“But, Papa,” Angel protested. “The duke and duchess chose Sandahl’s daughter as Lord Malvern’s future mate. If the situation deteriorates, we shall be asked to leave. Would it not be better to depart upon our terms, rather than to be driven from the duchess’s festivities?”
Her father’s steady gaze made Angel uneasy, but she remained in place. “What is the truth of your objections, Angel? Is Lord Malvern your concern in this madness?”
“No, sir.” She dropped her eyes in submission. “But I would not have you humiliated. Mama would not wish it.”
“What do you know of your mother’s wishes?” he asked harshly, and Angel flinched. “Victoria suffered every day of our married years because our impetuous joining robbed both of us of the blessings of family. If Lady Victoria Lovelace were here at this moment, she would demand I face Carpenter again. My brother did all he could to destroy my marriage felicity. It will be good for him to know his disdain only served to strengthen Victoria’s commitment to my success. To our success.”
Angel’s bottom lip trembled. “What if my uncle chooses to challenge you to a long overdue duel? I could not bear to lose you, Papa.”
Her father gathered her into his embrace. “What, ho?” he said teasingly. “You think your papa too old to defend his family?” He chucked her chin lovingly. “Have you forgotten I am the youngest of Jonathan Lovelace’s sons?”
“No—o—o,” she sobbed.
Horace gave an uncharacteristic snort of disapproval. “If Carpenter would be so foolish, my brother would lose. I would have the choice of weapons, and although I lost my touch with a sword, I am still quite accurate with a gun.”
It bothered Angel to hear her father speak with such coldness. This was a side of him she had never known. “You could not kill your brother.”
“In a duel, death is not necessary,” he assured. “Surrender is all that is required.”
“But if you would accidentally kill Lord Sandahl?” she pleaded.
Her father smiled with irony. “I would be forced to flee to the Continent or even go to America.”
“Do not jest.”
Her father embraced her more tightly. “Trust me, Angel. I find no humor in this situation. However, nothing worth possessing comes easily.”
She clutched his lapels. “Please promise me you will take care in this matter. If you did not consider it previously, you are now Sandahl’s heir apparent. He has no male heirs, and at Lady Sandahl’s age, she is not likely to present him with one.”
“I did not think upon the title in that respect. You have opened my eyes, Angel.”
* * *
“Where have you been?” Hunt demanded.
Angel pointedly closed the door behind her. “And good day to you, my lord,” she responded with sarcasm. It should have surprised her to find him in her private quarters, but it did not. “What would you have said, Lord Malvern, if I was not alone?” She pushed past him, but the moment he caught her arm, a warm blush shot across her skin. The faint ache of having once rested in his embrace never seemed to leave her.
His breath against her temple sent a shiver down Angel’s spine. “I would claim we planned a tryst, and then when your father called foul, I would speak my proposal.”
“A simple as that! No courtship! Nothing more than a business contract?” On impulse, she licked her dry lips, but Angel wished she had not when the fire in his eyes grew more intense. Heaviness clung to her breasts, but she managed to chastise, “What girl would not relish the idea of having her betrothed forced into a marriage? How very lowing.” She removed her arm from his grasp and paced toward the open window. “What do you wish of me, my lord?”
“I wished to know your father’s thoughts.”
“Do you?” she accused. “Are you certain you did not wish to reclaim my attention? You remark often of our previous connection. Soon the whole of Society will know of our acquaintance.”
“I do not understand your intent, Miss Lovelace,” Lord Malvern said in irritation.
“My intent, my lord, is simple. I wish to protect my father and be deuced if I have a care for yours.”
The marquess studied her with a piercing gaze. “I was under the assumption we meant to protect both of our parents.”
Angelica’s hands unconsciously balled into fists. “I know I should ask your forgiveness, my lord, but I cannot. I am appreciative of your bringing Lord Sandahl’s presence to my attention, but this situation is a family matter. If you wish to know my father’s stance, then seek the duke’s counsel, for Devilfoard spoke with my father for more than an hour this afternoon,” she pronounced waspishly.
Angel had no reason to act the shrew, but the constant turmoil since she saved Lord Malvern upon the road to Oxford had taken its toll upon her, and she found her target.
The marquess sucked in a sharp breath. “I see.” He gave an impatient shake of his head before turning toward the servants’ entrance. However, he paused when he reached the threshold. “I sincerely meant you no harm, Angelica.”
Angel sighed heavily. “I know your life is in as much disorder as is mine. Yet, we must travel the path God designed for us. We are not a couple, my lord, and we can never be as such. Today, your sister assured me Fate means to bring us together, but I told you previously I do not expect a continued connection. I know my place in your world. You hold your obligations, and I have mine.”
“You wish me to step away?” he asked solemnly.
“I promised my father I would accept an appropriate match, and I cannot do so if I am forever seeking your approval. It would not be fair to my future husband to give him only half of my regard. Just this afternoon, I acted in a disagreeable manner with Lord Remmington for I foolishly thought you meant to use the earl to dissuade me. Afterward, I felt remorse at having inflicted my foul temper upon Lord Remmington. You must recognize I can no longer be part of your life. We can be nothing more than nodding acquaintances.”
There was a measure of silence before Lord Malvern said through clenched teeth. “I am certain Remmington recovered nicely.” Was that the sound of jealousy in his tone? Angel would give anything if the marquess cared for her, but she suspected he clung to her because of his loss of memory. Stiffly, Lord Malvern bowed. “Good evening, Miss Lovelace, and farewell.”
* * *
Despite the decanter of brandy Hunt had finished to drive away Angelica’s words, he found no sleep. He knew no solace in her withdrawal. Although he would not admit it, the woman had wormed her way into his life. She was the first thing of which he thought in the morning and last thing upon his mind as he closed his eyes at night. And it was not enough the chit invaded his every thought, but he found he could not breathe without her. Only in Angelica’s company did he experience the feeling that fairness would win out. How could he permit her to reject his attentions? And what if Angelica chose to accept Remmington’s obvious regard? Could Hunt spend a lifetime smiling every time he encountered her upon another man’s arm? Could he celebrate her as the mother of another man’s children?
“Why can she not recognize the rightness of our connection?” Hunt paused upon the steps.
His father’s butler stared up at him. “Did you require my assistance, my lord?”
“No, Mr. Strasser. I was simply woolgathering.”
The sound of laughter emanated from the morning room, and Hunt squared his shoulders before making his entrance. It was pleasant to note his mother and father kept company with Mr. Lovelace and Lady Gunnimore. He paused to kiss the duchess’s upturned cheek before continuing down the table to join Harry and several of his brother’s compeers. It was dashed annoying to be thought of as one of the elders while he was sitting with the younger men. He was but eight and twenty. And worse, his pride took another abuse when Miss Lovelace again accepted Remmington’s company. Oh, yes, his heart warned his once practical mind. You will lose one of your few trusted friends to marriage’s call.
* * *
Her body was so
tense Angel could barely turn her head. What with the likely confrontation between her father and the Earl of Sandahl this afternoon, she did not welcome Lord Malvern’s direct cut. Foolishly, her heart leapt with joy at his entrance. It was all so patently contemptible to be plagued with the obvious affection with which she held him. The marquess walked past her without the benefit of even a word of acknowledgment, and the action had injured her feminine pride. True, she had demanded he avoid her, but if she would give voice to her feelings, she would say she missed him the moment he exited her quarters. It was all Angel could do not to follow and to beg him to forgive her.
Her vow to live her life without him would be the most difficult task she had ever attempted. Lord Malvern had carved his name upon her heart and her mind. Angel shot a glance to where her father conversed with the duke and duchess, and not for the first time, she wondered if the whole world plotted against her. The marquess’s influence in her life appeared infuriatingly inescapable.
“Which color do you prefer, my lord?” Miss Silverton asked Lord Remmington. The silly chit shoved a variety of color squares before his lordship.
The earl’s eyebrow rose in bemusement, but the infatuated Miss Silverton did not appear to notice. “I fear I am incompetent when it comes to differences in color,” he professed.
Angel knew he meant to discourage the girl, but she could not control her teasing tongue. “You are too diplomatic, my lord, but I am certain Miss Silverton sincerely desires your opinion, sir.”
“I do, my lord,” the girl said wistfully.
There was an elongated silence before the earl heaved a sigh. “Permit me a closer look.”
“Certainly, Lord Remmington.”
The girl handed him five swatches, all in virginal white. Angel could see how he struggled and, at length, took pity upon him. She touched the first one. “I would think this one would do nothing for your skin tone. Would you not agree, your lordship?”
“I would concur wholeheartedly,” he declared in relief. “Your complexion is so...so...”
“Iridescent,” Angel supplied. “You require a pearl white—with grayish undertones to accent your darker hair. See, my lord?” Angelica held up two swatches close to her face. “This one with a hint of gold would work well with my fairer complexion, but the lovely Miss Silverton requires a bit of her name. A touch of silver.”
The earl took the pearly cloth and extended it in Miss Silverton’s direction, making a show of not touching the girl. “I believe Miss Lovelace has the right of it. I would choose this one.”
Miss Silverton’s eyes sparkled with happiness. She gathered the squares to make her leave. “I must tell Mama I have made my decision for the new gown. Thank you, my lord.”
“You pleased Miss Silverton, your lordship,” Angel said sweetly.
The earl leaned closer. “It is not Miss Silverton I hope to please. And when the girl returns, I will expect you to assist me in diverting her effusions.”
Angel wished it were Lord Malvern instead of his friend who whispered enchanting faradiddles in her ear. With an internal shrug, she made herself smile at the man, as well as to keep her eyes from seeking Lord Malvern’s profile.
* * *
“I thought to ride out,” Sir Alexander said as he stood slowly. “Are you well enough to join me?”
Even if he were not, Hunt would agree. If he did not escape the Keep and the spectacle of Remmington’s wooing of Miss Lovelace, Hunt would not be responsible for his actions. “I believe Alibi would enjoy the exercise.”
“A quarter hour?” the baronet inquired.
Hunt nodded his agreement. “Tell Mr. Strasser to send word to the stable on your way out.”
“You must not overextend your energies,” Henrietta warned. “The duke would not wish you to know more peril.”
“I require no nursemaid, Etta,” Hunt argued in firm tones. “I mean simply a stretch of the legs for both me and Alibi.” His gaze narrowed, and he leaned closer for privacy. “Etta, I adore your mothering all of us, but I must insist you remain detached when it comes to my future.”
“Miss Lovelace did not take well to my gentle hints?” Henrietta whispered.
Hunt noted his twin had neither denied her interference nor asked his forgiveness. “It is of no consequence,” he announced with what he hoped sounded of indifference. “I am not in the way of seeking any woman’s presence in my life at this time. It is more essential I recover my memory.”
“I see no reason you could not do both, Hunt,” she said upon a sigh of exasperation.
Without conscious thought, Hunt’s eyes sought the perfection he only found in Angelica Lovelace’s countenance. “The lady and I agreed our lives are too full to maintain an alliance to each other.”
* * *
“I suspect you possess questions or answers you wish to share with me,” Hunt said grudgingly, his temper shorter than he expected.
Sir Alexander’s dark brows rose in amusement. “You think I no longer desire your most excellent company?”
Hunt presented his friend a restless shrug. “In truth, I have no idea what we shared—what to believe or where to begin. Every time I think I make progress, someone pulls the carpet from beneath my feet.”
“You mean Remmington’s sudden interest in the delightful Miss Lovelace.”
Despite his best efforts not to show his feelings, Hunt caught Alibi’s reins tighter. He gritted his teeth as he brought the animal under control. “Why is it everyone believes I give a fig what the earl does in his personal life?” Of late, it appeared all about him wished for Hunt to examine the complex emotions he had long avoided.
“Most likely because when you observe Lord Remmington with Miss Lovelace you look upon the earl as if you would take great pleasure in having his lordship drawn and quartered.”
“I do wish Remmington would not flaunt his wooing dance for all to observe,” Hunt admitted reluctantly, “but, in faith, it is from selfish devices.” He hoped he might divert the baronet’s interest in Hunt’s private life with a ruse of sorts. “I consider both his lordship and Miss Lovelace essential to my healing. They are two of the few who know the actual circumstances of my injury. How will I replace their good counsel if they take themselves off to marry? It is not as if I can share my secret with the world.”
An odd expression skittered across his friend’s countenance, but Sir Alexander accepted Hunt’s play and changed the subject. “I do have a bit of information to share or perhaps it is a lack of information.”
Hunt regarded Sir Alexander with a hint of wariness. “Mayhap you should enlighten me. Obviously, I possess no point of reference upon which to garner a logical assumption.”
The baronet brought his horse to a halt, and Hunt followed suit. Sir Alexander kept his gaze upon the vista. “From our earliest reports, we assumed Lord Newsome was the one behind your family being followed, as well as the misplaced attempts to blacken your name and to endanger your life.”
Hunt wished he held genuine memories of these incidents, but he nodded his encouragement nonetheless.
“I placed countless resources at your disposal, however...”
Hunt felt his breath catch. “However?”
Sir Alexander regarded him steadily. “However, I can discover no connection between Newsome and these incidents. The viscount is a babbling prat, but nothing more.”
* * *
Hunt paced his room from one end to the other, but try as he may he could generate no memories beyond those he held with Angelica Lovelace. “It is deuced frustrating to admit if others had not interfered I could walk past my mother, unconsciously giving her the direct cut.” He collapsed into a chair in frustration. Tapping the back of his head against the cushions, he closed his eyes. “As I have no choice but to depend upon others,” he growled, “I must find a means to use what they have shared to solve this mystery. I cannot permit my family to suffer for something I did.” His declaration sounded wonderfully brave, but, in reality, the
prospect frightened him to his core.
“My task would certainly be easier if I could recall my previous activities,” he admitted. He opened his eyes to glance about his quarters, a place which only six days prior was as foreign as the American states Angelica claimed as home. He shook his head in disbelief. “Where do I begin?” His fingers tapped out a steady rhythm as he mentally repeated the phrase. He sat forward to bury his head in his hands. “I must learn more of the attacks, which set off the investigation. I possess generalities, but no specifics. I should speak again to Sir Alexander and Etch.” The idea it might also be to his advantage to speak to Remmington brought Hunt’s scattered thoughts to where they always seemed to dwell of late— upon Angelica Lovelace.
“As much as I despise her resolve, the lady is correct. I cannot cling to her gloved fingers. I must find my way, and she must discover a relationship that will bring her contentment. Despite our obvious attraction, we possess no commonality upon which to build a marriage. The lady has nothing to offer as my future duchess.”
With regret filling his heart, Hunt stood to make another loop about the room. He seemed to think well upon his feet. “First,” he catalogued his decisions, “you will again interview each of your friends. If Newsome is not whom we thought him to be, then another is at fault, and we must discover the culprit. Mayhap, I was too quick to accept the obvious.”
He paused to run his fingers through his hair. “Newsome is a guest at Devil’s Keep. Instead of watching Remmington and Miss Lovelace, I should be more vigilant as to the viscount’s comings and goings.” He liked the idea of having a distraction. “Good plan,” he announced with satisfaction as he drifted toward the open window.
His suite looked out over his mother’s gardens. Several of the duchess’s guests strolled among the ivy draped trellises. As if his earlier thoughts brought her to life, a pale blue draped beauty crossed the graveled walkways. She was alone, and Hunt enjoyed watching the sway of Angelica’s hips as she strode toward one of the rose arbors at the far end of the gardens. His gaze sought her destination, and he prayed he would not find Lord Remmington there. With gratitude, his eyes settled upon his mother and Lady Gunnimore, heads together and deep in conversation.
Daring Lords and Ladies Page 56
