by Maggie Dove
He stepped back so suddenly she almost lost her balance. The coldness in his eyes made her cringe. “Goad me again,” he warned her, “and I’ll make you sorry you mentioned his name. You weren’t kissing him just now, and he was not in our bed last night.”
“I hate you!” she raged, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “My brothers will have your head once I tell them. They will help me—”
Nicholas’s expression softened as he interrupted her, “They won’t help you, angel.”
“You turned my brothers against me,” she accused him, feeling completely betrayed. “Was Tante Mattie in on this too?”
“No,” Nicholas replied. “And your brothers were only trying to help you. It is in your best interest that we remain married for a year. In a year’s time, you will have your inheritance. You can rid yourself of Victoria … do whatever you well please.”
Dismayed, Angelique realized Nicholas had her in a corner. Without her brothers’ support, she could not return to France. As much as she hated to admit it, there was only one option.
“Well?” he asked her.
“You are never to lay your hands on me again. After the year is over and your precious banks are well on their way, I shall have the pleasure of divorcing you. Once I have accomplished that, I never want to see you again. I hate you, Nicholas. I really do despise you.”
“I’m sorry you feel this way. You have my word. I’ll not touch you again.”
“Your word?” Her eyes narrowed in accusation. “A marriage in name only? Is that what you promised Henri? Your word means nothing, monsieur.”
Nicholas dismissed Henri with a shrug of his shoulders. “I fully intended to keep my word to Bertrand, but resisting your advances only went so far. I’m a man, Angelique. I am not made of stone. This was supposed to be a business transaction, but you changed all that. You offered yourself to me, stood before me with hardly a stitch of clothing, and nothing else mattered.”
Mon Dieu, did he have to remind her?
Angelique was suddenly grateful that she had not broken her engagement to Henri. It would have been dreadful for Henri to know she had actually chosen the devious and lying Kent over him. Although she did not intend to go back to Henri, pride governed her now. She would not allow Nicholas the satisfaction of knowing he had ruined her life and had spoiled her chances of a future with a husband and children.
“After the divorce, I’ll marry Henri,” she lied. “The feelings we have shared for one another will mean more, much more, than one silly night of meaningless lovemaking. Oui, I shall tell him the truth.”
“The truth?” Nicholas’s lips curved into a sarcastic grin. “You’ve never spoken a word of truth in your life, Angelique. Why start now?”
Angelique bristled at his tone. “Take your best shot, monsieur,” she threw back at him. “Relish your revenge. You set out to humiliate me right from the start. This is my Waterloo!” she burst out, stomping her foot and raising her hand to slap the sarcasm off his face.
A flash of amusement crossed his features as Nicholas caught her hand in midair. “Don’t be so melodramatic, sweetheart.” His grin deepened. “You haven’t lost France. You’ve only gained a husband.”
“Well,” Angelique retorted, yanking her hand from his grip, “… for now.”
Chapter Eight
London, England
The maid stepped back to appraise her handiwork. “My lady, tonight you’ll put all others to shame. They say the Canonbury ball is the grandest of all. Now, let me adjust the tiara … there you go, as I thought, perfect.”
Angelique inspected her reflection before the dressing room mirror as she listened to Janie’s reassuring words. Although the evening gown gathered high up at the neck, the bodice was too snug and her breasts looked as if they might spill over the sheer silk fabric. “Janie, you don’t think this gown a bit risqué? Lady Marguerite told me the dowager duchess takes it as a personal insult if one does not dress befittingly.”
“Nonsense, the emerald green chiffon is precisely the choice for tonight,” Janie replied, eyeing Angelique from head to toe and then concentrating on her bodice. “I seriously doubt the old cow will have any complaints where you are concerned. It’s a crying shame.” Janie sighed, shaking her head from side to side. “If only Lord Nicholas did not have to miss your first season.”
Two months ago in the wake of their honeymoon fiasco, Nicholas had deposited her at the Kent townhouse in London. After a brief stay of five days, he had sailed off to India, leaving her during one of London’s most exciting and talked-about seasons.
The five days and five nights that Nicholas had spent at the townhouse had been torture for Angelique. Their suites separated only by an adjoining dressing area, she had heard him pace back and forth in his chambers each night. She had listened to his movements … so close … so far … so close again. Several times, she had ceased to breathe as she heard him pause at her door and slowly begin to turn the doorknob. She had waited for him to enter, but he had honored their agreement made aboard the Eugenia. Instead, he had stalked out into the night and had left her to spend five sleepless nights wondering in whose arms he lay. She was relieved to see him go; she could not have endured much more.
“He neglected his business long enough while in France,” Angelique replied, wishing she did not have to defend Nicholas to keep up appearances. “He had to go to India. It could not be helped, but he sent word that he would return for the coronation.”
“He should be here with you, enjoying your success.”
Angelique smiled fondly at her maid. “It would hardly have been a success, if not for you.”
Indeed, what would she have done without Janie?
To think that before Nicholas left, she had argued with him and had insisted she had no need for a personal maid. “I know Victoria refused you such luxuries,” Nicholas had said, “but as long as you’re my wife, you’ll have your own lady’s maid. Janie is Cook’s eldest daughter. I told you about her. I mentioned how she and her sister, Moira, grew up with me. You’ll enjoy having her around.”
“I prefer my privacy,” Angelique had protested, “I see no need …”
“Humor me, Angelique,” had been his final word on the subject.
She had soon taken to Janie and now could not do without her maid’s constant pampering, chatty conversation and sheer wizardry with the hairbrush. Despite her anger at Nicholas, Angelique had not been able to resist poring over his old family albums as she listened to Janie recount story after story regarding his childhood and early adult years. It had been hard to imagine the wide-eyed, innocent little boy in the photographs as the same rogue who had broken her heart.
Clarissa Blake had turned him into a ruthless bastard! Angelique thought angrily, as she shared her father-in-law’s opinion of Clarissa. The earl had enlightened her plenty.
Whereas the rest of the family was not aware of their bogus union, Nicholas had informed his father of their arrangement before leaving for India. Hence, Lord Edmund, after expressing much disappointment over the eventual divorce, had resolved to do everything in his power to see that Angelique remain Nicholas’s wife. He had so much as admitted it to her on more than one occasion.
Holding her tongue, she had listened daily to her father-in-law elaborate on his son’s attributes and fine points, making it his business to inform her all about Nicholas’s unsurpassed loyalty to family and friends, his generous nature and, most of all, his past relationship with Clarissa Blake. The Blake woman had not only destroyed Nicholas by breaking their engagement and choosing his brother over him … she had married James and ruined him, too.
Angelique acknowledged that by simply becoming Nicholas’s bride, she had acquired a considerable adversary in Clarissa Blake. The woman had probably loathed her long before she set those calculating violet eyes on her. The feeling was now mutual.
The fact that Clarissa was breathtakingly stunning did little to help matters. At twenty-nine, Clari
ssa’s beauty was still overpowering. As per Lady Marguerite, Clarissa had inherited her father’s aristocratic features and her mother’s flawless complexion and silky black hair. The mesmerizing color of her eyes was a genetic gift from her late grandmother, the infamous Lady Louise Shasner Blake, Countess of Salisbury. Lady Louise was known to have flashed those same violet eyes at a great many men in her day.
“My lady, you look flushed. Is there anything wrong?” Janie asked.
“I still think this gown is much too bold,” Angelique remarked. “I feel as if I’m about to burst out of it. Maybe this is why I look flushed.”
“Well,” the handmaid answered with a sly grin. “When the other lords take a look at you in that gown, I can guarantee you will not be without an escort for long. I dare say it will serve Lord Nicholas right for leaving you this long, my lady.”
“What serves me right?”
Upon hearing the familiar, deep masculine voice, the two women froze for a moment, and then simultaneously turned their heads to find Nicholas standing against the dressing room door that led to his bedroom.
Quite flustered, Janie began to gather Angelique’s discarded gowns, hanging them back in the closet as she exclaimed breathlessly, “My lord, we didn’t expect you back until the coronation!”
Angelique felt the warm glow of blood rushing to her face. Her heart pounded with excitement, her legs felt numb as he came closer. Her first impulse was to fly into his arms, but her pride prevented her from doing so. Two months without him had softened her initial wrath, but she would not risk having her heart broken a second time; the first had been much too painful. Mon Dieu, she had forgotten how handsome he was!
Without taking his eyes from Angelique, Nicholas spoke to her personal maid. “Be a good girl, Janie, finish what you’re doing, and close the door behind you.”
Janie moved toward the door which opened to Angelique’s bedroom and waited there, a bit fidgety. “Lord Nicholas,” she called out.
“What is it, Janie?”
“Welcome back, my lord,” the maid said quickly.
“Thank you, I’m glad to be back. Now go.”
Before Janie was out the door, Nicholas strode toward Angelique. He reached inside his pocket and extracted a rectangular box.
“I hope you like it. It reminded me of your eyes.”
Their fingers touched, and she caught her breath as she took the black velvet box from his hand. Briefly, she looked into his eyes, then back at the box. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
Angelique gasped when she opened the box. “Mon Dieu—how beautiful! Are you attempting to appease my ruffled feathers for the sake of the merger?” she asked, marveling at the magnificent diamond and emerald necklace inside. “It will not work, monsieur.”
“Turn around, Angelique,” Nicholas ordered huskily, as he dislodged the choker from its place.
She did as she was told and faced the mirror, waiting for him to place it around her neck. “You should not have bothered … I shall not keep it.”
The touch of his warm lips on the nape of her neck took her entirely by surprise. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his raspy voice completely disarming her.
“What is she doing here?” Angelique demanded, stunned by Clarissa’s sudden entrance.
“Nicky, darling, what is keeping you … oh … did I come at a bad time?” Clarissa asked, looking not the least bit remorseful for bursting into the dressing room from Nicholas’s bedroom. A piece of silk fabric draped her torso, but the sheerness of the material hid little of her ample charms. She may as well have come in naked. “Darling, these silks are simply wonderful! How thoughtful of you,” she added, “You said you’d be right back, you naughty boy.”
Rigid with fury, Angelique gave Nicholas a murderous look and then stormed out of the dressing room, slamming shut her bedroom door.
“Nicky, did I do something wrong?” Clarissa purred with wide-eyed innocence, appearing triumphantly happy.
“Don’t ever pull anything like this again.” Nicholas grabbed Clarissa by the arm and stalked out of the dressing room. Rushing her past his own bedroom, he dragged her out into the hallway, causing the transparent silk to fall to the floor. He caught a full view of the well-endowed, curvy feminine torso he had once lusted after, but he paid little heed to her naked body as his rage mounted. “Get the hell out of my room.”
“But Nicholas, I’m not dressed,” Clarissa whined in disbelief, eyeing through the open door the clothing she had shed minutes earlier.
Nicholas picked up her garments from the floor and flung them at her. “Since when has that ever concerned you?” he remarked before shutting the door in her face.
Walking back into the dressing room, he tried to open his wife’s bedroom door, but she had locked it. “Angelique, open up.”
She did not respond. Instead he heard a loud thump of something crashing against the door and falling to the floor.
“Damn it, Angelique, stop throwing things and let me in!”
Suddenly another object broke against the heavy wooden door. “What are you going to do Nicky, darling, take me over your knee?” Angelique shouted through the door. “Everything they said about you and that dreadful woman is true. You can keep your damned necklace or better yet, give it to her!” she exploded with bitter sarcasm.
Her display of jealousy pleased him. Turning on his heel, Nicholas left the emerald necklace on top of her dressing table and exited the room to change for the Canonbury ball.
* * * *
The Dowager Duchess of Canonbury seemed pleased, quite pleased. The jewel-laden, portly woman had made certain that the King’s coronation would be the only event that would outdo hers this season. Her eagle eyes hungrily scrutinized all about her as she greeted her many guests, but her focus, like most who attended the ball tonight, was the beautiful French girl who had single-handedly snatched Europe’s most desirable bachelor and had taken London by storm.
Contemplating the grandeur that surrounded her, Angelique now understood why the duchess’s annual soirée was undeniably the most sought-after and most splendid affair of the year. A waltz was playing, and like multicolored leaves in an autumn windstorm, the dance floor spun with dazzling young couples who ascended and descended into each other’s arms, enrapturing her in a gaiety she had never known before.
Encircled by a cluster of fawning admirers, she smiled indulgently as her eyes, like reluctant magnets, caught her husband’s gaze. Leaning against a column, staring at her from across the large ballroom, he nodded an acknowledgment to her. Their eyes locked for an instant, but she immediately turned away. His smile seemed to indicate he knew exactly what she was thinking, that he understood what his mere presence was doing to her. The insufferable man was beginning to ruin the most magnificent ball she had ever attended. Why did he have to arrive tonight? Tonight of all nights!
Nicholas Kent could go to the devil, she cursed silently, as she pretended not to care and laughed coquettishly with those surrounding her. Nevertheless, despite wherever she looked or whomever she spoke to, her husband’s tall, brawny frame remained fixed at the corner of her eye and her thoughts were only of him.
He looked indecently appealing tonight. His dark, granite-like features directed many an envious glare her way, making it obvious that several women craved to trade places with her. Why did he have to look so wickedly dashing in his black evening attire? Pourquoi? she fretted, thinking it almost sinful. Every other male in the room paled in comparison. Damn him! Why did she still have to feel this way about him?
In his absence, she had been forced to feign the role of the dutiful and very much enamored, Viscountess Kent of Windword. She had resented the hypocrisy of it all, and now that he was finally here witnessing it, she resented it even more. They can have him—all those who watched him so blatantly and whose eyes followed him as hers did!
A tall young dandy requested a dance with her and led her to the crowded dance floor. Angeliq
ue smiled politely, but paid no attention to the sugary compliments he whispered in her ear, nor the lively music reverberating all around her. Twirling past Nicholas, her feet obeyed the music absently as she wondered when he was going to approach her.
“Shall we retire to the balcony, my dear?” suggested the ardent Lord Alistair Thornsworth, once the waltz ended.
“Goodness, no! It would be the consensus that we were having a tryst.”
“Would a tryst be so awful, my dear?” he had the audacity to ask. “I have become quite envious of Kent. I want you to know that quite a few others in this room share my feelings. Any one of us would cut off our right hand for the slightest chance of winning your heart.”
“Lord Thornsworth,” Angelique implored, as she had been compelled to do so many times during the past two months. “If you continue to speak like that, my husband will have your head, or he will have no choice but to challenge you to a duel.”