now swinging Helen through the air in time to the music. He was the one who understood her, understood what she wanted. He had known about her, about her tendency toward impetuous behavior, from the beginning. They were exactly alike.

  The music ended, and Simon escorted her to the buffet table at one side of the room. She couldn't help but notice that again there was a large bowl of strawberries on the table. As she was lifting one to her mouth she felt someone, James, standing beside her. "Where do you find these?" she asked, indicating the berry.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. "I have them smuggled in from parts distant, at great danger and expense."

  “Taradiddle," she replied, grinning.

  He chuckled. "Very well, you've seen through me again. They grow far out of season on the southern hillsides all around Abbonley." James took one for himself. "Though I would have them smuggled in for you, if necessary."

  Music started up again, and it was Angel's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Two waltzes in a row?"

  He smiled lazily. "They'll play waltzes all evening, if you wish it. No Almack patronesses here." He looked at her. "Will you dance this one with me?"

  Unable to resist, or even to utter a word, she nodded and took his outstretched hand. They swept out onto the floor, and as they swirled around there was nothing but the music and James, smiling down at her.

  It wasn't until the piece was half over that she noticed her parents standing at the edge of the ballroom glaring at her. She flushed and looked up at him. "They're looking," she whispered.

  He smiled. "That is the idea, is it not?"

  "I... well, I suppose... I don't know."

  "Good," he murmured. When the waltz ended, much too soon, he led her to her parents, and then quite docilely went to fetch her a drink.

  "Angel, you have been warned about that man," Camellia hissed, grim-faced.

  "He's been very nice," she said stubbornly. "And he hasn't done anything wrong, so you can't tell me he's as awful as all those silly gossips say."

  "That is beside—"

  "Cammy, shh," her husband muttered, putting a hand on his wife's arm.

  James returned and handed Angel a glass of punch, keeping one for himself. Despite his suggestion of waltzes all evening the orchestra struck up a quadrille, and Simon and Lily were trying to show the giggling children the steps.

  Her
father cleared his throat. "James, Cammy and I have been discussing returning home. I have my own estate to see to, and the Lord only knows what's happened to it with my man in charge."

  Angelique's heart dropped. She'd known this was only a holiday, but had managed to convince herself it would last as long as she wanted. Longer than this.

  The marquis froze for a moment, then nodded and cleared his throat. He glanced at Angel. "When do you go?"

  "After the ball. That will give the children five days to get used to the idea." Thomas grimaced. "I doubt they'll ever forgive me."

  James smiled. "I've enjoyed having you all here."

  "We've, um," the earl cleared his throat, "we've enjoyed being here."

  James looked as surprised as Angel felt, but before he could say anything further the twins came to drag him away for another quadrille. Angel danced with Lord Stanfred, but couldn't stop thinking that she only had five days left at Abbonley. Arthur Alcott partnered her next, but her heart was no longer in the dancing. Claiming tired feet, she sat out and tried not to mope.

  “What's wrong?" James took a seat beside her.

  She shook her head. "Nothing," she said quietly, looking across the floor.

  "How about a walk in the garden, then?"

  At that she looked over at him. "At night?"

  He raised a hand. "I shall behave. I swear," he said solemnly, though his expression was amused.

  "What about Simon?"

  "He's not invited."

  She knew that she shouldn't go, but Angel nodded anyway, and he pulled her to her feet, tucking her hand around his arm. She couldn't help but notice how skillfully he arranged their exit, waiting until her parents' backs were turned before leading her out one of the open windows and into the garden.

  There were torches scattered throughout the garden, but it was still shadowy and cool. It rather suited her mood, and for a time she strolled beside him in silence. "You didn't know your parents had decided to leave, did you?" James asked, stopping and turning to face her.

  She shook her head. "No."

  "And you don't want to leave?"

  "No," she muttered, refusing to face him.

  James was quiet for a moment. "Because of Simon, or because of me?"