Angel Of Windword

by Maggie Dove

  Since reading the telegram, Henri had hardly eaten anything substantial, and for three nights, he had tossed and turned with the anticipation of his visit with Angelique. Part of him felt deeply troubled, regretting what he must do, yet part of him was greatly relieved. The sooner he broke the news to Gellie, the better. But now that the time had finally come, panic rapidly invaded his senses.

  Damn it, he was not ready to face her—she would never understand!

  He stared blankly at the waterfalls cascading into a lily pond that shimmered with the reflection of the moon. Any other night, he would have found it breathtaking, but not tonight. The surroundings did little to ease his state of mind. Instead, the soothing, gushing sounds of cool water splashing against rock pounded heavily against his eardrums and matched the thumping of his heart. In a desperate attempt to drown out the sound, he put his hands over his ears, but the invasive hooting of a spotted night owl made him jump up expectantly.

  Adrenaline flowed rapidly through his veins as he cried out Angelique’s name and then waited for her response, but there was none. The stone bench began to take its toll on his backside, and he shifted positions to ease the soreness. Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped the sweat gathered upon his forehead.

  Another nerve-racking five minutes passed, and still no sign of Angelique. He gazed in the direction of the manor house, cursing the haughty butler for leaving him here to wait, alone with his thoughts.

  Poor Gellie. It seemed more like years than months since they had plotted that inane elopement to New Orleans. In the few short months that followed his forced exile from France, everything had changed for him.

  London had proven to be quite educational. Under the earl’s tutelage, Henri had soon realized his penchant for the world of high finance and his ability to interact in it. In retrospect, he now knew that having been hauled against his own volition into playing the viscount’s puppet had been providence-sent.

  Guilt ate at his gut as Henri remembered certain events which had taken place since last he saw Angelique. Thanks to a certain alluring authoress, amongst countless others, who had used their wiles to entice him into lurid but most stimulating affairs, he was no longer the same innocent who had ogled at the lovely French girl’s décolletage and wondered what it would be like to make love to a woman.

  Closing his eyes, Henri placed his hand to his forehead. Even his unexpected introduction to the ecstasies of the flesh by Amanda St. John had not diminished his feelings for his beautiful childhood sweetheart. Initially, he had been counting the days for the termination of Angelique’s fictitious marriage and her return to him. Nothing could have come between them. That is, until the day he set his eyes on Mademoiselle Daisy Brownell, daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the world and in possession of the most lusty, most delectable little body in all of Boston.

  He smirked, recalling his dislike of Nicholas Kent. How ironic that he should owe his good fortune to the man? Wanting Henri far from England and Angelique, Kent had sent Henri to Boston to continue his apprenticeship under the supervision of Lucas Spencer. Henri was to help Kent’s cousin seduce Richard Brownell into investing in the merger. However, one look at Daisy had completely disarmed him.

  Rather than pursue the powerful tycoon, Henri had pursued the daughter instead and had seduced the pretty little heiress into a very different, more pleasurable kind of merging … only to fall madly in love with her in the process. He had asked Richard Brownell not to reveal his identity to the Kents when mentioning the forthcoming wedding; he wanted to deliver the news in person. It would not do for Angelique to find out that he was to marry Daisy from anyone else but him.

  The sound of crackling, dry broken twigs alerted him. He stood up expectantly while his eyes searched for Angelique in the soft moonlight.

  “Henri, where are you?” He heard her call out to him, her sweet familiar voice making him want to run for cover.

  “Over here, Gellie,” Henri answered warily. She appeared before him, and his fickle heart leaped at the sight of her. Mon Dieu, he had almost forgotten how truly beautiful she was. Bracing himself for the unpleasant task at hand, he opened his arms out to her.

  “Oh, Henri,” exclaimed Angelique as she held on to him. “I’ve missed you!”

  Henri drew back to look at her face. “Gellie, you seem different … sad. Has Kent hurt you? If he has …”

  “Forget Kent,” she said quickly. “I must share something with you tonight … something that will cause you great pain. This is why I asked Lord Edmund to summon you here. I wanted to tell you months ago. Oh, Henri, you mustn’t hate me.”

  “Gellie, don’t be ridiculous. Why would I hate—”

  “We haven’t much time.” Angelique looked around, pulling him toward the granite bench. “Nicholas mustn’t see you here.”

  “Chérie, before you say anything, I also need to share something with you,” he insisted, massaging the tension from the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m afraid it is you who will hate me. I am a faithless lout.”

  Henri nodded his head and continued despite her protests. Taking her hands in his, he closed his eyes. The pain of admission was too great. “There is a part of me that was once noble and good, Angelique. That is the part that will always belong to you, the part left behind and forgotten in the Loire. Oh, my sweet, wonderful Gellie, I’m sorry!”

  Drawing in a steadying breath, he opened his eyes expecting to see shock and anger on her face. Instead, tears were falling freely down Angelique’s cheeks. “No, Henri, I am the lout, not you,” she corrected, placing her finger to his lips.

  “I don’t understand, Gellie.”

  “Of course, you don’t understand! You are decent and kind, Henri. I, on the other hand, am none of those things. I am ruled by my lust and only by my lust.”

  Unable to control himself, Henri’s shoulders suddenly shook and he slapped his hand repeatedly against his thigh as his tension suddenly gave way to hearty laughter.

  Trying to contain himself, Henri wiped a tear from his eye. After a few seconds, he coughed awkwardly, forcing himself to speak, “Thank God, the widower D’Amaury did not know this. If he had, I doubt he would have given you up! Gellie, don’t be absurd. You are an innocent, my sweet girl. I should know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You will not find it so amusing when you hear what I have to say. If I’m so innocent, why then did I give myself freely to Nicholas Kent, and why am I now carrying his child?” Angelique blurted out, and then gasped at her own words as though she wished she could take them back.

  The look of shock on her face must have matched his own as he tried to digest the news she had just thrown at him. “Are you certain?”

  “Oui,” she replied softly, placing her hand to her belly. “I have been denying this to everyone, including myself, for weeks. I refused to believe it. I have ignored the obvious signs. But it is true, Henri. I am enceinte. Kent’s baby is growing inside me. I can feel it thriving within me.”

  A terrible thought took hold of Henri. “My God, Gellie, tell me he didn’t force you. I’ll wring the Englishman’s neck!” he thundered, fury rushing through his veins. “I should never have trusted him—I’ll kill the lying bastard!”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Angelique admitted, blushing. “The only thing he forced was you and I apart. The other I did most willingly.”

  “You carry his child, Gellie, but instead you look as though you hold the weight of the world on your shoulders. I should not have abandoned you. I will never forgive myself,” Henri maintained, shaking his head.

  Angelique grabbed his arm. “Henri, the reason I look sad is because I was unfaithful.” Her cheeks blushed crimson. “Nicholas was never going to touch me. He intended to keep his word to you. You must believe me,” she pleaded. “It was my desire for him that made it impossible for him to do so. Oh, Henri, please don’t hate me!”

  His eyes searched hers for a long moment. “Are you saying that you want to remain his wif
e? Does Kent make you happy, Angelique?” he finally asked.

  “Oui,” she reassured, managing a faint smile.

  Henri broke into a grin. “Why you little … all this time I was turning inside out with guilt … and you were …” Chuckling, he took her in his arms and kissed both of her cheeks. “Don’t look so sullen, my sweet Gellie. I’m not going to throttle you. Instead, I am delighted for you. I refuse to allow a lifetime of goodwill and affection to turn to rancor … simply because you loved someone more than me. These things happen.”

  Angelique’s brows furrowed as she gave him a puzzling look. “These things happen—is this all you have to say? You are taking this rather well, exceptionally well, Henri. I thought you would be furious with me. Mon Dieu, could I be this fortunate, not to have lost my dearest, dearest friend?”

  Her eyes misty, she hugged him to her. “But what about your dreams … your future? Will you be seeking fortune in America?”

  Filled with thoughts of Daisy Brownell, Henri did not answer. I’ve already met my fortune, Gellie, he thought, smiling. My fortune lies in a pair of languid amber eyes that blaze when I am near. My future belongs to a certain young damsel baptized a dainty, delicate flower, but possessing the passions of a tempest! Soon I shall wed her and all my dreams will come true.

  “I’ll worry about you, Henri.”

  “Oh, do not fret about me, mon amour,” he said, smiling warmly. “I will, indeed, be going to America. The chances of prospering there will be endless for me. I’ll write and let you know how I am and where to reach me.”

  Angelique’s heart brimmed over with emotion. “I hope that I have not caused you too much pain. Please try to forget, Henri.”

  “I’ll try, Gellie,” Henri replied, placing a friendly goodbye kiss upon her forehead. He stood, bowed chivalrously and slipped into the darkness.

  * * * *

  “It is finally over!” Angelique’s words echoed into the night as her body broke through the shiny surface of the pond and plunged down below. It had been too great a temptation not to dive in. After the evening’s events, she deserved a bit of a reward.

  Surfacing for air, she loosened her long blonde tresses and splashed about the water, delaying her return to the manor house. The water was cold … exhilarating. Was she mad, swimming so wantonly at night? Probably, but who was to care? After all was said and done, she had been left alone to do with her life what she willed. She needed no one. In a few short months, she would be independently wealthy—and alone. No not alone. She had her unborn child to think of and she had Colin. Oui, her sweet little Colin.

  No more husband, no more fiancé. Only Colin and her unborn child. She would dedicate each day of her life to the upbringing of Nicholas’s children. She would make certain they would grow up very different from their father. Oui, if it was the last thing she would ever do.

  C’est fini, she thought, closing her eyes and letting the water wash over her, allowing it to cleanse away the past few months and all the turmoil Nicholas had put her through.

  Angelique swam for a few more minutes before deciding it was time to return to the house. She would have to dress quickly and sneak inside without anyone noticing. She could enter through the kitchens. The reception was being held at the south terrace, no one would be the wiser.

  Her clothes lay jumbled at the water’s edge where she had disrobed earlier. Dripping wet, her silky chemise hung like a second skin as she came out of the water. She shook her head back and gathered her long mane within a tight fist, wringing a string of droplets from it. She bent down to grab her clothes.

  It was then that she saw him.

  To her horror, Nicholas stood watching her, and judging by the look in his eyes, he was angry.

  Angelique straightened her body, leaving her clothes forgotten on the ground.

  “Cleansing yourself of him won’t help, Angelique,” he remarked casually, too casually, the underlying hatred in his words chilling her to the bone.

  Stiffening instinctively, she backed away from him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her heart racing with dread. “Did you hurt Henri? Tell me you didn’t!” she begged him, too distraught to explain Henri’s short visit to Windword Hall.

  “The carriage took off before I could reach him. But why would I bother to hurt him—that would mean that I give a damn.”

  The calm in Nicholas’s voice petrified her. With one quick movement, he grabbed her clothing from the ground and threw them at her. “Get dressed. I want you out of Windword and out of my life.”

  Grateful to shield her nakedness from him, Angelique quickly grasped her clothes against her chest and lower body, and responded with more courage than she felt, “Why should you care what I do and with whom? It is common knowledge how you have taken Clarissa as your mistress, and have put her up in a townhouse in London. Don’t bother to deny it. I was there.”

  “Oui,” she continued, “I saw you leaving that very townhouse on the night of the coronation. You never did say what kept you from attending the ball.”

  Nicholas’s face grew harder as he loomed over her, full of rage. He was not going to give her any answers. Abruptly, she turned to go, but Nicholas was too fast for her. He grabbed her chemise from the back and with a slight circular movement of his wrist, forcefully twirled her around to face him.

  Angelique cringed. “Don’t touch me,” she implored, placing her hands over her belly, concern for the baby she was carrying.

  His cold, narrowed eyes held her in contempt. “I won’t lay a finger on you, Angelique. I never want to touch you again. Put your clothes on,” he commanded, his jaw rigid, his tone void of emotion. “I’ll make arrangements to return you to your brothers in the morning. Now, get out of my sight.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Angelique awoke after a restless night, half expecting Nicholas to burst in at any time. She did not know where Nicholas had slept, nor did she care to know. After her encounter with him at the pond, she had rushed in from the gardens and had locked herself in her room, only to fret most of the night wondering if he would demand entry. Closing her eyes, she fell back onto her pillow. Her hands went to her belly, reassuring herself and her baby that everything would work itself out.

  She had debated whether to return to this room, knowing that these were Nicholas’s private quarters, but the only other alternative would have been to trouble Tante Mattie, and she did not want to do that. Her aunt would have required an explanation, and she could not give her one. The poor woman would be devastated if she knew what had taken place at the pond.

  Angelique fumed, recalling how Nicholas had stood over her, his voice full of authority, demanding she leave in the morning. The nerve of him, banishing her from Windword now that the merger was intact, and he had no further use for her. Well, Nicholas had one thing coming to him if he thought he could return her to her brothers. Victoria would never welcome her back. Angelique needed to secure her inheritance to provide for Tante Mattie, Colin and her unborn child. She needed time to make other plans.

  She would leave when she was ready and not any time sooner.

  Angelique heard knocking at the door, and her pulse quickened. Had Nicholas come to send her away so soon? Gathering courage, she rose from the bed.

  “Oui, who is it?”

  “Good morning, my lady,” Janie chimed in her usual cheerful manner. “I’m sorry to get you out of bed, but the door is locked.”

  Relieved to hear Janie’s voice, Angelique let the maid in and returned to her bed, covering herself with the sheets. She was not ready to face the world, much less face the man who was the cause of all her misery. Furthermore, she needed to gather her wits and prepare her little speech for Lord Edmund’s benefit. Nicholas was going to be in for a surprise that morning. He would see just who would be the one to leave Windword Hall!

  Janie drew open the curtains. “Will you be going for a ride this morning?”

  “No, Janie, not today.”

  “Are
you all right, my lady? You don’t seem yourself.” The maid gazed at her with a worried frown. “Maybe you would do well to stay in bed. I’ll tell the groom to unsaddle Champagne,” she went on. “I’ve brought a breakfast tray and a telegram from London. Oh, and I have a surprise for you. Cook prepared milk and coffee, instead of tea. I don’t like watching you cringe every morn—”

  “A telegram from London?” Angelique took the envelope from Janie, quickly tearing it open. After reading its contents, she rushed toward her dresser and began to open drawer after drawer, throwing her underclothing on the bed.

  “Janie, pack a suitcase for me at once,” she ordered abruptly. “After you have done so, have the chauffeur prepare a carriage for London.”

  “I’ll call for Lord Nicholas. I can see the telegram has disturbed you.”