“Aye, it was,” Angel agreed, a catch in her voice. “It was not like Papa to act like that. An hour later the horse was back at the stable without a rider. By that time I was home, and I immediately organized a search for him. He was lying on the path twenty yards from the haunted cottage. His horse had thrown him, and he had hit his head so hard that it killed him.”
“Do you think your father was going to the haunted cottage?”
“He must have been, for it is very isolated and the path he was on leads only to it.” She chewed at her upper lip. “But I cannot understand why he would go there.”
“Any indication of what caused his horse to throw him?”
“It was storming that afternoon, with much lightning and thunder. The horse he was riding was always skittish in bad weather.”
“Tell me about the cottage. Why do people think it is haunted?”
She looked out the window with unseeing eyes. “It was once occupied by a young woodsman and his wife who were expecting their first child. Shortly before the baby was due, he was killed by a poacher who mistook him for a deer. His wife found his body and the shock brought on the child. She died giving birth to the babe and the babe with her. ‘Tis said she still haunts the cottage.”
“What about the note to your father? Did you ever discover who it was from or what it said?”
Angel looked up at her husband. “No, we did not find it on either his body or at Belle Haven.”
Lucian’s face darkened into a scowl. “How very odd.”
She scarcely heard him, so lost was she in memories of that dreadful day. “If only I had been home when the note came,” she burst out. “I would have been, had the tree not delayed me.”
“What tree?”
“When I started home from Mrs. Beard’s, the road was blocked by a large beech tree that had come crashing down during the storm.”
“So you had to wait for it to be cut up and cleared away.”
“No, I did not wait because I could see that it would take hours to do so. Instead I took the long way around through Lower Hocking, but I was still three hours late in getting home.”
She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened at the memory. “If it not been for that tree, I would have been home long before he left.” Her voice cracked. “As it was, I never saw him alive again.”
Chapter 11
At the White Horse Inn, Lucian quietly requested a £.room with two beds. He had noted Angel’s repeated, nervous glances toward his groin and knew that she was frightened about what this night held for her.
She was also exhausted. Her weary eyes and the dark smudges beneath them told him that. She needed a good night’s sleep. It had been an awful day for her. First, she had awakened to the shock of finding herself in bed with a stranger whom she had met only the day before. Then she had been insulted and manipulated and forced to marry a man who did not want her. The only home she had ever known was denied to her, and she was leaving all she loved to go with a husband she barely knew.
Yet she had borne it all with courage and fortitude.
Lucian was proud of her.
After all she had been through that day, the least he could do was let her sleep undisturbed by husbandly demands that clearly terrified her. He could not give her love, but he could at least be considerate.
The delay would also give her a little more time to get to know him. By the time they reached Ardmore tomorrow night, she would feel less like she was going to bed with a stranger.
His solicitude was not entirely unselfish. He would also he less likely to awaken her when he slipped out tonight for a secret foray to Belle Haven. This visit was the principal reason why he had stopped at the White Horse Inn, only a mile from the estate where he intended to search for Ashcott’s missing will.
He would also obtain, as a wedding present for Angel, her father’s telescope, which she wanted so much.
Lucian did not condone burglary, but he assuaged his conscience by reminding himself that Angel was the rightful owner of Belle Haven and everything in it. He was merely stealing the telescope back from the thief who had robbed her of it.
When the inn’s proprietor learned that his guests were Lord and Lady Vayle, he was eager to comply with any wish they might have.
Lucian ordered dinner served in their room.
“I am not hungry,” Angel protested. “Truly, I do not think that I could eat a bite.”
Ignoring that, Lucian ordered enough food to ensure a substantial repast for both of them.
Their room was spacious, with two wide beds boasting clean white linen, a large cupboard, and an oak-framed privacy screen in one corner.
Angel, looking nervously at the beds, jumped at the sound of the door closing behind the departing innkeeper.
Lucian, who was standing behind her, put his hands lightly on her arms.
She jumped again and whirled to face him.
He decided to put her mind at ease immediately. “Take whichever bed you prefer, little one. I will use the other one. I am not going to touch you tonight.”
“You are not!” she exclaimed in surprise.
Lucian thought sourly that she did not have to look quite so damned happy and relieved.
“Perhaps I will eat after all,” Angel said. “I suddenly feel famished.”
After the inn’s servants had cleared away the remains of dinner, Lucian suggested that Angel retire immediately and get a good night’s sleep. The sooner she fell asleep, the sooner he could leave for Belle Haven. He would pretend to go to bed, too, so as not to arouse her suspicions.
She had been noticeably less apprehensive after his promise not to touch her. He congratulated himself on his strategy in forgoing his marital rights for one night.
He had devoted himself during dinner to telling her amusing stories, with the express purpose of getting her to relax even more with him, and he had succeeded.
As Angel disappeared behind the screen in the corner to change into her night rail, it reminded him of the difference in their sizes. The screen would only have come up to his neck, but she was so petite that it hid even the top of her head.
Lucian took this opportunity out of her sight to strip out of his own clothes. He did not want to do anything now that might rekindle her tension.
“I will leave a candle burning on the table between our beds,” he told her as he slid beneath the covers of his. “That way if you awaken in the night, you will know where you are,”
It would also help him to make his way noiselessly out of the room when the time came for him to visit Belle Haven.
“How thoughtful of you,” Angel said approvingly amid the rustling of her clothing being discarded.
An unbidden image of her shapely legs as she swung across the creek flashed through Lucian’s mind, followed by the hazy memory of her sweet softness as he had held her against his naked body that morning in his bed.
He began to regret his decision about not touching her. Then she stepped out from behind the screen’s protective shield. Her pale pink night rail was so sheer it was transparent, and it revealed her delectably sinuous body beneath more erotically than if she had been naked. The sight of her breasts jutting against the diaphanous fabric goaded his body into instant, magnificent response.
She moved languidly toward her bed, innocently unconscious of the sensual sway of her breasts and hips that left him panting with desire.
Lucian was astonished by how much he wanted her. It took all of his willpower not to pull her down beside him and make love to her.
Even after her provocative body was hidden beneath the covers of her bed, he ached to join her there.
What the hell was wrong with him, he wondered in disgust. He was no randy youth, but a mature, disciplined man who had long ago learned to control himself.
He had promised her that he would not touch her tonight, and he would keep his word if it killed him.
Which it just might, he thought ruefully as he contempl
ated the size of the impromptu tent that had arisen in the middle of his bed.
Lucian lay listening to Angel’s breathing and tried not to think about how much he wanted her.
He failed.
It amazed him how rapidly he had become reconciled to this marriage he had not wanted. Lucian no longer intended to seek an annulment. He would not even bother to track down Maude and wring the truth from her.
Seeking to justify his change of heart, he told himself that marriage to Angel did have its practical advantages. A union with the Earl of Ashcott’s daughter was far more prestigious than with an offspring of a viscount in strong royal disfavour. Even Lucian’s father would have to be impressed by the connection.
True, it would not bring Lucian Sommerstone, but it might bring him Belle Haven. He had coveted the estate the moment he had seen it. Sommerstone, despite its connection to his family, had disappointed him.
He smiled at the irony of finding himself trapped in a marriage that socially, dynastically, and even financially—if he could recover Angel’s inheritance—was more advantageous than the one he had sought.
Angel’s breathing had settled into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.
From the room on the other side of the wall came the grunts, groans, and muffled cries of a man and woman coupling.
Lucian, realizing how thin the inn’s walls were, was glad, despite the ache in his groin, that he had not made love to Angel tonight, when other guests could hear them.
She was so nervous and frightened about his taking her. He would do everything he could to be gentle, but her fear guaranteed her initiation to lovemaking would be painful for her. He had heard of incidents where innocent young brides had dissolved in screams and hysterical sobbing. His mouth tightened. He would not care to have the other guests think he was savaging her.
He promised himself that he would not take his bride until he could do so in privacy, beneath his own roof. What was one night to him?
He could last that long.
The sounds from the room next door gave way to noisy snoring.
It was time for Lucian to leave for Belle Haven. Silently, he got up, dressed, and tiptoed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
Angel’s voice so startled Lucian that he nearly tripped over a chair. “For a ride.”
“In the middle of the night?” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake up the other guests.” The last thing Lucian wanted was for someone to notice him sneaking out of the inn.
He turned to face Angel. She was sitting upright in bed, looking puzzled. “Where will you ride?” she whispered.
“Nowhere,” he lied. “I merely feel like a ride.”
In the pale candlelight, her eyes suddenly sparkled with excitement. “I know! You are going to Belle Haven!”
Angel might be naive, but she was too damned intuitive. “Why would you think such a ridiculous thing?” he parried.
She jumped out of bed. “I will go with you.”
“No, you will not.”
She came up to him, and Lucian was very careful to keep his gaze fixed on her face. One glance downward at her body in that damned, revealing night rail would be more provocation than his body could stand.
Angel protested, “But you need me.”
“I said no!” Lucian was accustomed to commanding men and having them obey him with alacrity. He knew what was best for them. His ability to lead them through battles with minimum loss had made him one of the most popular commanders in the army. It was laughable that this slip of a girl could think he would require her assistance on a burgling expedition.
“But I know the way,” she said. “You need me to guide you.”
“I need no guide. I was a soldier, and I am used to stealing through strange terrain that was far more difficult and dangerous than this is.”
“But I can show the house to you.”
Lucian was affronted that she could think he required her help. He had never needed a female in his life—except in bed. “I told you I do not need you,” he thundered, forgetting his own admonition about raising one’s voice.
She looked so wounded that he felt like a cad. Putting his hands lightly on her arms, he said softly, “Angel, I cannot take you with me. I will not expose you to danger!”
Her eyes glowed in the candlelight. “But I like danger.” God’s oath, she was as foolhardy as any eager, untried young soldier on the eve of his first battle.
She also looked so delicious in the candlelight with her bright, excited eyes and shining waves of hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders that he felt his desire for her rising again.
He muttered a curse, then said in a tone that had caused battle-hardened soldiers to quail, “You are not coming with me and that is final. My most important requirement for a wife is that she obey me. I will not tolerate a woman who does not.”
Instead of looking properly subdued, her eyes glinted with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. “And what will you do if I do not obey? Beat me?”
That stopped him. What the hell would he do?
Certainly not beat her. He had never mistreated a woman in his life, and the thought of touching her in violence sickened him.
She was frowning. “You said you would not beat me, but I gather you only told me that to get me to agree to marry you.”
The reproach in Angel’s voice made him want to grind his teeth. “I told you that because it is the truth. But I will not have a wife who defies me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very, but a wife should not blindly obey her husband when he is wrong!”
“I am not wrong,” he sputtered.
“I know you believe that,” she said soothingly, “but you are wrong.”
“God’s oath, you stretch my patience to the breaking point. You will stay here and that is the end of it. I will not have a wife of mine arrested for burglary.”
“Since you would be with me,” she pointed out, “we would be arrested together.”
Lucian hit upon another tact. “Do you want your father’s telescope?”
“Aye! More than anything except Belle Haven itself.”
“I will get it for you, but only if you obey me. Either you stay in this room or I do not go to Belle Haven. Which will it be?”
Her jaw clenched angrily, and she pointedly turned her back on him. “Very well, my lord.”
Let her sulk until he got back, Lucian thought as he left. At least, she would be safe.
It took him longer to reach Belle Haven than he thought it would. He had taken a wrong turn in the dark and gone a quarter mile before realizing his mistake and retracing his steps.
Lucian remembered from his ride with David Inge that Belle Haven had looked vulnerable to intruders, and he hoped now that he had been right. Rather than approach the estate by the road to the entrance gate, he went at it from the opposite direction.
When he reached the perimeter wall at the back of the park, he left his horse concealed in a small copse. He climbed a beech tree growing adjacent to the wall, slid out along one of its sturdy branches, and dropped down inside the grounds.
He set off with rapid stride toward the mansion. At the foot of the hill on which it was built, he discovered a gravel path leading up to it.
The night was clear, and the stars and a quarter-moon illuminated the mansion. It was long past midnight, and no light shone from any of the windows. All of Belle Haven’s occupants appeared to be abed. The only sound was the chirp of crickets.
The moon and stars were casting more illumination for Lucian than he wanted. Although it made it easier to find his way over the unfamiliar terrain, it also made him more visible to anyone who might chance to glance out a darkened window in his direction.
Halfway up the hill he left the path and cut toward the southwest corner of Belle Haven, where Angel had said her father’s library and bedroom were located. By asking about the views from these rooms, he had easily elicit
ed their location from his unsuspecting wife.
As he passed a majestic horse chestnut tree in full flower, a large, murky figure stepped into Lucian’s path. The shadows cast by the chestnut’s heavy boughs concealed the man’s facial features from Lucian, but he had no difficulty identifying the pistol that was pointed at his heart.
Chapter 12
Lucian stared down at the pistol aimed at his chest. Bloody hell, the Crowes must have posted guards, and he had walked right into one!
Although he could not make out the man’s face, he was able to ascertain that he wore the utilitarian garb of a groom or other menial.
All Lucian could do was bluff in the hope that he could catch the man off guard and disarm him. That would be difficult to do, however, without making noise that would awaken the sleeping household. Especially when the man was damn near as big as Lucian himself.
In his most freezing tone, Lucian demanded, “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“Seems to me that ought to be my question to you,” the man responded in amusement.
Lucian was relieved to hear both the humour and the calm intelligence in the man’s voice. At least he was not confronted by some jittery fool who might accidentally shoot him out of sheer nervousness.
“You Lady Angela’s husband?” the man asked.
Startled, Lucian debated whether it would be wiser to confirm or deny it and decided to evade until he could learn whether the man was Angel’s friend or foe, “Why would you ask that?”
“I guess that means you are, otherwise you’d say no,” the man deduced. “Can’t say as I like a man that isn’t proud to claim Lady Angela as his wife.”
Stung by the scorn in the man’s voice, Lucian retorted, “I am very proud to claim her.”
“Then you see that you take good care of her.”
Lucian was torn between amusement and exasperation at this bizarre encounter in which a servant was presuming to instruct him on how to treat his own wife. “I intend to!”
“Well,” the man replied sceptically, “you’re not doing such a good job of it so far.”
Devil’s Angel Page 12
