Angel's Devil Page 3

  Angel took a shaky breath. "Oh, my," she whispered. She knew there had been a duel and a scandal, but none of the details.

  Mary nodded, twisting her reins in her gloved hands. "That was before she married Lord Kensington."

  "Not by much," Louisa giggled, though she could only have been fourteen or fifteen at the time, for she was the same age as Angel. "They both wanted to marry her. During the duel the Devil waited until the viscount shot," she raised her hand as though holding a pistol and squinted down the imaginary barrel, "and then blew a hole right through his chest." She fired her finger at Brutus. Angelique flinched.

  Mary shivered delicately. "That's why they call him the Devil."

  "And that's not all he's done," Louisa continued, stepping forward. "Did you know three years ago he made a wager with Lord Renard about a race to Bath and nearly killed himself and Renard trying to beat him?''

  "Did he win the bet?" Jenny asked.

  "Oh, yes. Set a record, too. And there were rumors about him and Lord Renard's wife—"

  "I apologize," Angelique broke in, "but I've a dressmaker's appointment. I'll see you all later, yes?"

  They parted company, and thankfully Brutus was ready to return home as well. Angelique wished she had realized sooner about the duel. With the Devil back in London casting a pall over his family name, her parents would never agree to move the wedding date forward, much less publish an announcement. With her freedom so close to hand, the thought of waiting for nearly a year before achieving it was so frustrating she sometimes thought she would burst. She and Simon got along so smashingly, and in her own household she wouldn't have to follow the stifling, silly rules her mother and father seemed to have invented simply to cause her to be almost constantly in trouble. Angelique frowned. There had to be something that could be done.

  She wanted to mention her concern to Simon, but at tea the next day and then at Almack's two days later she still hadn't been able to muster the nerve to say anything. After all, whatever the ton might think, the Marquis of Abbonley hadn't seemed all that scandalous to her. Instead, she found herself wondering why there was no sign of James Faring over the next few days, and how he must have felt upon learning that the woman he had killed for had married someone else.

  The affair at the Sheffields the following Saturday was the first grand ball since her return to London, and it seemed as though the entire haut ton had turned out for it. "You look radiant,'' Simon greeted her as she joined the group of young people on one side of the huge, waxed dance floor. He took her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips. "I have been waiting for nearly a month to dance with you."

  She smiled. "You are so sweet to say that."

  “Not at all. Has your Miss Stanfred arrived in town yet?''

  Angel shook her head. "I'm expecting her any day now. I already wrote and asked her to be my bridesmaid, and—"

  Simon laughed. "Angel, we do have nine months yet to plan this."

  She shrugged. "I know, but it makes the wedding seem closer if I can do something to prepare for it."

  "I know what you mean. In fact, I was thinking of asking James...." Simon trailed off, looking past her shoulder. At the same moment Angel noted that the room was buzzing with muted conversation.

  "Lady Angelique."

  She turned around. The Marquis of Abbonley stood before her. He was dressed all in black, with only his white cravat and a beautiful emerald pin that exactly matched his eyes to leaven the stark effect. She suddenly realized why the nickname Devil had stuck to him.

  "My lord," she answered, curtseying and wondering why he looked as though he was angry at her.

  "I had hoped there would be a place left on your dance card for me," he murmured coolly, indicating with a flick of his long fingers the paper she held in one hand. "Under the circumstances, I thought perhaps we should become better acquainted."

  She glanced down at her card. There were two spaces still unclaimed, but despite his completely legitimate reasoning, she debated whether or not to tell him. He seemed definitely put out about something, though she couldn't imagine what. Abbonley was watching her closely, no doubt expecting her to beg off.

  "I have a waltz and a quadrille still unclaimed," she said, not one to back down from a challenge. "You may have your pick."

  For a brief moment the look in his eyes changed, the only indication he gave that he might be surprised. "Then I choose the waltz," he replied, and with a slight bow made his exit.

  With those words the music for the first quadrille of the evening began, and Simon led her out onto the floor. She glanced over toward the far wall to find the Marquis of Abbonley leaning there and watching her, and she wondered again what she had done. After a long moment she looked away to find Simon smiling at her from his place a few steps away, and she mentally shook herself. Whatever James Faring might think was certainly no concern of hers.

  Chapter Three

  James Faring was not amused. The rumors of his supposed attraction to his cousin's lady had come to his ears the day after he had gone walking in Hyde Park. Simon's intended or not, the gossiping chit could have waited until the rest of the ton had a chance to decide for themselves if he had become civilized before she started in on what was left of his reputation. Behaving was difficult enough without that dragging him down.

  In the past he would have spent the evening upstairs at the gaming tables, but he was avoiding those as strenuously as he was the liquor that flowed in abundance through the room. Most of his acquaintances, and even a few of his socially acceptable former mistresses, had stopped to greet him and welcome him home, but he wasn't much in the mood for frivolous conversation. He was saving all of his attention for Angel Graham.

  By the time he claimed her for their waltz his leg ached, and he was nearly as tired as he was angry. For the first few turns they waltzed in silence, her slender hand tense in his as she obviously sensed his annoyance.

  "No cane tonight?" she asked finally, raising her brown eyes to his.

  "It was mostly for show," he returned shortly. "I should like to know, Lady Angelique," he said evenly, "how it has come to pass that half the wags in London are discussing my interest in the woman my cousin has been courting?"

  She blanched. "What?"

  "You appear to be surprised."

  "I am;" She frowned. "Louisa and Mary only asked how we knew one another, and I said we'd returned to London together. I don't know where they got the idea that you were interested in me, or I, you. I should have known better than to say anything to those silly gossips with their odious innuendos."

  "Yes, you should have," he agreed.

  Angelique glared at him, apparently not in any better humor than he was. “I apologize, my lord, but surely you don't expect me to believe that you haven't had much worse said about you."

  "Rather blunt, aren't we tonight, my lady?" he responded cynically. "I shall be as well. Ordinarily I wouldn't give a flying leap what anyone might think about my actions, but I've been away for quite some time. I'd rather hoped to be able to redeem myself with my fellows." His voice sank into the murmur that, in the past, had caused several worthy gentlemen to give up frequenting White's while he was in town. "You've now made things even more difficult for me. I do not appreciate that."

  "Then you likely shouldn't have accepted the offer of a ride back to London with us," she stated, her dark green skirts swirling against his legs.

  He hadn't expected her to challenge him. Angelique Graham, though, didn't exactly seem the type to retreat. "If you had informed me that you were engaged to my cousin, I might not have accepted that ride."

  Angelique glanced over at Simon, waltzing with Miss Jenny Smith. "As he is your cousin, and as we have been engaged for three months, I thought he might have informed you already." She sniffed. "And besides, when I invited you to share our coach, I had no idea who you were."

  He pursed his lips. Even her discovery of his identity had had little discernable effect on her. "So we s
hould be blaming Simon for this mess."

  She shook her head. "My parents, I think. They're the ones trying to keep the engagement a secret." She grimaced. "They are obsessed with respectability, and are convinced I'll do something outrageous before the wedding and Simon will beg off."

  "I see," he murmured, impressed and disarmed by her honesty. "Apparently then, you took quite a risk, inviting both Brutus and myself to join you." He paused as the rotation of the dance took them close to the line of bystanders and their sharp ears.

  With the long evening, straying strands of Angelique Graham's copper hair, coiled into a bun at the back of her head, had come loose to caress her high cheekbones. The hint of a smile touched her full, red lips. "Actually, I thought that with a stranger sharing the coach ride, Mama wouldn't be able to rail at me as much for taking in another pet."

  He raised an eyebrow, though where Angel was concerned, he had little difficulty imagining a version of the Dover rescue occurring on several other occasions. "Another pet?" he repeated.

  "Well, there haven't been all that many, but Mama remembers every one, and all of the supposed problems they might have caused."

  "I see," he returned with a grin. "So I was merely a distraction to keep your parents from realizing the true issue at hand."

  She chuckled. "Exactly. Though I hadn't realized how much of a distraction you would be. A stranger would have done quite well, but the Devil—" Angelique stopped, flushing. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

  "It's all right," he murmured, abruptly wondering how she would look with her long hair loose. He cleared his throat. "I worked quite hard to earn the epithet."

  "So I've been hearing," she returned.

  "Now you disapprove of me," he said, irked that her criticism bothered him. "I told you I've been attempting to reform."

  "To use a cliché, talk, sir, is cheap."

  "I begin to understand your parents' concerns, my lady." Two could play at insults, if that's what she wished.

  Angelique flushed. "How dare you?"

  "You see, my lady, I can be far more blunt than you."

  She lifted her chin. "If this is how you become respectable, I can see why you're having such difficulty being accepted." Angelique glanced over at Simon. "Perhaps you need a wife to show you how to speak properly to a woman."

  "Ah, a splendid idea. Perhaps you could find one for me."

  That stopped her, as he had thought it might. "What?"

  "A wife." He gave a goading smile. "Someone who would suit me and my needs."

  She looked up at him suspiciously. Her eyes had small flecks of green deep inside them, he noticed. "What would suit you then, my lord?"

  "Someone... mild, and respectable, from a good family," he responded slowly, though he found that that was not at all what he wished to say.

  "Someone not like me, you mean," she scoffed.

  "You are spoken for," he pointed out, wondering if Simon had any idea what a spitfire his future bride was.

  "I am aware of that, sir." She cleared her throat. "What other qualities must this perfect wife possess, then?"

  "I require nothing else."

  “Sense of humor, intelligence, shared interests? Beauty?'' she pursued, her expression becoming skeptical.

  "Not necessary."

  She hesitated. "Love?"

  "There's no such thing," he returned bluntly, beginning to regret having brought up the matter, even in jest. She asked more questions than his grandmother.

  "You don't believe that," she protested.

  "How do you know what I believe, Lady Angelique?" he responded coolly. "I require a wife who will bear me an heir and stand beside me at social functions. I do not expect, nor do I require, anything further."

  The waltz ended. Angelique freed her hand from his grip, then after a moment wrapped her fingers around his forearm. She looked about the room with a frown. Abruptly, her expression cleared. "Well then, my lord, allow me to assist you."

  "Why so suddenly cooperative, my lady?"

  "You and I are to be cousins, after all," she returned. "Your respectability will reflect on me."

  "I see." Exceedingly leery, James nevertheless allowed her to guide him to one side of the ballroom where several young women stood.

  "Pearl?" she said, and one of the girls turned around.

  "Angel?" the young lady replied, obviously surprised, then looked over at James and blushed.

  "Pearl, may I present James Faring, the Marquis of Abbonley? My lord, Miss Pearl Wainwright."

  "My lord," the girl curtsied.

  "Miss Wainwright," James acknowledged, looking sideways at Angelique. Miss Wainwright was blond and slim, and not at all unattractive, and he couldn't guess what Simon's chit might be up to. The music for a quadrille began, and he glanced back at the girl. "Would you care to dance?"

  "Yes, my lord," she responded, and took his proffered hand

  As Angelique watched them step into line with the other dancers, she barely refrained from laughing. If all James Faring required was a quiet, proper female, she would see that he found a plentitude. Then he would see whether affection or attraction had any importance in his match. No such thing as love, indeed.

  "Angel," her mother motioned from the line of chairs set against one wall.

  With a last glance at the couple, Angel stepped over to the countess. "Yes, Mama?"

  "You know your father and I disapprove of that man. Why do you insist on defying our wishes?"

  "I wasn't defying you, Mama," Angel protested. "He asked me to dance."

  "You should have declined."

  "But once Simon and I are married, he will be my cousin. I can't—"

  "You and Mr. Talbott will not be married for nine months. Once you are safely wed, then you may converse with the Marquis of Abbonley—as long as there is someone else present at all times. Even a married woman would find her reputation sullied in the presence of such a rake."

  Despite her annoyance at him and the rumors he had informed her of, that didn't seem entirely fair. "But he told me he's trying to refor—"

  "Angel, don't argue with me," Camellia returned. "For heaven's sake."

  Fortunately, Simon approached Angel with a glass of punch in time to save her from the remainder of the tirade, and with a stiff nod the countess went to find her husband.

  "Thank you," Angel said gratefully as she accepted the glass.

  "You're welcome," he returned with a smile. "You

  looked as though you needed to be rescued."

  She sent an exasperated look in her mother's direction. "She dislikes my even speaking with your cousin, as though he spits venom, or something."

  "Some say he does." Simon grimaced and looked out toward the floor. "What in the world is he doing with Pearl Wainwright?"

  "Dancing, I believe." She stifled another grin. "He requested an introduction."

  "But Miss Wainwright is..." He trailed off, obviously unable to find a diplomatic way to say what he was thinking.

  "Rather vacant?" she supplied. "And perhaps prone to the vapors?"

  "Angel," Simon chided, glancing at the couple again. "Why didn't you tell him?" he whispered.

  She shrugged, pursing her lips. "He didn't ask."

  ***

  Other than Simon, Angel's visits to Naffley House were her favorite part of being engaged. She'd been taking tea with Simon's grandmother every Wednesday afternoon for the past three months, with the exception of the fortnight she'd been away in Paris. With Lady Elizabeth, as the dowager viscountess and daughter of the Duke of Newberry insisted on being called, she could speak her mind. Their conversations were often amusing and insightful, and now that she had met them both, Angelique was surprised at how much the older woman reminded her of the Marquis of Abbonley.

  "Has Simon spoken to you about the estate in Warwickshire?" Lady Elizabeth asked, adding a spoonful of sugar to her tea.

  Angelique nodded. "He mentioned that he thought he could persuade his father to let us
set up a household there," she answered.

  The viscountess pursed her lips. "Seems to me that stubborn son of mine should have offered it outright. Not as though he's set foot in it for the past five years."

  Angelique was well aware that Lady Elizabeth was frequently frustrated by the stuffiness of her only son, Simon's father, the Viscount Wansglen. It was apparently her late daughter, James Faring's mother, who had been the more spirited of the two siblings. "Simon told me it's a lovely place," she offered with a smile.

  The viscountess harumphed. "It's been in the Talbott family for generations," she noted. "An old stone and oak fortress that's stood against the Lancasters, floods, and the plague. It's something of a shrine. We all speak with bated bream about Turbin Hall."

  That description varied somewhat from what Simon had told her. Living in an old fortress where every stick of furniture had its place and history sounded a bit... stifling. "It sounds enchanting," she responded firmly. Simon would certainly have no objection to her making some improvements on the manor once they were married.

  Lady Elizabeth gave a cackle. "It sounds mouldy," she responded, "but you'll manage."

  "Thank you, my lady."

  Downstairs the door opened, followed by footsteps coming up the stairs. "Grandmama?"

  "In here, Jamie," Lady Elizabeth called, giving a delighted smile.

  James Faring pushed open the drawing room door. "Grandmama, I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to have me invited to every damned pheasant and fox hunt in the country this autumn," he snapped, limping into the room. His angry green eyes turned to Angelique, and he stopped in mid-stride. "My apologies, Lady Angelique," he said after a moment. "I didn't realize you were here."

  "That's quite all right, my lord," Angel responded, noting that his long-fingered hands were crumpling someone's engraved calling card into an unrecognizable wad.

  "I only asked if the Marquis of Westfall would be hosting his annual hunt," Lady Elizabeth commented, setting aside her tea, "and mentioned that you enjoyed hunting."

  "You know bloody well that I do not enjoy—"

  "Hunting with the Marquis of Westfall will do wonders for your reputation, my grandson."