She did another scan of the room. Where was Oliver Sutherland? She had seen his name on the guest list when she’d first been invited. It would be quite inconvenient if she’d come all this way to gain a proposal from him if he wasn’t going to be here. She’d have to find out if he was attending without drawing attention to herself.
Somehow resisting the urge to cling to Benedict, she dipped her head in acknowledgement of their host approaching. Lord Fairfax reminded her of a beanpole. Long limbs, slender body with a bald head polished to a shine. His lean frame meant his waistcoat was slightly too loose and his jacket didn’t quite fit perfectly. It had been said that the man worked so hard, he hardly had time to eat. In comparison to many of the lords in England—Benedict being a prime example—Lord Fairfax was quite the hard worker.
Angelina glanced at Benedict as he offered a charming smile—a smile that dug deep down inside and made her stomach dip again. She mentally shook herself and skimmed her gaze around the room again. Where was Oliver?
They’d been friends for years but she hadn’t seen him of late. He’d inferred they should marry several times but she had turned him down, determined to make a living for herself. She held back a sigh. Making one’s living all by oneself was not the easier of trials, particularly when it involved writing an etiquette column. Oh, how she longed to be writing about something interesting and exciting.
Benedict cleared his throat, drawing her attention back. Damn the man for looking so attractive. Far too attractive. And far too aware of it. When she’d met Benedict shortly after her sixteenth birthday, she’d been highly aware of what a beautiful man he was. But he’d been such a flirt with everyone...apart from her.
No, Benedict had never liked her. The amount of times she’d caught him staring at her with an odd look in his eyes...and then once she’d become engaged to Robert, the looks had grown even worse. More intense and frightening, as though he was harbouring the deepest hatred for her. He hardly even spoke to her either, instead addressing Robert.
“Miss Manners,” their host greeted her. It took her a few moments to realise he meant her. He grinned and had likely spotted the slight furrow of her brow. “Forgive me, Miss Ashdown. I am so used to thinking of you as Miss Manners.”
Considering she was known for being an expert on all things etiquette, Angelina found herself flailing for a response. It was all Benedict’s fault. If he hadn’t begun teasing her or saying odd things like he missed her to her, she’d be perfectly fine. Though the clamminess on her palms perhaps had something more to do with how almost everyone in the room had turned to view them.
She cleared her throat as quietly as possible. “Lord and Lady Fairfax, thank you so much for inviting me. Please do not apologise. I’m well used to being thought of as Miss Manners and really we are one and the same, are we not?”
Angelina avoided looking at Benedict and prayed he didn’t make some jest about what she had been like as a girl. Etiquette had been far from her mind when she’d first been introduced to Robert, Benedict and a few other men of their acquaintance. She had been utterly high on life. Everything excited and thrilled her and she danced with every man and talked unabashedly about anything that came to mind. Really, she had been so far from her reincarnation as Miss Manners it was laughable.
However, young Angelina had soon seen the errors of her ways. Gossip and snide comments failed to dampen her spirits but a complete downfall woke her from her dream. A lady could not continue in such a manner if she wished to survive in society.
“My wife is thrilled you could attend.” He motioned to Lady Fairfax who made Angelina feel entirely dowdy and underdressed in her travelling gown. Radiant in emerald silk and with an elaborate feathered turban on her head, the woman smiled broadly.
“I’ve been a fan of your column for many years, Miss Ashdown,” the marchioness put in.
Angelina dipped low. “Thank you, my lady. I’m glad you enjoy it.”
“It’s your witty turn of phrase that pleases me most and young people do need a guiding hand, do they not? I hope we have the chance to talk properly during the festivities.”
“Of course.”
Angelina wasn’t so sure her writing was that witty and she prayed Lady Fairfax did not expect much from her. Miss Manners was an extension of her, but, for the most part, Angelina channelled her only when she put pen to paper, as though she was another person, whispering things in her ear. She wasn’t entirely sure Miss Manners was even her own creation. Sometimes it felt as if she had suddenly appeared after the broken engagement to guide her through life after ruination. She supposed she had to be grateful for that but Miss Manners could be somewhat oppressive.
But you wouldn’t have survived without me, Miss Manners reminded her.
It was true. Without her, Angelina would still be wild most likely and even further from society. Depending upon charity most likely or living with her brother as a spinster, hidden away and only whispered about. At least until his money ran out.
The marquess turned his attention to Benedict and Angelina took this as her dismissal. She eased away toward one of those carved bureaus and eyed the spread of sandwiches, cakes and biscuits. A footman poured some tea and handed over a delicate cup. She thanked him and turned to observe the room as she took a sip.
The hot liquid nearly clogged her throat when she realised many of the women were watching her. None were staring so obviously, of course, but Angelina was all too aware of the flit of eyelashes her way and the quick peek over a fan. Even a few of the men stole glances at her. She coughed quietly to remove the pesky tea lodged in her throat and forced her gaze onto the view from the windows.
The snow had grown thicker, blanketing the rolling hills. Only barren trees, looking almost black against the pristine white, broke up the scenery. Panic began to press down on her chest as though someone was layering stone blocks upon her. She was trapped here. With these people. With Benedict. All because of some foolish idea of saving her job. This wasn’t her. How could she do this? She’d spent years behind a desk, pretending to be someone else. Writing about etiquette and actually putting it into practice were two different things.
She tried to force herself to take another sip of tea. After all, the tea would calm her. But her throat had closed over to such an extent it was a battle to swallow the liquid. Angelina spluttered, put down the cup and moved closer to the window while trying to offer a serene smile to the watching ladies. There, as she eyed the peaceful scenery, she heard it. The whispers. The reminder of her past. Flashes of memories blurred her vision. After the broken engagement this is what it had been like. Surreptitious looks and whispered words. Even a few direct cuts. A man did not want her and therefore she was nothing in the eyes of society. Her worth was gone.
She clamped her hands together. It didn’t seem to matter what she’d achieved on her own—without help from her debt-laden brother—things would never change. Her time at the newspaper had made her forget how things could be. What a mistake she’d made coming here.
Closing her eyes, she released a frustrated breath and turned swiftly. She ignored the stares of the gossiping women and the startled look of Lady Fairfax as she strode past. The footman barely had time to open the door for her before she barrelled through it.
Angelina ended up in the hall again, surrounded by shields and wood panelling. The effect was intimidating and it pressed down upon her as though that stone block had returned. She darted a look around and settled on the door at the back of the hall. She went through it, along a corridor, then through another. Almost spilling out of the final door, she stilled and released the handle from her grip. Her jaw dropped open.
Somehow she’d wound up in the Great Hall. Underfoot, black and white tiles gleamed and if she’d thought the entrance hall to be intimidating, she’d been wrong. The ceiling rose up for two stories and wooden rafters spanned it. Though it still gave the impression of very much being a castle, it had been modernised for balls most likely
, with gleaming chandeliers. The few portraits were recent too. Upon the walls, the medieval theme continued with a vast array of weapons and armour. Two large sets of horse’s armour punctuated each corner.
Angelina wasn’t sure whether to retreat or venture forward. She could hardly return after her dramatic exit but she didn’t belong here. Inching forward, almost expecting the shining armour to spring to life and gallop to her, she moved to the middle of the room and tilted back her head to view the ceilings and the gilded chandeliers, so covered in shining droplets of crystal that she feared they would fall at any moment. She smirked at herself. At least she wouldn’t have to continue with this charade if she was squashed under a chandelier.
What had she been thinking? Was she really prepared to marry to save her job? Oliver had asked her for her hand many years ago and had mentioned it again not long after. He’d talked of their friendship and how well they would complement each other. She’d thanked him and declined. There would be no marriage of convenience for Angelina Ashdown. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
Except, what use was pride when one was jobless and dependant on others? The truth was, she was tired of battling alone, of coming home to nothing but more work and Miss Manners telling her what to do. Maybe this would be better. At least she wouldn’t be lonely. She just had to find out where exactly Oliver was.
“What are you doing, Angie?”
Her heart gave a jolt against her chest and she jerked her head down.
Benedict, of course.
He stepped through the door and pushed it shut behind him. She wanted to beg him to remain where he was but words refused to come.
He came to stand in front of her. Too close really, though she supposed it was well within respectable distance. However, those broad shoulders filling out his jacket and his beautifully cut waistcoat enhancing a perfect masculine figure made him feel too close. Her skin began to heat and she suspected her cheeks were reddening.
“Angie?”
She’d been staring. Miss Manners had deserted her. She tried to summon her voice in her mind but failed. Instead, she lifted her gaze to his and the world stood still. No one was about, nothing was moving, yet she had this sense that surely everyone and everything had frozen in time apart from them.
Her breaths were harsh in her ears and out of the corner of her vision she was aware of his chest rising and falling slowly. She blinked as he took another step closer. Then his fingers curled around her elbow. Her gaze dropped to his lips.
What was happening?
Closer still. Now there was no air left in the vast room. How long had it been since she’d taken a breath? She wasn’t sure. His lips were full, slightly quirked to one side. A sensuous mouth, she supposed. A lot of women had likely described it as that.
Angelina blinked. Yes, a lot of women. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Benedict was a rake through and through and she would do well to remember that.
She drew back sharply and air rushed into her lungs. The world began to turn again. Nature went about its business and she saw a robin flutter past the window. What on earth had just happened?
“You should not be in here.” Her voice sounded ice thin.
“Nor should you.”
She glanced around the hall, feeling tiny suddenly. “I meant, you shouldn’t be here while I am...unescorted.”
The word sounded foolish. His lips tilted further and he must have found it amusing too. Because, well, she was hardly a young debutante anymore and she’d been working in the world of men for a long time.
“I hardly think anyone will cast judgement upon you. Besides, we are old friends are we not?”
She couldn’t help herself. A snort escaped her. Angelina fisted a hand at her side so as not to slap it across her mouth. What an awful habit that was!
“Are we not?” His brows rose.
“My lord...” He gave her a sour look and, wearied from the day, she gave in. “Benedict, we haven’t seen one another for many years, and we were hardly friends before.”
Both brows dropped and his eyes grew dark. “What would you call us then?”
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling as she searched for a word. “Indifferent acquaintances.”
He shook his head and smirked. “Indifferent? Angie, I don’t think I could ever say I was indifferent to you.”
Any retort vanished. She narrowed her gaze at him and searched his face for any hint of a lie. But this was Benedict, a rake and philanderer. Well-used to dealing with women. She couldn’t be sure why he was trying to be charming but there had to be a reason.
Perhaps he was still holding onto his loathing for her and thought he could embarrass her further. Maybe ruining her future with Robert wasn’t enough for him. Hot anger spiked through her and she clenched her hands tight until her fingernails bit into her palms.
Instead of spitting words at him as she so wished to, she drew in a breath through her nostrils and pasted on a serene smile—one that reminded her of all the women at the balls she’d been to during her younger years. How in control and delicate they’d seemed. At the time, however, she hadn’t envied them that. Angelina Ashdown was far too busy having fun. Little did she know, her enjoyment of life would spoil everything. If she had been just like them—sweet, delicate, cautious—then she’d be a viscount’s wife instead of struggling to survive in a world in which she wasn’t welcome.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said coyly.
He closed the distance again. “I think you know.”
She shook her head. “Forgive me but I do not.” There, let her draw him in. Let him tell her falsehoods and play his game while she played her own. Soon she’d be engaged and the world would think differently of her.
Benedict reached out and touched a curl near the nape of her neck. He didn’t brush her skin yet her whole neck tingled and gooseflesh pricked under the sleeves of her dress. She tried to swallow. He stared absently at the curl, giving her a chance to properly inspect him.
The years had added the slightest touch of grey to his hair at the temples. Though he must have shaved in the morning, stubble was beginning to show on his jaw and upper lip. Something about that roughness made her want to reach out and stroke it. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Not a lot but enough that his intense eyes were softened. And his lashes...dear Lord a man should never have such thick, long lashes. It was thoroughly unfair to the fairer sex.
“I always watched you,” he told her in a low voice, the tone of it spearing deep inside her and making her feel warm and all twisted up inside.
She knew that. But she wouldn’t admit as much. A lady shouldn’t be aware of these things. However, he likely didn’t realise that she understood the reasons behind his stares. He probably had little clue that she even knew he was responsible for Robert’s change of heart.
“I never noticed.”
The lift of one brow told her he didn’t believe her. “I watched you dance. Watched you flirt. Watched you laugh.”
“A lady does not flirt.”
“You did.”
“Well, I have changed.”
His gaze met hers. “I noticed. A pity.”
Angelina eyed him. A pity? Here was the man who had so thoroughly disapproved of her behaviour that he had warned his all too impressionable friend away from her and now he was claiming that he liked that behaviour. Though she supposed such behaviour was favourable in a conquest but not in a wife.
There was no chance she would be a conquest. She was here for a marriage.
“I have grown up, Benedict, that is all.”
His lips curved. “You have grown up in many ways.” He glanced over her figure. “The years have done you many favours, Angie. However, I’m not sure you are all that different.”
“I am,” she insisted. “I’m nothing like I was when we knew each other.”
Benedict released the curl and tilted his head to view her. “Well, we have ten days together. I’m certain it will become clear whether y
ou have or not.”
“That sounds almost like a challenge, my lord.” She cursed the words once they were out. Those were the words of impulsive, silly Angie. Even the addition of his title had been used with every intention of being daring instead of polite.
He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She eyed their gloved fingers meeting and tried to force her arm to retreat but she had gone boneless at his touch. He eased his palm into hers and held her hand.
“A challenge would certainly make this rather dry party a little more interesting, do you not think?”
She was too busy gaping at their linked hands to even agree with him. Or tell him, no. She already had one challenge to worry about, she didn’t need another.
“We have ten days together. Let me prove to you that you are not changed. That the Angie I knew still resides behind those stiff manners.”
“Why on earth would I agree to such a thing?”
“To prove me wrong.” He lifted her hand up toward his mouth and brushed it over her knuckles.
“I have no need to prove it.”
“Are you scared?”
She raised her chin. “Never!”
He released a flash of a grin. “Ah, there she is.”
“Damn you, Benedict.”
His grin widened. “And again.”
She puffed out her cheeks, feeling how hot and red they were. This was all going so wrong. How was she meant to act like a lady when he was so infuriating? She should probably start thinking about a new job already. She’d never persuade Oliver they’d do well together if this continued.
Angelina tugged away her hand and shook her head. “You won’t win, Benedict. I can assure you of that. Now it is not appropriate for us to be alone together so I shall bid you good afternoon. Will you tell the marquess that I am suffering with a headache and I shall join them for dinner?”
“Of course, my lady.” He offered a mockingly formal bow and Angelina just knew he had no intention of giving up his idea of scandalising her.
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 59
