Angel Of Windword

by Maggie Dove

  Nicholas chuckled at her rebuke. “We don’t consider Bertie and her daughters the help. They’re almost like family. Bertie insisted on providing her daughters with an education. But, if they favor trash, who am I to deny them?” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Angelique, we don’t treat our servants the way Victoria does here. You must remember that when you come to live in England. I won’t tolerate …”

  “What are you implying, monsieur? Never compare me to my stepmother. I certainly do not or will ever treat another human being in her deplorable manner.”

  Nicholas regretted his hasty remark. “I know. You are nothing like her. Forget I said that. Now about the St. John book …”

  “It’s not risqué, monsieur. It’s a beautiful love story.”

  “You really believe that?” Nicholas chuckled as he took the book from her and thumbed over the pages. “Your hero walks panther-like. What the devil is that?”

  Angelique giggled in protestation. “Oh, monsieur, you know so little about great literature.”

  “Enough! Come to me, wench. I want you now. I’m not even going to bother with your bodice—I’ll tear it with my teeth. I shall devour you with your clothes on. Where are the pearls? I want to see them,” he insisted as he pretended to go for her bodice.

  Angelique jumped up, shrieking, trying to get away. “Nicholas, stop!”

  “I like the sound of my name coming from your luscious lips. Now, I demand a kiss,” he declared as he groped at her skirts and caught her, stifling her escape. He stood abruptly and took her in his arms, his lips searching hers.

  Giggling, Angelique turned her face from him, and his lips only brushed her cheek. “Buttercup, give in to me.”

  “Mon Dieu—Nicholas—stop!” she pleaded, laughing hysterically, trying to disentangle herself from his clutches.

  Nicholas crooked an eyebrow and drew away from her. “What, no kiss? You disappoint me, Buttercup. Is that all you have to say? Just a simple Mon Dieu?”

  Angelique took a few breaths between giggles. “Well, monsieur, maybe if you could learn to walk panther-like … maybe then I’d reward you with a kiss. But first you have to catch me and you’ll never find me in the woods!”

  As soon as she said this, she turned and bolted toward the pine trees.

  Nicholas stood immobilized, momentarily taken aback by the flaxen display of beauty before him. Her long, flowing tresses flew in synergy with the wind, adorning her head like strands of gold. She was exquisite. He couldn’t deny that. No woman, not the aristocratic beauties nor the sexually adept wenches of his past, had ever evoked such undeniable lust in him. And no matter how hard he fought against it, he knew he wanted her. Damn it—he wanted her bad.

  “You’ll never get me, monsieur!” she called back at him.

  A throaty chuckle escaped his lips. “We’ll just see about that.”

  Chapter Five

  Looking over his shoulders for fear of being discovered, Henri grabbed Angelique and pulled her behind the stables.

  “Gellie, what is going on between you and Kent?” he demanded. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

  “Shh!” Angelique placed her forefinger to her lips. “Henri, I can’t think of Nicholas waiting at the altar for a bride who will never appear. We must tell him of our elopement. You don’t know how difficult these weeks have been for me.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Henri protested loudly, his brow creased with disbelief. “Difficult for you, chérie?” he balked. “While you have been gallivanting around town, entertaining your viscount, I, my dear, have been barraged with an army of do-gooders and well-wishers at my door. For almost three weeks, I’ve had to pretend to be the jilted lover. I cannot tell you what that can do to a man’s pride!”

  His mouth dipped into an even deeper frown. “I’ve had to deceive Alain and Giselle. Poor Giselle! As if she didn’t have enough to worry about in her condition. She is crestfallen over my broken heart and your forthcoming marriage to Kent.”

  Angelique glanced sideways then turned back to him. “Hush, Henri, do you want to wake everyone?”

  Gritting his teeth, Henri lowered his voice. “Gossip has it that you have become quite attached to your viscount, Gellie,” he said straight out, his face beet-red as he pointed an incriminating finger at her. “We heard all about the incident the other night with Monique d’Chapel. Did you have to drench her with wine?”

  “Oh—that.” Angelique felt herself blush. “That was an accident. But she shouldn’t have been fawning all over Nicholas when she knows he is promised to me.”

  “Promised to you?” Henri barked, staring at her wide-eyed. “Are you listening to yourself? C’est fini,” he declared with a fiery, angry look that was unfamiliar to her. “I will no longer hide away while you continue to accept invitations. Let me warn you,” he added, lifting his chin in defiance, “I have accepted an invitation for dinner at Château Lumiet for Friday night.”

  “No, Henri, you mustn’t!” Angelique quickly objected. “You cannot attend. The dinner party is being given in my honor … to celebrate my engagement to Nicholas. I dare not be in the same room with the both of you.”

  Henri eyed her with a critical squint. “Nicholas this—Nicholas that. Well, you’d best get used to it. I don’t care if I coincide with you and your viscount. In fact, I welcome it … for it seems that I must keep my eye on you, chérie!”

  Angelique met his reproachful eyes without flinching. “I was only following your instructions,” she spat out defensively. “Did I not promise you to be convincing? I am playing a part that is all.”

  “Oh, of course, Gellie. It is through no fault of yours that you have suddenly become quite the actress and seem dangerously fond of your leading man,” he accused her, his tone full of anger and betrayal.

  Angelique waved away his protests. But deep inside she knew Henri was speaking the truth. Nicholas’s arrival at the château had brought excitement to her otherwise uneventful days. Instead of spending tedious weeks feigning the interested and earnest fiancée, she was, in fact, zestfully participating in and thoroughly enjoying every minute of her sham courtship.

  Guilt pricked her as she remembered her reaction in these very stables when she had first set eyes on Nicholas and the many glorious hours she’d had the pleasure of spending with him since. Her body tingled at the memory of Nicholas’s strong, manly hands as he pressed her against him. How sweet his lips had tasted the morning in the library when he had rescued her from Victoria. How wonderful it felt to be pinned underneath him, his eyes full of passion, his warm lips pressed to the palm of her hand.

  She could never admit this to Henri. Nor would she admit that she pretended nonchalance as she eagerly searched for the viscount’s tall, dark form whenever she entered a room; that her traitorous heart would leap the moment she’d spot him or worse, that it would sink if he were not present; that Nicholas’s kiss in the library several weeks before had left her breathless and longing for more; and that she could not help but wonder what it would be like to be truly engaged to Nicholas under different circumstances.

  “We must tell him the truth. He will help us,” Angelique persisted. “Nicholas has shown me only kindness. He has defended me against Victoria. Why, earlier this week when Victoria threatened Tante Mattie with expulsion from the château, he came to her rescue. He has already made plans for Tantie to reside permanently at Windword with us. Tantie is so deliriously happy with her upcoming move to England, she is insisting on speaking only English. She has been lording her new life over Victoria every chance she gets. I dread what our elopement will do to poor Tantie.”

  “Zut—Gellie, don’t be naïve!” Henri exploded. “He, no doubt, is using his every charm to make you believe he is a knight in shining armor. Kent is an opportunist. He must secure the merger, remember? Or have you forgotten you are being sold for profit? If he is as kind as you say, ultimately you shall be doing the viscount a favor by leaving him at the altar.”


  “Why, because he shall be free to marry someone not as conniving as me?”

  “No, because you don’t love him. No more arguing, Gellie! Do you want to marry me or not?”

  “At this moment, I’m not too certain,” Angelique retorted.

  “I know you love me, Gellie.” Henri’s tight expression relaxed into a smile. “Don’t worry about Tante Mattie. Once we are settled in New Orleans, your aunt is welcome to join us. Last I heard English is also spoken in the States. See, Kent is not the only hero—my armor’s plenty shiny, too.”

  The teasing laughter had returned to his eyes, but Angelique was not in a teasing mood. The nagging in the back of her mind refused to be stilled. But Henri had always helped her in the past. He had always known what was best, and as he was determined to keep Nicholas in the dark, she had no other choice but to keep her mouth shut.

  “Bien! I won’t say anything to Nicholas,” Angelique finally caved in. Quickly dismissing him, she pushed him toward his horse. “Promise me that you will decline the dinner at Château Lumiet. I will not send for you again. Now go!”

  * * * *

  Later that evening after retiring to the library for some after-dinner drinks, Pierre handed Nicholas another glass of brandy. “Pity you won’t be joining your family in London after the honeymoon,” he said.

  Nicholas did not answer. He downed the brandy with one quick gulp and began to light his cigar. His eyes traveled casually across the room, focusing on the fair-haired beauty who sat with her feet tucked snugly underneath her massive skirts and her head crouched over a rather hefty-looking book. By the way she awkwardly tried to balance it from thigh to thigh, he could see she was having a very difficult time keeping it on her lap.

  He broke into a leisurely smile. It was always like that with her. Angelique both excited and aggravated him. The girl did not look the enticing doxy, nor act the suggestive wanton. Her cheeks and lips were not painted red. Her creamy round breasts were not spilling over like a willing whore on a waterfront dock. She had not crooked her finger at him, nor had she invited him to her bed. Instead, she appeared to be all innocence. The epitome of erudite and scholarly charm. But just one glance her way and he would feel the rousing of his manhood. What was it about her that made him crave her so?

  Nicholas smirked at his own question, remembering the first time he had seen her and how he had demanded her name from the coachman. Damn it! Of course, she did not have to dress the part of bewitching female for him. He was already bewitched! A mere glimpse of her from a distance had accomplished all that. Suddenly, his view of the enchanting vision became slightly blurred by the hazy puff of tobacco exhaled from his lips. He continued to contemplate her through the aromatic smoke.

  Much like the burnished hot liquid that slithered fiercely down his throat and warmed his chest, this girl had blazed straight into his veins and taken possession of all his senses; like the scorching red-hot tip of the Cuban cigar he rolled gently between thumb and forefinger, she sparked something in him.

  Pierre persisted, “It’s a shame my sister will not partake of the annual season. She’ll miss all the festivities.”

  His eyes never leaving Angelique, Nicholas replied absently, “The festivities are a bit trying for a new bride—too many engagements and obligations. Don’t fret, she’ll have plenty of opportunities in the future.”

  “My lord, won’t you reconsider?” Jean-Claude reiterated. “She’s just ripe for the London scene. In the past, Maman has denied her coming out as a proper young lady. We certainly don’t mean to meddle …”

  “Then don’t,” Nicholas clipped, suddenly weary of the subject. He stood, making his way toward Angelique.

  * * * *

  So absorbed was she in her book, Angelique had not heard Nicholas approach.

  Earlier, refusing to suppress yet another yawn after being subjected to topics only a man could find interesting, she had slipped out of the library and had gone upstairs to rescue Hidden Desires from underneath her petticoats. The novel, safely tucked away since the day of the picnic, had been ensconced in the bottom drawer of her chiffonier.

  More than a little piqued at having been ignored for what seemed an eternity, she had returned to the library, whereupon she’d taken a respectable-looking volume of the complete works of William Shakespeare and had plopped it open and hidden the risqué novel within its pages.

  “Well, what have we here?” Nicholas prodded, looking down at her lap.

  Startled, Angelique quickly tried to close the heavy volume, but it was impossible. To her chagrin, Hidden Desires was hidden no more.

  “You startled me, monsieur,” she replied, trying her best to shield the novel from his view.

  “Shall I dare ask what you’re reading?”

  “Reading?” Angelique bit her bottom lip. “Shakes … Shakespeare,” she hedged. “It’s fascinating.”

  “Shakespeare? I was not aware you enjoyed plunging into the classics. I thought you much preferred other more interesting material, such as the masterpiece you have so conveniently hidden there.”

  “Shh! Please say no more. My brothers are not aware that I read such books. They would be scandalized if they knew.”

  “I should think they would be,” Nicholas teased, an irresistible grin beginning to form on his handsome face. “You should be ashamed of yourself, mademoiselle. Camouflaging Cassandra and Alexander between the pages of Macbeth. Shakespeare is probably turning in his grave.”

  A giggle escaped her. “I had no other choice. The three of you have ignored me all evening with tedious conversation. I could not help but be bored with endless talk of banks and capital ventures.”

  Pouting, she pointed an accusing finger at him. “You, monsieur, promised me a game of chess and forgot to play. I was most anxious to challenge you … now that I’ve gotten quite good at it. I think it is you who should be ashamed, not I.”

  “Get up.”

  “Whatever for, monsieur?”

  “A game of chess. You can stop pointing that little finger at me and demonstrate just how good you think you are. And no cheating.”

  “Cheat, moi?” she purred. “I never cheat. Just ask Madame Lumiet on Friday. She’ll tell you. We often play …”

  “Get up. Before I …”

  “Before you what, monsieur?”

  “Before I tell your brothers all about Amanda St. John.”

  “Nicholas, don’t! I beg you,” Angelique pleaded. But to her complete relief, Nicholas grabbed the novel and hid it inside his dinner jacket.

  Her relief, though, was short-lived when he began to walk toward her brothers and she heard him say, “Your sister has just confessed to me …”

  The volume of Shakespeare’s life’s work hit the floor with a thump as Angelique leaped from her chair. “Don’t!” she objected from across the room, fixing her eyes on the fireplace directly behind Nicholas. “Don’t listen to him, Pierre, Jean-Claude. I’m afraid the brandy has made our houseguest a bit more frolicsome than usual.”

  She felt Nicholas’s gaze burning through her, but continued to stare at the elaborately designed fire irons, suddenly wishing she could throw one at him.

  “Dearest, come closer,” Nicholas beckoned her.

  Fighting the urge to strangle Nicholas, Angelique walked toward him. She gave him a pleading look, but he ignored her request. Instead, regarding her with open amusement, he put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Come now, Buttercup … come clean.”

  Angelique paled at her brothers’ raised eyebrows. “Please don’t tell them,” she begged softly.

  Nicholas chuckled huskily against her brow. “Don’t you know by now, Angelique, that I love to tease you? I was never going to tell them.”

  Mon Dieu! What was he doing to her? He was standing so close; she could feel his breath on her hair. He pulled her chin up to meet his gaze and his eyes held hers for a long, gripping moment.

  “Minx,” he drawled.

  His eyes were warm
, his tone surprisingly gentle. The husky note in his voice made her knees go weak.

  Instead of feeling angry with him for having teased her so mercilessly, her body titillated at the intimacy transpiring between them. And before she could respond, he brushed an unruly curl from her face and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  His lips felt so deliciously warm against her skin, it was all she could do to breathe. She stood, lost in his eyes, oblivious to her surroundings.

  “Ah-hem. Jean-Claude, I think they want privacy,” Pierre said, smiling.

  Jean-Claude agreed, “Oui, but the wedding is not for a few more days. I don’t think they should be left alone. I, for one, intend to chaperone and keep a keen eye.”

  Angelique tore her eyes from Nicholas to find her brothers staring at them with amusement. She had forgotten they were present. Seconds earlier, no other had existed in her world but Nicholas. It felt perfectly natural to be with him like this. She did not want the moment to end. She wanted him to keep on teasing her, to keep his arms about her and his lips on her skin.