"Tired of the celebration already?" a voice came from behind her, and she started and turned around.
At first she didn't see James, for the only light in the room came from the dying fire, but then he turned up the lamp in the corner where he sat. She immediately sensed that something was wrong, and as he took a long swallow from the snifter he held, watching her over the rim, she realized what it was. He had been drinking, and from the small amount of brandy left in the decanter on the table beside him and the glassy glitter in his eyes, had been drinking quite a bit.
"I thought you'd stopped that," she said, gesturing.
"Ah, but this is a special occasion," he sneered, taking another swallow. "We failed to get you wed by the end of the year, but you have your announcement now, don't you?"
"You know that wasn't what I wanted."
He stood and moved toward her. "Wasn't it?" he snarled.
She backed away, uncertain how to deal with the Devil in this state. "Please, I'd like to leave." Her back came up against the wall next to the window, and she was forced to stop.
"You will have a proper marriage, live in a proper house and raise proper children," he continued, moving still closer. “But will you feel like this?''
He leaned down and kissed her roughly. Trapped as she was between the wall and the marquis there was nowhere she could go, but it didn't matter. Angel didn't want to get away. Her arms went up around his neck, while his hands at her back pulled her closer against him, molding her body against his and reminding her of how tall and strong he was. His lips tasted of sweet brandy.
Slowly he broke the kiss, and looked down at her with those emerald eyes. He held her close against him, and she leaned into his body. They would think of some solution. There had to be something. Anything, as long as she could be with James.
"Very sweet," he murmured. "Do you feel that way when Simon kisses you?"
She tensed, and he kissed her again. "That's not fair," she shivered when she could breathe again.
He gave a little bow. "I specialize in being cruel and unfair." He walked rather unsteadily over to the mantel, and she was reminded that he was quite drunk. "Your parents handled that rather well, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.
"They maneuvered right around any steps our sterling Simon might have taken to back out of marrying their hoyden of a daughter,” he explained in a husky voice.
"Hoyden?" she snapped, stalking up to him.
"That's right, Angelique," he breathed. "Wasn't that the plan? You've made your bed," he murmured, and gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "Now you have to lie in it. Literally."
Angel slapped him. "If you weren't a drunken... pig, you would know what a fool you are," she spat, tears running down her face. "I hate you."
His hand trembling a little, James reached up to touch his lip. "Tears right on cue," he muttered, looking down at the blood on his fingers. "You're learning. I suppose I shan't be invited to your wedding now, sweetling?"
"That's right," she answered. "You're not invited."
With that she turned and fled the room. She had thought she loved him, and that he cared for her. What a gudgeon she was! He was as cruel and heartless as she had heard. She would never forgive him.
"Angel, what's wrong now?"
Crying as she was, she hadn't seen her parents talking at the head of the stairs. "Nothing," she sobbed, pushing past them to enter her bedchamber. "Everything.''
"Cammy," Niston began, but his wife raised a hand.
"I know what is best for our daughter, Thomas," she said. "And he'd never marry her. He'd only ruin her." She turned and entered their own bedchamber.
"I wonder," the earl muttered, looking at his daughter's door for a moment before he followed the countess.
***
James awoke at his desk in the study. From the glare through the curtains it was morning, and if he needed any proof that he'd had too much to drink, his throbbing skull made it clear enough. He groaned and straightened. Every muscle was stiff, the inside of his cheek cut against his teeth where Angel had slapped him. Five years as the Devil had provided him with a good repertoire of insults and enough deep anger to use them. It was just unfortunate it hadn't worked.
Oh, she was angry, all right, and she packed quite a punch for such a petite thing. He had wanted to convince himself that Angelique was wrong for him, that they would never suit, and to show her that she was right to marry someone else. Instead he had only hurt both of them, for the shock and pain in her eyes had felt like another wound deep inside. And all of his insults and accusations still hadn't managed to change one apparently inescapable fact—that he was desperately in love with Angelique Graham.
A quiet scratch came at the door, his skull reverberating with the sound. "Come in," he whispered.
Apparently he had made himself heard, for his grandmother opened the door and peered in. "Good God," she exclaimed, then lowered her voice at James's flinch. "I thought you'd given that up," she muttered, entering.
"I changed my mind," James replied hoarsely. "Don't worry yourself."
"Jamie, after all this time worrying about you is part of my character."
"That's your problem," James murmured.
"Not very polite this morning, are you?"
"I've given it up," he returned flatly. "The whole damned pretense of respectability. I've no use for it."
Elizabeth took a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk. "So that's it then, is it? We're back to the drinking and carousing and that miserable existence you used to pretend amused you?"
"I'm not in the mood for this conversation," he snapped.
"Then change it," she said unsympathetically. "Change everything."
He glanced up at her. "And you are referring to—what?"
"The engagement, of course."
James closed both eyes. "Oh. That."
Elizabeth leaned forward, putting her face level with his. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Do?" he repeated bitterly. "I believe the Grahams have already taken care of doing what needed to be done."
"You're going to let them marry, then."
With effort James managed to stand. "What do you suggest I do, Grandmama, call Simon out? That's how I handle these things, isn't it? He can have the chit, and be done with both of them."
"But you love her."
"That mannerless hoyden? Not likely," he lied, avoiding her eyes. "You have your grandsons confused."
She sat back and glared at him. "Perhaps I do. Yesterday you were ready to storm into Angelique's room and make away with her, and today I find you whining and moping in defeat."
"Yesterday," he pointed out succinctly, "the engagement hadn't been announced."
"So that's the way you're going to leave it."
"Yes. I'm fully capable of making my own decisions and living my own life, miserable and lonely as you may consider it." James looked away. "And I think that when the Grahams and Stanfreds leave, perhaps you and Simon should as well."
"No."
"I don't believe I gave you a choice, Grandmam-"
"No. After your mother died, your father became a complete hermit. If he'd cared about anything, he might have done better by you. Angel isn't dead. This isn't over. Not by a—"
"It is over," he snapped. "Simon will give her a better life than I could, anyway."
Elizabeth stood and turned for the door. "Bah. I've seen you hurt, and I've seen you angry. But until this moment, I've never seen you quit."
"Then don't look," he grunted.
A short time later James made his way upstairs and into the practiced care of his valet. He came down afterward to learn he had missed breakfast, which was actually a relief. When he went out to the lake to see how the dock was progressing, he found the children there before him.
He stayed out longer than he had time for, knowing full well he was doing so in order to avoid seeing Angelique. Perhaps that would make it easie
r, to know she hated him and wouldn't have him even if she could. He sighed irritably, tearing an innocent blade of grass to shreds with his fingertips. Nothing would make it easier.
Chapter Thirteen
Angelique spent the night imagining all sorts of dastardly things to do to James Faring, and was disgusted when she couldn't come up with anything clever enough to suit. She might be a hoyden, but the last person who had any right to criticize her for it was the Devil. "Oh, hellfire," she muttered as she left her room to head downstairs.
"You don't appear to be pleased," Simon said, coming up to meet her.
"I'm surprised you're even speaking to me," Angelique said, stepping forward to put a hand on his arm. "I've been awful to you. I'm so sorry."
Simon shook his head. "James has led far less naive women than you astray," he said. "And I haven't been... entirely honest with you, either."
"You haven't?" she prompted when he paused, wondering who, exactly, James had bothered to trouble himself with leading astray.
"No." He took a breath. "But that hardly matters now, does it? We will be married. And all of our silly plotting and scheming has done nothing but cause trouble, and a further delay." At the landing he paused again. "I should simply have known better than to include James in this. He thrives on setting everything on its ear. The sooner we all depart Abbonley, the better."
"You're leaving as well?"
"James rather insisted that Grandmama and I leave when you do." He shrugged. "It's just as well, for I have no real wish to remain here with him, anyway."
Angelique gave a sniff. "Nor do I."
"I mean, I love him dearly," Simon went on, throwing out one arm, "but he's always been so damned... wild. He knew we were engaged. And he should have stayed away from you." He looked away and cleared his throat. "Has he said anything further to you about Lily?"
"I think he's decided against offering for her," Angel replied somewhat stiffly. She was furious at James, but relations between the cousins were strained enough without her adding fuel to the fire by telling Simon precisely what had transpired between James and her.
"Good."
Everyone else was at luncheon when they arrived outside. Lily's eyes were red and puffy, and Angel wondered if she had caught a cold. Angel had spent far too little time with her friend, and far too much with James Faring. Simon greeted Lily, his manner quite subdued, and his eyes closely studying her friend's face. Angelique frowned. The expression on his face rather reminded her of the way James had looked at her. Until last night, anyway.
Before she could dwell further on that, Henry grabbed her elbow. "I saved a place for you," he said.
Angel sighed. "All right." She allowed herself to be led to the table that seated the remainder of the guests, and paused for a moment to greet Lady Elizabeth, who looked about as ecstatic about events as she felt. When she realized to which seat she was being led she tried to balk, but it was too late to do so without making a scene.
Henry pulled her chair out for her, and James stood stiffly, something she couldn't read flashing in his eyes. "Good day, my lady."
"My lord," she answered, sitting opposite him.
She looked down and started her lunch, intent on finishing and leaving without saying another word. Before she had taken her second bite, however, Henry began kicking her leg. She ignored it, then kicked back. Nothing worked.
"Henry, stop it," she hissed.
Her brother was giving her such grimaces that for a moment she thought he was choking. Reflexively she glanced at James, who was eyeing Henry curiously. He had touched none of his lunch, and she thought with grim satisfaction that he must have quite a head after last evening.
"What is it?" she finally asked, hoping her ankle wasn't bruised.
Her brother gave an audible sigh and shook his head, obviously feeling he was dealing with a complete imbecile. "We're going fishing this afternoon. Do you want to come with us?"
"I don't think so, thank you," she said stiffly, bending her head again.
"But we're not using worms. Lord James, tell her she should go with us."
"I would think Lady Angelique would want to spend time with her betrothed," James muttered tonelessly, spearing a dark glance at his cousin.
Angel glared at him. "I do not need you to tell me the proper way to conduct myself," she said, angrily popping a strawberry into her mouth.
"Is that so," James supplied in a voice that made her shudder.
"It is so," she murmured fiercely, "and so is this. You had no right to do or say any of the things you did last night. You have only yourself to blame for your unhappiness."
"I see," he replied, his voice calm but his eyes glaring at her.
The children were staring from one of them to the other, dismayed.
Angel stood, drawing herself up to her full height. "And if I were a man," she spat, "I would have called you out over your behavior."
As soon as she said the words she regretted them. James came to his feet so quickly his chair fell over. Mostly to give herself time, for she was certain he would come after her, she threw her plate at him. It hit him squarely in the chest, the contents running down the front of his fine gray coat.
"Angel!" her mother gasped, as the rest of the guests sat frozen with shock.
Angel ignored her mother and backed away from James, but after shooting her a look of almost uncontrolled anger he turned and strode for the manor. As he passed the serving table, he picked up a large crystal punch bowl and threw it at the wall. It hit with a resounding crash and shattered. The marquis didn't even slow down.
"What did he do to you last night?" Simon snapped, stepping up beside her and grabbing her arm.
"He was just very rude," she said, her voice trembling. "But what do you expect from the Devil?" she continued, and fled.
She ended up in the garden, and after making certain that Arthur and his fop of a brother were nowhere to be seen, she sat beneath an oak tree and sobbed. On the far side of the manor Demon whinnied, no doubt annoyed at being led out for exercise so close to his meal time. She straightened, wiping at her eyes. She would show the Devil how much she thought of him.
"What do you wish me to do with this, my lord?" James's valet queried, lifting the food-covered coat off the floor with two offended fingers.
"I don't give a damn, Perry. Burn it." James shrugged into a clean coat, his thoughts so much on Angelique that it took him a moment to realize that, for once, dressing hadn't hurt. Being furious had its merits, after all.
"A waste, my lord," Perry commented, grimacing.
Simms scratched at the door. "My lord?"
"What?" he snarled, stalking over to yank it open.
His butler's startled expression quickly set itself to one of distress. "My lord," he said in a voice even more dour than usual. "My lord, you have a caller."
There were far too many people at Abbonley already, as far as he was concerned. "Well, who is it?"
Simms cleared his throat. "Lady Kensington, my lord."
The blood drained from James's face, and he had a sudden urge to take a seat. He resisted, instead staring at his butler and willing him to confess that it had been a joke. A very little joke. "Is she alone?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Well. I'd best go see what she wants, then."
His mouth dry, he followed Simms to the drawing room. The butler would have opened the door, but James impatiently motioned him away. He took a breath and pushed it open. Desiree, clad in a dark burgundy gown, stood by the window looking out toward the lake. Her long black hair was pulled back by combs, the trailing ends curling down over one shoulder. Fleetingly, he wondered if she still smelled of lavender.
She turned around. "James," she breathed, "I knew you would see me."
With feigned composure James strolled over to lean against the mantel. "You're not the most likely visitor I can think of. What brings you to Abbonley?"
"Didn't you get my note?" she asked, coming closer with
a rustle of skirts.
"I did," he replied. "And you heard what I said to you in London."
"Yes. And I wanted to explain things to you," she said, running her fingers along the back of the couch.
"So you said."
"It's been so long since we've spoken, I scarcely know where to begin."
James tilted his head, trying to read her expression. "Begin with why you married Lord Kensington four weeks after I killed a man for you, why don't you," he suggested.
"I never told you to kill anyone," she returned.
"Sweet Lucifer, Desiree," he swore, "you did everything but put a pistol in my hand."
Desiree looked at him for a moment. "My aunt and uncle wanted me to marry Luey," she said softly. "I always wanted you. I still do."
"You've a funny way of showing it," he retorted.
"You mean by my marrying Clarence."
"Very astute."
"James, you didn't used to be so cruel," she chastised coolly.
"I didn't used to loathe you," he returned bluntly.
Desiree's fingers stopped tracing patterns on the back of the couch. "After I got over my shock at the news that you had actually killed Geoffrey, I real—"
"You were flattered," he broke in, listening to her tone, "that I did it."
"Who wouldn't be?" she returned. "What's more romantic than a duel?"
"Flowers." The fingers had begun moving again. "At least no one need die over posies."
"Let me finish, love," she suggested. "I realized that my aunt would immediately try to marry me off in order to reduce the scandal. You had fled to France, so—"
"So you married Kensington."
She smiled the beautiful smile that had once induced even him to attempt poetry. "Yes. When I married Clarence," she began, "he was so old I thought for certain he'd have died by the time your father allowed you to return from your banish—"
"Of overexertion, I presume?" James suggested coolly.
"Oh, of something, James," she returned, clearly annoyed
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