“My lady,” Angel said, curtseying perfectly and smiling, showing her small white and even teeth. “Thank you for your invitation into your lovely home.”
Lady Rexler, a woman of middle years, three husbands buried and an eccentric view upon the state of the world, smiled prettily, looking younger than her fifty two years. “Oh, of course, but it is I who must thank you for agreeing, an American, we have so few here, and mostly men. This is simply fabulous, do; come, come, and I shall introduce you about…of course, if it is alright with your aunt and uncle?”
Her aunt nodded, more than pleased that Lady Rexler, a close associate, had taken so well to Angel, and placed herself in her husband’s arms. “Yes, of course, a waltz is about to begin, we shall amuse ourselves as you see Angel about.”
“Splendid, Ms. Barrett?”
Angel nodded, smiling. “Certainly, my lady.”
With Lady Rexler leading the way, they made their way around the large ball room, the twelve French doors opened wide to let in a welcoming breeze for the overly warm dancers. The silk gauze that covered the doors danced prettily in the wind, as if ghosts long ago forgotten, remembering the intricate steps of dancing long ago buried. Lady Rexler chatted away, asking Angel numerous questions about America, sometimes, asking another question before even getting the answer of the first question. Angel smiled politely, however, as she was introduced to scores of people from foreign diplomats, to American businessmen, to world renowned opera singers, to the rakes, movers and shakers of England society. At one stop, it came out that Angel herself was a splendid pianist as Marco DE ‘Ares, stared at Angel’s hands, the slight web between the fingers as all accomplished pianists encountered. “Tell me, ms, are you a pianist, also?” He asked, his dark, Italian eyes staring with undue interest into Angel’s.
Nodding, Angel smiled slightly, taking her hand back once his grip loosened. “Yes, I am sir, however, a wonderful guess.”
“Shall we hear you play, perhaps, even we shall play a duet, Lady Rexler, I did happen to notice you had two grand’s directly across from each other.”
And the Lady Rexler tittered, smiling and fluttering her arms excitedly. “Oh, do! Do! What a wonderful idea such an intelligent young man, you are, Senor DE ‘Ares.”
And Angel, always wanting a chance to play, smiled. “What shall we play?” She asked, her foot lightly tapping to the music since taking place.
“Whatever is your wish, my lady, whom is your favorite composer?”
“Beethoven, Mozart,” she said. “Especially Symphony 6.”
“Superb, you have splendid taste.”
“Oh, I shall have everything the ready for you two.” Lady Rexler interrupted.
“And as we wait, may I be so bold as to have my name stenciled in your dance card, if it is not already burgeoning with others.”
Angel smiled. “No, not quite, sir, and yes, please, do,” she said, handing him the card and pencil.
They stood next to each other, speaking of past musicians, conductors and things of that ilk. Angel found Marco’s conversation extremely enlightening, since the subject was so dear to her heart. When her first dance partner found her, a Spanish nobleman, Angel regretfully said goodbye, but not before Lady Rexler informed the two they would play together in no less than three sets. Nodding, Angel placed her hand lightly in the nobleman’s arm, a young man of thirty, no less, with dark brown eyes and just a few inches taller than Angel herself.
Even though not quite an accomplished dancer the nobleman was able to lead Angel around the ballroom, smiling widely at the beauty before him. And soon, Angel was swept away by one admiring guest and then the next, the time rushing towards midnight, so soon. Before Angel knew it, she was once again besides Marco, smiling in anticipation. The cooling breeze from the opened windows calmed her over exertion and smiling widely, she placed her hand in his arm as he smoothly glided her towards the dance floor.
Perhaps it was the music that Marco lived by so indefinably because they swept through the ballroom on feet enlightened with a superior ear, a superior tone and beat. Marco was just shy of six feet and Angel’s head just reached the tip of his chin, the couple, Marco with his olive colored skin, brilliant eyes and handsome face and Angel, the very personification of beauty drew admiring looks from many until the dancing couples swept clear of the floor in which Marco took full advantage of the widened space, cascading the biddable Angel in his arms until they both forgot about the couples, the stares, they forgot everything except the music which beat through their veins. The gauze veils of the windows cascaded towards them, became a part of their dancing as they swept in and out of the curtains, everyone staring in fascination at the exotic couple who seemed separate from the world, alienated from the society which would helm so many in.
As the music came slowly to an achingly beautiful halt, Angel became conscious of her surroundings, the applause, the excited chatter of whispering couples, hers and Marco’s heavy breathing. Smiling, she curtseyed towards Marco, to the delight of the crowd until Lady Rexler, standing on top of the stairs, announced the event to come.
“What a splendid couple,” she cried to the two hundred something odd people upon the floor. “And now, Senor Marco DE ‘Are, the most renowned pianist upon the Continent and Ms. Angel Barrett, the Duke’s and Duchess niece from America, has promised for our listening enjoyment a splendid duo from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6.”
Another applause, Marco bowing sharply before taking Angel’s hand, escorting her towards one of the two pianos. After small whispered notes to each other, the two sat in their respective seats, a page turner positioned at each piano.
It was Angel who began the melody first, her notes lovingly measured, superbly timed, but even more, filled with the soul of what all she was. She grew adrift in the passionate music, much as she had when Marco had escorted her onto the dance floor. When Marco joined her melodies and then the small orchestra positioned behind the two, Angel saw with no small pride that the couples had greedily taken to the dance floor, before she became lost in the music once more.
The symphony was long, climatic, dark, somber, and joyous all at one. Much like Angel’s mood. Sometimes as the notes poured through her hands, she felt so connected to the music she had to blink back surprising tears, other times she smiled at the enjoyable notes.
It was with some great reluctance that Angel’s hands finally stilled over the last notes, some great surprise at the large applause given to her and Marco, some great expectation upon looking up to meet Asher’s eyes.
The world seemed to freeze for her then, the applause drifted to the background, the people, the ball, until all that seemed left was her and Asher, his eyes upon hers, their souls locked together.
She unknowingly walked towards him, unknowingly smiled, just for him, one hand reaching up, this she realized, her mind cleared, she smiled wider, not remembering the words in which he’d rejected her with. The hurt of the past weeks, vanishing, unremarkable, not worthy of remembering. Not when he was standing so near, Oh, God, she needed him so much.
She was within a foot of him, still smiling and hesitantly placed her hand upon his arm. “Asher,” she said softly. “Asher may we speak.”
But Asher shook his head. There was nothing he would say to her. He would hurt her now; he knew and refused the imploring look in her eyes. “I have nothing to say to you, Ms. Barrett.” He returned.
Her lips gasping, Angel shook her head vehemently, she would not be able to live with herself if she did not tell him all that she felt inside, face to face, if she did not tell him what she’d so recently unearthed. Taking a deep breath she spoke those words which she’d spoken to the door just a month ago. “Asher, I love you, please, listen to me, I implore you.” Pausing again she said those words which caused her unimaginable joy, smiling. “I love you and we need to speak, please, Asher please, wait-.”
Asher seethed with rage, with passion, jealously and lust and a horrible craving he’d never b
e able to crush, not until the last of his days. It was her, Angel, whom he wanted, Angel whom he’d had eyes for since he’d spotted her splendid form, dancing in the arms of another man. That unknown emotion which he’d not spoken of for years tried to catapult out of the frigid reaches of his heart, he refused it, a seething rage directed towards her for making him feel this way. He’d not gotten her out of his system. He tried to argue to himself: It had been so long since he’d had such an apt tutor for a lover…a virgin one at that. Interrupting her, he stole her hopes, her dreams. “My dear, Ms. Barrett,” he said condescendingly informing her of what little value she had upon his being. “I must remind you…you were just a good lay, nothing more, nothing less. And you have confused lust for love because of your youth and innocence. I do not want you. I have had you. My cousin, Anthony and brother Caleb, have both laid interest in you…I have spoken to them and said that they would make no mistake by also making you their lover. It was a game, Ms. Barrett, simply to see who would be your first lover. You were nothing more than a game. I have broken you in for your next lover, a delight I will not soon forget, and for that I thank you. Good bye, Ms. Barrett. Enjoy your stay in England.” Almost nodding to himself, he turned, breaking their contact, towards the woman whom had called his name, smiling prettily as she made their way towards them, a lady of the ton and recent widower who was fast filling her books with new lovers.
Turning towards the widower, he walked away from Angel, leaving her in shambles at his words, the widowers body had no effect on him, but for his sake, he nodded, for his very own sake, to save his soul, his pride from Angel, he cupped the woman’s waist, for the sake of his heart, he smiled, forced as it was and nodded, for the sake of everything he held dear, he whispered in her ear of things he’d do to her.
Asher felt sick at heart, felt as if the floor beneath him, the very earth should open and swallow him whole. He felt Angel’s eyes upon him but refused to turn towards her. He felt the pain she exuded but refused to acknowledge its’ possession upon his very soul.
He guided the woman away from Angel, his hand possessively upon the small of her back. He didn’t look back, he dared not to.
People were speaking around her, their words flowing through and out of her; she tried to pay attention, but could not. She felt deadened inside, the shock from seeing Asher, his rejection of her once again, his hateful words, the beautiful woman at his side whom touched him so intimately, the way his hands touched the woman in return. The breadth of his black clad shoulders, his hand upon the small of the woman’s back, his head bent achingly near her ear and once so close to her lips Angel feared they would kiss, his laughter that drifted towards her, his dimples that flashed so deeply, but not for her, no, the woman besides him.
She noticed for the first time, Anthony, within the group of people speaking. His mouth opened and closed but yet, Angel could hear no words. She felt sick, dizzy and shook her head. God, no, please, do not allow me to faint, not here, not with him…not with him here.
She twirled from the crowd, it was so hot, and she had to get air, the doors beckoned towards her, the curtains calling towards her. She did not hear the exclaimed shouts as she pushed people out of her way, did not hear Anthony calling her name. She made it outside, breathing in heavily, running down the granite steps towards the dark solitude of the gardens beneath. Still, too near, she ran until she found a hiding place, far away, the music, the lights, the conversation a dim blur. Heaving in great breaths tears broke upon her eyes, a dam undone as she tried in vain to stifle them, one hand pressed tightly upon her mouth, the other fisted upon her breast, where the pain refused to recede.
Instead, it felt as if bricks had become implanted in her heart, so heavy she felt, she dropped brokenly to the cobble stoned pavement next to a small stone bench, her shoulders shaking. He did not love her…he did not love her…she had been nothing more than another conquest to Asher…a deceitful game among his kinsman…she’d whored her body for a man who’d thoroughly destroyed her dreams, her hopes…her pride.
The consequences of her actions, added to the horrible ache deep within her. Her exhaustive tears, how could she go home, how could she face her father, how could she change back to the once innocent and carefree daughter she had once been.
Long minutes passed, Angel regained her composure, but knew she would not be able to walk back inside the ballroom. There were so many things she’d have to attend to. Asher’s rejection was final, now. Laughing in near hysteria, her breath caught on a sob, remembering Hunter’s words of not too long ago.
Hunter had known; Hunter had tried to warn her, Hunter had been so right.
He will break your heart.
“It is done, then,” she whispered to herself, staring into the dark night sky, the stars twinkling so merrily against their velvet backdrop.
She wanted to go home, to America, to hide, from the world, from Asher and his family, especially his family. A deep shudder of shame caused her to tremble at the thought of his brothers’ knowing every intimate thing that had occurred between Asher and herself. The pain, the embarrassment caused a physical sickness to overcome Angel, who struggled to stand, struggled to retain on to the little composure which she had left. It hurt to love someone so much and to have that love shunned in return, decimated. As she rubbed a shaky hand against her face, her hands shook, they trembled like fine rose petals in a harsh wind. There was that great part of her that wanted to run back inside, demand Asher’s love, demand that he be hers' forever. But all fools knew, love was not something to demand but should be given freely, without question. She loved Asher that way, even now as her heart lay in tatters; she loved him, too much.
The rejected part of Angel won out, the rejected part of Angel heard footsteps too close and escaped, heard Anthony’s voice calling her name. Fear, humiliation and anger all were incentives to give Angel’s feet flight, as she ran swiftly from the gardens, from the ball, from Asher. She’d leave now, right at this minute.
“Angel, no, wait!” A voice called after her.
Angel glanced back wildly, watching as Marco raced towards her, she shook her head, waving him away, as tears still sped down her golden cheeks.
“Leave, me!” she cried, turning away and pulling her skirts up, running from the darkness of betrayal.
Yet, Marco refused, he matched her pace, pulled at her arm once they’d left the private lawn, and held her still, his face urgent. “Do not leave, my lady, what is amiss? What did he say to you to make you hurt so much?” He asked, studying her beautiful silver eyes rimmed with the thickest black lashes God had ever graced upon a human soul.
“Please, sir, you do not know-” Angel began, wiping away the tears while pulling her arm out of his reach. “Just leave me, I need time, alone, please,” she began.
“No, I know a lady in distress and I refuse to leave your side, confide in me, and trust in me, I feel as if I have known you for more years than I have lived upon this earth.”
Angel shook her head, her body shaking with sobs as Asher’s words cursed darkly in her head. “Please, I cannot…” she cried, managing to pull her arms out of Marco’s grasp.
“I will not leave you alone, in the dark, when it is so obvious that you are in pain. I won’t take advantage of this moment, my lady, and I will not abuse your person as another has already done so. Shall I call for your aunt?”
Shaking her head, Angel turned from Marco, wrapping her arms tightly around her body to still the hurt, keep it from escaping, better this way, she thought to herself as her dreams died upon the soft, fervent green lawn, her delicate shoes sinking into the grass as the stars cast lights upon her face, her gown. “Please, don’t…I shall be fine, in a moment.”
Marco paused, daring not to leave, his hands wanted so badly to comfort her, touch her shoulder, her neck, her waist as he fisted them at his thigh. It would do no good; he saw the look she’d passed to that arrogant bastard, a peer of the realm. Yet, the soft luminous glow fro
m her eyes, the delicate shell of her ear, and the perfect bow of her mouth called to him. He felt out of control, no longer himself, as he breathed deeply, concentrating. He would not leave her here alone because he wanted to know her secrets, wanted to understand her deepest thoughts, wanted to know what had caused her to run.
“My lady,” he said, walking towards her to stand in front of her, his hand lifting and in it a silk handkerchief in his hand.
She took the proffered item, the tears were stilling upon her cheeks, her eyes slightly red. “I must look a fright,” she offered, as she wiped her face before dumbly holding the napkin in hand, not knowing if she should give it back, her mind blank with hurt and shame and humiliation.
“Keep it, my lady, a small offering,” Marco offered and with his words a gentle smile tugged upon his lips. “My mother always warned me that whenever I am in pain…or need, or have thoughts contrary to my nature, to seek out a companion in such dark times. For the heart, the heart would have you do things as it should not do; it wars with the mind, does it not?” He asked.
Angel was thoughtful and quiet at his words. Marco was right, her heart wanted so badly to flee from this ball, to never see Asher’s face again, to take the pain and hate far, far away, and in the end, what it would prove. Nothing, her mind, told her, absolutely nothing. “Your mother, I believe, is a very wise woman.”
Marco smiled softly, a hint of hidden sorrow deep in his eyes. “Was a very wise woman. She died when I was a child of twelve.” He said.
Angel could understand his pain; understand the pull of emotions to a grave that no longer housed a soul to speak to. “My mother, also, died, when I was twelve, sir. I am sorry at your loss.”
“And I yours.”
He stared at her, as her eyes lifted towards the sky, taking in the night, the full moon and the bright stars, so close she felt as if she could reach with one hand to touch them. “Beneath these stars there are so many people, so many lives, so many stories being told and so many as of yet, told. But, why then, do I feel as if my story is so important, the only one in the world at this moment when I know, there are so many people out there…in pain, in happiness, in need, in tears? I feel sickened at my own self-importance and ego and yet, cannot unleash this ego and feel for another, not at this moment, not right now.” A sob escaped from her mouth, as she quickly stifled it. “Forgive me, sir, I am not fit company. But you are right, your mother is right. I feel out of control and know that if I was alone, I would do something I would regret til the end of my days. Please, stay with me; do not leave me with my dark thoughts, alone to do battle against my heart. I beg of you, do not leave me.”
Angel of Ash Page 16
