Devil’s Angel

by Marlene Suson

  She was referring to a lovely tapestry depicting a field of colourful wildflowers that she had found hanging there the previous day. Lucian had explained that when he had seen it, he could not resist buying it because he had known it would brighten her rather dark sitting room.

  “I bought it because I knew you would like it,” he said stiffly. “And you told me yesterday that you did.”

  “I do like it, but the point is, my lord, that I should like to be consulted, too. It is my sitting room.”

  “And it is my house.” His temper was rising.

  “And you own everything in it including me! But since I must live in it with you, I should like my wishes to be taken into consideration, too.”

  “Angel, I—” He broke off abruptly as Reeves came into the room, carrying a small package.

  “For you, my lady. A messenger just delivered it.” Angel, excited at this unexpected present, instantly forgot her disagreement with her husband. “Is it from you, Lucian?”

  The dark look on his face told her that it was not. “If it were, I would give it to you myself, not have it delivered. It must be from one of your ardent admirers— like Roger Peck.”

  “Do you not like Roger?” she asked.

  “No, I do not. Furthermore, you imperil your reputation by letting him court you as he does. He is notorious for seducing every married woman he favours with his attentions.”

  An outraged gasp escaped Angel’s lips. She was angry and deeply hurt that Lucian could think she would have anything to do with another man. “He will not seduce me.”

  Her husband said acidly, “You will be the first young wife who has managed to resist his charms.”

  “How little faith you have in me!”

  He did not respond to that. Gesturing at the gift, he inquired, “Who is it from?”

  There was no card with it. Angel tore away the wrapping to reveal a case. Inside it, lying on a bed of black velvet, she discovered a spectacular pearl necklace of remarkable lustre.

  Her gasp of delight was drowned out by Lucian’s harsh exclamation of shock.

  Startled, Angel looked up from the necklace. Her husband was staring at it as though it were a coiled snake lying there instead of the loveliest necklace of flawless matched pearls she had ever seen.

  A note was tucked beneath the pearls. She slipped it out and read:

  “A wedding present for my new daughter-in-law to welcome you into our family. This was my late wife’s favourite. Perhaps it will become yours, too. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you soon.

  WREXHAM”

  The note seemed to lighten a burden that Angel had not been conscious she was carrying. Lucian believed their marriage had cost him whatever hope he had of proving his worth to his father, but surely if the older man disapproved of their union, he would not have sent her these beautiful pearls.

  Nor would he have sent them to the wife of a man he hated.

  Suddenly, Angel’s yearning to reconcile father and son did not seem so hopeless.

  “Only see what your father has sent me.” She handed the note to her husband.

  As he read it, his frown darkened into a scowl. She lifted the pearls out of the case and held them up, admiring their perfection. At a loss to understand Lucian’s reaction, she said, “Only look at how beautiful they are.”

  Lucian reached out and touched the pearls lightly with his finger. His voice was melancholy. “How my mother loved them.”

  Seeing the look on her husband’s face, Angel had to blink back the tears that suddenly ambushed her. She said softly, “I can understand why this necklace was her favourite.”

  Lucian’s wistful face tightened into hard, bitter lines. “I thought Wrexham had given it to my brother’s wife years ago.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “He told me that it would go to Fritz’s wife when he married. You see, this necklace was the one thing of my mother’s that I wanted. She had told me on her deathbed that she wished me to have it, but after she died, Wrexham refused to give it to me. He said I was not worthy of it.” Lucian’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile that tore at Angel’s heart. “Congratulations. Clearly he thinks you are.”

  “I want to meet your father,” Angel said. “Please take me to see him.”

  “No,” he snapped. “Wrexham made it very clear that he wanted nothing more to do with me, and I will have nothing to do with him. Nor will you.”

  “But, Lucian, this is clearly a peace overture to you.” Her husband’s face was as hard as Portland stone. “He sent the necklace to you, not me.”

  “He sent it to me only because I am your wife.”

  “Then send it back to him.”

  Angel stared at her husband in exasperation and frustration. Although he refused to have anything to do with his father, it was clear to her that he still longed for his approval.

  Men and their stiff-backed pride! Even a man as wise as her papa had been the same way. He had hidden himself away at Belle Haven after her mother had run away because he was so humiliated.

  “No, I will not send the necklace back.” Angel was determined not to let Lucian throw away this opportunity to end the breach between him and his father. “You are being very foolish. If you will not take me to meet your papa, I shall go alone.”

  Angel recoiled at the pure fury on her husband’s face. He half rose from his chair before regaining control of himself and sinking back clown. “You will do no such thing! I forbid you to see him.”

  “You treat me as though I am a child, and I am not. I am your wife, and as such I should have an equal voice in our marriage. Papa said a man and wife should be partners in life.”

  “That is the most nonsensical idea I have ever heard,” Lucian scoffed. “A man is king in his home, and you will do as I say. You will not visit my father. Have I made myself clear?”

  Angel fought down the inclination to hurl at his head the porcelain plate with her half-eaten breakfast still on it.

  Instead she rose from the table with all the dignity she could muster, and said coldly, “Very clear, my lord.”

  She had no intention of obeying his edict, but he would find that out soon enough.

  Chapter 24

  Lucian strode into the office of Paul Kennicott on the second floor of a handsome brick building off Aldersgate Street

  . He had Lord Ashcott’s journal tucked under his arm.

  He had told Angel the truth this morning when he said he continued to make inquiries as to the identity of “Mr. K.” He had not told her that the most likely possibility was Kennicote, one of London’s most able and respected solicitors, nor that he would be paying him a visit that very morning. Lucian had not wanted to raise her hopes in vain.

  In the outer chamber, a young clerk with a pockmarked face was hard at work copying a parchment document.

  When Lucian asked to see Kennicott, the clerk looked at him sceptically. “‘Ave you an appointment?” he asked in a tone that implied anyone who did not would wait until doomsday to see his employer.

  Lucian ignored the question. “Tell Kennicott the earl of Vayle is here to see him.”

  The clerk’s manner underwent an instant change. “Aye, m’lord,” he said, jumping up, suddenly eager to please.

  The clerk disappeared through a door and was back a moment later to usher Lucian through it.

  Kennicott, a portly man with red hair fading to gray, rose from behind a walnut desk with papers neatly arranged upon it to greet his caller.

  Behind the solicitor a window looked out on new St. Paul’s Cathedral—or what was completed of it. The old cathedral had burned in the great fire of 1666. This replacement, designed by Sir Christopher Wren, had been under construction for fifteen years and was still far from finished.

  Lucian wasted no time in getting immediately to the point of his visit. “I have reason to believe, Mr. Kennicott, that in January of last year you drew up a will for the earl of Ashcott.”

  “Of
what concern is that to you, my lord?”

  “I am married to Ashcott’s daughter, Lady Angela.

  “I was not aware that she had wed.” Kennicott looked troubled. “Have you been married long?”

  “Several weeks.”

  Kennicott’s shrewd gray eyes narrowed a little. “My felicitations. Lord Ashcott said he intended to consult me on a marriage settlement for her should the need arise, but clearly when the time came, he did not see fit to do so.”

  “When the time came, he was dead. Apparently you are not aware that Ashcott died seven months ago.”

  “No!” Kennicott exclaimed. “I was not.”

  “And the will you drew up for him has vanished. Do you know where it might be?”

  Kennicott looked genuinely shocked. “No, I have a copy of it, but the earl took the executed original with him. He would not trust it in anyone’s hands but his own. He was deeply worried—I thought overly so—about the possibility that the will might disappear. His greatest fear was that his estranged wife might somehow inherit his estate.”

  “Which is precisely what has happened. The family solicitor, Thaddeus Wedge, insists the last will the earl made was one in 1673 that left everything to his wife.”

  Kennicott’s face tightened angrily. “So Lord Ashcott’s fears were well-founded after all. He came to me because he no longer trusted Wedge who, by the way, is lying. After Lady Ashcott ran off with her lover, her husband had Wedge draw up a will that specifically disinherited her and left everything to their son, with instructions that the boy was to provide for his sister. Even if Wedge did not know about the will that I drew up, he knew about the previous one.”

  Kennicott paused and leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers over his nose. “In fact, that was when his lordship first became suspicious of Wedge. He had kept the first will. When the earl asked for it back so that he could personally destroy it, Wedge discovered he had somehow ‘misplaced’ it.”

  Lucian said sourly, “But once Ashcott died, Wedge found it quick enough and ‘misplaced’ the later one he had drawn up.”

  “It is more sinister than that. Ashcott gave me a letter that Wedge subsequently wrote to him, telling him that he had found the first will and assuring him that he had destroyed it.”

  Lucian stared through the window at new St. Paul’s building. “What has Wedge to gain from this fraud?”

  Kennicott shrugged. “His lordship believed that Wedge was infatuated with his countess. Apparently she was a great beauty—and very skilled at enthralling men when it suited her purpose.”

  “I hope she rewarded Wedge well for his duplicity,” Lucian said sarcastically. “I understand the missing will you drew up left everything to my wife.”

  “It did,” the solicitor confirmed. “It was a very short will. For some reason I could not fathom, it seemed very important to Lord Ashcott that the will be brief.”

  “Did Ashcott give you any clue as to where he intended to conceal it?”

  “None. He said his daughter would know where to find it.”

  Lucian sighed. “But she does not. She knows of the will’s existence because her father showed it to her and her uncle, but he did not tell her where he hid it.”

  “How did you discover that I drew it up, my lord?” Lucian showed him the passage in Ashcott’s journal. “I concluded from your reputation that you must be the Mr. K referred to. Do you still have the letter Wedge wrote saying he destroyed the older will?”

  “Aye.”

  That was a stroke of luck Lucian had not anticipated. “Good. It seems to me that with it, your copy of Ashcott’s final will, and the entries in his journal, we can successfully challenge the validity of the old will.”

  “Aye, we can prove that the last thing Ashcott wanted was his estranged wife inheriting his estate, that he had repudiated the earlier will, and that he had been assured by Wedge that it had been destroyed. I think the court can be persuaded to set such an impeached document aside.”

  Lucian smiled in satisfaction. The Crowes were already ruing the day that they had made him their victim. He was quietly driving Rupert’s gambling hell out of business. Lucian had seen to it that the stories of men being ruthlessly fleeced there had a wide audience. He had also used his considerable power to make certain that Crowe’s bribes no longer protected his establishment from the authorities’ attention.

  Now Lucian would see that Rupert was legally stripped of both Belle Haven and control of the fortune that was rightfully Angel’s. He still hoped to prove that the Crowes killed Ashcott, but he would say nothing about that until he had better proof.

  But when he got that, he would see them hanged.

  Kennicott said, “If the court sets aside the earlier will, it will appoint a trustee to handle Ashcott’s estate until the later will is found.” The solicitor was frowning now. “I must warn you, my lord, that it will be far more difficult, if not impossible, to secure your wife’s inheritance for her unless the missing will is found. Her mother and the Crowes will undoubtedly fight her claim, and the estate could be tied up in litigation for years.”

  When Lucian returned home, Angel was not waiting for him to take her riding. She had gone out with Selina instead. He was disappointed, for he had looked forward to a ride in the park with his wife.

  She had been very angry with him when she had left the breakfast table, but she had to understand that he would have nothing to do with his father—nor would he permit his wife to. Lucian would never bend on that point.

  He would remember in the future, though, to ask her wishes on what invitations to accept or whether she would like something. He was so used to answering to no one but himself that it had not even occurred to him to consult her. Angel was becoming increasingly precious to him, and her happiness was important to him.

  Lucian had just stepped into his library when the door knocker sounded, and he heard Joseph Pardy asking to see him. Perhaps Lucian’s luck was running, and he would locate both Mr. K and the missing Maude on the same day.

  Lucian called to Reeves, “I will see Mr. Pardy in the library.”

  The butler, his face reflecting his disapproval of the shabby caller dressed in a worn suit of black broadcloth and darned cotton hose, escorted him into the library.

  As soon as the door closed behind Reeves, Lucian eagerly asked Pardy, “Have you found Maude?”

  “Not yet, m’lord.” Pardy gave Lucian a crafty smile, revealing a set of dizzily crooked teeth. “But me’s discovered much about ‘er that’ll help loosen ‘er tongue when me does find ‘er.” His smile broadened. “I’ve enough against ‘er to send ‘er to prison for years if she don’t help. She’s an actress who’s been Rupert Crowe’s mistress these four years. She’s in ‘iding now, but one a these days Crowe will lead me to ‘er.”

  Despite this assurance, Lucian chafed at the delay in locating Maude. She was the key to proving that the Crowes had murdered Ashcott.

  “Crowe’s a bad one,” Pardy said. “Even piracy’s not beneath him. Me learned he’s the scum who financed One-eyed Jake.”

  The notorious pirate One-eyed Jake was a much feared scourge of merchant ships on the high seas.

  Lucian observed sarcastically, “That must have rewarded Rupert well.”

  “Aye, it did.”

  As Pardy left the library, he turned in the doorway and, with another display of crooked teeth, assured Lucian, “We’ll find Maude eventually, m’lord.”

  “Eventually isn’t good enough. You must find Maude quickly.”

  The words had no sooner left Lucian’s mouth than he saw Angel standing in the hall, her eyes wide. Clearly, she had heard him.

  As soon as Pardy left, she stepped into the library. “Why are you looking for Maude?”

  Lucian suppressed a groan. He dared not tell his impetuous wife the true reason why he was searching for the woman. Instead he improvised, “I want Maude’s confession of how she helped the Crowes drug us both and trap us into marriage even t
hough we had done nothing wrong. I want the world to know for a certainty that we did not.”

  Angel frowned. “But, Lucian, thanks to Selina and her aunt, everyone already knows that. The gossip about our marriage has died away. Why risk rekindling it?”

  Good question. And one to which Lucian had no ready answer. Anxious to drop the subject, he said more sharply than he intended, “I insist you defer to my better judgment on this. We will not discuss it further.”

  When he saw the hurt that clouded Angel’s eyes, he hated himself for having been so curt.

  “Aye, my lord and master,” she said with acerbity. She turned on her heel with her chin at a proud, elevated angle.

  He did not want her to leave him feeling wounded and angry, and he said in a gentler voice, “Come back and tell me about your afternoon.”

  She did not so much as look over her shoulder at him, hut said coldly, “I have nothing to confide in you, my lord.”

  “Well, I have something to confide in you if you will come back.”

  That stopped her, and she turned eagerly. “What is it?”

  “I have located Mr. K. He is a solicitor named Kennicott, and he confirms he drew up the missing will for your father.”

  Angel was jubilant. “That is wonderful. Now people will know I was not lying about it.”

  Lucian decided against telling her about the legal effort he was launching to have the earlier will set aside. He did not want to raise false hopes in case it failed. “Your father told him you would know where it is hidden.”

  Her smile faded. “But I have told you time and again that Papa did not tell me.”

  “He must have,” Lucian exclaimed in frustration. “He never brought up the will again after he showed it to me and my uncle. I am certain of it.”

  It was inconceivable to Lucian that a man as precise with details as Ashcott could have left something so important as that undone.

  Angel was eyeing him with a suddenly troubled expression, and he asked, “Did you remember something?”

  “Was seeing Mr. Kennicott the business you told me you must attend to this morning?”