Angelina

by Janet Woods

  He inched downwards a fraction. She gave a panicky scream when the shrub tore from the bank, scrabbling desperately for his arm. His heart leapt to his throat when he took her weight and pitted his own against the shrub. Angelina’s eyes were desperate. As her head was pulled backwards Rafe thought her spine must be in danger of snapping. The ivy stretched, taking her almost under the water. Suddenly, the branch she was attached to broke free.

  It took all his strength to pull her up against him and he doubted if he’d be able to climb to the top, carrying her. Her heart beat rapidly against his. Quietly, he said, “Angel, I need you to obey me without question.”

  Her voice was a muffled sob against his chest. “I’m sorry you have to risk your life in such a manner.”

  Gently, he kissed her water-slicked scalp. “I’d happily sacrifice my life if it saved yours.”

  She raised her head and managed a small smile. “What must I do?”

  He blessed the indefinable substance of strength she was able to draw on, and hoped she had an abundant supply. “You must climb up my body. Once you stand on my shoulders you should be able to reach the top. Stand on my head if you have to.”

  “I’ll try not to hurt you.” The soft kiss she placed at the corner of his mouth was distracting.

  “Once you reach the top, you must lead my horse forward. If the ivy breaks, go immediately to Ravenswood and wait until someone comes for you. Under no circumstances must you try and cross back over. The bridge is dangerous, and the water is flowing too swiftly.”

  Fear trembled in her, but she said nothing, just gazed into his eyes for a

  delicious morsel of a moment. “Go now, my strength’s waning,” he said tersely.

  She scrambled over his body with surprising agility. There was a moment of fright when her foot slipped from his shoulder, but she quickly regained her courage. She grunted, and suddenly the strain in his shoulders was relieved. He nearly lost his grip when the ivy suddenly tightened and he was jerked rapidly upwards. Scraped over the edge, he was dragged along the ground. In her eagerness, Angelina was running as fast as her legs could carry her with his horse in tow. He experienced a moment of surprise that she had the energy left to run when he felt so drained.

  “Stop!” he shouted, and laughed with relief when he came to an abrupt halt. “You’ll have me half-way to London if you are not careful.”

  Dropping the rein she ran towards him and hurled herself into his arms. “The ivy was chafed almost through where it came over the edge. I thought it would break. Oh, Rafe.” She began to weep. “I couldn’t have born it if you’d drowned.”

  Covered in mud and leaf matter, Angelina’s hair hung in bedraggled ropes.The thorny twigs her hair had caught in was a crown upon her head.

  He brought her against his chest and held her tight. They stayed like that for a long while. Unheeded, the rain washed over them in torrents, the river crashed through the gorge below, the sky grew dark and the wind rose to a keening pitch.

  Rafe carefully unravelled the tangle of hair from the thorns. She didn’t make a sound, even though her scalp bled where they had dug into her flesh. When he’d finished she gave a tiny shiver.

  “Poor Moonlight.”

  “She might have made it to the bank,” he comforted, but not believing it for a moment. The cold seeped into his bones. He must get them to shelter before the storm worsened.

  Stumbling to his feet, he placed Angelina on the saddle and mounted behind her. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion as he slowly picked his way to Ravenswood. By the time they reached the house Angelina’s body was wracked by shivers.

  As he lifted her down she smiled dreamily. “Mr Eastman is playing the harpsichord.”

  The Eastmans were not there, they’d left Ravenswood to visit relatives and were not expected back for a week. For a moment, all Rafe could hear was the wail of the rising wind, then quite clearly, four clear notes rang out.

  Pan’s pipes, he thought, gazing in astonishment in the direction of the statue. All these years he’d owned Ravenswood, and this was the first time he’d heard them. He’d thought the tale to be a myth when he related it to Angelina.

  Prickles raced up his spine as the notes rang true and clear above the storm once more. Then they fell silent. He stared down at her, a smile on his face. If the legend had any substance, Angelina was destined to become mistress of Ravenswood.

  Leading her inside the house, his eyes roved over her face. “What you heard was the wind blowing through Pan’s pipes, Angel.”

  Her eyes flew open. For a few, precious seconds joy flared, then the light in them died, as if she remembered something. Racked with shivers she took a step back. “I must return to Wrey House, my mother will be worried.”

  “The bridge has been damaged, you must stay here until the water abates. I’ll see if I can find you something dry to change into.”

  She nodded, accepting his words without further question.

  Rafe applied a flint to the fire and lit candles. He collected a neatly repaired gown and shawl from Mrs Eastman’s chamber, and added a hairbrush as an afterthought. Pouring a measure of brandy into a tumbler, he handed it to her. “Sip this, Angel, it will warm you. I’ll go and stable my horse while you change, then we’ll discuss what’s to be done.”

  She smiled. “You’re a good and true friend.”

  His returning smile encompassed her bedraggled form. How could such a tiny, stubborn creature break his heart like this? She must know how he felt about her. “I’m more than just a friend, Angelina,” he murmured, making it clear to her. “You know I’m in love with you.”

  Her voice was a whisper; there were tears in the eyes that met his. “How I wish it were not so.”

  “Don’t bother telling me my feelings are not reciprocated, I will not believe you” he said before slipping through the door.

  “I couldn’t do that, “Angelina whispered, staring into the crackling flames of the fire. “For I love you with all of my heart, Rafe. I always will.”

  * * * *

  William was chilled to the bone. He’d been out all night, searching the forest. All he had to show for it when he returned to Wrey House was Angelina’s horse and her hat. The mare had been wandering along the riverbank. Lamed, she bore the marks of a whip.

  Angelina’s whereabouts was causing him great concern, her footprints had been heading towards the river. He was coming to the conclusion she’d been stunned by a fall, and had wandered into the river and drowned.

  The grief in his heart surprised him. He realised he’d grown to love Angelina in a way he’d not thought possible. His protectiveness towards her had grown without conscious thought, and had only recently taken root. He liked it. His grief was increased by the anguish on Elizabeth’s face when she watched him bring the horse in. “Oh, Will.”

  “There’s still hope,” he said. With his father and brother in London, shouldering the responsibility of the estate was new to him. He felt awkward when she gazed at him with concern in her eyes.

  “You’re bone weary, Will. You must eat, then rest. I’ve sent a servant to alert George Northbridge, and another to Tewsbury Manor to inform Rafe. I’m sure they’ll take over the search. “

  Dismounting, he took Elizabeth’s hand in his. “I’ll stay only long enough to eat and change into dry clothing. If Angelina is out there I’ll bring her home to you. This I must do.”

  Elizabeth’s glance touched his soul. Their eyes met in understanding, then she bore his hand upward and laid her cheek against it. “Dearest, William, at this moment I’m more proud of you than I’ve ever been.”

  For a few short moments he enjoyed the unexpected and intimate gesture, then a movement brought his eyes to Rosabelle. A sardonic expression twisted her face and her eyes were dark with jealousy. Letting his hand fall to his side he stared hard at her, seeing her with different eyes.

  She was what he’d made her, he thought sadly. He’d spoiled her, taken her childhood innocence and
twisted it to his own ends. Now she sickened him, as he sickened himself. He strode to where she stood. “You helped cause this,” he accused. “God forgive you if she’s harmed, and God help you, for I’ll make sure you never profit from it.”

  Rosabelle took a fearful step backwards. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Will.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “Can you deny you took a whip to Angelina’s horse?”

  Her lips curled. “How was I to know it would bolt?”

  “Because I told you she was whip-shy. If Angelina is harmed, I swear I will never forgive you, Rosabelle. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, looking thoroughly frightened, now. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Thrusting her from him in disgust, he strode into the house, leaving the two women staring after him.

  Elizabeth turned, gazing at Rosabelle. “Is this true? Did you seek to harm Angelina on purpose?”

  Her hands went to her hips. “No,” she snarled, “but if she hasn’t survived the storm I refuse to mourn.”

  Elizabeth whispered in anguish. “Why?”

  Rosabelle swayed closer. “You’ve given her the love you deprived me of. She has everything I have not. James adores her, Rafe loves her, even my father looks upon her with affection.”

  “That’s something she’s had to earn.”

  Rosabelle’s face darkened. “Now she’s stolen Will’s affections from me. Did you know he has plans to go to America, that he asked me to go with him? Now he hates me because of her. If she’s dead, I hope she rots in hell.”

  Elizabeth’s face was ashen. The girl didn’t know what she was saying? How long had William harboured the intention to leave England? And why would he take his sister with him, when she was about to marry?

  Although Elizabeth dreaded the answer, she had to know. “What’s the nature of your relationship with William, Rosabelle?”

  “More than a brother and less than a lover,” Rosabelle taunted. “Oh you needn’t worry, mama. It was my fault. I adored him, but he’d never laid a finger on me. He did kiss me once when he was sixteen. He’d been drinking pa’s brandy and I asked him to teach me how to kiss.’ She chuckled. ‘It has worried William ever since. Although he doesn’t seem to know it, on occasion he can be as stuffy as our papa.”

  Elizabeth’s glance swept over Rosabelle in disgust and the tension she’d been holding back for years, suddenly snapped. “Thomas made a mistake when he tried to pass you off as our daughter.”

  The girl’s eyes widened in shocked surprise and her mouth dropped opened.

  Elizabeth patted her cheek. “Don’t worry, you can still marry George Northbridge. Neither the earl or myself will tell him you’re of peasant stock. And if you are a little soiled now, well...?” She shrugged. “The Marquis won’t mind. He’s used to trollops and is getting very fond of your maid, Ellen, I believe. However, I won’t accuse her of corrupting your morals because it was probably the other way round.”

  “Mama?” Rosabelle grabbed her sleeve, and stared at her in bewilderment. “You must be raving. Of course I am your daughter?”

  With a certain amount of distaste, Elizabeth shook off the hand. “No, I was lied to. You were a foundling Thomas took pity on. I only have one daughter, that’s Angelina. If she’s dead you’ll leave this house and never return.”

  “This cannot be true,” she screamed, knowing it was when her mother picked up her skirts and walked away. She was stunned to the very core of her being. “Where will I go? How will I manage?”

  Elizabeth Wrey didn’t even look back. It was as if she no longer existed.

  Stumbling a little, Rosabelle made her way to her chamber. The room was untidy, her bath water still unemptied. Ellen was asleep in a chair. Rosabelle stared down at her, knowing exactly how she’d have to manage.

  “You stupid girl,” she murmured, “Do you really think you’ll usurp me in George Northbridge’s affections?” Smiling cruelly, she reached out and took her maid by the hair. “You have two choices, Ellen,” she hissed when her maid’s eyes flew open. “You can leave the district by nightfall, or you can die!”

  * * * *

  “Pan’s pipes.” Angelina snuggled deeper into the warmth of Rafe’s bed as the sweet, haunting sound rose above the howl of the wind for the second time that night.

  Delighting in the fact her body lay where Rafe’s had lain, she breathed in his scent and imagined what it would be like to live with him in this house, lie against his heart in this bed and bear his children. Before she drifted off to sleep, she prayed the storm would rage forever and she could stay here, marooned with the man she loved.

  But the morning broke calm, and the sun shone from the heavens with an unexpected brilliance. “Dear, God,” she prayed upon waking. “If I must live a life of unhappiness to save Frey, I’ll do so. I know it’s not seemly to question your wisdom, but why can’t you think of another way to save him, when you know he’s innocent?” As an afterthought, she whispered, “If you decide to heed my prayer, please spare Rosabelle and William as well.”

  The sound of a shot brought her from the bed. She rushed to the window, clad only in her chemise. The bridge was still awash. William waited on the other bank for a reply to his shot. Rafe appeared below her. He covered the ground with long, loping strides towards the river’s edge, tucking his shirt into his breeches.

  Angelina threw open her window and waved to her brother. He straightened in his saddle, his shout of relief was music to her ears.

  The two men engaged in a short conversation, then with a wave of his hand, William wheeled his horse around and took off at a gallop.

  Rafe came to stand beneath her window. His hair hung dark and wild about his shoulders, his eyes seemed to absorb the very sight of her. He seemed very much the man here at Ravenswood. The sight of him awoke some deeply rooted, primitive sense in her. She grinned with the pleasure of it.

  “You’ll be pleased to know your horse is safe.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Realising she wore only a chemise and her hair was tumbled in disarray around her, she blushed, but she made no effort to cover herself. Her hair was sufficient. “I’m sorry you’re put to so much trouble.”

  “The trouble is all in your mind.” His smile was relaxed and easy. “I’ll fetch you some hot water to wash in, then raid the hen house. We can have fresh eggs and cold ham for breakfast.” His smile became broader. “We’ll have to cater for ourselves. Can Lady Angelina cook?”

  Her eyes began to sparkle. “She can, she can also trap and skin a rabbit, catch trout with her bare hands and wring the neck of a chicken.”

  “In that case, there will be chicken for dinner tonight.”

  Consternation replaced her smile, and Rafe laughed. “You appear somewhat disenchanted with the thought.”

  “I’d prefer not to hunt for my food.” Noting the mischief in his eyes, she laughed. “Man is the hunter. You provide the chicken, I’ll cook it.”

  “Then I have the easier task, there’s one hung in the larder.”

  They feasted like kings that night. There were turnips, basted with the dripping juices from the chicken, and tender young peas boiled in their pods. To follow were apples stuffed with crushed raspberries and honey. Baked in their skins, she garnished them with cheese curd.

  Rafe leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look on his face. “When Ravenswood is restored I shall employ you as my cook.”

  “Then you’d be obliged to eat chicken and turnips every night,” she countered.

  “Because I can cook nothing else.”

  “I’d want for nothing else but to feast my eyes on you for the remainder of my life,” he informed her with a smile.

  She gazed at the voluminous grey gown she wore, and giggled. “Your eyes must be starving, half-blind, or both perhaps.”

  “My words are sincere.” His hand slid across the space between them and covered hers. “I’ve declared myself, Angel
ina. If you wed another, you condemn me to a life of loneliness. None will ever replace you in my heart, and I vow to never take another for my wife.”

  His words brought tears to her eyes and a poignant ache to her heart. More than anything, she wanted to accept his proposal, but she could not…would not barter Frey’s life for her own happiness.

  She owed it to Rafe to tell him why. Perhaps Rosabelle had been right. If she spent one night in the arms of the man she loved, she’d have a precious memory to sustain her through the barren years of her life.

  Tears glittering on her lashes, she met his gently probing glance. “Our consciences would never allow us to sacrifice Frey to our own happiness.” She placed her finger gently over his lips to stop him interrupting. “I’d rather our memories of one another were happy, Rafe.”

  “What are you saying, Angel?”

  Eyes dark and turbulent, Rafe seemed to be having trouble with the simple truth she stated. “I’m saying I love you, Rafe.” She lowered her eyes to the strong, slim hand covering hers, not sure how to continue, but knowing she must. “I would become your wife this night in any way but in name, if it would please you.”

  His hand tightened, until she was forced gazed him in protest. The protest died from the onslaught of his storm-flecked eyes and she flinched from the whiplash of his voice.

  “It does not please me to have you cheapen yourself in such a manner. He flung her hand away and rose. “I’m no seducer of innocent young maids.”

  Face flaming with bruised pride, Angelina responded in the only way she could think of. “Rosabelle said you became her lover when she was sixteen.”

  “Damn Rosabelle!” Rafe said coldly as he strode off towards the door. He turned to glower at her, “And damn you for believing her lies.”

  “I didn’t believe her,” she said mutinously. “I struck out at you because I’m embarrassed, and you hurt my feelings. I’m perfectly aware you’re a gentleman of honour.”

  “You’re perfectly aware of nothing when it comes to men.” Three strides brought him back to her again. His temper had subsided, but his eyes glinted as he reached for her. Jerked to her feet she was pulled against him. Rafe’s smile had a strange pitying quality to it. “You’re absurd if you imagine I’m not tormented by desire for you.”