Angel's Devil Page 2

  "What are you making, Lady Angelique?" he ventured when the mother had to pause to take a breath.

  She looked up at him. "Roses," she answered, leaning forward to show him and giving him what would have been a superb view of her bosom if he had been feeling so inclined as to look.

  "Very nice," he muttered, glancing at her mother.

  "You didn't even look," Angelique protested, sitting back again.

  "I did."

  "You didn't." She examined her handiwork again. "They are a bit crooked, I'm afraid."

  "Angelique," Lady Graham rebuked.

  James stifled a smile. "They're lovely." The coach rocked through yet another rut, and he hissed. The dog looked up at him and wagged its tail.

  "Do you wish to stop for a bit?" the countess asked.

  He shook his head tightly, concentrating on taking deep breaths. "I'm fine."

  "Don't be a nodcock," Angel snapped, her voice and expression concerned. "You look horrid."

  "Well, thank you very much," he retorted. No one had ever dared call him a nodcock before, and he wasn't certain he liked it.

  "Angel!" her mother admonished again.

  "I'm trying to be nice," she protested.

  Thus far her attempts at propriety hadn't seemed to be going very well. They had something in common, then. "Be nice to someone else," he suggested tightly.

  The earl cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Abbonley, but I hardly think it's appropriate for you to speak to my daughter in that manner."

  James looked sideways at him.

  "You know," the countess began before he had decided how diplomatically to word his reply, "that reminds me of a particularly amusing on dit I heard several weeks ago about the Duke of Kent."

  "Oh, really?" James responded, forcing his lips into what he hoped would pass for a smile.

  "Yes. It seems he ..."

  James lost track of what the countess was saying as he glanced over at Angelique. She crossed her eyes at him, and he coughed to cover his surprised and amused chuckle.

  After another agonizing two hours of rutted roads and excruciating conversation, the coach rolled to a halt in front of Faring House. When James stepped to the ground, his bad leg, stiff from the long sit, gave way, and he had to hang onto the door handle to keep from falling. Brutus stood, apparently ready to follow him, but the girl hauled on the leash and the dog sat again.

  "A pleasure, Lady Angelique," James murmured, looking up at her. "Perhaps we shall meet again."

  She returned his smile. "I'm certain we shall, my lord."

  "Thank you, Niston, my lady," he nodded.

  "Very good," the earl muttered, and in a moment the coach rumbled out of the drive. James sighed. With the exception of Angelique Graham and Brutus, that had been agonizing. Hopefully the remainder of proper London Society would be less trying.

  "My God," came a voice from the townhouse doorway, and he looked up to see his cousin coming toward him at a ran. "Jamie!"

  "Simon," the marquis replied, grinning, and found himself pulled into a careful embrace. "I won't break," he growled.

  With a chuckle Simon tightened his grip and thumped him on the back. "You look half dead," his cousin commented. "By God, I'm pleased to see you."

  "Steady, Simon. I'm not exactly in sterling condition, either."

  "Why didn't you write that you were returning?" his cousin complained, releasing him. "We were worried about you, you know. Those damn rumors from Belgium, and the—"

  "I did write. And believe me, I've heard all about the wagering and the pish-posh about the Devil's due. It's good to see you again." He gripped his cousin's shoulder.

  "Who was it that brought you back?" Simon asked. "I owe them a debt."

  James grinned. "An angel rescued me and flew me home."

  Simon grimaced. "We'd best get you inside. I believe you're delirious."

  The marquis chuckled. "It was the Earl of Niston and his family."

  "Niston?" Simon started, then gave a grin of his own. "Oh, that Angel. I'm glad you've met her. Isn't she wonderful?"

  "Yes, she is. In fact—" James stopped, frowning and abruptly suspicious. "You're hardly the type to send innocents in my direction. Why are you glad I've met her," he queried, "and why is it I have the feeling I'm missing something here?"

  His cousin looked at him for a moment. "They didn't say anything, did they?" he sighed. "I'm glad you've met her because, come next April, I'll be married to her."

  James let go of his cousin's shoulder and straightened, despite the wave of dizziness that ran through him. "Married?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow and carefully suppressing his abrupt disappointment. "You?"

  "I'm not the one who's sworn off marriage," Simon pointed out. "That was you. And we'll discuss it later." His cousin grabbed James as his knees gave way. "You sap-skull," Simon growled, as he motioned the butler to come out from the doorway. "You must have been rowing with one oar to try to get back here now. You could have waited a few more weeks, for Lucifer's sake."

  "I've been away long enough." With that the last of his strength gave out. As he sagged into Simon's grip, his cousin began yelling for the servants to come help because the marquis was finally home.

  ***

  "Just like you to sleep through a family reunion, Jamie."

  His eyes snapped open. Elizabeth, the Dowager Viscountess Wansglen, sat by the bed, a cup of tea in her hand and a book on the table beside her. "Grandmama," he smiled, delighted, but when he tried to sit up she motioned him back with a quick wave that nearly sent the tea cascading over the bed sheets.

  "Oh, bother," she muttered, and set the cup down. "You've turned me into a bundle of nerves, child."

  Grandmama Elizabeth was the only person who to his knowledge still referred to him as a child. "That wasn't my intention," he responded.

  "Then what was your intention, coming home without letting anyone know? You might have written a letter. Instead we get your trunks, your valet, and a note saying, "I'll be home when I can.' Simon said you were half dead when you arrived. You know better than to be so foolish."

  James grinned. "Still haven't given up railing at me, have you? And I did write. Blame the London Mail, not me."

  Unexpectedly, the dowager viscountess leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I missed you horribly, Jamie. Simon always listens to me when I scold him."

  He laughed. "When have you ever scolded Simon?"

  Elizabeth Talbott smiled. "You were both wicked boys. Simon grew out of it."

  James's smile faded. It was true he had grown up wild after the death of his mother, just before his sixth birthday. He had driven governesses to distraction and to positions elsewhere on a regular basis, and later only just escaped being sent down from Cambridge when he and Viscount Luester decided a brawl was the best way to decide the question of which of them owned a certain lady's heart. The answer to that question, though, wasn't ultimately decided until a year later with a duel in a damp, fog-shrouded meadow. A duel that had given him the nickname of Devil.

  He glanced away. "Simon told me he's engaged."

  She nodded. "Yes, to Angelique Graham. She's a lovely sprite, and Simon's convinced she's a gift from heaven. Her daft parents, though, want to keep the whole thing a secret."

  "What in the world for?"

  "Oh, you'll have to ask Simon," she grumbled. "They don't think she's settled enough for him, or some rot." Her expression changed slightly. "But then you've met her, haven't you?"

  "Yes, I have." He frowned as she eyed him over the rim of her cup. "What's that look for?"

  "Nothing."

  "Oh," he retorted. "I see. I set eyes on Simon's betrothed, and you think I'll attempt something scandalous."

  "No, I don't. I was just wondering... if you'd changed your mind about marrying."

  "I've been asking myself the same question, actually," he admitted after a moment. "It does rather seem to be past time for it."

  His grandmother practically glo
wed. "Oh, Jamie, that's wonderful. And you said you'd sworn off the institution. Who is sh—"

  "So," he interrupted, "as I've been gone for over a year and don't know who's available, I would appreciate if you'd put together a list of eligible females. I would prefer someone quiet, with a respectable background. I don't really care about age, or looks, but I would prefer if she wasn't completely dim and didn't squint."

  Grandmama Elizabeth sat back slowly. "Are you looking for a bride, or a horse?" she queried after a moment.

  James snorted and struggled upright "You're the one who keeps nagging at me to find a wife, settle down, have children, and stop behaving like the Devil himself."

  "But... don't you wish to find someone you care for? You're going about it as if it's a business proposition."

  "Isn't it? You know damned well that the number of marriages made out of social or monetary necessity far outnumber the supposed love matches," he returned cynically.

  Elizabeth stood, picking up her book and her tea. "I am not going to assist you in this, James. You are one of the few people in the enviable position of being able to marry for love. I'll not be a party to your wasting that."

  "I'd be wasting my time if I waited for such nonsense."

  She turned around. "You are wrong, James. You're only saying that because of Desiree. It's been—"

  "Don't mention that... woman's name in my presence," he snapped.

  "I only hope you realize what a mistake you're making before it's too late for you and whatever unfortunate girl you select."

  "Well, we'll see, won't we?" he returned, sitting back again and annoyed that the one female who came to mind apparently wasn't available.

  "Yes, I imagine we will," his grandmother replied as she left the room.

  ***

  "Brutus," Angel complained as the dog pulled her across the edge of Hyde Park, "if you can't mind me, Mama and Papa will never let you stay."

  Whether he understood or not, Brutus left off sniffing a promising clump of shrubs and returned to her side. Angel's maid, Tess, gave a relieved sigh. "I still think we should have brought one of the grooms, my lady," she commented. "If that dog takes it into his head to make off with you, I'll never be able to catch up."

  Angel nodded, agreeing. ''I know, but he doesn't seem to like men holding his leash. I think it's because that awful man, Fenley, was so mean to him." She tugged on the line, and Brutus turned to follow them as they toured the edge of the Ladies' Mile, hopefully far enough from the track that the mastiff wouldn't be tempted to chase any of the horses cantering there.

  "I wish you'd warned me about the danger of reining him in before I attempted such a perilous feat myself," a voice came from behind her, and she turned around.

  "My lord," she said with a surprised smile, as James Faring approached across the grass. He was on foot, as she was, a gold-tipped cane in one hand.

  Brutus gave a woof and bounded toward the marquis. Tail wagging furiously, the dog jerked Angelique helplessly forward. "Oh, not again," she muttered, hauling with all her might on the leash. Despite her best efforts they careened full speed toward Abbonley.

  "No, Brutus," the marquis stated firmly as the dog reached him. Immediately Brutus collapsed at Lord Abbonley's feet. James leaned over and scratched him behind the ears.

  "Thank goodness," Angelique sighed, grinning at the marquis. "Apparently you are considered part of the rescue party, and are acceptable to him."

  "Thank goodness, indeed," he muttered, straightening. Eyes twinkling, he reached out to take her free hand and bring it to his lips.

  The marquis still looked pale and tired, but then he'd only been back in London for three days. "How are you feeling?" she queried when she realized she'd been staring at him.

  "Better," he returned. The humor, though, left his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me about you and Simon?" he asked quietly.

  She sobered as well, guilt flooding through her. "You've heard."

  "I was bound to eventually, don't you think? Simon is my cousin, after all."

  Angelique abruptly wanted to explain everything to him, to see the hurt and offended look leave his eyes. "I'm sorry," she returned. "I wanted to tell you, but—"

  "But it is a secret, you know," another voice came from behind her.

  "Simon!" she exclaimed, smiling as she turned around.

  Simon swept a bow and stepped forward to kiss her knuckles. "I'm pleased you've returned from Paris." The glance over at his cousin was less than friendly. "I said we'd discuss this later, James. It is between you and me, and does not involve Angelique."

  Angel rather thought that it did, but before she could protest, Brutus rose and walked over to Simon. He sniffed the boots of the son of Viscount Wansglen, then with a single half-hearted wag of his tail, returned to sit on Abbonley's foot. "Brutus, don't hurt the marquis," she reprimanded, tugging on the leash.

  James grinned reluctantly. "It's all right. That's my good leg he's crushing." He glanced from her to Simon, then cleared his throat. "What do you think of this?" he asked, lifting the cane and twirling it once before he set it down again at Brutus's uncertain look. "Do I look dashing, or merely decrepit?"

  Angelique laughed. "Oh, dashing, most definitely."

  "Don't tell him that," Simon protested. "I've been trying to convince Jamie to stay in bed, and now you've told him he's dashing. There's nothing left to do but surrender."

  "That's wise," James noted coolly. Apparently the marquis didn't like secrets, or at least ones he hadn't been let in on.

  Simon grimaced at his cousin. "So that's your new pet, is it?" he queried, turning to eye the mastiff skeptically. "James said you'd acquired a dog. That, though, looks more like a pony."

  "Hush, Simon," she chastised half seriously, "he's very sensitive. He'll only eat if Henry or Helen or I sit with him. I think he misses his companions."

  "Well, Angel, he's not exactly a house pet," Simon pointed out.

  Brutus licked his chops and sighed. "He is now," Angelique returned, stepping over to pet the canine.

  "Who are Henry and Helen?" the marquis queried, looking down at her.

  "My brother and sister," Angel explained, straightening. "They're twins. Mama and Papa find them exasperating as well."

  He grinned. "Then I look forward to meeting them."

  After a moment spent smiling at him, Angel shook herself and turned to Simon. "That reminds me. I received a letter from Lily yesterday. She expects to be in London late next week."

  "That's wonderful. You've told me so much about Miss Stanfred, I feel I already know her." Mr. Talbott glanced over Angel's shoulder, his expression becoming more serious. "But perhaps I could call on you for tea tomorrow, and we can further discuss your friend's arrival."

  Angel turned to follow his gaze. Of the two dozen women riding along the Ladies' Mile, all but a few seemed to find the near end of the track much more interesting. "Gossips," she scoffed, turning back again, disgusted at their transparent curiosity.

  "Gossips or no, it's not very seemly for us to be seen standing here talking to you," her betrothed pointed out.

  Angel looked over at Abbonley to find that he was watching her. Almost immediately he glanced away to look at their audience, then turned back to Simon. "Well, I've a mastiff on my foot, so what do you suggest we do?"

  Angel chuckled. "Allow me. I hope." She tugged on the leash. "Come on, Brutus, there're some lovely rabbits for you to chase just over here."

  With a heavy sigh the dog stood, looked at Simon, gave another wag to James, and walked off. "I'll see you tomorrow, Simon," Angel said over her shoulder.

  "Bon chance, Lady Angelique." The marquis saluted her with the tip of his cane, and she grinned.

  She knew the moment the two men were out of sight. Three of the riders ahead of her immediately dismounted and approached, while the others finally decided to try the other end of the track. "Angel, wasn't that the Marquis of Abbonley with Mr. Talbott?" one of them, her friend Jenny, qu
eried.

  "Yes, it was," she answered.

  Louisa Delon looked distastefully at Brutus. "How do you know the Devil?"

  "We arrived back in Dover at the same time. His coach hadn't arrived, so he rode home with us," Angelique answered, somewhat annoyed at Louisa's use of Abbonley's nickname.

  "They say Gabriella Marietti was his mistress before he went off to war. Or one of them, anyway," Mary Hampston noted, unasked.

  Angel glanced over at Mary. She had seen the famous opera singer on several occasions, and had thought her quite lovely. Now that she thought about it, though, there was something of a scratchy quality to the Italian woman's voice, so perhaps Miss Marietti wasn't as wonderful as everyone assumed. "Oh, was she?" she asked, trying to project just the right touch of boredom and disinterest into her voice.

  Louisa and Mary glanced at one another. "The marquis is quite handsome," Louisa offered.

  "Yes, he is," Angel agreed, thinking of those emerald eyes. The two gossips continued looking at her. "In an arrogant sort of way, I suppose," she added hurriedly. It wasn't very seemly for an engaged woman to be complimenting the looks, however handsome they might be, of her betrothed's cousin. Even if no one else knew she was engaged.

  "So you were the first to know the Devil had returned to England," Mary commented.

  "You shouldn't call him that," Jenny broke in. "What if he should return and hear you?"

  "I wonder what Lady Kensington will think of his return," Louisa smirked.

  Angel looked from one girl to the other, feeling as though she was missing something and not quite certain how to ask without sounding, well, like a gossip. "Desiree Kensington?" she finally asked weakly.

  "Oh, yes, didn't you know?" Louisa went on, apparently happy to be imparting the information. "The Devil killed Viscount Luester over her."

  "In a duel," Mary added unnecessarily.