Devil’s Angel

by Marlene Suson

  “Why even his clothes?” she asked brokenly.

  “They obviously thought he might have sewn the will into the lining of one of his garments or in the bed curtains,” Lucian said. “Or hidden it in a secret compartment in the furniture.”

  He picked up a carved oak cylinder that had once been part of a bed post. “It does not appear they discovered such a compartment in the posts.”

  “Do you think they found Papa’s will?”

  Lucian looked grim. “If they did not, little one, then I would say your father could not have hidden it at Belle Haven. The Crowes do not appear to have overlooked any possible hiding place.”

  “But he had to have hidden it here!”

  Which meant that the Crowes must have found it.

  Angel’s frail hope of recovering the estate crumbled. Belle Haven would never be hers, and when Lucian found Maude and obtained his annulment, he, too, would vanish from her life. She would soon be all alone without a home, without a husband. The two things she had most loved were lost to her forever.

  She could not help herself. She began to cry.

  When her husband tried to take her into his arms, she pushed him away. He was no comfort to her when she knew that he would soon abandon her. “Leave ... me... alone,” she gulped between sobs.

  He drew back as though she had stung him. She moved away, tripped over a pile of ruined clothing, and sank to the floor, burying her head in the fabric.

  Lucian watched his weeping wife. He wanted to comfort her, but she had pushed him away, and he did not know what to do to help her. Not since the day his father had disowned him had he felt as miserable and helpless and inadequate as he did at this moment.

  His wife was slipping away from him. He had known it since last night, when he had tried to make love to her in the inn where they had stopped for the night. She had not rebuffed him but for the first time in their marriage she had not responded to him with that sweet, hot passion he loved. Its absence had deflated his own ardour—along with a crucial part of his anatomy—and he had turned away, pretending to fall asleep.

  He looked at her now, thinking how much he wanted her. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Even more than he had once wanted his father’s admission that he had misjudged his younger son.

  And now Lucian was losing her to a man who professed to love her. At first, Lucian had scoffed at the idea that Roger Peck could have any affection for Angel, but he was less certain now. He had seen the way Roger looked at his wife yesterday.

  The memory sent white-hot jealousy streaking through Lucian. Adding to his pain was the knowledge that he was not the kind of husband she wanted. She wanted a man who loved her and who, like Roger, would tell her so over and over. She wanted a man who regarded his wife as his partner in life.

  And Angel deserved that. She was wise beyond her years. Lucian was coming grudgingly to respect her ideas and advice. She had been right to insist that he talk to his father, for it had given him a measure of peace. Even though Lucian could not forgive Wrexham, he was no longer buffeted by the secret fear that some unspeakable flaw in himself, which he had never detected, was to blame for his father’s rejecting him.

  He looked down helplessly at his weeping wife, longing to console her, but she had made it clear she did not want solace from him. She had pushed him away, refused to let him help her when he wanted so desperately to do so.

  She had shut him out.

  Just as she had accused him of doing to her.

  So this was what it felt like!

  He didn’t like it one damned bit.

  Lucian’s mouth tightened in determination. Nothing and no one would take his wife away from him. He could not imagine his life without her. Who else would tell him when he was wrong, challenge him to duels, and make such sweet, wild passionate love to him? He swooped down on Angel, picked her up from the pile of ruined clothing, and placed her on her feet.

  Before she could push him away, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly to him. His hands stroked her hair and face comfortingly, and he murmured soft, consoling words in her ear. Slowly, she relaxed against him, and her sobs subsided.

  When her storm had spent itself, he told her. “It’ll be all right, little one. The Crowes may have made a shambles here, but any woman who can perform the miracle you did at Ardmore will soon have Belle Haven looking good as new. You do not have to go back to London with me.”

  Although he hated the thought of being separated from her, it would keep Peck away from her, and Lucian would contrive to spend as much time as he could at Belle Haven with her. King William was expected to return soon from Ireland. Once Lucian’s duties with the Council of Nine ended, he would not leave Angel’s side.

  He told her gently, “You may stay here at Belle Haven for as long as you want, to see the damage repaired.”

  Angel stiffened. She raised her tear-flooded eyes to meet his gaze, and he saw anger in them. “I am not crying because of the damage the Crowes did.”

  Baffled, Lucian asked, “Then why?”

  “For one thing, I know the Crowes must have found and destroyed Papa’s will, and Belle Haven is lost to me.”

  Somehow, even if the Crowes had destroyed her father’s will, Lucian would restore this house she loved so much to her permanently. He did not know how, but he would find a way. It was what she wanted and, by God, she would have it. He would not rest until he did.

  He tilted Angel’s face up toward his and said reproachfully, “Have you no faith in your husband, little one. I promised you I would get Belle Haven back for you, and I will. You will live here again, and you will be very happy.”

  Aye, she would. Lucian intended to devote himself to making her ecstatically happy here and everywhere else that they lived.

  She flinched as though he had struck her. For a moment, he saw heartrending pain in her brilliant blue eyes. Then they blazed with anger.

  She jerked away from him, demanding in a seething voice, “Is that a sop to your conscience to promise me that?”

  He was so dumbfounded by her reaction he could not speak.

  “You intend to recover Belle Haven as a consolation to me for ending our marriage and banishing me from your life!”

  Lucian stared at her in shock. God’s oath, she was clearly hysterical. She made no sense.

  Angel glared at him. “So you think I will be very happy living here alone?”

  Alone? “What the hell are you talking about?” he roared.

  “I am talking about your determination to have our marriage annulled.”

  Lucian could scarcely credit what he was hearing. It was the last thing on earth he wanted. He would never give her up. The mere thought of losing her filled him with despair. Angel had become more precious to him than life itself.

  “Bloody hell, I have no such intention.”

  “Do not lie to me, Lucian. I know that is the real reason you are looking for Maude.”

  He gaped at her. “Whatever gave you that ridiculous notion?”

  “You told David Inge that once you could find Maude and prove that you had been tricked into our marriage, you would have it annulled.”

  Lucian scowled. “David did not tell you that, did he?”

  “No, he told Kitty, and she told me.”

  “When?” he asked tersely.

  “Yesterday, at the garden party.”

  With dawning horror, Lucian realized the reason for Angel’s suddenly altered behaviour toward him. He tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away.

  “Angel, I swear to you before God that I will never have our marriage annulled.”

  She did not look convinced. “But you told David. Do you deny that?”

  “No, I told him that less than an hour after that scene in my bedroom at Fernhill. I was in a fury because I thought you had willingly participated in the Crowes’ plot, but once I learned the truth, I knew that I would never seek an annulment.”

  “I do not belie
ve you!”

  He searched for a way to convince her. “I also told David that I would dump you at Ardmore and never set eyes on you again until the marriage was annulled. I did not do that, did I?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “And I will never, upon my oath, seek an annulment either.”

  “Then why are you still looking for Maude?” she asked plaintively. “I do not, cannot believe the reason you gave me.”

  “I think that in addition to what the Crowes did to us, they are guilty of very serious crimes,” Lucian said carefully. “I want to see them punished for them. Maude’s testimony against them will help convict them.”

  Angel looked dubious. “Do you think that she would testify?”

  “She was deeply involved in the schemes, and she can be persuaded to testify to save her own skin.”

  “What serious crimes has Rupert committed?”

  “Among others, extortion and even piracy.” Lucian did not mention murder.

  “Piracy?” she echoed.

  “Aye, you must have heard of the notorious One-eyed Jake. Crowe financed him.”

  Eager to cut short this conversation, Lucian’s mouth descended on his wife’s. This time when he pulled her into his arms, she did not resist him.

  “Angel, my darling,” he whispered, holding her hard against him, his mouth so close to hers that his breath was warm against her lips, “You are my wife and you will remain my wife until death do us part. I will never let you go.”

  “Why not?” Hope and scepticism warring in her voice.

  His answer came instantly, without conscious thought. “Because I love you more than I can ever tell you.”

  Even he was shocked by what he had said.

  But after the unbidden words had left his mouth, he realized they were the truth. His sweet, passionate wife had melted his frozen heart and claimed it as her own.

  Angel tilted her head back to look at his face. He saw that her eyes, filled with happiness, were as brilliant as blue diamonds.

  He swept her up into his powerful arms and carried her out of the ruined bedchamber and down the hall until he found a room that had escaped damage. He carried her in, kicking the door shut with his foot, and laid her upon a bed with yellow brocade coverlet and curtains.

  It did not take long for Angel to grasp that Lucian was trying to prove to her just how much he did love her. His mouth bathed her face with soft, tantalizing kisses while his hands gently opened her clothing so that he could caress her body first with his hands, then with his lips. He did so slowly, with infinite care, as though she were a rare and precious work of art to be treasured.

  Lucian, his voice husky with passion, whispered to her that she was beautiful and sweet and enticing. The hot appreciation in his silver eyes told her that he meant it.

  He kissed and stroked, nuzzled and caressed her until her body cried out to be joined with his, but still he held himself back, prolonging his sweet, sensual torture until she was begging him to take her.

  As he did, he whispered over and over, “I love you. I love you.” It was as though once he had said it, he could not stop.

  She thrilled at hearing at last the words she had so longed for.

  Then his mouth closed over hers, and his tongue moved slowly at first, then in quickening rhythm with his body as they scaled the heights of passion together until they reached a peak so glorious and shattering that it left them awed and weak and infinitely contented.

  Angel hugged him to her, unwilling to surrender him.

  “I love you,” he whispered again.

  Later, surveying the room, he asked, “Was this your bedchamber?”

  “Aye. How did you guess?”

  “You told me once that it was yellow. If I paint my bedchamber in London yellow, would you share it with me?”

  “So you have decided you no longer wish us to have separate rooms?”

  “I never wanted anything of the sort,” he protested indignantly. “I neglected to tell Mrs. McNally to put you with me. Then you seemed so happy with your yellow room that I had not the heart to insist you give it up to share mine.”

  Angel laughed. “And I pretended to love it so you would not know how hurt I was that you had me put in a separate room. Although I confess I began to wonder why you had bothered when you spent every night in my bed.”

  He groaned. “You will move into mine as soon as we return to London. I love you too much to be separated from you even by a door.”

  Smiling, Angel ran her hands caressingly over the hard, powerful muscles of his shoulders and back. “Was it so hard to admit to yourself that you loved me?”

  “Harder than you’ll ever know,” he said ruefully, lifting his head a little so that he could gaze into her eyes. “I swore after my father disowned me that I would never let anyone hurt me again as he had, but you slipped beneath my defences and stole my heart away before I realized it was gone. You say I do not trust you, but that is not true. I do trust you. That is one of many reasons why I love you.,’

  She felt him swallow hard, and his eyes, liquid silver rimmed with a thick sweep of jet black lashes, beseeched her. “Do not, whatever you do, little love, betray my trust in you.” The poignant vulnerability in his voice clawed at her heart. “I do not think I could bear it if you did.”

  Angel ran her finger lovingly over his lips. “I swear that I never will.”

  Chapter 29

  The crush of people in the gallery of Lord and Lady Kingsley’s London mansion had separated Angel from Lucian. The night was hot and the packed room even hotter. The heat had sapped Angel’s energy, leaving her tired and thirsty, and she wished that she could find Lucian so that they could go home.

  She smiled to herself as she thought of what they would do when they reached home. In the week since Lucian had finally admitted his love for her, he had seemed intent on proving it to her in every way he could.

  Angel’s smile grew dreamy. Their visit to Belle Haven, which had started out so unhappily, had turned into one of the happiest interludes of her life. Even the terrible damage the Crowes had inflicted on it and the knowledge that they must have found and destroyed her father’s will could not dim her joy at Lucian’s admission that he wanted her, loved her, and would keep her beside him always.

  When, after four days at Belle Haven, he could postpone his return to London no longer, they had come back together. Instead of leaving her at Belle Haven as he had suggested, he confessed that he hated being separated from her. They had spent their first two nights back in London at home, wanting no other company but each other. Tonight, however, they were committed to attend the Kingsley party.

  “You look radiant,” Lord Wrexham complimented her. The pride in his pale blue eyes as he regarded her left no doubt that he was sincere. “Your trip to the country surely agreed with you.”

  Angel smiled at her father-in-law. She still had not been able to persuade Lucian to forgive his father and reconcile with him, and she felt very badly for Wrexham, knowing how desperately he wanted that.

  Smiling at her, he said, “You enhance the pearls, my dear.”

  She was glad that she was wearing his late wife’s necklace. He took such pleasure in seeing it on her.

  “Your gown is lovely, too,” he said with an appreciative smile for her midnight blue satin overdress, looped up at the sides and trained at the back, over an azure blue lustring undergown, which was trimmed with rows of Mechlin lace. “A Madame de la Roche creation?”

  “Aye,” Angel said, “delivered only today.”

  A crony of Wrexham’s came up to them, and as the two men talked, she slipped away to resume her search for Lucian,

  A stocky footman carrying a tray of glasses filled with punch came up to her. He was not much taller than Angel, and his face was marred by an ugly scar across his chin beneath his mouth. He plucked a glass from the centre of the tray and offered it to her.

  The room was so hot and she was so thirsty that she gratefully
took the glass from him and drank the fruity liquid down quickly. Although the drink was very sweet, it left an odd, bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

  Roger Peck, in a turquoise brocade coat with huge cuffs over an embroidered white satin waistcoat, appeared in the door, his eyes searching the room.

  Angel knew that he was looking for her.

  Before she and Lucian had returned to London from Belle Haven, he had told her that he wanted her to cut Peck whenever she saw him, but Angel had refused.

  “Not because I care for him,” she had explained, “but because he does not deserve such treatment and, more importantly, because it means you still do not trust me enough to believe that I will always be faithful to you. I find that very hurtful, Lucian. If you truly trust me as you say, you will not insist I cut him.”

  Her husband had reluctantly bowed to her argument.

  But now Angel found herself wanting to avoid Roger. Everything was going so well between her and her husband that she did not want to do anything that might upset the happy, still delicate balance.

  She knew how difficult it had been for Lucian to trust her with his love. She knew, too, that his trust was still tenuous and would have to be nurtured carefully to robust maturity.

  Angel stepped behind a large man as broad as he was tall to conceal herself from Roger’s questing eyes.

  Suddenly she felt so woozy and light-headed that she swayed and had to catch the back of a chair with her hand to steady herself.

  A strange lethargy seized her, and she wanted nothing so much as to sit—or better yet lie down—for a few minutes. Unfortunately, she could see no empty chairs in the gallery, but she remembered a small sitting room adjacent to it.

  Angel made her way along the edge of the ballroom to the hall. Only a few steps from it, she suddenly felt as though a brake had been applied to the train of her gown. An instant later, she felt—and heard—the satin rip.

  Looking around, Angel saw that not only the skirt of her overdress but the undergown, too, had been torn away from the bodice at the waist, leaving a gaping hole that exposed her under garments. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the torn skirt and clutched it to her waist.