Hunt glanced to the ormolu clock—nearly two. He stood slowly. “There is nothing for it. Before I can approach the duchess with a tale of betrayal, I must know Angelica’s side of the story.”
Setting his glass aside, Hunt slipped from the room through the servants’ entrance. Earlier he had excused Mangan to the comfort of the valet’s bed. With the Sandahls’ absence from the estate, Hunt had no need for the extra protection. The sound of silence filled his father’s house as Hunt made his way along the darkened passages. Since returning to the Keep, Hunt had learned much regarding the running of the duke’s household and how hard the staff worked to make the effort appear seamless. He hoped, when he regained his memory that these lessons would remain with him. When he made a brief showing in Mrs. Brady’s kitchen two days prior, he held the distinct impression it was his first appearance in the lower levels of the manor. When he became duke, he hoped to be more sensitive to those who served him. Mrs. Brady knew surprise with his appearance in the middle of the kitchen, but the lady cleared a space at a rough-hewed table and served him the warm apple tart he had smelled, even from his quarters. She appeared pleased he came personally to taste her wares.
Having previously determined which rooms would be assigned to the Lovelace party, Hunt let himself into the servants’ entrance of her quarters and crossed the dressing room on silent feet, only to be brought up short as the moonlight streamed across the very feminine form upon the bed.
“Angel.” His lips formed the word.
She was the epitome of heavenly perfection. Her golden hair crossed the pillow and draped over her shoulder and arm. With each inhalation, full breasts rose and fell beneath the thin muslin gown. Hunt felt his mouth go dry and knew a tug of awareness in his groin.
With a deep sigh of regret for what might have been, he knelt beside the bed and captured her hand in his. With care, he brought it to his lips for a soft caress. “Angel.”
The urge to crawl into her bed and never come out spread through his veins, but Hunt knew the next few minutes would determine any future they might share. Would she believe him?
Think him impertinent? Would she rush away from the Devil’s Keep, never to cross his path again? He swallowed his apprehension. “Angelica. Wake for me.”
“Lucifer?” she murmured.
Hunt could not prevent the grin turning up the corners of mouth. “Only if you are my fallen angel.” He nibbled upon her fingertips.
Her eyes sprang open. “My lord,” she squeaked. Jerking her hand free, she recovered the earlier-abandoned blanket to clutch it to her neck. “What are you doing in my quarters?” Her eyes darted to the still closed door. “I distinctly recall locking my chamber door.”
Hunt stood slowly before sitting on the bed’s edge. Angelica could cover herself from head to toe, but nothing would drive away the desire he felt for her. “That is my ever-practical Angelica Lovelace.” He studied her closely. “You know I would not come if it were not important.”
Was that disappointment which crossed her expression? He certainly wished it were true.
“Permit me to cover myself properly,” she said in a breathy exhale.
Hunt did not want her covered. He wanted her naked and writhing beneath him, but he turned his back on her. “I will not look until you tell me I may.”
He felt the shift of the bed as she climbed from the mattress. He knew when she donned her wrapper and when she quickly plaited her hair, and Hunt wondered if he ever had held such a connection with a woman. The feeling was deuced frightening, as well as enchantingly exhilarating.
“I ask again, my lord, what do you mean by entering my quarters in the night’s middle? We agreed to no scandalous rumors after our previous encounter. If this is your idea of protecting my reputation, you sorely erred.”
Hunt turned in time to note the trembling of her hands. Anger? Fear? Passion? “We have a situation, Miss Lovelace, which requires our cooperation. Before I act, I would know your opinion on how best to proceed.”
Angelica turned to pace the area at the end of the bed, and Hunt recognized her agitation, another example of the deep passion she possessed. It pleased him to hold a connection to this particular woman. At length, she pulled up short.
“How do I know you did not come to my quarters under this pretext as a means to seduce me?”
Hunt studied her carefully. She was fiery and free spoken and intelligent and gloriously beautiful. The lady would see through any diversion he might offer, and so he spoke in earnest. “Seduction was not my intent when I entered your quarters, but I would hold no objections to your warmth lining my body again. Although I should not give voice to my desires, I have missed you, both your body and your good sense. At the moment, I require the latter, but when we are through with this discussion, I will gladly devote my best efforts toward the former.”
She stilled. A long silence filled the space between them. Whatever she had expected him to say, Hunt had surprised her. “What is it you require of me, my lord?”
“I must know what will happen when your father encounters his brother in my mother’s drawing room.”
Angelica stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “What is this madness, Lord Malvern? Do you practice some sort of farce in hopes of regaining my sympathies?”
Despite recognizing her angst, Hunt kept his features impassive. It was important to separate his desire from a moment that could alter both their paths. “No, Miss Lovelace. No duplicity.” He took a half step in her direction. “I spoke to Lady Gunnimore during the supper hour, and the dowager countess shared some of your family’s history.”
“Her ladyship had no right,” she said in defiance.
“The dowager countess holds your father in deep regard and counts herself one of your late mother’s dearest acquaintances,” Hunt corrected.
Angelica regarded him in surprise. “Why would Lady Gunnimore choose to share her thoughts on my family with you?”
Hunt edged closer still. “The countess sought a willing ear for her tale. I believe Lady Gunnimore wishes only the best for your family,” he drawled. “And as to why she shared her secrets with me, the countess believes I look upon you with interest.”
“I warned you, my lord,” Angel said with a huff.
His smile widened. “I will practice more care in the future.” For some unknown reason, he enjoyed it when she scolded him. “The countess’s motives aside, a potential social disaster looms.”
“Lady Gunnimore may think she knows our family, but my grandfather was Lord Moses, and I have made no connection in Warwickshire by that name. If my father’s brother attended the duchess’s party, Horace Lovelace would acknowledge the current Lord Moses with affection.”
For a brief moment, Hunt wondered if her ladyship erred in her evaluation of the animosity between the Lovelace brothers, and he had worried for no reason. Even so, he asked just the same, “Then Mr. Lovelace is aware of Carpenter Lovelace’s succession to the title of Earl of Sandahl?”
“Sandahl?” Angelica shook her head as if to clear her thinking. “Carpenter Lovelace? What happened to my Uncle Cadon?” She swayed in place. “Sandahl? As in Lady Mathild’s parents? Your intended? My father and the father of your future wife are related?”
Chapter Ten
“Angel?” Hunt caught her hand. “Come. Sit, lass.” He guided her to a nearby settle before pouring her a bit of Madeira. She had paled. Wrapping her fingers about the glass’s stem, he guided it to her lips. “Just a sip,” he coaxed. Her remark regarding her connection to Lady Mathild took him as much by surprise as it had her. “Better?” he asked.
A simple nod was all she managed, but Hunt noted the return of color to her cheeks. He retrieved the glass and placed it on a table before recapturing her hand to sit beside her. “It grieves me to bring you a shock, but I assumed you knew of the connection and had simply not given voice to an uncomfortable situation.”
Angelica blinked several times, as if searching for lo
st words. Hunt recognized the feeling immediately.
“Do you know nothing of me, my lord?” she asked.
Hunt’s eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “I beg your pardon?”
“When have I ever hidden my family connections?” she asked in incredulity.
Hunt smiled at her. Life with Angelica Lovelace would be everything but dull. “I suppose you mean other than the fabrication you offered me at the Wendts’ farmhouse.”
“That was to protect both of us, my lord!”
Hunt brought the back of her hand to his lips. “So, it was, lass.” He noted how she leaned toward him as he caressed her hand and wrist with his tongue. It pleased him that his touch did not repulse the lady. “Speak to me of what you wish to know,” he said seductively. He possessed no qualms in instructing her in the pleasures her bed awaited. He watched in amusement as Angelica swallowed the desire he felt throbbing in her pulse.
She gave her head a sound shake before shifting away from him. “I—I suppose—you should make me aware of—of Lady Gunnimore’s tale.”
He moved closer where her warmth would line his side. It was the one thing he had craved most since returning to the Keep. Hunt inhaled the scent of lilacs upon her hair. He would enjoy following the scent through the Keep to meet with her in a private corner. “Afterward, we must decide how best to proceed.”
The lady agreed with a silent nod, and Hunt spent the next ten minutes relating Lady Gunnimore’s revelations. Although Angelica did not interrupt, he recognized how she carefully analyzed each fact he shared. Shock and disappointment crossed her features. Her expression readily announced how the lack of knowledge of her family’s history affected her. Her devastation robbed Hunt of his reason.
“It sounds as if my father knew nothing of Uncle Cadon’s succession to the earldom,” she ventured.
“Did you know Cadon Lovelace?” Hunt asked.
“No.” Tears misted her eyes. “Papa never mentioned his family.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Once when I was eleven or twelve, I came across my mother’s Bible. In it was a family genealogy for the Lovelaces and the Copleys, and I read the names of both my mother’s and my father’s family. Later, I asked of my paternal uncles, but my snooping displeased my father. I never asked again. I suppose his being shunned by his family brought Papa such pain his pride knew torment. At least, my mother’s brother and sister corresponded with her upon occasion, but Papa lost everything and everyone the day he chose to marry Lady Victoria Copley.”
“So you hold no direct knowledge of whether Mr. Lovelace is aware of his brother succeeding Cadon Lovelace? According to Lady Gunnimore, she shared the information with Lady Victoria. Would your mother withhold these events from a man she loved?”
A hint of embarrassment rippled over Angel’s expression. “My mother would have stood before a firing squad to protect my father,” she declared. “If she thought the information would bring father more pain, Lady Victoria would not speak of the event. After all, he had suffered familial abandonment because of his devotion to her.”
“Then we must define how much your father knows,” Hunt summarized.
Angel’s countenance screwed up in mulish confusion. “Why is all this so important to you?”
Hunt’s fingertips turned her chin to face him. “First, anything which would bring you pain is important to me. Whether others would approve of our actions or not, what we shared under Wendt’s roof changed us. You will forever be an essential part of my life, lass.” He slid his arms about her shoulders. “That being said, any family scandal cannot be good for your time among the ton. In addition, we must consider what could occur. If Lord Sandahl felt strong enough about Lady Victoria to advocate his younger brother’s banishment from the family, would he ignore the opportunity to belittle your father before English Society?”
Her delicate features transformed into a fierce scowl. “Surely, it cannot be,” she insisted. “All this happened more than twenty years prior.”
Hunt shook his head in denial. “Neither brother has made concessions to settle their differences. This cannot turn out well.”
“Yet, Lord Sandahl chose a wife,” she protested.
“A woman who reportedly crawled into the earl’s bed in order to force a marriage. Not a woman for whom he experienced an affection.”
“We do not know of Lord Sandahl’s affection for my mother,” Angelica insisted. “Perhaps he thought of her as his possession— something ‘stolen’ by my father.”
“True,” he agreed. “Lord Sandahl’s feelings for Lady Victoria must play a role in our decisions. Yet, do not overlook the possibility of a quarrel leading to a duel, lass.”
“A duel?” she gasped. “What if one of them would be killed?”
“The other would be banished from England or would face a trial for murder. Sandahl in the House of Lords and your father before the English courts.”
“Oh, my.” She stared blankly at him. “Perhaps I should create a scene so the duchess will send us away before the Sandahls return to Devil’s Keep. I would prefer the blame placed on my churlish reputation than on Papa’s honor.”
“You are not leaving,” Hunt growled.
“But according to all who know such things, the duke holds an alliance with Lord Sandahl,” Angelica declared. “It would be best for me to depart—to step aside—for your family to meet its obligations unencumbered by disgrace—for you to make a match with Lady Mathild. We both realize our relationship can be nothing more than a fond memory. We are from very different worlds, my lord. You will be a duke someday, and I am not cut of the cloth to be your mistress. An American duchess would be pure farce.”
His gaze narrowed on the flush on her cheeks. “Whether our connection proves strong enough to stand the pull of time, I hold no intention of taking Lady Mathild as wife.” He knew Angelica’s objections were legitimate, but Hunt would not think upon the idea he might never see her again. “The title requires a woman who will share her intelligence and her grace with her husband’s cottagers. The dukedom has no need of Lady Mathild’s only asset, the lady’s ten thousand pounds’ dowry.”
“Only ten thousand?” she asked in surprise. “Mine is more than twice that amount.”
“Neither does the dukedom require your dowry, Miss Lovelace,” Hunt assured her. “In my observation, the title would be blessed to have as its duchess a woman who stood in awe of the fifty pounds discovered in her husband’s pocket—a woman who cautioned in behalf of her husband’s frugality.”
She blushed thoroughly. “I simply meant Lady Mathild is the daughter of an earl, and I am a nobody.”
Hunt caught her shoulders and gave them a good shake. “Do not speak as such again.” His arms closed about her. “You are an amazing woman, Angelica Lovelace.” He would like to say more, but how could he? At the moment, he was a man lost between two worlds.
“How may we prevent a confrontation?” she whispered against his neck, her breath warm, enticing upon his skin.
Hunt breathed through the rising passion stinging his blood. “As I see it, we have less than forty hours to discern what is best. Forty hours either to reunite your family or sever all ties.” He prayed for an amicable reunion, but Hunt feared her world would soon shatter. Angelica would place herself in danger to defend her beloved father, and somehow Hunt must intervene to protect her.
* * *
He held her until she returned to her sleep. During those perfect moments, he studied Angelica’s lips as the soft snore slipped in and out of her slightly opened mouth. It was the oddest experience. When he was with her, Hunt knew complete contentment. She filled his heart with a simple joy of living. Yet, when he was with his family, he knew a different type of satisfaction. He was the revered elder son of a powerful dukedom, with great responsibilities, and even with his current infirmness, his family had not turned him away. They expected nothing less than his success. No doubts. No second guesses. And Hunt meant not to disappoint them.
He left her
deep in her slumbers upon the settle. He arranged her body upon the padded bench and covered Angelica with a light blanket. Before leaving her room, he bent to kiss her temple, while saying a prayer of thanksgiving for her presence in his life.
When morning arrived, he waited impatiently for his mother’s lady’s maid to exit the duchess’s quarters before making his appearance at Alberta McLaughlin’s door.
“What brings you to my sitting room?” she asked with a bit of curiosity.
“I require an ally,” he admitted.
She motioned him to a chair. “What sort of ally? Have you compromised one of my guests?” the duchess admonished with a fake moue of displeasure.
Hunt thought of his hours with Miss Lovelace. He would not admit to his growing dependency on the woman until she accepted their relationship came from more than a capricious accident. “No. Nothing of the like,” he assured her. He learned forward, forearms upon his thighs, to press his point. “It is the duke’s oft spoken plans for my joining with Lord Sandahl’s daughter. With my memory so blurred, I fear I do not understand Father’s desires.”
His mother’s gaze studied him warily, and Hunt suffered a shiver of uneasiness. “I met with Lady Mathild, and I cannot say, other than the lady’s appearance, that the chit possesses many admirable qualities, especially those Devilfoard would wish inherited by his grandchildren.” The duchess eyebrows tightened in concentration. “In truth, Devilfoard speaks little of his decision, other than to say Lady Mathild possesses an agreeable dowry.”
Hunt thought of Angelica’s remark on the matter. “There are other attractive women of the ton, who possess larger dowries and equally acceptable pedigrees,” he suggested. “And although I was not at Devil’s Keep for all of your festivities and cannot speak from personal observations, Henrietta assures me Father barely acknowledged Sandahl’s presence under his roof. The duke keeps company with Cuthbert’s father, Lord Watkinson, and with the Earl of McIntyre. If Sandahl is the duke’s dear friend, should they not converse upon occasion? From my brief observations, Devilfoard treats Sandahl as if the earl is transparent.”
Daring Lords and Ladies Page 54
