by Lavinia Kent
Ruby nodded. “That I can understand, but you must remember to be sensible. You can decide later what your end goal is, but it is wise to decide what you want if you hope to achieve it.”
That did make sense. “And making him mad with passion is not enough?”
That wonderful deep laugh filled the room again. “Filling a man with passion is the easy part, getting him to do what you want because of it, that is slightly harder.”
Angela was not at all convinced that filling a man with passion was easy, if it had been she doubted she’d be in her current predicament of wanting revenge. If he’d felt any degree of passion for her he would never have acted the way that he did. “I will think on it.”
“Good. And now for the important part. Who is this man? And what did he do that warrants such vehement feeling?”
“I have to tell you who he is? Surely, you don’t need to know that.”
“Each man is different. If I don’t know who he is, how can I tell you what he would like? And you must explain why you are so angry. I do not want to be involved if the gentleman is not deserving.”
“He is no gentleman—well, he is, but he certainly doesn’t act like one.”
Ruby leaned forward, her eyes intent and demanding. “I’ve known many men who fit into that category. Tell me which one you are concerned with.”
“Lord Colton.”
“Ahh, Matthew.” A slow smile spread across Ruby’s face. “I do see why he might drive a woman to madness, but you must tell me exactly what he has done to you.”
How had she not seen the question coming? It all seemed so small when put into words, but words had never been able to fully capture feelings. In her heart, what had happened between her and Matthew was beyond all words. Although he’d certainly had a few to say when he told her he did not intend to pursue their relationship any further. “He led me on. He made me think he cared and then he told me that it had all been in my fantasies, that he’d never had any serious intentions toward me.”
“And he made you care about him?”
“A great deal. I thought we would be wed. I could imagine our lives together. I believed my dreams were finally coming true, that I had found my purpose for being.”
Ruby shook her head sadly. “A woman should never let a man be her purpose for being. It never ends well. Men can bring joy, and quality to life, but one must never let them be its purpose.” She spoke as if lecturing a small child. “I find it almost intolerable that society encourages such belief. Ah, well, you cannot help what you have been taught—and I daresay shown again and again by example.”
Angela had no reply to that. Wasn’t marriage and motherhood the desired purpose of any young lady’s life? Still, she did not wish to argue. She needed Ruby’s help.
Leaning forward again, Ruby questioned further. “And it was not his wealth and title that you desired, that you mourn?”
“I do not think so. I admit that he seemed to be exactly the man I had been brought up to dream of, a wealthy young earl. It was more than that, though. I have been pursued by other men. I had three suitors last year and all of them were titled and wealthy, but none drew me the way Lord Colton did.”
Ruby’s gaze stayed focused upon her face, her eyes direct and questioning. Angela could not be sure what Ruby looked for, but after a moment she seemed to find it.
Leaning back and making herself comfortable, Ruby settled in her chair. “Now, why don’t you begin at the beginning and tell me the whole dastardly tale and then we will see if I can help you. Although, I should warn you that after we talk you may decide that Lord Colton is not who you want, not what you want.”
“I never said I wanted him.” But even as she said the words, Angela knew she lied. She might not want to want Lord Colton, but still if she closed her eyes she knew she would see his face bending toward her, feel the imagined softness of his kiss. She shifted in her seat as longing filled her.
—
Matthew, Lord Colton, drew in a deep breath, the cold of the approaching autumn filling his lungs. God, that felt good after the stifling heat of the ballroom. He pulled a cheroot from his inner pocket—the one Anders, his valet, detested because it marred the line of his coat—walked to one of the oil lamps adorning either side of the terrace door, and opened the glass and lit it.
Turning, he walked a little way, into the first dark of the shadows, and settled, leaning against the cold stones of the low wall. He lifted the cheroot to his lips and pulled in the bitter smoke.
He should have brought out a glass of brandy as well, but his only thought had been to escape the clamor and heat of the ballroom. He leaned his head back, staring up at the stars.
Why had he even come to the blasted affair? He hated these things, hated being watched—and watching. They were always the same, the same food, the same music, the same people—the same girls.
Always the same girls. Even when they were different, they were all the same, pale and sweet, agreeing with his every suggestion, not a bit of fire or personality among them. Every now and then he’d think he’d see a flash of something, some bit of flame and fire, but each time he pursued it, it vanished as if it had never been.
He couldn’t even say it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, because he had no faith the needle was even there. It was like looking for a piece of hay in a haystack.
He dropped his chin and stared back at the bright light shining out through the doors. They were sheep—sweet, tender, young sucklings—and he the wolf, only a wolf who had as little taste for lamb as for the toughest of mutton.
He crooked his lips at his poor attempt at humor.
How was he ever supposed to find a wife among them? It seemed an impossible task, despite his mother’s promptings.
And he had tried, on several occasions, when he’d seen that hint of a spark, he’d pursued it wholeheartedly—only to again find himself gazing into the wide eyes of an innocent lamb, a lamb who’d probably faint dead away if he gave any hint of what he really wanted.
Maybe he should show his wolf’s teeth sometime, that would have them all running away bleating instead of rubbing about his ankles like kittens.
And now he was mixing his metaphors.
He was tired of it all, tired of the whole game.
He should probably just leave. He’d surveyed the new crop of lambs and there was nothing new about them. He’d not even seen the tiniest spark of fire.
He dropped his gaze and stared down at his evening slippers. Anders had outdone himself. He could see the reflection of the lighted doors as clearly as if he gazed up at them.
Perhaps he should head off to some gambling den and risk a small fortune. That might get his blood moving again. Or perhaps he’d just go to Ruby’s. There was always a willing partner there, ready to supply just what he needed, just what was so lacking in the ballroom full of lambs.
A shadow moved across the reflection of his boot.
He raised his head. His breath caught.
An angel.
A bright halo of light surrounded the shadowed figure.
He swallowed.
The figure moved, stepped closer, bright flames surrounding her.
No, not flames—a gown.
A gown of deepest crimson…no, scarlet.
An angel in scarlet.
Only, only—he shook his head. No angel, merely a woman. Although he doubted there was anything mere about this woman.
She took another step. It was impossible to see her clearly, as the bright light of the dance floor left her features shrouded in darkness. It was equally impossible to miss the lush curves of her figure, the rounded hips, the full breasts, the slender waist hinted at, but not quite revealed.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
This time he was the one to take a step forward.
He needed to see her face, needed to know who his angel was.
She turned slightly, her gown shimmering like a candle in the darkness.
&
nbsp; “Colton?” Her face turned as she spoke, her chin angling up, the light hitting her delicate features, highlighting the soft cheeks and lush lips. “Colton?”
He knew that voice. He knew that face.
Miss Ripon. Angela.
His groin tightened, even as he forced himself to relax.
A sweet lamb. Tender and innocent.
Not at all to his taste.
Only, in that dress, she looked anything but innocent. She looked like a woman he could want, a woman he could have.
But he knew better, didn’t he…?
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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