Prince of Delights

by Renee Roszel

  The look in his eyes was neither disdainful nor threat­ening. His lips curved appealingly, and Angela could feel the rising specter of her desire for him. She tried to back away, but he anticipated her flight, pulling her firmly to him as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips hovered nearer, and she grew alarmed. He was going to kiss her again. What would she do? What could she do? Her legs seemed rooted to the floor, and her arms were frozen against her body.

  "Don't kiss me, Tarrant," she pleaded hoarsely.

  He smiled almost sadly. "Anything you want…"

  When his lips touched hers, she was shocked. In the same breath that he'd promised not to kiss her, he'd placed his mouth tenderly against hers.

  "Why… ?" she breathed, shaken by the depth of feel­ing his touch aroused.

  "Because you wanted me to," he pointed out. "Don't lie to me."

  "But you're…" The horrible word engaged stuck in her throat. She couldn't even voice the painful reality. In des­peration, she forced movement into her hands, which she pressed forlornly against him.

  "Don't fight me, Angela," he insisted softly. "You're a lovely, tempting enigma…."

  His lips grazed her mouth with a tenderness completely unlike the powerful, angry passions that had launched the last kiss they'd shared. Tarrant's gentleness tonight was blissful, and against her will she was swept away. Her arms lifted to encircle his broad shoulders, just as his went about her waist, pulling her to his hard body.

  She moaned audibly as his knowing fingers trailed along her spine, one hand moving slowly up to massage her neck, sending her pulse racing.

  His kiss was honeyed torment, her senses growing more and more charged by his touch, and she knew a longing she had never experienced before, a longing to know Tarrant fully—to be his wife, and the mother of his children. Sud­denly Eden's face loomed in her mind. Eden would be the mother of Tarrant's children. Eden Leslie, not Angela Meadows. Through a wounded moan, the other woman's name escaped Angela's lips.

  Without warning, he broke away from her and, in one long-legged stride, removed himself from her immediate vicinity. "Damn!" he snarled, dragging his hand through his hair, mussing it even more charmingly. "You must think I'm a cheating snake!"

  Still overwhelmed by the lingering feel of his lips on hers, his gentle hands against her body, she could not form a coherent word. Her lashes fluttered nervously down, and she missed the look of self-loathing that crossed his face.

  His raw oath brought her gaze back up to clash with his. "Forgive me, Angela. I don't know what it is about you…." He shook his head wearily. "Damn me! You looked so sweet standing there." With regret shading his voice he turned away. "I'm engaged, and I've been a jerk to you and to Eden."

  His face was etched with such torment that Angela couldn't help but think him gallant and irresistible. With­out volition, she almost reached out a trembling hand to stroke his jaw. Instead, she clenched her fists and held them tightly to her chest. His kiss had shaken her so badly she didn't dare touch him, for fear of letting him know the extent of her reaction.

  When she didn't say anything, he dropped his stricken gaze to meets hers again, muttering, "I can't blame you for not wanting to speak to me." His eyes ranged distractedly over her body for a long, tense moment. Then his expres­sion grew dark and he asked tightly, "Was it really all my fault? Or are you far from the innocent my mother—" He broke off, his voice rough with an emotion she couldn't define. "Which are you, Angela? A shrewd temptress or the naive innocent you appear to be?" Nostrils flaring in frustration, he laughed, but the sound was mirthless. "On second thought, what does it matter? You're my mother's employee. You mean nothing to me." Determinedly he pivoted around her, muttering, "I'll stay out of your way."

  Endless minutes passed after the clipped sound of his footsteps no longer echoed along the hallway. Alone now, and still shaken from his kiss and his accusation, Angela dropped to the floor. Forlorn, she tried to find solace in giving comfort to the mother cat. Stroking its head, she whispered brokenly, "That… that's just fine, Tarrant, because you mean less than nothing to me!" She stopped short, and with utter despair, discovered she was crying.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next morning Angela awoke to find her clothes pressed and neatly laid out beside her canopied bed. Once dressed, she went downstairs, wondering if Tarrant would deign to join her for breakfast. She hoped not.

  When she reached the grand entryway, he appeared un­expectedly from around a corner, looking impeccable in a tan sports coat and dark taupe pleated slacks. There was no sign of the charmingly mussed cat-savior from the night before, but his dark eyes echoed the same frustration she'd noted when he'd stalked out of the kitchen.

  With a grim nod in her direction, he muttered some­thing about an early business meeting, adding that her car was repaired and waiting in the drive.

  Though Angela made an attempt at polite thanks, his hasty exit cut her off. His undisguised desire to get away from her distressed her more than it should. Why did she have to feel such inappropriate attraction for a man who didn't like or trust her—a man who was about to be mar­ried to someone else?

  Just then Angela heard a rustle at the top of the stairs and turned to see Delila standing there, clad in a jade-green lounging coat. The older woman called down sweetly, "Ah, I see you're ready for breakfast, my dear. Allow me to join you in the sun room. It's lovely there at this time of the day."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Seaton, but I've troubled you enough," Angela hurriedly excused herself. "I need to be going."

  "Well, if you must…." Delila's smile held a touch of melancholy as she added, "Angela, don't let my son up­set you. He doesn't mean to be unkind. If I might say a word in his defense, Tarrant's bitterness toward women has been honestly earned." Apparently deciding not to go into detail, Delila dismissed the subject with a shake of her head and a sad laugh. "Forgive an old woman's idle bab­ble." With a graceful flick of her hand, she indicated the door. "Now, scoot. Get on with your young life."

  A week later, during lunch in their apartment above Angela's shop, Minny withdrew something from one of her voluminous pockets and held it across the rickety table, spread with the makings of egg-salad sandwiches.

  "Look at this," she said excitedly, momentarily dis­tracting Angela from a piece she'd been reading in the "Famous Folks" column of the Daily Press. It was a brief story about Tarrant Seaton being seen at the opening of a Broadway show last week. The story said he'd gone there to meet his fiancée, Eden Leslie, who was on a buying trip for her trousseau. The accompanying photo showed them arm in arm, smiling fondly at each other. Angela felt a hard lump form in her stomach at the sight of the devoted couple, and she tried to suppress the unhappy feeling. How stupid! she chided herself. For once, you see him depicted in the newspaper as a nice, monogamous man on a night out with his fiancée, and it upsets you? You're a strange case, Angela Meadows! Mind your own business!

  "Mother, did you see this article?" she asked, forget­ting that Minny had spoken. "It seems the Prince of De­lights is finally settling down. Here he is with Eden—"

  "Settling down nothing?" her mother broke in with a disdainful sniff. "Not until he marries you. And he will! I dreamed it, and I have the power," she proclaimed. "Which brings me to what I was saying before, daughter. See what I'm holding?"

  Angela glanced up, spotting an exquisite silver pocket watch dangling from her mother's fingers. "Where did you get that?" she asked, taking it from her mother and turning it in her hands. It was obviously an antique, with a delicately engraved likeness of Havenhearth on one side and the initial "S" in swirling script on the other. As she touched a button, the side with the "S" popped open to reveal the face of the watch as well as a miniature sepia photograph of a lovely young Delila Seaton. Frowning with curiosity, Angela gazed across the table at her beam­ing mother. "Why, this must belong to Mrs. Seaton. Did she drop it here in the shop? If she did, we'd better notify her immediately. She's probably frantic."

/>   Minny shook her head. "No, dear. Delila didn't lose it. I borrowed it."

  A shiver of foreboding ran through Angela. "Bor­rowed?" she repeated weakly.

  Minny nodded. "From Delila's bedroom. Yesterday, after I had lunch with her, I saw it lying on her dresser. Belonged to her husband, you know. I wanted to dream on it and find out a little more about the great Noah Seaton. And, daughter, you won't believe what I dreamed! Why, it's so amazing—"

  "Mother!" Angela cried. "Don't tell me you took this without permission! Please don't tell me that!"

  Minny gave her daughter a disapproving frown. "Why, Angela June Meadows, have you no shame? How could you think such a thing of your mother!"

  Angela relaxed measurably. "Well, thank goodness for that. It was lovely of Delila to allow you to borrow it."

  Minny stood, brushing crumbs from her lap. "It cer­tainly was, and the minute I tell her about the dream, Delila won't mind a bit. Why, that poor woman has—"

  "What are you saying? I thought you said you had per­mission to borrow the watch!"

  Minny took her plate to the sink. "In a way, I did. You see, it simply called out to me—'Minny, Minny, I have things to tell you. Important things!'" She shrugged. "What could I do? Noah Seaton himself gave me permis­sion."

  Angela was sitting very erect now. Horrified. She looked down at the watch, hoping desperately that Delila hadn't called the police yet. "Mother, I can't believe this. Thank heaven I have to go out there this afternoon to supervise the installation of a safe in the master bedroom. I'll re­turn it while I'm there."

  Minny turned from the sink to face her daughter. "But don't you want to hear the dream?"

  Distractedly, Angela cleared the table. "I don't want you to ever mention that watch again. It's probably worth hundreds of dollars, maybe thousands. That's grand theft, you know."

  Minny tsk-tsked at her daughter. "Oh, Angela, Delila and I are fast friends. I'd allow her to borrow anything I own without my permission, and I'd never think of call­ing the police."

  "That's all well and good, but we don't own anything worth hundreds of dollars. Delila couldn't get much jail time for borrowing your dog-biscuit earrings or your tin-can jewelry."

  Minny laughed. "Darling, you're such a doomsayer. Well, no matter. You return it this afternoon if it makes you feel better. But that dream, you simply must know—"

  "Goodbye, Mother," she interjected as she grabbed up her briefcase. "Tell Richard I'll be back around five. If there are any emergencies…" She paused, correcting her­self. "If there are anymore emergencies, he can reach me at Havenhearth."

  After Alexander admitted her with his usual austere grace, she headed for the master bedroom, the pocket watch clutched guiltily in her fist. To her great dismay, she ran into Tarrant—literally—as she dashed along the hall, cannoning into his chest.

  "Oh, jeez!" she spat out as her cheeks reddened.

  Taking Angela by the arms, he steadied her, then set her away from him. "Looking for me?" came his taunting drawl.

  Against her will, she became overpoweringly conscious of his scent. Disliking her reaction to his nearness, she felt impatient to escape, and shrugged out of his hold. "Ac­tually, I was on my way to the master bedroom." Her gaze cautiously met his and was held there.

  "The master bedroom?" His brow quirked. "You're very direct today. But I must disillusion you—that isn't my bedroom. It's my mother's."

  "I'm perfectly aware of that!" she said, indignant. "I'm here to oversee the installation of her closet safe."

  "Oh?" His mouth twitched with wry humor. "My mis­take, then. I'll leave you to your work."

  She flinched. He'd known why she was there all along and was having fun with her! She had half decided not to even admit that her mother had taken the watch. It had been her plan to make a clean breast of the whole matter to Delila, but since she was out and there was only her ar­rogant son to confess to, Angela was having second thoughts.

  Suddenly he looked dubious. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm entertaining a felon?"

  His astute observation took her off guard, and her in­dignant pose deserted her. "I…I…" She shifted her guilt-ridden eyes, unable to face him. Holding out her hand, she opened her fingers. "My mother borrowed this to, uh, dream on. I'd like to return it."

  His hand brushed hers as he removed the watch from her grasp, and she had to concentrate on ignoring its warming effect.

  "I see," he stated. "I'm sure your mother was going to bring it back eventually." The remark was perfectly po­lite, but left the distinct impression that he didn't believe it for an instant.

  She shot him an unrepentant glance. "Naturally! She would never steal!"

  His frowning scrutiny told her he wasn't convinced.

  "I could have just put it back. You would never have known!" she defended herself. "But I chose to be honest with you."

  "Commendable," he drawled, his lips twisting sardon­ically.

  Angela was appalled by his cool, disbelieving expres­sion. He didn't have to say it; she knew he thought she and her mother were not only conniving liars but also thieves, however inept. Clearing a lump from her throat, she croaked, "Do you intend to fire me?"

  "If you'll recall, Miss Meadows, I didn't hire you."

  His words had the feel of a slap. Insulted, she started to march past him, but he placed a halting hand on her wrist. "Aren't you going to tell me what Minny dreamed? I sup­pose my father blessed our mythical union from his grave?"

  She jerked her arm free. "I have no idea what she dreamed. I didn't ask."

  "Oh? I'd have thought you'd be happy to announce that the dear departed approve of our predicted marriage— since you can't get the living, breathing groom to fall into step."

  "You're a horrible boor!" she flung at him, frustrated at being caught between her mother's crazy prophesies and Tarrant's suspicions.

  A long, tense silence stretched between them as Tar­rant's gaze searched her face. When at last he spoke, his words were harsh, yet whisper-quiet. "Dammit, Angela, there was a moment a few days ago when I thought we'd gotten past this foolish marriage ploy."

  She knew the moment he meant. When they'd looked down at the helpless, newborn kittens, she'd experienced a sweet and unfamiliar tranquillity. She was surprised to discover he'd felt it, too. Unable to withstand the brood­ing intensity of his eyes, she glanced away. "How's Prince?" she asked in a low voice.

  "He's always hungry."

  "I don't know when I can take him."

  "I realize that."

  She thought she noticed a slight softening in his man­ner and lifted her gaze to meet his. "May I see him later?"

  "Whenever you want," he said. "They're in the kitchen."

  "Thank you." He seemed irritated, but he also seemed subdued, even bleak, and her foolish heart went out to him. "Tarrant, I'm sorry about this whole mess between you and me. I know you won't believe it, but there never was any marriage ploy. You're engaged, after all. I was hoping, though, that we might become… friends." The pause before she'd uttered the word "friends" discon­certed her. It was as though she was struggling with the limitations of the word. She shook off the notion. There couldn't be anything between Tarrant and her but friend­ship. If he was willing to allow even that small conces­sion…

  His deep, wry chuckle startled her. "I wish I had a nickel for every women who's said that to me—just before her trunks showed up on my doorstep."

  He had turned her overture of friendship into a joke! It hurt—much more than it should have. Someday she was going to have to figure out why this man had such power over her emotions. But she was too upset to be rational now. Instead, she snapped, "Don't panic! You'll never trip over anything of mine."

  He frowned. "Angela, I wasn't—"

  "I'm sure you have tons of pithy witticisms left, but I don't care to hear them," she retorted coldly, cutting him off. "And just for the record, Mr. Seaton, I wouldn't have you if you were served to me on a skewer, although the i
dea is appealing!" She darted past him, hoping he would keep his distance for the remainder of her business there.

  For the next three hours, she moved about the mansion checking on work in both the basement and the master suite, all the while trying to ignore a painfully gorgeous man who disliked her intensely, a man with the irritating capacity for showing up everywhere she seemed to go. She could see that finding himself in the same room with her irked Tarrant just as thoroughly as it did Angela. Even so, their paths kept crossing, as though some dark demon was attempting to make them both miserable.

  She took a much needed break at four o'clock and vis­ited the kittens. Holding Prince to her cheek, she cooed to him, wishing she could take him home when he was old enough, but knowing her landlord would never permit it. The cook chatted on about how they'd found future homes for all the kittens but one, and that she thought Prince was the sweetest natured among them.

  Unlike his namesake, Angela mused. Just as the thought tumbled from her harried brain, in walked the Prince of Delights himself. She knew he saw her immediately, but he ignored her and spoke to the cook. "I'll be going out for dinner, Eva. Mother's eating here, though."

  "Yes, sir," the chubby older woman said with a ner­vous giggle. "I'm planning on making your favorite for tomorrow. Will you be here then?"

  Tarrant granted her his most charming smile, and An­gela turned away to avoid being affected by it as he as­sured the woman, "There's no way I'd miss your famous sole amandine, Eva. Count on me."

  Surprising Angela, he bit out, "Will you be here to­morrow, Miss Meadows?"

  She shook her head, reluctantly making eye contact. "Not for a few days."

  His lips twisted enigmatically before he strode from the room. Though she couldn't quite tell if he'd smiled, she decided it was unlikely that he would pine for her in her absence.

  Ten minutes later, while heading back to the master suite, Angela heard a commotion on the second-floor landing.

  "But Tarrant, darling!" a woman screeched. "If you'd only get to know me, you'd realize what a terrible mistake you're making marrying that Eden woman!"