When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  “George’s education has been paid for already.”

  “Yes, but that never was, nor shall it ever be, your responsibility. Since I am responsible for George now, I must repay you.”

  Ivan stared into the fire. “You cannot repay me for that, Holland. The debt was between me and Lissa. Your money cannot settle it.”

  “Consider this her money then.” Holland tossed the packet back to the marquis.

  “But we both know it’s not her money. So shall you take it back, or shall I burn it?” Ivan leaned toward the hearth. He held the envelope precariously close to the flames. The heat alone blackened the edges.

  “Good God,” Holland gasped, “that is a heavenly sum of money!”

  “Then take it back.” When Holland no longer protested, Ivan laughed and threw him the notes.

  Angrily Holland looked down at the envelope in his lap. He seemed as if he wanted to hold his tongue, yet suddenly it was impossible. “You must know, my lord, that I will no longer tolerate your cat-and-mouse games with Lissa.”

  Ivan looked as if he expected that statement. “My relationship with Lissa is of no account to you, Jones. Don’t make it one.”

  “She’s my wife’s sister. Most of your dealings with her I’ve overlooked, partly out of duty to the Powerscourts, partly because I saw no real benefit to revealing them. But now it is all different.”

  “It is the same.”

  “No.” Holland shook his head. “I’d have agreed with you before the night of your ball. But that night changed everything.” He gave Ivan an accusing stare. “I know that you’ve compromised Lissa.”

  “And how is that?” Ivan asked, his eyes glittering dangerously. “As I recall,you were most definitely not there.”

  “I saw her state of dishabille when she arrived back at Violet Croft. It didn’t take much to arrive at that conclusion.”

  “Aren’t you a bit late, then, with your accusations?”

  Holland gripped his glass. “The accusations would have come far earlier if my hands hadn’t been tied. I don’t know what hold you have over her, but Lissa adamantly refuses to admit that you took advantage of her.”

  “So what has untied your hands now?”

  “When I thought Lissa was going to have to remain in Nodding Knoll, I saw no point in adding to her misery by revealing your sordid obsession. But now I suddenly see a future for her. A future without you there to darken her door. Lady Antonia can realize all sorts of possibilities for Lissa. My sister-in-law needn’t remain a spinster. She can do whatever she desires, and I plan to see that she does that. No matter what the cost.”

  Ivan heard him out, all the while letting his knuckles run agitatedly down his scar. When Holland was through he said forebodingly, “Those costs could be high, Jones. To everyone.”

  Holland stood and put down his glass. “Regardless, I will no longer let you hurt my wife’s sister. Even if it means the Joneses finally break with the Powerscourts. Even if it means I tell Lissaeverything. ”

  For the first time, Holland thought he saw a flicker of apprehension in the marquis’s eyes, but quickly Tramore mastered it.

  “What are you saying, Jones? Are you blackmailing me into leaving her alone?” The marquis’s voice was even and low, not revealing a whisper of his true feelings.

  “Precisely,” Holland admitted. “For some reason, Lissa doesn’t quite hate you. But as you well know, I can see to it that she does.”

  Ivan thought on this a moment, wrestling with all the different courses laid out before him. His hand lifted to finger the scar on his cheek again, and this seemed to force him to a decision. Grimly he looked up at Holland. The picture of self-control, he said, “Get out.”

  Lissa sat at the lace-covered dressing table in her room at Harewood. Tonight was yet another soirée, and the thought of dressing, smiling, and waltzing was enough to make her feel wretched. That week alone she had been escorted to the Great Exhibition at Sydenham, attended a play at Covent Garden, a play at Drury Lane, and an opera at Haymarket, and endured a chariot ride through Regent’s Park. In addition, she had appeared at three routs, two dinners, and a ball. The previous week had held just as many social engagements, but none of them had brought her much pleasure.

  Though Ivan had attended many of the functions, he either stood by like an icicle while other men came to court her, or stood somberly in the corner drinking brandy and staring dispassionately at her false displays of enjoyment.

  Already the Duke of Rankston had invited her out for a weekend at his house in Westbourne, and she was almost afraid that, without much prompting, the smitten duke might ask for her hand in marriage. Then what would she do?

  Wild-eyed, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She would either have to refuse poor Rankston and humiliate herself by proclaiming her unrequited love for Ivan, or she would have to marry the duke, forever chaining herself to a man she did not love.

  In defeat, she put her head in her hands. She could never marry Rankston. That would be more cruel than anything she had ever done to Ivan. So what was left? Only the sure knowledge that when Rankston proposed—if he proposed—she would crumble. Ivan would have his merriment and she would be known as the madwoman of Violet Croft.

  She moaned.

  “Such a display! Are you going to a wake this evening or the Earl of Claymore’s soirée?”

  Lissa looked up and saw Antonia enter her room. Lady Kovel looked absolutely breathtaking in a gown of emerald satin. Though Lissa was as richly dressed, her pale, drawn features hardly complemented her elegant glittering costume.

  “Lissa! Let me look at you! Annabel did a lovely job with your hair! Why are you so glum?”

  Lissa stared at her reflection in the mirror. Antonia’s lady’s maid had done an exceptional job with her tresses. She had piled them high on her head and circled them with a wreath of tiny rosebuds, fresh from Lord Kovel’s greenhouse. Her gown of mint velvet set off the unusual hue of the flowers perfectly. She had every device to look as stunning as Antonia, yet there was no hiding her crest-fallen features.

  Wearily Lissa laid her head on the dressing table. She couldn’t even look at Antonia. “I don’t want to go out tonight,” she whispered.

  Antonia came up to her and placed a tender hand on her head. Quietly she said, “Then we shall stay home. Is that what you want?”

  “No. I want Ivan to love me,” she confessed, her voice ragged with emotion. By now she was beyond tears. All she could do was lay her cheek against the fine lace and silently beg for comfort.

  “What if I told you he does love you, Lissa?” Antonia soothed.

  “With all my heart, I would want to believe it were true. But,” she whispered unhappily, “he’s never told me he loves me.”

  “How can he know how to say words he’s never heard himself?”

  Slowly Lissa sat up. “What—whatever do you mean?”

  Antonia gave her a sad little smile. “Who has ever told the marquis ‘I love you’? Not his father, I imagine. If his mother ever said those words, that’s now most assuredly beyond his ability to remember.”

  “But you—what about you?” she blurted out.

  Antonia remained silent. Lissa paused. Antonia had always made it clear that she and Ivan had never been in love. Their relationship had been driven by lust and need, and now by friendship.

  Lissa’s eyes darkened. “But still, Ivan must have had many other women, I know it. Why did none of them speak the words?”

  “Because they were all a poor substitute for the woman he really wanted. And they all knew it.”

  “Oh, if only I could believe you!” Lissa whispered longingly.

  “You know what I think?” Antonia looked at her in her dressing mirror. “I think in the end the solution is yours if you will but take the challenge. Why don’t you go to Ivan tonight? Teach him those simple words. Speak them once and I’ll wager you’ll hear them back for the rest of your life.”

  Lissa’s tormented
gaze met Antonia’s. “In your own way, though you never did speak the words, you love him too, don’t you?”

  Antonia smiled softly. “Ivan’s a difficult man, but I understand him. I see how desperately he aches for your love.”

  “Is it true? Could he really loveme ?”

  Antonia laughed and turned Lissa’s head toward the mirror. When Lissa looked at her own reflection, Antonia said in a voice that was as clear as a bell, “It’s true.”

  When Antonia had gone, Lissa knew she would never attend the soirée. She meant to summon a hack that very hour and go to the house on Piccadilly, but a visit from Holland delayed her.

  After he had checked on her that first morning almost a fortnight ago, Lissa hadn’t seen Holland again. He had had matters to attend to for the Powerscourt estate, but he’d told her he’d look in on her before he went back to Nodding Knoll. Upon his first arrival, Lissa had profusely apologized for giving her sister and brother-in-law such a scare. She had then cabled Evvie to assure her herself that she was all right. She’d written her sister a letter or two since, and though she ached to see her again, Lissa vowed, especially now, not to return to Violet Croft until all was settled with the marquis.

  “Holland, do tell Evvie how much I miss her, will you?” Lissa said while they sat in Harewood’s drawing room. “And tell her I’m planning to return to Nodding Knoll soon.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me in the morning?” Holland asked as if sensing her rather melancholy mood.

  “No, thank you. I shall come back on my own—when I’m ready.”

  “Well . . . if you forgive me, I must be off.” He rose. “I certainly understand your reluctance to leave London. Lady Kovel has been too generous. We’ll always be indebted to her for taking you under her wing.”

  “Yes, she is truly wonderful.” Lissa smiled. Antonia was the truest friend she had ever known. No matter what happened with Ivan, she would treasure her and the Kovels’ acquaintance forever.

  “I hope you continue to have a grand time. You deserve it, Lissa.”

  She looked up at Holland as she walked him to the drawing room doors. “Tell Evvie I’m making brilliant social conquests, will you?” She laughed. “Even if you are stretching the truth, I want her to think so.”

  He stopped by the doors. “I’m sure it’s no lie, Lissa. You look lovely tonight. I’ll describe every detail to Evvie.” He studied her a moment, then motioned to the wreath of flowers in her hair. “I’ve never seen such roses—they appear almost lavender.”

  “Kovel grows them,” she said lightly. “He’s quite a horticulturist, I’ve come to find. He’s got an entire greenhouse full of unusual specimens. These little beauties”—she touched the wreath—“grow only at Harewood.”

  “Fascinating.” Holland smiled. “Perhaps Evvie shall come to London and be invited to tour Kovel’s greenhouse. I’m sure the scents would please her immensely.”

  “That would be wonderful. When she’s settled at the bailiff’s house, we must do it.”

  “Good-bye, then, Lissa.” Holland kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I leave you in Lady Kovel’s capable hands. Write soon and tell us of your triumphs.”

  “I will,” she said wryly, wondering if any triumphs would ever await her.

  Anxiously she watched Holland quit the drawing room. When he had gone, her thoughts turned once more upon Ivan. It was a bold move to go galloping off to his house. Did she dare? Did she have the courage? She desperately wanted to speak with him, yet now her bravery seemed to be failing her.

  Vexed she paced the room. He loved her!He lovedher! Antonia swore he did. So could it be true? Was fate really being so kind as to grant her her only wish? If she would only say the words?

  And if he didn’t tell her he loved her back? She paused, then began pacing again as the answers came to her. She would be patient. His reaction to her words was all that really mattered. That, more than anything else, would tell her he loved her. His words would come later. She just had to have faith and believe it.

  “James,” she called out to the hallway where Harewood’s butler stood sentry, “have Lord and Lady Kovel left for the evening?”

  “Yes, miss. Almost an hour ago.”

  “Then could you please summon me one of their carriages?” She prayed she was doing the right thing.

  The ride to Piccadilly was quick, despite the light rain that hampered traffic. The coach brought her right to the marquis’s door. The driver helped her from the carriage and assisted her to the front entrance. A small, tremulous smile appeared on her lips as she looked back at the man. He was waiting for her to knock. Now for the first time in her life she had hope, yet suddenly she was afraid. All she had to do was enter the house and say three little words; now she wasn’t sure she could do it.

  But she had to. Her entire future rested on having faith in what Antonia had told her. For her to hear Ivan just once whisper “I love you,” the risk would be well worth it. Without further ado, she softly pounded the brass knocker.

  Biddles answered the door. Though he obviously took great pride in his implacable façade, this night, it slipped. His surprise at seeing her was obvious.

  Trying desperately to smile, she said, “Hello, Biddles. May I come in?”

  She wasn’t sure what her reception would be, but quickly the majordomo remembered himself. He ushered her in and took her ruby-colored cloak, now damp from the rain.

  “Is he in?” she asked.

  “He’s in the library, Miss Alcester.” Biddles nodded to a pair of closed doors off the entrance hall. He then gave her what almost looked to be a smile. “I’m glad you’ve come, miss. He’s been in a fine temper. Cook’s ready to take one of her knives to him if he doesn’t start eating.”

  “Good heavens.” Her eyes turned to the mahogany doors.

  Biddles sadly shook his head. “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen him.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Then I’ll leave you, miss. But if you need anything, anything at all, just use the bell pull.”

  Taking a deep breath, Lissa walked to the closed mahogany doors. Quietly she grasped the handle and let herself into the library.

  She loved the room. Even the smell delighted her. As her fingers touched the dusty tomes behind the door, she felt overwhelmed by Ivan’s presence. His library was as dark, handsome, and moody as he was.

  She found him sitting in one of the club chairs, frowning and staring into the fire. His hand clenched a glass of spirits. In the dark of the library, he appeared to be the loneliest man she had ever seen. Suddenly her very soul wept for him, for the cruel circumstances that had hardened him into such a morose figure. Her eyes softened with love as she studied that dear frown. She vowed, then and there, that if it were within her power, she would erase it from his face forever.

  “Lord Powerscourt,” she whispered.

  His head snapped up. His gaze pierced her. “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly. “I thought tonight was Claymore’s little ball.”

  “Antonia and Kovel went to it. I was not in the mood.”

  “Not in the mood?” He released a cynical laugh. “What young woman is not in the mood to be fawned at until her admirers’ spittle must be wiped off their chins?”

  “Has it been that bad?” A smile of her own touched her lips.

  “That bad!” He snorted. “I’ve never seen such a mockery of manhood.”

  “Were you never smitten then? Not even once?”

  The question took him aback. He tore his gaze away from hers and stared into his near-empty glass. “I never behaved like those dandies—why, that Rankston practically trips over himself when you enter a room, and that Claymore! He stutters like a babbling fool whenever he speaks of you!”

  “You’re speaking of a duke and an earl, you know. Surely they possess more dignity than that.”

  “Dignity!” he scoffed. “Those two jackasses wouldn’t know how to spell the word, let alone exemplify
it.”

  “But you approve of Lady Antonia’s nephew, what is his name . . . ?” She furrowed her brow and made a display of trying to recall.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” he stated dryly. “There are, after all, nine of them, if I recall.”

  “Bother their names then. Yet you do approve of Kovel’s nephews? They behave in the most exemplary way. And are handsome and rich as well.”

  Suddenly he became furious. He rose from his chair and strode over to where she stood. He slammed the heavy, book-laden door behind her and put his hands on the case on either side of her head.

  “You listen to me, Lissa. None of them is right for you, do you hear? And until that right man comes along, you’d best heed my advice.”

  She looked up at him, delighting in his dark, angry features. “My lord,” she whispered breathlessly, “methinks you protest too much.”

  “I haven’t protested enough! I’ve left you in Antonia’s care and she, by God, is leading you astray. I hear Rankston is close to proposing—tell him no, Lissa, or I shall have to intervene.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?” she asked. “The same way you got rid of Albert and Wilmott? Do you plan to buy off every suitor I have? Every eligible man in London?” Suddenly she laughed, taunting him deliberately. “Evenyou haven’t enoughmoney for all ofthat. ”

  Violently he gripped her arms and pulled her to him. His voice cracked. “I’ll kill them then, if I have too.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “You won’t have to, my lord. I don’t want any of them,” she said quietly.

  “You don’t want them?” His touch grew gentler.

  “None of them.”

  “Whom do you want then?” he asked in disbelief.

  Without speaking, she stood on tiptoe and pulled his dark head down to hers. He almost flinched when she tenderly rested her own unblemished cheek upon his scarred one. She held him against her until it was almost more than he could bear. His cold exterior cracked. He closed his eyes and his hand swept her hair.

  “You, Ivan. I want you.I love you,” she finally whispered in his ear. She looked at him then, desperate for a sign, for even the possibility that he might one day love her too. Awe appeared in his eyes and she suddenly knew she’d found it. He seemed almost afraid of what she’d said, as if already he despaired of never hearing the words again. But his fear, like her own, did not stop him. When she pulled him to her, he kissed her as he’d never kissed her before. His mouth was hungry yet tender, and though he never said the words, his lips seemed to promise that the words would come. He held her so tightly within his arms, she felt she almost couldn’t breathe. Nonetheless, she delighted in his embrace, wanting only to be closer to him. Tonight there was no past, only a future. When he kissed her again, a tear slipped down her cheek. Her heart wanted to burst with joy.