Forbidden Angel

by Sandra Lea Rice

  “Say nothing, Adrian, nothing at all,” she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders to push him back in the chair. In one incredibly sensual movement that sent his pulses racing, and his heart thudding against his ribcage, she bent and lifted the hem of her nightgown, allowing a glimpse of long, slender legs. She climbed onto his lap to sit astride him.

  Surprise kept him silent.

  Angeline leaned forward, barely touching his lips with hers. She nipped along his lower lip and slid her hands inside his shirt, tracing sensuous patterns across his chest and sides with her fingertips. He sucked in a deep breath as a shaft of heat shot straight to his groin.

  Adrian leaned his head back and prayed he knew where this was headed. When the tip of her tongue traced the line of his mouth, he parted his lips. In a kiss that had his senses reeling, her tongue began a slow, sensual assault on his. She drew his into her mouth to suck gently, and his entire body vibrated with need.

  Her nails scored a path down his belly to the waistband of his trousers, and he held his breath as long fingers slipped inside to wrap around his erection. He groaned and shut his eyes as her hand moved in a rhythm that nearly stopped his heart.

  When she opened his trousers to release his throbbing manhood, Adrian clamped his hands tightly on the arms of the chair and held on. If her intention was to torture him, she’d succeeded. As her thumb brushed across the moist tip, his body jerked. She repeated the action until he thought he would explode.

  Before he could grab her hand and stop her, she released him and came up on her knees. Inch by slow inch, she took him inside her. His world tilted and narrowed to the exquisite feel of her. He skimmed his hand across her hip to the rounded curve of her bottom and held her tightly against him. Surrounded by her damp heat, by the pressure of her thighs against his, by the soft, sweet smell of roses that scented her hair and skin, he was lost to everything but her.

  “Ah, Angel, you feel so good,” he whispered as he started a slow, rocking motion inside her. She shuddered and rotated her hips against him. A strong equestrian, he wondered how long she would ride him—how long he could endure the exquisite feel of her heated sheath—without losing himself in her.

  Adrian watched her through his lashes. With her eyes closed and her head tipped back, a look of pure pleasure on her delicate features, she was more beautiful than ever. Her lips parted, her breathing nothing more than soft gasps. He could feel her tighten around him and knew she searched for release.

  “Adrian, please,” she gasped.

  Sliding his hand behind her neck, he pulled her head to rest on his shoulder. He took hold of her hips and raised her to thrust more deeply inside. He wasn’t gentle. He sensed she didn’t want that. She needed release and he would give it to her. To both of them.

  Her nails bit into his shoulders. He continued to thrust deeply, pounding into her until he felt the first tremors begin. Ripples moved along his erection in tiny, convulsive jerks. He gave another deep thrust and stopped, holding her tightly against him. Angeline buried her face in his shoulder to muffle a scream as her body shuddered in release. One more deep thrust and he spilled inside her.

  Adrian wrapped his arms around her and held her close as the tension eased from her body and she relaxed against him. Still sitting astride him, her head on his shoulder, she fell asleep. He should disengage and put her in bed, but he wanted to hold her for as long as she would allow.

  He didn’t fool himself into thinking all was now well between them. It was far from that and he knew it. But this was a start.

  Chapter 20

  A nondescript carriage with windows and curtains closed against the cold night air—and prying eyes—came to a rocking halt in front of a brick home in Mayfair. Adrian viewed the dismayed expression on Angeline’s face with concern.

  “There must be some mistake,” she said, peering through the carriage window.

  The shutters on the house were closed. The rosebushes lining both sides of the brick walkway had outgrown their beds, narrowing the space for a person to walk. A wrought-iron gate, its intricate design partially hidden by years of neglect, hung half off the hinges.

  Though not large by other standards, the house still towered three stories high. Glimpses of rose-colored brick could be seen beneath ivy that threatened to overrun the structure. The residence appeared out of place against other, more stately houses lining the well-cared-for street.

  “Wait here.” Adrian exited the hackney carriage with Michael directly behind him. Once at the front door, he raised the brass knocker and tapped twice. He waited, then knocked again, this time louder, finally pounding on the door with his fist.

  The peephole cover slid open and a man peered out. “What’s your business?”

  “I do not discuss business on front steps. Open this door at once before I reach through that hole and yank you out by the scruff of your neck,” Adrian ordered.

  Immediately, the door flew open, as the servant tried desperately to tidy his disheveled appearance. Adrian’s gaze slid slowly down the man’s wrinkled and dirty clothing.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,”—he bowed—“but I wasn’t told to expect anyone.”

  “Who else is here?” Adrian stepped past him into the front hall.

  “Mrs. Garfield. She cleans and cooks.”

  Michael glanced around at the dust-covered furniture and clutter. “Well, perhaps she cooks, but there’s no sign that anyone cleans.”

  Adrian’s gaze followed, his jaw tightening. “How many bedrooms are here?”

  “Six guest rooms in all, my lord.” The butler staggered as he tried to remain upright.

  “We will need three made ready immediately, as well as the master suite,” Adrian directed. He turned to Michael. “We should get the others inside and send the coach on its way.”

  When Angeline stepped into the foyer, she stopped abruptly, causing Shirley to bump into her.

  “Excuse me, my la—oh, this is disgraceful.” Shirley ran her finger across the top of the side table. “I don’t know when this place has last seen a good cleaning.”

  “I want the staff here, now,” Angeline ordered. Her voice vibrated with fury as the butler and Mrs. Garfield hurried to position themselves in front of her. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t let you both go this instant, and do it quickly.”

  Having been on the receiving end of her temper himself, Adrian could almost feel pity for them.

  The two seemed unable to find their voices. Mrs. Garfield made a strange noise, then clamped her mouth shut.

  Angeline’s eyes narrowed. “Get your things and leave this house immediately.”

  “Now, just a minute here, what gives you—” The butler, who turned out to be Mr. Garfield, stopped as she took a threatening step toward him.

  “What gives me the right? Is that what you were going to say?” Angeline took another step.

  “Uh, no, that is . . .” Mr. Garfield retreated.

  “I suggest you leave,” Adrian advised firmly.

  “What about settlement?” Mr. Garfield, smelling strongly of the alcohol he’d consumed, staggered again.

  Angeline studied Garfield for a moment. “You’re quite right. It’s obvious you’ve provided little or no service during your stay here. I would be surprised to find any liquor still stocked below stairs. I’ll have my solicitor send a statement around to your lodgings. You may arrange payment with him.”

  Garfield appeared apoplectic. He took a menacing step toward Angeline, swearing under his breath as he did.

  “That would be a very serious mistake,” Adrian warned softly.

  Garfield glanced from one large man to the next. With a yelp, he spun and rushed from the room, pulling a disgruntled Mrs. Garfield after him.

  Adrian faced Angeline, one brow lifted. “What would you have done, had we not been here to warn him off?”

  “I would have thrashed him soundly,” Angeline responded with absolute certainty, thumping the tip of her umbrella
on the floor.

  Adrian grinned and took the wicked-looking weapon from her hands.

  When Angeline came downstairs the next morning, she found Shirley hard at work in the kitchen.

  “This room isn’t fit to cook in,” Shirley grumbled as she scrubbed countertops. “I’m sorry, my lady, there’s no food to speak of. I have hot coffee and water heating on the stove. I’ll make your tea as soon as the water’s hot.”

  “I can fix my own tea, Shirley. It’s obvious you have your hands full with this mess.” Angeline poured the water in the teapot and added black tea, glancing up when Michael and Adrian pushed through the kitchen door carrying baskets filled with fresh pastries, newly baked bread, jam, and butter.

  “Where did you get all this?” Angeline eagerly checked the contents, displaying the offerings over the counter top.

  “There’s a greengrocer not far from here, with a bakery attached. They’re to deliver other supplies later this morning.” Adrian smiled broadly at her.

  “How wonderful.” Angeline sighed in pleasure at the news. “Where’s Frank? I haven’t seen him at all this morning.” Reaching for the loaf of bread, she sliced it into thick pieces.

  “Frank had some errands to run, but he should be back in the afternoon.” Adrian picked up a slice and smeared it with jam.

  “What do we do next?” Angeline plucked the bread from his fingers and began nibbling. “Thank you.”

  Grinning, he prepared another piece and sat down at the table beside her. “I sent a missive telling my uncle of our arrival. We should hear something soon.”

  The front knocker sounded.

  Adrian nodded to Michael, who pulled a pistol from his waistband to lay partially hidden against his thigh. After checking the peephole, Adrian pulled the door wide.

  A tall, distinguished-looking man with gray hair showing in the brown at his temples and in his mustache gained the entry hall.

  “Adrian, I couldn’t believe it when I got word from you.” He quirked a brow when he noticed the gun in Michael’s hand. Michael slid the pistol back into his waistband and moved aside.

  Angeline realized this must be Adrian’s uncle.

  “Let me look at you, my boy.” Jeffrey grasped Adrian by both shoulders. “Life in America has certainly agreed with you.”

  Adrian’s face broke in a wide grin. “And it’s good to see you, too.” He gestured to the others. “Michael, this is my uncle, Lord Newbrook. Uncle, this is Captain Michael Harrington with the United States Army.”

  “It is a pleasure, my lord.” Michael nodded politely.

  “Call me Jeffrey. I’ve heard about you, Michael, if I may take the liberty.”

  Michael smiled. “You may.”

  “And who might this lovely lady be?” Jeffrey asked, looking past them at Angeline.

  Adrian extended his arm in her direction. “Let me introduce my wife, Uncle.”

  As Angeline stepped into the light from the fan window, Jeffrey audibly gasped. “My God, Lady Franchesca? No, I suppose not, but the likeness to . . .”

  “My mother?” Angeline offered. “I am Angeline Franchesca Ashley, or now, Spencer. You knew my mother?” She came closer.

  “Yes, indeed.” Jeffrey’s gaze drifted over her face. “She was a very beautiful woman, and as sweet as she was lovely.” He hesitated. “Wife, did you say?” He glanced back at Adrian.

  Adrian inclined his head. “We just recently married, Uncle, or I would have written to tell you.”

  “Is that what brings you home?” Noting their expressions, Jeffrey’s brow creased. “What has happened?”

  “Let’s go into the drawing room. We have much to tell you.” Adrian took Angeline by the elbow and led her to a seat near the fire, seeing her comfortably settled.

  “You’re Adrian’s uncle?”

  “Yes, my dear, his maternal uncle. Adrian’s mother, Rebecca, was my sister,” Jeffrey answered easily, taking a seat.

  “Have you any children, Lord Newbrook?”

  He beamed at her. “I have two daughters. Stephanie is married and living in France with Pierre and their children, and Penelope is still at home with me. I’m certain she feels the need to look after her feeble-minded father,” he quipped.

  Angeline found it impossible not to return his disarming smile. She poured tea while Adrian and Michael explained the events leading up to the visit.

  “I’m surprised someone hasn’t killed Malcolm by now. His reputation has worsened considerably since you left. He married a young woman whose father was a cit and only too happy to see her wed to a titled man.” Jeffrey accepted a cup of tea from Angeline and took a grateful sip. “It is said she suffered a fall down a flight of stairs and was killed shortly after they returned from a trip abroad. Of course, whatever dowry she brought to the marriage was spent in the first months.”

  He repositioned his long legs and settled in to recount all he’d heard of Charles Malcolm in the ten years since Adrian’s departure. “There was a second wife who met with a boating accident shortly after they wed. After that, he reportedly courted a rich widow. She refused his offer of marriage and was later found beaten in her home. She refused to name her assailant.”

  Jeffrey’s gaze flicked to Angeline. “I’m sorry, my dear, this is hardly a conversation we should have in front of you.”

  Angeline waved away his concern. “I’ve experienced some of his cruelty myself. I can assure you, my sensibilities are able to withstand what you’ve just told us.”

  Jeffrey nodded approvingly. “I do not want to seem impolite by asking, child, but did your father leave you with a large dowry?”

  Angeline set her cup down. “It’s a substantial one, and there is this house. Other things, Mr. Thornby will need to explain when next we see him. I have a tendency to make him somewhat nervous.”

  Adrian choked back a laugh and Michael suddenly coughed behind his hand. Angeline eyed them both, one delicate brow lifted.

  Jeffrey ran his hand over his chin. “Malcolm has gone to considerable lengths to find and follow you. Is he aware you are now married?” Angeline nodded. “Then there is something else, something he knows that we do not. You are an extremely beautiful woman, Angeline, but his obsession goes beyond that. And if his pursuit of you began prior to your leaving England, then it goes beyond his hatred of you, Adrian.”

  “He must know by now we’ve left America. He’ll assume we’ve come to England.” Michael leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “It won’t be safe for either of them until he’s stopped.”

  “This time we have the advantage,” Jeffrey pointed out. “We know who our foe is and can prepare. Until now, there’s been no absolute proof of his guilt in any of these misdeeds, including Lady Pricilla’s death. But public opinion has found him guilty.” Jeffrey hesitated, obviously choosing his next words carefully. “I’m glad you’re back, Adrian. It’s time we proved his complicity in her death.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here, Uncle.”

  Jeffrey checked his pocket watch. “I should leave now. Is there a stable block behind the house?”

  “Yes. It will be made ready before your next visit.” Adrian gained his feet and walked his uncle to the door.

  After Jeffrey left, Adrian turned to Angeline. “I took the liberty of sending for your solicitor. I hope you don’t mind. Perhaps he has the answers to some of your questions.”

  Before she could reply, the knocker sounded at the front door.

  Michael moved cautiously forward and slid the peephole cover aside, then swung the door wide when he saw Frank waiting on the stoop.

  Three people rushed past him, straight for Angeline.

  Frank retreated to watch. “Captain, I wouldn’t get in their way if I was you.”

  “My baby.” Bunny enveloped Angeline in a big hug.

  “Have they been feedin’ ya like they should?” Cook inspected Angeline for any obvious weight loss.

  “My lady, I am so very pleased to see
you.” Mr. Mansfield bowed, his eyes suspiciously bright.

  “Oh, look at all of you. I’ve missed you so much.” Angeline forgot decorum and hugged them all. “How did you . . .?” Her gaze swung to Adrian.

  “I thought this might make you happy,” he admitted.

  “Thank you.” Their gazes met and held for a moment. “I would like you all to meet Adrian Spencer, Earl of Windsford, my husband.” She smiled. “Windsford, these are my dear, dear friends.”

  The women bobbed a curtsy.

  Mansfield bowed. “It is a privilege, my lord. I had the honor of forming an acquaintance with your father when he would visit with Lord William. He was a true gentleman.”

  “You must be Mr. Mansfield,” Adrian said.

  “Or Mansfield, if you prefer, sir,” he replied respectfully.

  Adrian spoke collectively to the gathered servants. “You have, of course, met Frank Bates, and this is Captain Harrington. Beyond this group of people and my uncle, Lord Newbrook, you are to tell no one we’re here.”

  “You may depend upon us for the utmost secrecy,” Mansfield responded staunchly.

  A clamor of noise from the kitchen, followed by a few shrieks and thuds, drew everyone’s attention. A harried Shirley rushed into the drawing room brandishing a broom, then stopped and stared. “Oh my, oh my,” she repeated as she came forward to hug each of her friends, even the staid and proper Mr. Mansfield.

  “Well now, ladies, we have a lot of work to do.” Mansfield clapped his hands smartly while he took stock of their new surroundings. “Yes, indeed we do.”

  Floors were scrubbed and waxed until the beautiful wood could be seen. Windows were thoroughly washed and the leaded glass now sparkled. Pillows and cushions from the furniture and all the carpets were beaten free of dust.

  The settee, once cleaned, proved to be a deep burgundy. Pillows covered in a striped pattern of gold, burgundy, and pale green were scattered across its surface.

  Angeline’s gaze moved from the light yellow plastered walls, visible after a good washing, to the Queen Ann furniture, the rich mahogany color now gleaming. Persian carpets of burgundy, gold, and green covered most of the floor.