Devil’s Angel

by Marlene Suson

  “And I look like a damned simpleton who fell so easily into their trap,” Lucian complained.

  “No, I helped you out on that score by embroidering the truth a little,” Selina confessed. “And I require your support in my fib.”

  “What can I do?” Lucian asked.

  “You must pretend that you fell wildly in love with Angel the first time you met her. You see I put it about that you did, and—”

  Lucian cut her off furiously, “Bloody hell, Selina, you know that I have no truck with such nonsense as romantic love, and I am not going to act a lie.”

  He was conscious of the stricken look his words brought to Angel’s face, and he felt like a scoundrel.

  Selina ignored his protest, continuing smoothly, “And that after your initial—and very understandable rage—at the Crowes’ perfidy wore off, you were delighted to marry her.” Selina smiled at him wickedly.

  Lucian glared at her, then turned to his wife. “Angel, please allow me a moment alone with my former mistress.”

  “Certainly,” she said with quiet dignity.

  As soon as Lucian was alone with Selina, he said coldly, “So you have taught Angel a great many things, have you? I hope one of them was not how to cuckold a husband.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Lucian. I deserve better than that.”

  “Do you? Then why the hell did you tell Angel that you are my mistress?”

  “I did not! She told me.”

  He groaned. “God’s oath, how did she know?

  “She overheard someone talking at Fernhill.”

  So that was why Angel had not asked him at Ardmore whether he had a mistress. She had already known that he had.

  “Your bride, in case you have not noticed, Lucian, is very quick, which is one of the reasons that I like her so much. I am trying very hard to salvage her reputation, and it is imperative that you help me by pretending to have fallen in love with her.”

  His mouth tightened in a hard disgusted line. “So I am supposed to make it look as though the Crowes have unwittingly done me a great favour.”

  “Have they not, Lucian?” Selina asked softly.

  He stared at her for a long moment.

  “We have always been honest with each other,” she said. “Let us continue to be so. Neither one of us was willing to trust the other with our heart, and without that no passion can be sustained. We had become more important to each other as friends than as lovers. I want very much to continue as your friend as well as your wife’s.”

  “You have been remarkably kind and understanding,” he said with genuine gratitude.

  Selina smiled. “It came as a great surprise to me to discover, My Lord Lucifer, that the devil married an Angel. I beg you treat her with care.”

  “I gather you disapprove of me as her husband?”

  “She deserves better than you.”

  “Yes,” he agreed soberly, “she does.”

  Selina smiled. “Perhaps, there is hope for you after all, Lucian.”

  Chapter 23

  “Sarah, you must excuse Angel and me,” Selina told the Countess of Marlborough. “I promised Lord

  St. Albans that I would introduce Angel to him tonight.” Angel was too thankful for this chance to escape their hostess to say anything to Selina, but once they were well out of her hearing, she whispered, “I have already met his lordship.”

  Selina’s eyes twinkled. “I know that, but Sarah does not.”

  Angel grinned at her friend. “Thank you for rescuing me from her. She makes me uncomfortable.”

  “With good reason,” Selina said tartly. “Sarah can be charming when she wants, but she has the tongue of a viper. I do not trust her nor her husband either. Their ambition is boundless, and her lord is jealous of Lucian’s close ties to the king. You must guard what you say around her.”

  “I do not know what I would do without you,” Angel said, filled with gratitude for all that her companion had taught her, not only about how to act and talk and dress, but more importantly about who could be trusted and who could not, including rakes like Lord Nevin. Until then, Angel had not known what a rake was.

  In the month since Lucian had come home from Ireland and Angel had been launched in society, Selina had patiently—and very successfully—steered her protégé between the shoals that lurked to trap a novice in society’s waters.

  Angel smiled at her friend. “You have been so kind to me.”

  “It has been my pleasure,” Selina said.

  “Even giving up Lucian? I cannot understand how you could bear to—” She broke off, much flustered at what her wayward tongue had nearly said.

  Selina laughed. “Had Lucian ever looked at me the way he looked at you that day he returned from Ireland, it would have been much more difficult.” Her lavender eyes were suddenly dreamy. “You see, I want a man who will look at me like that. Perhaps it might have been different if ... You see when Lucian and I met, we suited very well. Neither of us could give our love or trust.”

  And Lucian still cannot, Angel thought sadly.

  Selina paused for a moment, her lovely mouth turned up in a pensive smile, then she said briskly, “No use pining over what might have been. Lucian is all yours now.”

  “You make it sound as though he loves me,” Angel said wistfully, “and he does not, you know.”

  Selina patted her arm comfortingly. “He cares for you more than he is willing to admit, even to himself.”

  Angel fervently hoped that Selina was right. She looked around the large room, crowded with elegantly dressed men and women, wishing her husband would make his appearance.

  “I hope he will not be too late,” she fretted. She was never entirely happy at these affairs unless he was at her side. “He promised he would come as soon as the Council of Nine meeting ends, but he warned that it could go on for hours.”

  Angel would have preferred to stay home tonight with her husband, but she feared he would not want to forgo a glittering entertainment for a quiet night with a wife he did not love.

  Selina asked Angel, “What did you do today?”

  “Lucian took me to call on my mother again. She still refuses to see us.”

  Selina frowned. “That is the third time—or is it the fourth—she has turned you away. How can a mother do that to her own child?”

  Angel shrugged. “She never paid Charlie or me any heed, even before she ran away.”

  “How long has it been since you have seen her?”

  “I was four the last time.”

  Selina looked aghast. “Not since then? Not even after your father died?”

  “No, she sent my stepfather to Belle Haven in her place. She always hated it there. Country life bored her.”

  “Not enough men to pay her court,” Selina observed acidly. “What a fool she is! How I wish I could have been so fortunate as to have had a daughter like you. I have two sons, and I love them dearly, but I yearned for a daughter.”

  “What of your husband, Selina?”

  The warmth went out of her lovely face. “What of him?”

  “You have never once mentioned him to me. Nor have I ever seen you with him.”

  “I avoid him whenever possible.” Selina’s expressive voice was suddenly flat and frigid. “If I know that he is going to a party, I go to a different one. I give him complete freedom and a wide berth. My husband prefers other women in his bed, and I prefer other men.”

  Angel could not comprehend how Lord Brompton could be such a fool as to want a woman other than his wife. She had not met another female in London who could surpass Selina in beauty, wit, and kindness.

  “Were you forced to marry him?”

  “No, the truth is I wanted desperately to be his wife, fool that I was.” She gave Angel a sad smile. “Beware what you wish for, you might get it.”

  “What happened.”

  “He broke my heart and turned my love for him to hate. Please, I cannot bear to talk about him.”

  Lord Jermain c
ame up, reminding Selina that the next dance was the one that she had promised him earlier. He was one of a dozen different men, ranging from a duke to a very wealthy baronet, who were vying to become Lucian’s successor in Selina’s life.

  The orchestra began playing again, and Jermain led her away.

  Angel turned her attention to the other guests. Everyone who was anyone seemed to be here tonight, and she wondered whether Lucian’s father was among the guests. She had heard that he was in London, and she had been trying to think of how to meet him. She was still determined to find a way to reconcile the two men.

  Angel smiled at the sight of a trio of nubile young ladies trying desperately to hold Roger Peck’s attention. From his expression of only half-suppressed boredom, Angel deduced that they were failing rather miserably.

  She did not understand the great fascination that Peck seemed to hold for females under the age of thirty. True, nature had been bountiful in its gifts to him. Not only was he very rich and Lord Peck’s heir, but he was widely considered to be the handsomest man in London.

  Angel did not agree with this assessment of him. True, the cast of his face was perfection itself with its broad brow, wide-set blue eyes, straight nose, and strong jaw. In her opinion, that was its problem. It was too perfect. Too bland. It lacked the imperfections that gave a face character. She much preferred the dark, more harshly sculpted planes of her husband’s face.

  Nor did Angel care for the smooth charm and easy compliments that Peck dispensed so fluently. He was still young, no more than five-and-twenty, but he already had the manner of an accomplished rake.

  Angel watched as Peck gracefully edged away from the trio of young ladies who had tried vainly to hold his interest. As he strode across the floor, he stopped a few feet from Angel to greet another pair of girls, who promptly became tongue-tied at his attention.

  He quickly moved on to Angel. She should have guessed that she was his quarry. He had made it a point every night for the past week of seeking her out, and she was not happy about it. Even if Selina had not warned her about him, she recognized—and despised—the insincerity of his compliments.

  “Tonight is my lucky night,” he said, kissing Angel’s hand with practiced ease. “I have you all to myself for a moment.”

  To her relief, it was only for a moment. Then, to Peck’s undisguised annoyance, Lord St. Albans and the Duke of Ormonde joined them.

  * * *

  Lucian’s gaze swept Lady Marlborough’s long gallery, looking for his wife. He was less than pleased to find her surrounded, as usual, by male admirers.

  It surprised him that society found Angel every bit as refreshing as he did. Thanks to her unconscious charm and candour and to Selina’s wise instruction, she had been an instant hit with both women and men, and he was proud of her.

  Although it had chafed him to do so, Lucian had followed Selina’s instructions to act in public as though he had fallen in love with his wife. Between that and Selina’s spreading the word about the Crowes’ treachery, Angel was now regarded with sympathy instead of censure. Even better, her step-relatives were greater pariahs than before.

  Watching his wife laughing with her admirers, Lucian wished sourly that she did not seem to like social affairs so much. If the truth be known, he would much prefer to spend his nights at home with her, but after the isolated life she had led at Belle Haven, he could not ask her to forgo parties that she clearly enjoyed so much.

  In the month since his return from Ireland, he had managed only four nights at home with her, and his mouth curved into a pleased smile at the memory.

  They had all followed a pattern: He and Angel had lingered over dinner discussing a variety of subjects, from astronomy to politics, generally thought to be too taxing for a woman’s frail intellect. They clearly were not too taxing for Angel’s, and she offered convincing arguments when she disagreed with her husband. She was the scientific earl’s child, Lucian thought proudly.

  Selina had been right. The Crowes had done him a great, albeit unwitting, favour.

  As the musicians began playing again, Lucian was surprised to see David Inge making his way toward him.

  “Why are you in London,” Lucian asked. “You should be at Fernhill courting Kitty.”

  “It would do no good. Her father still refuses to hear of it.” David gestured toward Angel. “Your little bud has bloomed into a lovely rose, Lucian.”

  “Aye, she has.”

  “You should be pleased, but you sound disgruntled.” Lucian was. He knew that he should have been delighted that his wife was such a hit, but instead it disturbed him to see her constantly surrounded by admiring men.

  David looked amused. “Not jealous, are you?”

  “Me?” Lucian scoffed, irritated that David could think such a thing. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  His eyes narrowed as he watched that insufferably handsome Roger Peck, who had cut a notorious swath through the ranks of society’s loveliest young ladies, lead Angel out to dance.

  Roger of the flowing golden wig, silver tongue, and seductive eyes had a sly way of looking at a female whose honour and reputation he was about to devour.

  He was eyeing Angel that way now.

  Lucian suddenly wanted to smash Roger’s teeth down his throat.

  Beside him, David said bitterly, “Even if you are not jealous, you would be wise to keep Angel away from Peck.”

  Lucian belatedly remembered that it was Roger who had come between Kitty and David.

  Angel was wearing a sea blue satin gown that her husband had not seen before. It was not one of those he had selected for her, but she looked lovely in it.

  Its low-cut bodice cried out for ornamentation at her throat. The thought came unbidden to him that his mother’s pearl necklace would have been perfect for Angel. It had been the one thing of his mother’s that he had coveted, mostly because she had wanted him to have it, but his father had denied him even that.

  Lucian edged closer to the dance floor to watch his wife. She was a graceful dancer, rather like a swan gliding. As the steps of the minuet brought her close to him, he discovered just how low her gown was cut. It revealed far too much of her for his taste. His smile turned to a glower.

  The naive innocent had no idea what such a display did to a man. He would see that she did not make that mistake again. He would insist that she consult him before buying her gowns.

  As soon as the music stopped, he was at Angel’s side to reclaim her from Peck. Lucian hustled her to a quiet corner.

  “Where the devil did you get that gown?”

  The delight that had enveloped Angel’s face at the sight of her husband gave way to dismay. “Do you not like it, Lucian? It is the very latest fashion.”

  “No, I do not like it at all. It is cut too damn low.”

  “But it is no lower than the gowns of half the other women in the room.”

  Lucian realized she was right,

  Except those other women were not his wife.

  “Angel,” Lucian asked over breakfast the following morning, “are you certain that your father never indicated to you where he hid his will?”

  “Very certain,” Angel replied carefully. This was at least the dozenth time since Lucian had returned from Ireland that he had asked her this question. It hurt and irritated her that he thought her such a fool that she would not remember something as important as that. “Have you had any luck in learning Mr. K’s identity?”

  “I continue to make inquiries,” Lucian said blandly, then changed the subject. “I have accepted an invitation for us to attend the Devonshire masquerade tonight.”

  Angel nodded, suppressing a groan. She had hoped that they might spend the night at home. To hide her disappointment, she turned her head and stared out the window. It was a rare sunny day, and she exclaimed, “It is so nice out, Lucian, could we go for a ride in the park this afternoon.”

  “I have business to attend to, but it should not take me longer than
an hour or two. We can go then.”

  “What business?” Angel asked.

  “It would bore you.”

  Angel bit her lip. Lucian did not understand that she loved him and, therefore, everything that he did was of interest to her. She ached to be part of his life, to be able to discuss his affairs and concerns with him as she had discussed Papa’s with him. A wife should be part of her husband’s life, and Angel so often felt shut out of Lucian’s.

  She said quietly, “I would like to be bored.”

  Lucian ignored that and changed the subject again. “That gown is very becoming on you. It enhances the fairness of your skin.”

  Angel looked down at the rose tabinet gown, open at the front to reveal a dull silk petticoat in pale pink. “Thank you. It is one of those you selected for me.”

  “I thought so.” His smile cooled a little. “I did not recognize the gown you were wearing at the Marlboroughs last night.”

  “No, that is one Selina and I chose.” Selina had said that she needed at least one gown a little more daring than those Lucian had selected for her. Daring it seemed was the height of fashion these days, but Angel did not tell him that. Seeing his frown, she reminded him, “You told me I could order additional clothes to supplement the ones that you chose for me.”

  “So I did, but from now on ask my approval on the design before you order them.”

  Angel was so surprised that she could scarcely credit her ears. “Why?”

  “Because I am your husband, and I want to be consulted on such matters.”

  Angel’s temper flared. Lucian arbitrarily made decisions, accepted invitations, bought her things, and took her places without bothering to consult her. Yet she was expected to obtain his permission before she ordered a new gown for herself.

  “Well, I am your wife, and I wish to be consulted, too, on whether we shall attend the Devonshire masquerade and other social affairs or whether I should like a new tapestry for my sitting room.”