When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  Sensing her sister’s reasons, Evvie quietly led George from the parlor. Lissa stared after them as the two disappeared into the kitchen. Then she turned to Ivan. He was watching her, his hand stroking his chin as if he were deep in thought.

  She wiped the tears from her face, then took another deep breath. Quietly she began, “I remember that you once said George belonged at Eton.”

  “I did,” he answered slowly.

  “Then I shall do whatever is necessary to send him there. I shall cook for you or do your wash. I shall even make your bed if you like. But I beg you”—her voice lowered to a whisper—“don’t make me earn it in your bed.”

  He stared at her for a long time. He seemed to be unable to tear his gaze away. He took in her homey, dusty, winsome appearance, and a longing briefly lit up his face. The look was certainly sparked by desire, but somehow his expression seemed to want something more, something deeper. But soon the fleeting look was gone and abruptly he got up from his seat.

  Scowling, he said, “I have enough money to pay for one boy’s schooling without forcing his sister into servitude. Good day, Miss Alcester. I shall arrange things and get back to you tomorrow.” He walked to the pegs where his overcoat hung. Without hesitation, he donned it and made ready to leave.

  “Ivan, wait.” She touched his arm. He turned to face her, and she felt very small as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “I can’t let you pay for George. You must know that. But I shall gladly take the position for which Powerscourt advertised. It hardly sounded like menial labor. Then, when Evvie is married, we shall be able to repay you completely. Please, can we make a bargain?”

  “You bargain with me, love, you bargain with the devil.”

  She looked at him shocked. “But—but—can’t you see? I won’t let myself be indebted to you—”

  He grabbed her arm. “You tempt me, Lissa. And I say leave it be. I have offered to pay for George without compensation. I suggest you leave it that way.”

  “But we can make a simple bargain.”

  “As if any bargain between you and me could be simple.” Roughly he let go of her arm.

  “It can be, if you’d just let it!”

  He laughed. “All right. You pushed and I shall agree to take your offer. You shall have a position in my household—though nothing so low as housemaid. You may assist me with my letters and aid the housekeeper with her lists. For that, I shall keep to my promise of one hundred pounds per annum. So let me see . . . how many years will it take for you to pay all of George’s bills? My God, I shudder to think.”

  “It shall not be more than half a year. Holland will pay you the rest when he marries Evvie.”

  “Holland’s money be damned. It’s all my money anyway and I won’t accept it. Now, do we have a bargain?”

  “Why must you be difficult?” she asked him in a panic. “You know I can’t work at the castle indefinitely.”

  “And why can’t you? Or do you look forward to your many years living as a fifth wheel with Evvie’s family, and being known only as Mrs. Holland Jones’s spinster sister?”

  His cruelty brought tears to her eyes. “Of course not. And how kind of you to bring that up,” she whispered.

  “I’m being realistic. Now do we have a bargain?”

  “Yes, damn you, we have a bargain. But I shall not repay you working in your bed. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  A heated flush of relief rose to her cheeks. She hated to speak of such indelicate matters, but he’d forced her. At least now they were seeing eye to eye. “All right then, we have an agreement. Shall we shake hands on it? Do you give me your word as a gentleman?”

  “I give you my word, yet because I’m not a gentleman, we will not seal this bargain with a handshake. Instead I should like a kiss.”

  “You are to act like a gentleman. It’s part of the bargain.”

  “I shall act like a gentleman. To finalize this,you are to kissme .”

  Apalled, she stared at him in disbelief.

  “So now I ask you, do we still have an agreement?”

  She took a moment before she answered him. “Yes,” she said, “but what you ask is just what I told you I won’t tolerate.”

  “One kiss. From you. Then I assure you, you may play the part of the consummate virgin, for I’m not in the habit of chasing the help around the furniture. Nor do I plan to be in the future.”

  “After this, no more?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you, love. So kiss me.”

  She paused and decided that what he asked was innocent enough. They were in her parlor, and Evvie was only a call away. He could never compromise her.

  She stood on tiptoe and tried to kiss his lips, but he was utterly uncooperative. Without his bending his head, she couldn’t reach his mouth, and so she was finally forced to put her arms around his neck and pull his head down to hers.

  As close as he was, she could see the midnight color of his eyes, the way they sparkled with desire yet hid every other emotion brilliantly. The scar she hardly noticed, because it now seemed as much a part of him as his nose or his ears. She licked her lips before she kissed him, for her mouth had become unbearably dry. She was anxious to have this over with, and so she placed her mouth upon his and gave him a quick innocent kiss.

  It was done in a second, yet still she was amazed at how disturbing his lips had felt. The inside of her belly seemed to melt, and her own lips tingled and quivered from a desire for more. But as unsettling as her reaction was, Ivan’s was even more so. With her hands still wrapped around his neck, she thought she’d see passion on his face. Instead his expression was distant and cool. His eyes seemed to be daring her to go further, as if enticing her to break down his resistance. She didn’t want to but the temptation was too much, and deep down she felt disappointed that he had not been affected by her kiss. If she was more truthful, she would have admitted that with his passion there was power. Now that it might no longer be hers, she was not about to let it go.

  She pulled him to her for another kiss. Her lips moved across his in an artless seduction. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck. But still there was no response. Above her Ivan remained as cold and implacable as ever.

  She kissed him again and instinctively she made this kiss wetter. Her lips hungrily sought his and her mouth grew more bold. Still there was nothing.

  By the fourth kiss, she felt him stir. It was almost imperceptible, merely a light slackening of his jaw and a slight movement of his lips. So she kissed him a fifth time, hoping this one would bring forth a response.

  It did. Unable to take any more of her teasing, his hands went to her face and he guided her lips ferociously to his. With his unleashing his desire, a fire lit inside her and she shuddered with delight. He was hers after all.

  Her hand stroked the dark curls at the nape of his neck while their kiss grew deeper and more sensual. His tongue slid inside her but this time she wasn’t shocked. Kissing Ivan this way seemed as natural as laughter and ever so much more pleasurable. She wanted it to go on forever.

  Finally, as the bloom of their kiss faded away leaving them hot and breathless, Lissa closed her eyes and brought her cheek to rest upon his chest.

  “It should always be like this,” he whispered to her.

  She looked up at him and he tenderly outlined her lips with his finger. Suddenly she felt like crying again, but for what reason, she didn’t know. When he pulled from their embrace, heaved on his overcoat and walked out the door, she had to force herself not to stop him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ivan had taken it upon himself to escort George to Eton College. When he returned from Buckinghamshire, Lissa was amazed at the deference given the assumed protegé of the Marquis of Powerscourt. In less than three days a post came from the Provost of Eton who wanted to personally assure them that George Alcester was not only well suited to be a colleger, but that he would most definitely be an asset to the intellectual, spiritual, and
social community of the school. The Alcester girls were thrilled and, as if unable to believe their good fortune, Lissa read the letter aloud to Evvie every day for a week.

  Meanwhile, an odd thing happened to Clayton and Johnny Baker. Their father, Sir Baker, had always been a flagrant spender, so it was no surprise that rumors soon had it he was becoming a candidate for debtor’s prison. Yet surprisingly, Sir Baker’s debts were paid off just in the nick of time. But then, instead of Sir Baker’s resuming his previous lifestyle, he sold his estate to a mysterious buyer, put Clayton and Johnny in a wretchedly strict boarding school up north, and left town without a word. Needless to say, Lissa had been delighted to hear the Bakers had all left Nodding Knoll, but the entire episode smelled of the marquis. And he already had too much power.

  Soon the cost of such luck came due and Lissa was summoned to Powerscourt by the housekeeper, Mrs. Lofts. Upon their second meeting the housekeeper’s attitude toward her soared to the heights of unpleasantness, yet Lissa could not quite figure out why. Since there was no proper way to ask the tight-lipped woman about it, she could only keep her speculations to herself.

  In the beginning Lissa found the work quite tolerable. She had been delighted when Mrs. Lofts informed her that the first rule of employment at Powerscourt was that she was never, ever to be seen by the master unless he specifically called for her presence. As she had guessed, within the castle walls there was an entire network of servants’ passages and silent, baize-covered doors for use only by those who worked in the household. From the other servants, she had learned that Ivan was not so intolerable as some who would fire any servant unlucky enough to have been caught outside the tunnel when the master was about. However, Mrs. Lofts was. The housekeeper seemed pleased to inform Lissa in no uncertain terms that if the marquis saw even her skirts slide behind one of the baize doors and she was to find out about it, Lissa would be out on her heels that very same day.

  Ironically it was hardly a week before Ivan caught her. Mrs. Lofts had asked her to bring to the scullery all the glass chimneys that needed cleaning in the drawing room. It was not the kind of task Lissa had thought she’d be performing, but she was not about to complain to Ivan, and most definitely not to the dour Mrs. Lofts. She had just lowered the gasolier when she looked up and found Ivan watching her from the conservatory. Nervously she searched the room for the servants’ exit, but she couldn’t recall where it was. So she took an uneasy step backward and made for the main passage.

  “Where are you going?” Ivan’s voice shot out from behind her.

  Without turning, she said, “I must leave you alone.”

  “Come back here. Tell me about your duties with which I see Mrs. Lofts has you well encumbered.”

  “Ivan,” she said, running up to him, “please don’t tell her you saw me. If you did, she said she’d have me—”

  “Yes, I know all about that. She’s quite a witch, isn’t she?” He sank into a nearby sofa.

  “Well . . .” She looked at him, uncertain. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

  He only chuckled at her expression. “My sentiments exactly. What say we replace her?”

  “We?”

  “Of course. I shouldn’t like to oust employees on my own account. Much better we both agree she’s no good.”

  “But I couldn’t have that on my conscience,” she said. “Perhaps she has a family to support? Perhaps Mrs. Lofts has some sickly mother in need of care?”

  “She is a spinster and at her age, I doubt sincerely she has any living parents. Besides, the woman hasn’t posted a note in a century. How could she be sending her wages to anyone?”

  “Then I suppose she isn’t,” she answered in a small voice. It unsettled her that a woman’s entire livelihood depended on this man’s whim. She had no love of Mrs. Lofts. On the contrary, that very morning she had seen the housekeeper viciously cuff one of the sculleries. The poor girl was so hurt, she’d left the kitchen in tears. Having watched the entire display, Lissa hadn’t been able to contain her anger any more. She’d demanded to know what on earth could be so terrible that the housekeeper felt it necessary to strike young girls. It had been the wrong thing to say, indeed, for the imperious Mrs. Lofts exited without saying a word. Only later did Lissa find out from the butler that she’d been given the chore of polishing the silver. She’d been forced to do that all morning, and now her hands were blistered and raw.

  But even so, she wanted to give the old woman the benefit of doubt. Perhaps Mrs. Lofts was simply having a bad time of it. That was no reason to dismiss a servant who’d obviously been doing good work for years.

  “She adored my father, you know.” Ivan’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. She turned to him. With a slight smile, he said, “In fact, I think she was quite in love with him.”

  “Then you surely mustn’t be so cruel as to throw her out on the streets.”

  “You mean you don’t want me to? Is there a warm heart beneath all that ice and acrimony?” He looked at her in mock horror.

  “She’s been with your family a long time. I don’t see any need for haste.”

  The speculation on his face deepened. “She hates me. So tell me, Lissa, how does one go about tolerating a servant so vile?”

  “She seems nothing but dutiful to me. How can you say such things?”

  “Because it’s in her eyes. And because she spent so much time with my father.”

  Her eyes met his. There was something she wanted to say, but she had difficulty forming the words. “Your father —Ivan—you must forget him—he’s like a poison.”

  She half expected a rage to follow, but none did. Ivan grew solemn, then gave her a dark, distrustful look. After that, he promptly changed the subject.

  “Here, let me look at you in that silly frumpish garb.” He motioned with his head. “Go ahead, turn around so I can see all of it.”

  Haltingly she turned for him. She felt foolish doing so, but anything was better than tempting his ire. When she faced him once more, she was blushing.

  “Fetching, fetching indeed,” he murmured as he looked at her black dress. She hated the silk twill gown, for its color made her dreadfully pale. The only relief to the uniform’s severity was the pristine white collar and cuffs, and the little white cap of ribbons that fell down her back like a wedding veil, but it wasn’t enough to put color in her cheeks nor a spark to her eyes. It seemed only he could do that, and he always did it brilliantly.

  “Lissa, come sit here beside me and tell me of your duties.”

  She glanced at him uneasily. “I really cannot. Mrs. Lofts will not like it.”

  “What are we, two truant children hiding from their nanny? Damn the woman! Come and sit beside me.” Suddenly he grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the sofa, yet her hand was still blistered from all the polishing and she winced.

  “What is this?” he asked as he pulled open her palm. He scrutinized its raw appearance, then, as if in apology, he kissed its center. The burn of his lips made her pull back, but her palm curled into itself anyway as if to hold the pleasure of his touch.

  “No, Ivan, don’t,” she said as he tried to take it again. He turned angry, but for once his anger was not directed toward her.

  “Where did you acquire such blisters?” he demanded. “My household or yours?”

  “Mine,” she lied.

  “And how did you get them?”

  “I—I was polishing some of my mother’s silver.” That was closer to the truth, and she at once felt much more comfortable.

  “Your mother must have left you a fortune in silver then, considering the condition of your hands.” He suddenly tried to grab one again, but this time she anticipated it and stood up. Before he could rise from the sofa she was halfway across the room. He seemed to think her a coquette for suddenly he laughed, but she only tensed. Behind her in the passage she could hear footsteps. The thought that they might belong to Mrs. Lofts sent a chill down her spine.

  As if he’d
read her thoughts, he said, “She’s not your employer, I am. You need answer only to me.”

  Her worried azure gaze darted to the door. But how very miserable Mrs. Lofts could make her life in Ivan’s absence. With that thought, she searched for the servants’ exit. She found the baize-covered door and opened it silently. It closed just the same way.

  At her swift departure, Ivan’s expression darkened. A gleam lit his eyes when he caught a last fleeting glimpse of her ankle surrounded by the confection of petticoat ruffles. He was sufficiently tantalized to pursue her but just as he stepped toward the door, Mrs. Lofts entered the drawing room.

  “You have a visitor, my lord,” she announced in her perfunctory manner. Seeing the gasolier down, she dutifully went to raise it.

  “Who is it?” he asked, an annoyed expression on his face.

  “She says her name is Mrs. Kovel. Mrs. Antonia Kovel. She said you would know who she was.”

  Suddenly the annoyance left Ivan’s face and it was replaced with bemusement. “Send her in,” he said, then as an afterthought added, “And make us some luncheon, will you? Just bring it in here.”

  “Will that be all, my lord?” Mrs. Lofts inquired, the slightest hint of a smirk on her face as she used his title.

  “Yes, that will be all.” His eyes narrowed as if he’d caught her disdain. “For now.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  When Antonia Kovel entered the room, Ivan was gazing out the great expanse of windows that overlooked the South Lawn. His hands were clasped behind his back and his feet were apart; he looked like a captain viewing his fleet. Seeing him, the beautiful black-haired woman smiled softly. Her green eyes sparkled with emotion. They seemed glazed by tears of sadness and delight. She picked up the skirts of her black velvet riding habit and walked into the room.

  “Ivan. I’m here,” she whispered.

  Immediately he turned around. Antonia giggled like a girl, though it was clear by the etching of lines on her lovely face she hadn’t seen girlhood in at least twenty years. His arms went out and she rushed into them.