The Black Angel (The St Ives)

by Barbara Samuel

"Of course."

  * * *

  Tynan watched her lean back and close her eyes. He'd not seen her in this animated mood before, her eyes bright and alert, her expression filled with the light of intelligence. She'd drawn him into conversation, teased him lightly, been chastened when he teased her in return.

  And every shade of emotion showed in her face, in her dancing eyes, on her mobile mouth.

  That mouth. From beneath half-closed lids he allowed himself to admire that lush, fine mouth at leisure. The tips of his fingers tingled faintly, remembering the plump give, the resilient firmness of those lips last night. He remembered the heady eroticism of her breath soughing, moist and warm, over the heart of his palm, a hint of the pleasure to be found within that harbor.

  Harbor. He sighed softly and made himself close his eyes entirely, though that was not the help he supposed it would be, since his imagination provided what his eyelids had blocked out. She had a mouth like a courtesan in the face of a saint—few men could resist the contradictions contained in such an arrangement. Few men could have resisted indulging the speculations he now entertained, speculations regarding the taste of that succulent lower lip, the flavor of that particular, exaggerated bow on the upper. Or fail to wonder what splendor lay within.

  St. Bridget! He thought of Aiden, who'd resisted female flesh every moment of his life on earth—not, as he'd often told Tynan, because he did not hunger for them, but because he wished to leave them in their innocence.

  Tynan allowed himself one more glance at that ripe mouth of his bride. His brother had never seen a mouth like that of Adriana St. Ives.

  He shifted restlessly, focusing his gaze beyond the coach. His brother would also laugh at him in this, for he longed to kiss her—no, kiss was far too mild a word for what he wished to do with that mouth—precisely because it was the one line she had drawn. Contrary, his mother would have said. Aiden was the good twin. He, Tynan, was the wild one, the heedless one, the one who took glee in breaking rules only for the delight of getting away with them. Aiden had made an art form of living within the strictures of both God and man.

  Aiden, Aiden, Aiden. His brother had been constantly in his thoughts this morning, and he couldn't think why. Soon after his brother died, memories of his twin had been so excruciating to Tynan that he had shut them off entirely. He went about his days like a man suddenly missing an arm or a foot. And then his mother sickened, and thoughts of her welfare pulled him out of himself.

  Now, in the misty distance, he spied a gray church spire poking above some village square. Only the tower, ancient and graceful, showed. Tynan thought, irrelevantly, that Catholic hands had built that spire. Within, candles had burned for saints and the Latin was sung.

  As his brother had sung it.

  It was only natural, Tynan supposed, that he should find his mind lingering upon his lost sibling now that he'd landed in the midst of so many of them. He'd seen clearly the love that bound them, and was envious of it. His family was all gone now, and, with a peculiar sort of awareness, he realized he wished to begin building a new one. He wanted children. Children to run in wild packs over the Irish hills, heirs to learn his business and carry on his name; daughters to fuss over and marry off to strong Irish men. He wanted a family.

  Across from him, Adriana had indeed fallen into a doze. Her mouth parted a little in sleep, and not gracefully. He thought she might snore if that hint of a rattle were any indication, and it gave him a stab of fondness.

  Here was his wife, for better or worse, the woman who would get his children, but whom he would have to woo her to be a willing lover and then willing mother. He did not want the lives of those children poisoned by acrimony between the parents.

  There was much work awaiting him in London. In his wild youth he'd spent much time there, cutting a swath through more women than he liked to remember; he hoped they remembered him kindly, kindly enough to assist him in healing the rift in his bride's heart, and assist him, too, in finding the prize he hoped to take back to Ireland: a seat in the House of Commons. It would require every shred of his wit, and all of his hale charm, and a woman—this woman—to guide him through the sometimes bewildering muddle of English social life.

  And while he set about reestablishing his social circle, he'd take time to simply observe Adriana, discover her joys and sorrow, her weakness and her strengths. From knowledge alone came the prize of a woman's heart.

  He'd won a good many hearts. Surely one more would be little enough to ask.

  As he slid into a doze, his last thought was that he wanted this heart more than any other. And sleep overtook him before he could form surprise.

  * * *

  The journey took nearly three and a half hours, and by the time they arrived at the town house in Marylebone, Adriana was chilled through. It had not helped that after his initial willingness to chat, Tynan had been quite thoroughly asleep the rest of the way. Though, she thought darkly, climbing the stairs to her chamber on aching hips, she failed to see how he could have slept through the jolting last hour of the ride.

  As if anticipating the state in which her sister would arrive, Cassandra had left orders for hot water to be brought up and a bath to be drawn immediately. Fiona, along with a handful of other servants and the bulk of their baggage, had not yet arrived. It would be at least another hour, certainly, and Fiona would be in worse shape than her mistress.

  Adriana called for assistance from one of the cook's helpers in getting her gown off and the water poured. The trouble was, the girl could not seem to avoid staring. "Ye've very fine skin, milady."

  Adriana nodded, and dismissed her. "Tell cook to send chocolate and tea and a big platter of cheeses to the drawing room in a quarter hour," she said. "And send someone to tell my husband, as well." Not that he'd need much refreshment after his restful journey, she thought.

  She managed dressing by herself by donning a simple muslin. Not quite as muddy a shade as she wished, but one did work with what one had. Refreshed, she returned to the drawing room and found her brothers and Tynan already engrossed in a conversation—one that broke off abruptly as she entered.

  "Telling secrets already?" she said lightly.

  Julian rose quickly, and before he even spoke, she saw by his face that he'd come to a decision. "We were only waiting for you, Adriana," he said with rare formality. "I thought we might have tea first, but the day grows late. I'm bound to deliver you to Cassandra."

  "And you?"

  He let go of a quick, impatient sigh. "There's no point in delaying, Riana. I know you hoped for an evening or two, but I'd rather be done with it."

  "Oh." She sank to the divan, her skirts whooshing out beside her. Fear burned under her ribs once again. "Gabriel, too?"

  The brothers exchanged a glance. "I doubt he'll be retained."

  "But you will?"

  Julian clasped his hands behind him, inclined his head, as if they were only discussing a minor investment or the price of peas. "Undoubtedly," he said. "But it will go quickly. For all that I fled in terror of Malvern's mother, time has shown me the folly of that action. I'll surely be tried by the House of Lords, and which of them will condemn me for a duel?"

  "It's such an uncommon pursuit in London, after all," Gabriel said dryly, stroking the little beard he'd grown on his dark chin, and winked. "Never seen the likes."

  Adriana looked from one to the other, trying to put on a brave face. Plucking at a loose thread on her skirt, she managed a light reply. "I suppose if all else fails, Gabriel and I will simply be forced to rescue you. I believe I still have my sword in some trunk hereabouts."

  Julian bent to kiss her head. His long, strangely powerful hand cupped the back of her head and he murmured, "I knew I could count on you."

  Adriana smiled, but bent her head for a moment, attempting to marshal her defenses as Gabriel stood and Julian moved toward the door.

  "Spenser," Gabriel said, "we'd like you to accompany us, if you would be so kind."

  A
driana glanced up at her husband, and discovered a close, careful expression on his face as he looked at her. "Of course," he said smoothly, pushing away from his customary place against the mantel. Adriana saw that he'd washed and put on a fresh shirt, and his hair was brushed to gleaming, leaping life. Even in the rain-cool light of the drawing room, that hair shone.

  "Coming?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  The carriage had been brought around, manned by two liveried footmen, who handed Adriana into the coach. Tynan climbed in afterward, the only one among the three gentlemen who did not wear a hat, and settled next to her, as he should. Although she squeezed as tightly as she was able into the corner of the coach, there was no escaping the solid feel of his body along the length of her own.

  And suddenly she remembered he had a kiss coming to him today. As if he'd spoken the threat aloud, she looked up at him, alarmed. "Will you be coming to Cassandra's… after?"

  Mockingly, he smiled. "Do you wish for my company?"

  "I'd like a report."

  Gabriel reached across the small space and covered her hands with his own. "We'll be there, love." He winked. "All for one…"

  Even Julian, a full-grown gentleman with worry on his brow, put his hand over theirs. "And one for all," they said in unison.

  It might have been only a childhood game, but Adriana cared not at all. It cheered her. If the three of them acted together, they could not fail.

  Chapter 7

  There were no other guests for supper at Cassandra's, for which Adriana was grateful. They took it in the cozy upstairs sitting room, surrounded with candelabra and a warm fire. The servants served the simple meal and left the wine on the table, and Cassandra dismissed them.

  Adriana felt jumpy and restless, and managed only to pick through a few bites of food. Cassandra did her best to keep up a light patter of gossip and news, but it did not seem to help. Finally, she jumped up and paced to the long windows, going dark now.

  "What is that you're wearing?" Cassandra asked, a wince in her voice.

  "I've owned this gown for years. You've surely seen it before."

  "Oh, indeed. At least a hundred times, and I've grown to loathe it more each time. That color is hideous on you."

  Adriana only raised her brows.

  "Not this again, Riana! The bombazine and now this dun? What are you about?"

  "Nothing at all. I choose to remain invisible. Is that so difficult to fathom?"

  "Invisible. Is that what that is? No, I'm sorry, it's far too remarkably ugly to render you invisible."

  Adriana laughed.

  Cassandra tore a small bit of bread into an even smaller piece, her eyes narrowed. "Why?" she asked finally. "I'm willing to be your ally in almost anything, but I fail to grasp your motive in this."

  Adriana thought of Tynan's eyes, burning into hers in the garden last night, over supper earlier, in the hallway when she was half-dressed—

  She crossed her arms. "You would not understand."

  "Oh, I see." The words were acerbic. "Because I am not the beauty you are, Lady Lovely?"

  Adriana made an impatient noise. "How ridiculous. It was you who nearly slew the man on the steps the day he arrived, not I."

  "You were jealous!" Cassandra said with wonder in her tone. "As I live and breathe, that has to be a first!" She laughed. "I've waited all my life for a man to see me before he saw the glorious Adriana or even more glorious Ophelia—it's a good thing the child is so much younger or neither of us would have had a chance—and the only reason it worked that one time is because you hid yourself in that horrible dress!" She reached for another crust of bread, plucked a teeny piece from it, and popped it in her mouth. "You were jealous, weren't you?" She grinned impishly and tucked her knee under her elbow. "Please say yes."

  Through this long, long speech, Riana had simply folded her arms and waited for the end. Now she dropped her arms. "Yes. Terribly."

  Cassandra sighed, as if reveling, then grinned. "I think you like him, your black angel."

  "I don't know." She moved to the table, sat abruptly. A vision of him riding that great, black horse came to her, and more: the first, stabbing sight of him dismounting, all lithe perfection and gleaming black hair and dazzling charm. Oh, he'd made her heart stop for a moment.

  Then that wounding, painful instant when he'd been unable to hide his disappointment that she, not Cassandra, would be his bride. She covered her face with her hands. "He frightens me."

  Cassandra spoke softly. "Because he's beautiful?"

  A dozen flickering images burned over her imagination, his supple, naked belly in the candlelight; the way he paused, touching everything, listening to everything when they walked; the sound of his voice, rolling around Shakespeare as if it were a spell of enchantment. She lowered her hands and met her sister's curious gaze. "Because I desire him," she said bleakly.

  "If you wish to keep him at arm's length, sister," Cassandra said, "do not gaze at him with those thoughts in your eyes."

  Adriana moaned and covered her face again. "You see what a quandary it is?"

  "Yes." Cassandra's voice was grim. She lifted a broad-bottomed silver butter knife, turned it over, set it down. "God, you love so easily! When will you learn how inconstant the male race is, Adriana?"

  "I said nothing of love!"

  "But I know you." Cassandra sighed with impatience. "I remember Antoine. Do you?"

  "We were twelve!" she protested. "He was beautiful and charming, and I was a romantic child."

  "And that would be normal, but you—you had to steal away and let him kiss you. A stable boy!"

  "It wasn't much of a kiss."

  "But when Papa found out and sent him away, you pined for months, vowing you'd never love again!"

  Adriana tried to hold back a chuckle, but she could not. It burst from her, rich as that lost childhood time. "Juliet never pined better than I! I was certain I would die." At her sister's glare, she straightened her face. "Sorry. You never did understand."

  "Not him. Ugh." She gathered a breath, widened her eyes, and continued, "The point is, there was Antoine, then Henry—"

  "Shipboard romance, nothing more," Adriana said dismissively. "Thousands of young girls must be smitten by boys aboard ship."

  "But you wrote to him for a year, Adriana!"

  "There was nothing untoward about it. He was a gentlemanly child—he only held my hand when I was seasick. If our affections had survived, he'd have been a perfectly suitable husband."

  Cassandra set her mouth. "And how do you explain away Malvern, Adriana?"

  She'd known where the conversation was leading, perhaps even wanted this brutal reminder, but it still felt like a fist to her belly. "Lust," she whispered. "Lust and sin and youth."

  "But not love."

  "No," Adriana said fiercely. "No, I only fell prey to an evil part of my nature. He charmed me, nothing more."

  "Oh, Riana!" Cassandra reached over the table and took her sister's hand. "Look at me."

  Reluctantly, she raised her eyes.

  "I was there," Cassandra said softly. "You were smitten from the first day he spoke to you."

  "No! I—"

  Cassandra's fingers tightened. "He was beautiful and charming and kind. He brought you presents and pursued you as if you were Helen of Troy. You resisted him, for months—months! And he did not relent until you fell in love." She paused. "In love, not lust."

  Adriana looked at the fire, clinging to her sister's hand as remembered emotion came back to her. That deep, almost spiritual feeling she'd had, the purest, most singular thing a young girl ever knows: first love. She nodded. "Yes," she said with difficulty and bitterness. "I loved him."

  Standing, she moved away from the gentleness and strength of her sister's gaze and hand. "And I do not wish to make that mistake again," she said firmly. "But I have learned my weaknesses, Cassandra. And one of them is my own hunger. I will not have the will to resist him if he chooses to capture me. So I must make myse
lf invisible."

  "Ah! I see." Cassandra nodded. "I'm not certain he is that foolish, but I suppose it is not a bad plan."

  "Will you help me?"

  "Yes. We'll go shopping tomorrow." She smiled. "Phoebe would tell you to read sermons."

  "She's virtuous. Perhaps I should." Adriana paused. "And perhaps you should be as alluringly beautiful as you know. Draw his attention away."

  Cassandra pursed her lips. "Is that wise? If you truly desire him, that will cause you pain. I'd rather not be part of that."

  "Who better, Cassandra?"

  "Because we are sisters?" she asked, but both of them knew the truth.

  "Because you will never be tempted."

  Memory made a tight line of Cassandra's mouth. "There's truth enough in that."

  The noise of a carriage and the low murmur of men's voices reached them. Adriana peered out the window to the street below. "Here they are." She pressed a hand to the spot below her ribs that felt suddenly hollow. "Cassandra, there is no possibility Julian will hang, is there?"

  A half-beat of hesitation was all Adriana needed. She closed her eyes as Cassandra said, "No. But he may be transported. If it were anyone else he'd killed, but the son of a former mistress of half of Parliament, including the King's brother… if Malvern had not been the best friend of the Prince of Wales… if there—"

  The voices came into the hallway below, and the sisters looked toward the sound. Adriana tried to hear some measure of the gravity of the situation, but only heard Gabriel make a jest, likely some form of gallows humor. Whatever it was, it brought forth a chuckle from Tynan. And then they were on the stairs and at the doors, and Adriana found she was holding her breath.

  And as if they knew it, the men stood silent, side by side, no expression on their faces whatsoever. But in a flash Adriana saw how alike they were—graceful, as befitted the swordsman and horseman they each were. Gabriel had always been the tallest man Adriana ever met, but as they stood side by side, she saw that Tynan was taller by a tail. Tynan's hair fell in that thick, glorious swath down his back, and Gabriel's tumbled in a glory of curls women went mad for. Tynan's eyes were bluer than morning, while Gabriel's were that pale green that was so startling in his face.