When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  Exhaustion had made her weak. Her face, delicate and heartbreakingly beautiful, seemed too pale. Her eyes appeared glazed. Her body next to his burned unnaturally warm. It would not do to linger.

  “Come, I’ve got to take you home.”

  Ivan rose from the bed. He picked up his greatcoat and wrapped it gently around her body.

  “Ivan, you must leave me alone now. You must,” she pleaded softly.

  Pulling on his trousers, he moved to the edge of the bed and kissed her mussed hair.

  “Do you hear me?” she asked while he shrugged on his shirt and found his shoes.

  Ignoring her, he finished dressing. Next he took the Worth satin dress from the peg and stepped back to the bed.

  “Your gown is too damp. Come, let me put this on you.”

  “I’m not going with you.” Weakly she tried to sit up. The coat slipped down, exposing her breasts to his view.

  He bent down and lovingly grazed one nipple with his knuckles. Then he covered her once more. “Lissa, you’ve got a fever. You’re practically delirious. Shall I drag you downstairs naked or in this dress?”

  “Please, Ivan, I beg of you, don’t—”

  Before she could finish, he was pulling the dress over her head. Mindless of her need for undergarments, he tightened the laces at the back. He again wrapped her in his coat, yet his hand swept down her hair as if to comfort her.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, but she shook her head. A tear of exhaustion and frustration slipped down her cheek. He wiped it with his thumb, then something in her hair caught his eye. It was the crystal. He disentangled it and searched the floor for the pin. Gently he opened his greatcoat and pinned it to the inside of her bodice.

  “I like where you keep this,alainn. ” With that he placed a tender kiss on her lips and picked her up into his arms. He then carried her down to the yard to his waiting carriage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Lissa opened her eyes to a strange, unfamiliar place. She’d been dreaming of Ivan and in the last part of her dream, she was riding in his carriage as the rain pummeled the japanned doors. She had been tired, so tired that she had had difficulty just keeping her head up. Finally when she had let it fall back, her cheek hadn’t met with the lush silk velvet upholstery of the carriage. Instead, she had unwittingly found herself against Ivan’s chest. She had tried to sit up then, but she was induced to stay there when his arms went around her and held her fast. She had fallen asleep listening to the rain and the strong, sure beat of his heart.

  Now she was awake and for the life of her she couldn’t place her surroundings. As she raised herself on her elbows, she noted she was in a mahogany sleigh bed festooned with pale-lavender taffeta and matching silk tassels. A delicate papier-mâché table painted with roses sat next to her; below her, a lavender Brussels carpet woven with green trailing vines covered the floor from wall to wall. The only means of illumination was from the Argand lamp on her bedside table. In the dimness, her gaze trailed to the pier where she found a huge wardrobe painted with a scene from Chaucer’s “Prioress’s Tale.” The two windows, well shielded from drafts with green moiré drapery, confirmed it was night.

  “I see Sleeping Beauty is awake.”

  Startled, she looked to the other side of the bed. A white-haired man looked down on her, watching her.

  “Where am I?” she asked in an unsteady voice. The man only smiled and tried to put his hand on her forehead. Frightened, she turned away. She tried to raise herself fully and when she did, she noticed she was wearing a night rail she’d never seen before. It was of the sheerest Swiss dotted batiste and hardly gave her any modesty at all. Nervously she clutched the covers to her bosom.

  She still couldn’t remember where she was, and the elderly man before her was a total stranger. As he sat familiarly at the edge of her bed, she could no longer contain her alarm. She desperately tried to move back, but at once a voice commanded, “Lissa, be still.”

  Looking down at the foot of the bed, she saw Ivan standing there, legs apart, arms crossed over his chest. He wore only a rumpled shirt and trousers. His eyes bore lines of fatigue and a dark fringe of beard shadowed his face. Nonetheless, he looked as implacable as before.

  “Ivan,” she pleaded, “where am I? I was dreaming and then I woke up here.”

  A comforting hand touched her shoulder. Her head jerked around and she looked up at the white-haired gent.

  “You’ve been ill, Lady Powerscourt. Your memory will return.”

  “Lady . . . Powerscourt?” She turned back to Ivan. He seemed thoroughly annoyed.

  “Lissa.” He nodded in the direction of the gent. “Let me introduce you to the best physician in London. This is Dr. Knepp. He’s attended you for the past three days.”

  “Three days!” She gasped. She thought she had been dreaming, but it had not been a dream at all. Ivan must have truly taken her away from the Bell and Garter. The room she was in was probably in his town house. And if that was all true, then the dream of his lovemaking and her own wantonness must be true too. Unable to stop herself, she colored all the way down to her barely covered chest.

  “Your fever is gone, Lady Powerscourt. A little more rest and some of Mrs. Myers’s mutton stew should bring you back to your former health.” She looked up and found Dr. Knepp packing his black doctor’s satchel. He now appeared much less ominous.

  Ready to depart, he nodded to Ivan, who nodded back. “I’ll look in on your wife tomorrow morning, my lord. Right nowI could use some sleep. And, if I may suggest, my lord, it wouldn’t do you any harm to have some too.” With twinkling blue eyes, Dr. Knepp gave his patient one last assessing look before he went to the door and quitted the bedchamber.

  “Your wife?” Lissa whispered when he was gone. Somehow everything was turned upside down. She had lost three days and had no memory of arriving wherever she was now. Had she forgotten something else too? Had Ivan somehow married her?

  “I shall call Mrs. Myers up now that you’re awake.”

  Ivan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Unable to wait another moment, she asked, “Why did he call me your wife?”

  His face grew taut and she was almost afraid he wouldn’t answer her. Haltingly he said, “Would you have rather I told him otherwise?”

  She paled at the innuendo. Suddenly she felt like a fool for even having hoped that what the physician had said might be true. She again remembered that last night at the Bell and Garter and fury sparked in her eyes.

  “You took advantage of me,” she suddenly accused.

  “I see it differently.”

  “And how do you see it? My God, what kind of villain are you?”

  Angrily he strode to the edge of the bed. He leaned down and said, “If I’m a villain, surely you’re a villainess. You ingrate! If I hadn’t come when I did you’d probably be lying in that room of yours, too weak to keep the rats from gnawing at your flesh. You owe me your life.”

  Wretchedly she looked away and said, “If I recall correctly, I paid you for my salvation in advance.”

  He took her chin and forced her to meet his dark, brooding stare. “Two payments do not erase a mountain of debt.”

  “I owe you nothing more!”

  He released her chin and straightened. Ignoring her glittering looks, he asked smugly, “Shall I send Mrs. Myers up to bathe you, or would you have me do the honors?”

  “I hate you, Ivan. Do you hear?” she whispered.

  “I hear,” he answered. “But then, if I recall, your sentiments were altogether different the night I found you at that inn.”

  “Oooooh,” she cried out. Her hand met with the first object on the little papier-mâché table—a pearlware figure of a cat. She flung it at him with all her might, but he neatly stepped aside and it smashed impotently against the doorjamb.

  In a cool voice, he stated, “I shall send Mrs. Myers up. I suggest you control your temper in her company.” With that he left her alone to simmer in her own anger.


  While Lissa was still fuming, Mrs. Myers popped her frilly-capped head through the door.

  “Awake at last, I see! My, my, you gave us all quite a scare!” the housekeeper exclaimed.

  Despite her mood, Lissa trembled a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Myers, but I can’t believe you’re here in London. I thought you were needed at Powerscourt.”

  “Oh, no, love, the marquis summoned me here the night he found you. And when I arrived, I’d never seen such a grim face on him—and grim faces are certainly his specialty!” The housekeeper chuckled.

  Lissa watched her go to the armoire. She could hardly believe that Ivan had spent a moment’s grief worrying about her, especially just after he so chivalrously threw her chastity—or rather, lack of it—in her face. She turned her frustrated gaze back to Mrs. Myers.

  It was a comforting sight watching the housekeeper set up her bath. From the armoire, she took out several linen towels, a silver-backed hairbrush, and a fragrant bar of lily-of-the-valley scented soap. She placed these on a tufted bench and moved to the corner of the huge bedchamber. From behind an arabesque-painted leather screen, she pulled out a claw-footed tub. In minutes, several scullery girls appeared from the jib door and filled the porcelain tub from steaming kettles. When they had gone and Mrs. Myers had adjusted the water temperature with a pail of cold water, her bath was ready.

  Lissa threw back the covers and made to stand, but she’d miscalculated her strength and almost fell.

  “Child! Child! You’ve been abed for quite a while. You cannot expect to leap up your first time out.” The housekeeper clucked her tongue and put her arm around Lissa’s small waist. Slowly she led her charge to the tub and helped her out of the filmy night rail. Again helping her, Mrs. Myers saw her into the tub, then she bustled about the room, changing her sheets and setting out fresh bedclothes.

  When the housekeeper was through with her tasks, she sat on the edge of the bench and studied Lissa’s faraway expression.

  “What are you thinking of, child?” she asked quietly. “Or should I say, whom are you thinking of?”

  Lissa dropped her eyes. Trying to remain nonchalant, she took the soap in her hand and lathered up her thigh. “I suppose I was wondering where I should go. I mean, I can’t stay here. After all, it’s terribly improper that I’ve been here three days already.”

  “You’re too weak to go anywhere else now. Besides,” the housekeeper assured her, “your sister and Mr. Jones should be back from the Continent soon. They’ll see to it that you’re taken care of.”

  “But my staying here until then is not proper—”

  Mrs. Myers shook her head. “I should think it obvious by now that Lord Powerscourt was not bred to pay homage to propriety.”

  “But I was,” she replied. Quietly she sunk lower in the tub. Despair was etched all over her lovely face. “And even if Ivan was not,” she uttered, “does that mean he’ll never change?”

  “You must always hope.” Mrs. Myers smiled a rather secretive smile. “I do,” she finished, before holding out a towel for her.

  Four days later Lissa watched from the bed as Mrs. Myers laid out her clothes.

  “Lord Powerscourt has gone out again?” she asked tentatively.

  When the housekeeper nodded, Lissa was crestfallen. She hadn’t seen Ivan since that morning they had fought. From then on she had stayed in bed, and he had stayed away from her room.

  “I expect the marquis won’t be back until after midnight,” Mrs. Myers commented, “as he’s done these past few days.” Beneath her cap, the housekeeper studied her. Lissa’s poorly-hidden disappointment seemed to please her immensely.

  “What does he do all that time?” Lissa asked, trying not to sound too interested.

  “Do? Good heavens! That is certainly none of my business!” Mrs. Myers exclaimed, and Lissa had the grace to look chastened. But then the housekeeper slyly added, “However, I do expect he does the usual kinds of things for a man of his station.”

  Though Lissa wanted to stop herself, she couldn’t help but prompt, “The ‘usual’ things?”

  The housekeeper gave her a twinkling covert glance. She then paused as if all of the marquis’s entertainments were too numerous to recall. “Well, the marquis does frequent the Reform Club, but then there’s always supper to be had at Claridge’s. After that, perhaps there’s Covent Garden for some theater or the Tavistock for a hand of cards. You know, those sort of activities.”

  “I see.” Lissa cleared her throat. “I imagine all that activity is pretty tedious when one must do it alone—”

  “Alone?” Mrs. Myers laughed. “The marquis alone? Why, what a quaint idea! Biddles can hardly answer all the invites that flow through this house!”

  Lissa’s disappointment at hearing this news only seemed to make Mrs. Myers more cheerful. “Come along, love, it’s time you were up out of that bed! Why don’t we dress you in this?” The housekeeper held up a stunning dress of powder-blue velvet with a sheer chemisette of Honiton at the collar. It was simple, innocent, and elegant, and couldn’t have been less in accordance with Lissa’s mood.

  She looked at the gown, getting even more depressed. The dresses had arrived just that morning from a maker on Bond Street. She hadn’t wanted to accept them, but then, she had no choice when all her things had been left at the Bell and Garter. It was wear the new gowns, or stay forever in her borrowed night rail. And she ached to go downstairs, just once, for a change of scenery.

  “Oh, it really doesn’t matter which one, Mrs. Myers. Any one will do,” she said glumly.

  “You look as though I’m holding up widow’s weeds.” The housekeeper ran her hand down the shimmering pale blue silk velvet. “Aren’t you happy with it?”

  “Yes, of course. They’re all quite beautiful. It was too kind of the marquis to send them. You must tell him so.”

  “Why don’t we get you out of this bed—and then you can tell him yourself. All right, love?” Mrs. Myers tossed the exquisite gown onto the tufted bench. She threw back the covers and began helping Lissa get dressed.

  “Now, aren’t you lovely?” Mrs. Myers said after she finished tying a ribbon of claret-colored satin around Lissa’s neck for the finishing touch. “Let’s be off, and I shall make you a hot cup of tea to enjoy in the morning room.”

  They went downstairs, and Lissa couldn’t help but marvel over the wealth of the town house. The entrance hall alone was the twice the size of Violet Croft and possessed a stunning black-and-white marble floor. Reynoldses and Gainsboroughs graced the walls while a cheerful fire sputtered beneath a marble mantelpiece that appeared right out of a Piranesi etching.

  The morning room was no less glorious. A huge oriel overlooked the gardens to the back. Though the flora was in the midst of a dreary winter, today the sun shone and flooded the room with warm yellow light. The furniture was entirely wrought out of cast iron in a trompe l’oeil pattern of silken cords and tassels. Plump feather cushions of gold jacquard completed the furnishings, giving the cheerful, summery room an air of comfort and wealth.

  “Now, I’ll be back with your tea in a moment, love. You just sit here and let the sunshine put some roses in your cheeks.” Without another word, Mrs. Myers settled her in a chair, then hurried off to the pantry.

  Lissa was still admiring the room when she heard a bustle in the entrance hall. An antagonistic male voice was speaking to Biddles. Startled, she looked up and found Ivan in the doorway.

  “So you’re out of bed,” he commented.

  Coolly she nodded. “I thought you were out.”

  “I came back to change clothing for the afternoon.”

  “Yes, I suppose frequent changes of clothing are necessary with your hectic social schedule.” She frowned and thought of her conversation with Mrs. Myers.

  “If I heard the right words, my plans could be changed,” he said wickedly.

  He came and sat down next to her. His large frame seemed to take up the entire settee, but she refu
sed to pull back, even when his leg pressed intimately along the length of her own.

  He rubbed the nap of her velvet sleeve. His gaze swept down her figure, lingering appreciatively where the velvet tightened at her bosom. “You look beautiful in your new gown,alainn. I hope they all do you this much justice.”

  “You were quite generous to lend them to me,” she said stiffly.

  “They’re not a loan. In fact, when you’re feeling better, I want you to be fitted for more.”

  Agitated, she stood and walked to the oriel. Outside, his gardens spread all the way back to the next street, and if she looked hard enough she could almost see the roofs of the flats on Bolton Row.

  “Lissa, what is it now?” He came and stood behind her.

  “I cannot accept any more gowns. That is the privilege of your wife . . . or your mistress, neither of which I am.”

  She began to move away, but he caught her hand. He seemed just about to say something when a cacophony of voices interrupted them from the hall. There was the sound of footsteps, then Antonia Kovel appeared at the morning-room doors with what seemed to be an army of servants.

  “Lissa! Darling! I am so glad you’re all right!” Antonia swept into the room and threw her arms around Lissa, artfully disengaging Ivan’s hold. Bewildered, Lissa could barely stutter a greeting before Ivan demanded an explanation.

  “Damned, if you aren’t calling at an inopportune time, Antonia. What is it?” He scowled at the beauty.

  “Aninopportune time?” Antonia smiled and Ivan grew wary. “If anything, my dear, I am inexcusably late.” She turned to Lissa. “Please forgive my tardiness, Miss Alcester. I came as soon as I knew you were here.”

  Ivan crossed his arms over his massive chest. “What are you babbling about?”

  Antonia squeezed Lissa’s hands. Lissa didn’t know what to make of any of this. She didn’t quite trust Antonia, but for some reason, probably because Antonia was so skillfully driving Ivan mad, she wanted to go along with her.

  “I have come, Ivan dear, to take Miss Alcester into my nest and protect her from snakes in the grass such as yourself.” Antonia calmly looked behind her to the servants who stood in the doorway. “I’ve brought all my personal servants, and we can have Miss Alcester’s effects moved to Harewood this very afternoon.”