“Roger Peck is not beside you,” Oldfield said with an insinuating smile. “He is so attentive to you that we have taken to referring to him as the Angel’s shadow.” He gave a sour little chuckle. “Until now, it was always the ladies who were besotted by him, but you have turned the tables on him.”
Angel had heard that Lord Oldfield’s young wife had been one of those infatuated ladies. Knowing he would distort whatever comment she might make about Roger, she said coolly, “The only man I have any interest in is my husband.”
“How boring.”
She gave a little flutter of her silk fan. “Not when one’s husband is Lord Vayle.” Then she deliberately changed the subject. “It is a beautiful day for a garden party, is it not.”
“Clouds would not dare to mar nor rain to fall upon the Duchess of Stratford’s party,” Oldfield said sarcastically. “She would not permit it.”
To Angel’s relief, he wandered away in search of less boring topics of gossip than herself, and she turned her attention back to the door in time to see Roger Peck there, scanning the garden.
She shrank back, hoping that he would not notice her, hut apparently he already had, for he was threading his way through the crowd toward her.
Angel was surprised to see Kitty, a brilliant smile on her face, step into Roger’s path, catching hold of his braid- trimmed sleeve and greeting him warmly.
He looked annoyed as he responded to her greeting. He nil led his sleeve from her grasp and within thirty seconds was edging away from her.
Kitty stared after him with a hurt, mortified expression.
Roger came up to Angel. Looking every bit as besotted as Lord Oldfield claimed he was, he kissed her hand, lingering too long over it. She hardly noticed him for her eyes were still on Kitty.
When Kitty saw whom Roger had been in such a hurry to reach, she glared at her childhood friend with such naked hatred that Angel shivered.
She escaped from Roger as quickly as she could and made her way into the house to use the retiring room set aside for female guests. It was empty when she went in, but within a minute the door opened. Angel, checking herself in the looking glass, saw Kitty come into the room.
Her angry, determined expression told Angel that her arrival was not accidental and that their meeting was likely to be unpleasant. Nevertheless, Angel greeted her warmly.
Her former friend did not respond but came up to stand beside her. The two regarded each other’s reflection in the looking glass. Angel’s expression was quizzical, Kitty’s malevolent.
Kitty hissed, “So now that you are Lady Vayle, the men flock to you. Enjoy your brief moment of success while you can! You will not be Lady Vayle for long.”
Angel stared at Kitty’s reflection, full of malice and hate. “What?” she faltered.
Kitty’s mouth twisted in scorn. “So Vayle has not told you? No, I can see why he would not want to do so until he obtains the annulment. He would want no trouble from you in the interim.”
Angel’s mouth was suddenly as dry as dust. “Annulment?”
“As soon as Vayle can find your maid Maude and wring the truth of how she tricked and drugged him into appearing to have slept with you, he will use her testimony to prove your marriage was based on fraud and to secure an annulment of it. He says Maude is the key to winning his freedom from you.”
“You are making that up,” Angel said flatly.
“I am not,” Kitty cried vehemently, her angry gaze meeting Angel’s squarely. “It is what Vayle told David Inge, and David told me. I swear to you before God that it is the truth.’’
Angel knew Kitty well enough to be certain she would never dare give such an oath if she were lying. Nor would David, a man of impeccable integrity, tell Kitty such a thing, unless Lucian had told him. And David was the one man in whom Lucian confided.
For a moment Angel was too stricken and horrified to speak. She had not for an instant believed the excuse Lucian had given her for why he wanted to find Maude, but Angel had not been able to fathom what his real reason could be. Now she knew. He wanted an annulment. If he intended to have their marriage set aside on grounds of fraud, as Kitty claimed, he would need the testimony of a witness to it.
Angel was staggered. For a moment she could not believe that was Lucian’s intention, but it was the only reason she could think of that could explain his continued search for Maude.
How could any man make love to her with the aching tenderness and shattering passion that Lucian did while he was intending to abandon her? Then she remembered what he had said about a man wildly lusting for a woman’s body without loving her.
With haemorrhaging heart, Angel recalled other words of Lucian’s: “If you get nothing else from this marriage, you will get Belle Haven.”
“If you get nothing else from this marriage…” The words reverberated in Angel’s reeling mind. Lucian planned to have their marriage annulled and leave her with Belle Haven as her consolation and, perhaps, a sop to his conscience. She had told him once that her former home was what she most wanted. It had even been true then.
It no longer was.
Her husband was what she most wanted now.
She would love him to the end of her days, but he could not reciprocate. “I cannot force myself to love you—that is beyond my control.”
He wanted her in bed “for the usual reason,” but he had made it very clear to her that it had nothing to do with love. And she knew now that was how many men felt. She was not nearly so naive as she had been when she had arrived in London, and she was well aware that the rakes thought nothing of bedding every woman they could coax beneath the covers.
Kitty said triumphantly, “Enjoy being Lady Vayle while you can. You will not be much longer. Then no one will have anything to do with you.” She turned away from the looking glass and marched out of the room.
Angel felt as though her heart had been trampled. She could not face the gay throng in the garden. Nor would she be able to suppress her tears much longer. Her pride rebelled at having other women guests discover her crying in the retiring room.
Angel had noticed a small sitting room beyond the retiring room. She went into it, closed the door, and threw herself down on a settee covered in needlepoint.
She felt like such an incredible fool. All the while she had been trying so hard to win her husband’s love, he had simply been biding his time until he could find Maude and be rid of her.
Well, Angel would try no more. She would play the fool no longer. Her tears came then in torrents and continued for some minutes before she could control them.
She was wiping them away when she heard the door to the sitting room open. Roger Peck rushed to her side, his handsome face a study in concern for her.
“What is it, my sweet Angel? When you did not come back to the garden, I was worried.”
She should have known that her “shadow” would have kept an eye on her.
Roger dropped down on the sofa beside her and put his arms around her in an effort to offer her solace. “Tell me what has hurt you so,” he pleaded.
“No,” Angel said on a gulp. She hated for anyone to see her crying. “Please go away.”
“No, let me help you,” he begged.
At a less vulnerable moment, Angel would have briskly rebuffed him, but now she let him continue to hold her, accepting the comfort he offered her.
But even as she did so, she knew that neither Roger nor any other man would ever replace Lucian in her heart. The thought of her marriage ending filled her with bleak despair. But she had too much pride to beg a man who did not want her to change his mind. Better to accept her rejection with fortitude and dignity.
Nor would she mortify herself by confronting Lucian with what Kitty had told her. She knew that she would not he able to do so without crying.
Roger pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away the tears that still stained her cheeks. He bent his head to kiss tier, but she pulled away from him and jumped up.
He rose from the s
ettee and would have put his arms around her again had she not stepped back in evasion.
“I cannot bear to see you so unhappy.” Roger’s voice rose on an emotional note. “I love you so much, Angel.”
It was nice to know that someone did.
Lucian, unable to find his wife in the Duchess of Stratford’s garden, caught sight of Roger Peck, whom people had started calling Angel’s shadow, going into the house and went after him. Seeing Peck disappear through a door, Lucian went toward it, thinking his wife might be there.
As he reached it, he heard Peck declare, “I love you so much, Angel.”
“Do not say that!” Angel said sharply. “I am married, and so long as I am, I shall be faithful to my husband.”
“So long as I am.” What the hell did she mean by that?
Lucian flung open the door. Fortunately for Peck’s longevity, he was not touching Angel. They were standing, facing one another.
Lucian roared, “What the hell is going on.”
Angel looked as though she wanted to burst into tears. Was that because Lucian was interrupting her tête-à-tête with Peck?
She said wearily, “Nothing is going on, absolutely nothing.”
“I am relieved to hear, my dear, that you consider Peck’s protestation of his love ‘absolutely nothing.’
Lucian took her arm, noting her red, swollen eyes. She might be determined to be a faithful wife, but she did not look a damned bit happy about it.
That rasped his already raw temper, and he said in a tone that prohibited argument, “I am taking you home.”
She went with him, rather like an automaton.
When they were in Lucian’s carriage, he said, “I have good news for you, Angel. I sued to have your father’s old will set aside. The court ruled today in my favour and removed control of your inheritance, including Belle Haven, from Rupert Crowe. He has been ordered to vacate Belle Haven immediately, and we have been granted permission to go there to search for the missing will. We will leave immediately.” That would frustrate Peck’s attentions to his wife. Perhaps Lucian would leave her at Belle Haven to keep her away from her eager swain.
Angel’s face brightened, and she asked eagerly, “You mean this very afternoon?”
“If you wish,” he said, pleased that she did not seem in the least reluctant to leave London and Roger.
“Can we go on horseback?” she asked. “It will be quicker.”
He frowned. “It would be a difficult ride for you.”
“Oh fie, I shall enjoy it, especially if this lovely weather holds. Please, Lucian.”
He gave in, as anxious to get her away from London and Roger Peck as she was to see Belle Haven.
“Lucian, why did you not tell me about the suit? Could you not even trust me enough to tell me what you were doing on my behalf.”
It had nothing to do with trust. He had not told Angel about the suit because he feared that it would fail. “I did not want to build up your hopes, only to have them dashed if the court ruled against us.” Surely she could understand that he was only trying to protect her.
“Is Belle Haven mine now?”
“Not yet.” Lucian explained that while he had wrested control of her inheritance from Crowe, the court had ruled it could not be awarded to her until the missing will was found. Instead control would rest with a trustee appointed by the court.
Angel asked, “What if we do not find the will?”
He took her small hand in his. “Do not worry, little one, I swore to you that I would recover Belle Haven for you, and I will.”
To his surprise, this pledge seemed to have the opposite effect from what he had intended. Instead of looking reassured, she suddenly appeared on the verge of tears again.
“Aye,” she said, her voice cracking. “You promised me that if I got nothing else from this marriage, I would get Belle Haven.”
“And so you will. I swear it.” Her reaction to this nonplussed him. Why the devil did his promising her what she most wanted make her look so unhappy? Women, he thought in bewilderment, there was no understanding them.
“If your suit had failed, Lucian, what would you have done?”
“Tried another strategy. Never fear, I will get Belle Haven back for you.”
She gave him an inexplicable look of distrust and betrayal. “Have you found Maude yet?”
Lucian was startled by Angel’s sudden change of topic, but he said, “No, but I will.” He was determined the Crowes would hang for Ashcott’s murder.
“Why do you want to find her?”
“I told you why.” Anxious to forestall more questions he did not want to answer, he said curtly, “Stop bedevilling me about it.”
Angel, a suspicious sheen to her eyes, turned her face away from him and stared silently through the chariot window.
Lucian studied his wife’s profile. Her chin was trembling, and he realized that she was fighting back tears.
Never had Lucian seen her so distressed and dispirited.
Bloody hell, was it because she was falling in love with Peck? The thought made Lucian’s blood run cold. Much as he might mock love, he suddenly realized how desperately he wanted Angel’s.
Chapter 28
Angel’s depressed spirits lifted at the sight of Belle Haven. As she and Lucian rode up the gravel drive, she examined the familiar grounds and facade of the mansion with loving eyes.
When they reached the front portico, she was so eager to see the interior of her home (she still thought of it as that even though it no longer was that she did not wait for her husband to help her dismount. She jumped down and rushed up the steps.
In her impatience, she tried to fling open the great oak door. But it was locked, and she was forced to bang the knocker.
Lucian came up behind her and put his hands on her arms. His touch, as it always did, sent a frisson through her that died painfully at the thought of the annulment he planned to get.
“Patience, little one,” he whispered, his warm breath an erotic breeze against her ear. She longed to turn into his embrace and seek the comforting enclosure of his arms, but she could not when she knew that he would soon abandon her. The thought that then she would never again enjoy his touch or his company cast a black shroud over her happiness at being back at Belle Haven.
Belle Haven’s butler, Jepson, always insisted upon answering the door himself, and Angel was surprised to see a young footman performing the task. She was even more disconcerted when, at the sight of her, he began to weep and tried to block the door to her entrance.
“Oh, milady,” he said dolefully, “you cannot come in.”
Lucian said sharply, “The court has ruled that Lady Vayle has every right to enter and that the Crowes have no authority here, so you will no longer heed their orders. You will step aside and allow us to enter.”
Looking miserable, the footman did as Lucian bade, mumbling, “’Tis not their orders, but…” He broke off, so choked up he could not continue.
“But what?” Angel asked as she and her husband stepped inside the entry hall.
Before the footman could answer, she gasped in shock as she saw that the imposing walnut chest in the entry had been attacked by someone who had been intent on reducing it to kindling. She rushed over to the wreckage.
“What happened to it?” she cried.
Tears welled up again in the footman’s eyes. “I fear, milady, that is only a small part of the damage the Crowes have done. His gaze darted unhappily toward her father’s library.
Thoroughly alarmed, Angel ran into it, and a low moan escaped her lips. The library was devastated. The rich walnut panelling had been ripped from the walls and holes punched in them.
All the books, including those rare volumes that had been among her father’s most prized possessions, had been dumped from the shelves. They lay scattered about the floor like driftwood after a storm.
More ugly holes had been gouged behind where the books had once resided.
But mos
t shocking of all was her father’s desk. That massive piece had been destroyed by someone who appeared to have taken an axe to it in a frenzy.
Angel had never seen such wanton destruction. Not even Ardmore had suffered as much at the soldiers’ hands.
“What happened?” she asked in a choked voice, unable to stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks.
Lucian sighed. “Is it not obvious?”
The footman said, “The Crowes tore the house apart looking for something.”
“Did they find it?” Lucian inquired tersely.
“I do not know, milord.”
Angel stifled a groan. Were she and Lucian too late? Had the Crowes found the will?
“They acted like madmen,” the footman related. “They attacked the walls and the furniture with axes and picks. The library and his late lordship’s apartment suffered the worst damage, although the rest of the house did not escape. When Jepson tried to prevent them from destroying his lordship’s desk, they broke his arm.”
Angel gasped in shock. Jepson was one of her favourite servants at Belle Haven. “Is that why he did not answer the door?”
“Aye, his arm is giving him considerable pain this mom- mg”
Lucian said grimly, “We had better go up to your father’s rooms and see the worst.”
“Oh, milady, I am so sorry,” the footman burst out, “but there was nothing we could do to stop them.”
“No,” Angel agreed, through her tears.
Lucian took his wife’s aim, dismissed the footman with a nod, and led Angel up the narrow staircase that Ashcott had built to connect his library to his bedchamber.
When she beheld the damage in her father’s room, she thought she would be sick. The destruction seemed total. The wardrobes, chest of drawers, and the massive tester bed had been chopped into pieces. Even the bed’s posts had not escaped the axe. The crimson brocade hangings and coverlet were torn to shreds.
The late earl’s clothes had been tossed on the floor after the linings and pockets had been ripped from them.
Angel picked up her father’s favourite coat, a blue velvet, that had suffered this fate.
Devil’s Angel Page 29