Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride

by Mary Balogh

  Jennifer took her arm from his when they sat down and rested her hands in her lap. He said nothing for a while. They listened to the music and the sounds of voices from beyond the French windows.

  “What do you do?” she asked. “When you are not in London, that is. Or traveling on the Continent.” She wished when it was too late that she had not asked. She did not want to have her ears regaled with shocking improprieties.

  “I have led a rather useless life,” he said. “For several years I gave myself up to every conceivable pleasure, imagining that I was really living, that everyone who led a more staid existence was to be pitied. The proverbial wild oats, one might say. That life was curtailed rather abruptly and thereby perhaps a few more years of my life were saved from uselessness. My father died a little over a year ago and precipitated me into my present title and all that goes with it. My estate is in the north of England. I have not been there since my return from Europe. But there are enough duties awaiting me there to keep my life staid and blameless for the rest of my days, I believe.”

  Wild oats. One of those oats was far worse than the typical indiscretion of young men, if Lionel was to be believed. But he had changed? The death of his father and the responsibilities it brought had caused him to turn over a new leaf. But the ton could be unforgiving, she knew. She wondered why he had come to London when he might have gone straight home to begin his new life—if indeed he was serious about doing so.

  “Why have you come here instead of going home after such a long absence?” she asked. “And if there is so much to do there.”

  “I had something to prove,” he said. “I would not have it said that I was afraid to show my face here.”

  Ah. Then there really was something beyond just the ordinary. She looked down at her hands.

  “And under the circumstances,” he said, “I am very glad that I am here.”

  His voice was softer. He did not explain his meaning. He did not need to. His meaning spoke loudly in the tone of his voice and in the silence that followed. But she was betrothed. He knew it. Perhaps he was merely speaking with meaningless gallantry. Perhaps he thought she liked to be flattered. And indeed there was treacherous pleasure to be gained from his unspoken words.

  “The music is loud,” she said—the first words she could think of with which to break the silence between them.

  He stood up and offered his arm again. “So it is,” he said.

  She assumed, when she stood up and set her arm along his again, that he intended to stroll along the balcony with her once more. Instead he turned to the steps leading down into the garden and took her down them. She went without protest, knowing that she was allowing herself to be manipulated again, knowing that she should very firmly hold back and demand to be taken into the ballroom. Even her absence on the balcony might be construed as an indiscretion. Especially considering the identity of her partner and the heinous sin that everyone else except her seemed to know of.

  But she went unprotestingly. It was so difficult to make a stand when one did not know exactly why one was supposed to do so. The garden was lit by lanterns. It was intended for use by guests during the evening. And it was not deserted. There was a couple seated on a wrought-iron seat to one side of the garden. The earl turned her to stroll in the other direction.

  “There is something about England and English gardens,” he said, “that is quite distinctive and quite incomparable. One can see brighter, gayer, larger flowers in Italy and Switzerland. But there is nowhere like England.”

  “You did not stay away so long out of choice, then?” she asked. She was prying, she knew. And rather afraid that he would answer all her unasked questions.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, smiling at her, “entirely from choice. Sometimes there are more important things to be done than admiring flowers. And new places and new experiences are always to be welcomed. I came back as soon as there was no further reason to be away.”

  “I see,” she said, watching the patterns of light and shade the lanterns made on the grass before her feet.

  “Do you?” He laughed softly. “At a guess, I would say that they have not considered the lurid details fitting for a maiden’s ears but have hinted at dark crimes and bitter exile. Am I correct?”

  She wished the darkness could swallow her up. He was quite correct. But she felt foolish, young and gauche. She felt as if she had been caught searching his room or reading through his letters or doing something equally incriminating.

  “Your life is none of my concern, my lord,” she said.

  He laughed again. “But you have been warned against me,” he said. “Your aunt and your father will scold you for granting me this set. They will be even more annoyed that you have allowed me to take you from the ballroom. Kersey will be angry too, will he not? You must not allow this to be repeated, you know. You will be in serious trouble if you do.”

  He echoed her own thought—and gave her the opportunity she needed. She should agree with him, tell him that yes, this had been very pleasant, but she really must not dance with him or converse with him again. But his words made her feel as if she were a child instead of a woman of twenty. As if she could not be trusted to act for herself within the bounds of propriety. He had done something dreadful, but since then his father had died and he had been forced to grow up and change his ways. He could not go back and change whatever it was he had done wrong. But surely he should be allowed a chance to prove that he had changed. And surely she was old enough to make some decisions for herself instead of obeying blindly when no reason was given for restricting her freedom.

  “I am twenty years old, my lord,” she said. “There is nothing improper in my dancing with you or even strolling with you in a designated area.” At least, she did not think it was improper. Though she had the uneasy feeling that others might not agree. Like Aunt Agatha and Lionel, for example.

  “You are kind.” He touched a hand lightly to hers as it rested on his arm. He had long, elegant fingers, she saw, looking down. It looked a capable and powerful hand. She resisted the instinct to pull her hand away. She would look like a frightened child after all. He spoke softly. “Is there anyone in this world whom you envy so much that it is almost a physical pain?”

  She considered. “No,” she said. “Sometimes there are aspects of appearance or behavior that I envy, but never seriously so. I am happy with my person and with my life as they are.” It was true, she thought. For years, since she was fifteen, she had been happy, and now her happiness had reached its culmination. Or almost so. There were a few weeks during which to enjoy Lionel’s company and to get to know him better. And then their wedding and the rest of their lives together. Happiness was soon going to turn to bliss. She felt an unexpected twinge of alarm. Life could not be that wonderful, could it? Or proceed quite so smoothly?

  “Well,” the Earl of Thornhill said softly, “I have felt such envy. I feel such envy. I envy Kersey more than I have ever envied any man.”

  “No.” She looked up at him in some distress, her lips forming the word rather than expressing it out loud. “Oh, no, that is absurd.”

  “Is it?” His hand had closed about hers.

  But in drawing her hand free at last and turning to make her way back across the garden and up the steps to the safety of the balcony, she made the mistake of turning in toward him. And of looking up into his eyes. And of pausing. And of noting that there was gentleness and something like pain in his eyes.

  He kissed her.

  Only his lips touched hers. His hands did not touch her at all. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to break away. But she stood transfixed by the wholly novel feeling of a man’s lips against her own. Slightly parted. Warm. Even moist.

  And then he stopped kissing her and she realized the full enormity of what had happened. She had been kissed. By a man. For the first time.

  Not by Lionel.

  By the Earl of Thornhill.

  And she had not stopped him or pulled
back her head.

  And she did not now slap his face.

  “Come,” he said, his voice very quiet, “the set must be almost at an end. I will escort you back to the ballroom.”

  She set her arm on his and walked beside him just as if nothing had happened. She neither protested nor scolded. He neither justified himself nor apologized.

  Just as if a kiss was a normal part of a stroll a man and woman took together instead of dancing.

  Perhaps it was. Perhaps she was even more naive than she realized.

  But of course it was not. A kiss was something a man and woman shared when they were going to marry. Perhaps even only when they were actually married.

  She was going to marry Lord Kersey. She had looked forward so eagerly to his kissing her for the first time. To his being the first—and only—man ever to do so.

  And now it was all spoiled.

  The earl had timed their return very well. The music was just drawing to a close as he led her through the French windows to Aunt Agatha’s side. He bowed and took his leave, and she stood beside her aunt feeling like a scarlet woman, feeling that everyone had but to look at her to know.

  Everything was spoiled.

  VISCOUNT KERSEY FOUND THE Earl of Thornhill outside the ballroom, at the head of the staircase. He was apparently leaving even though the ball had scarcely begun.

  “Thornhill,” the viscount called. “A moment, please.” He smiled his dazzling white smile at Lady Coombes, who was passing on the arm of her brother, and joined the earl on the stairs.

  “Yes?” The earl’s hand closed about the handle of his quizzing glass.

  Lord Kersey reined in his temper, conscious as he always was of his surroundings. “It was not wisely done,” he said. “You must know that my betrothed, my soon-to-be wife, is not to be seen in your company, Thornhill. Certainly she is not to be seen stepping out of a ballroom with you.”

  “Indeed?” The earl’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps it is with Miss Winwood you should be having this conversation, Kersey. Perhaps you have some influence with her.”

  “She is an innocent.” The viscount’s nostrils flared, but he recalled the fact that they were in full view of anyone both abovestairs and below who cared to look. “I know what your game is, Thornhill. I am on to you. You would be wise to end it or it will be the worse for you.”

  “Interesting.” The earl raised his glass to his eye and surveyed the other unhurriedly through it from head to toe. “You mean there will be a challenge, Kersey? The choice of weapons would be mine, would it not? I have a little skill with both swords and pistols. Or would you merely ruin my reputation? It cannot be done, my dear fellow. My reputation has sunk as low as it will go. I am reputed to have seduced my stepmother, got her with child, and run off with her, leaving my father to die of a broken heart. And if that was not quite devilish enough, I then abandoned her in a foreign land, leaving her among strangers. And yet here I stand as an invited guest at a ton event in London. No, Kersey, I do not believe there is a great deal you can do to my reputation that you have not already done.”

  “We will see.” The viscount turned abruptly to go back upstairs. “Two can play at your game, Thornhill. It will be interesting to discover which of us plays it with the greater skill.”

  “Quite fascinating,” the earl agreed. “I begin to enjoy this Season more and more.” He bowed elegantly and continued on his way down the stairs.

  6

  IT WAS DIFFICULT TO THROW OFF THE FEELING that everything had been spoiled. Merely because the Earl of Thornhill had kissed her, Jennifer told herself, trying to minimize the importance of what had happened. All he had done was touch his lips to hers for a few seconds. It was really nothing at all.

  But it was everything. Everything to spoil the pattern of life as it had been building for five years. Everything to upset her and everyone around her—not that everyone else knew the whole of it.

  Aunt Agatha scolded in the ballroom. Very quietly and quite expressionlessly so that no one, not even anyone standing within a few feet of them, would have known that she was scolding. But she made it clear that if dancing with the Earl of Thornhill was not indiscreet enough to raise the eyebrows of society, leaving the ballroom with him, being absent with him for all of half an hour, was enough to ruin her reputation. She would be fortunate indeed if her absence had not been particularly noted and if she did not become the on dit in fashionable drawing rooms tomorrow.

  It was in vain to protest that both the balcony and the garden were lit and that other couples were outside. The balcony and the garden were not for the use of a young unchaperoned girl who happened to be with a man who was neither her husband nor her betrothed, she was told. Especially when that man was a rake of the lowest order.

  Jennifer now believed that he was indeed a rake. It was unpardonable of him to have stolen that kiss. And unpardonable of her to have allowed it, not to have protested her shock and outrage. She was unable to argue further with Aunt Agatha or to wrap herself about with righteousness. She felt horribly guilty.

  Viscount Kersey danced the supper set with her and led her in to supper, but his manner was cold. Icy cold. He said nothing—that was the worst of it. And she was quite unable to bring up the topic herself. She was powerfully reminded of Samantha’s opinion of him. But she could not blame him for his coldness this time, though she would have far preferred to be taken aside and scolded roundly. She felt very much as if she had been unfaithful to him. She felt unworthy of him. She had kissed another man when she was betrothed to Lord Kersey.

  And yet Lionel was the only man she had ever wanted to kiss. She had so looked forward to the supper dance and to the supper half hour spent with him. But it had all been totally ruined—entirely through her own fault.

  After supper Lord Kersey returned her to Aunt Agatha’s side and engaged Samantha for the coming set. He took her out onto the balcony and kept her there the whole time—as punishment, Jennifer supposed. And it worked. It was agony knowing he was out there, even though it was only with Sam. She danced with Henry Chisley and smiled at him and chattered with him and was all the time aware of the absence of Lionel.

  Yes, it was suitable punishment. If she had made him feel like this when she had gone outside, then she deserved to be punished. And it was the Earl of Thornhill with whom she had gone outside. And she had allowed him to kiss her.

  She went home and to bed some time early in the morning, weary to the point of exhaustion, only to find that she could not sleep. She tried wrapping herself about with the warmth of the knowledge that in just a little over a week’s time there was to be the dinner at the Earl of Rushford’s and her betrothal was to be announced. After that all would be well. She would spend more time with Lionel and get to know him better. He would kiss her. There would be all the excitement of their approaching wedding. She pictured him as he had appeared this evening, handsome enough to bring an ache to her throat. He was hers—the man she loved, the man she was to marry.

  And yet her mind kept straying to dark, compelling eyes and long, artistic fingers. She kept feeling his mouth on hers and reliving her surprise at the discovery that his lips had been slightly parted so that she had felt the soft moistness of the inside of his mouth. She kept remembering the physical sensations that had accompanied the kiss—the strange tightening in her breasts, the aching throb between her legs.

  She kept remembering that she had talked to him and listened to him. She had revealed far more of herself than she had ever done with Lionel, and had learned more of him than she knew of her own betrothed. He had convinced her that whatever had been in his past he had now reformed his ways and was prepared to live a responsible life. And then he had kissed her.

  She felt sinful and spoiled. And unwillingly fascinated by the memories.

  The morning brought with it no relief. Tired and dispirited, she wandered into Samantha’s room only to find her cousin sitting quietly at the window, heavy-eyed.

  “Have
you been crying?” she asked, alarmed. Samantha never cried.

  “No,” Samantha said, smiling quickly. “I am just tired after last night. We were warned that the Season would be exhausting, Jenny, and it sounded marvelous, did it not? It has hardly started yet, and already it is simply—exhausting.”

  Jennifer sat down beside her. “Did you not enjoy last night’s ball?” she asked. “You had a partner for each set. You danced twice with a few of them.” Lionel, for example.

  “I enjoyed it.” Samantha got to her feet. “Let’s go down to breakfast, shall we? And perhaps for a walk in the park afterward to blow away the cobwebs? I can feel them just clinging to me. Ugh!”

  Samantha was not her usual exuberant self. Jennifer had counted on her being so. She had expected to find her cousin eager to talk about last night, to discuss her partners, to reveal her favorite. But she seemed unwilling to talk about last night. Jennifer felt her own spirits dip even lower.

  “Sam,” she said, “I thought you would cheer me up. You know that I was in disgrace last night, I suppose?”

  “Yes.” Samantha bit her lip. “I think he likes you, Jenny. He has never tried to dance with me. Yet he has danced with you twice. I think he really is the devil. He must know that you are betrothed. Lionel was upset.”

  “Lionel?” Jennifer frowned.

  Samantha flushed. “Lord Kersey,” she said. “You upset him, Jenny. You ought not to have gone off with Lord Thornhill like that.”

  “You are scolding now too?” Jennifer asked quietly.

  “Well, it was not right, you must admit,” Samantha said. “You have a man, Jenny, and you have claimed forever that you love him. It was not right to step outside with the earl. Who is to know what you were up to, the two of you, out there?”

  They were halfway down the stairs. But Samantha had stopped in order to stare accusingly at her cousin. And then, under Jennifer’s dismayed gaze, she bit her upper lip, her eyes filled with tears, and she turned without another word to hurry upstairs again.