Angel Of Windword

by Maggie Dove

  “Duels are no longer the thing, my dear,” Alistair informed condescendingly. “You are priceless, absolutely priceless! I’m afraid Kent will not stop at my head.” His body shook with mock dread; his eyes glanced down, hinting at the precise organ that would be cut off if Nicholas were to catch his wife in the arms of another. “Oh, if only I’d had the opportunity of meeting you first, my dear. Kent is a very lucky man.”

  At the mere mention of her husband’s name, Angelique’s eyes betrayed her, instantly traveling to where Nicholas had been standing just a few seconds earlier. She spotted him, and despite herself, her heart skipped a beat. There he was, surrounded by a group of adoring females, each one devouring his every word, looking as though they would faint at his feet at any given time.

  Angelique smirked, just imagining the silly platitudes being thrown his way. Although she considered the doting mademoiselles simply a nuisance, watching Clarissa Blake smile boldly into her husband’s eyes while she clung to him provocatively made Angelique burn with fury.

  The nerve of the woman! she thought angrily, as she noticed Clarissa pressing herself even closer to Nicholas as he spoke. Finally, as though her shameless antics were not sufficiently insulting, the hateful woman winked at her from a distance, causing Angelique to quickly avert her gaze.

  Hastily making his excuses to the ladies, Nicholas disentangled his arm from Clarissa’s clutches and strode toward her.

  Angelique’s heart pounded as she saw him making his way across the dance floor. Turning her gaze away, she smiled warmly at Alistair. Then her heart began to race even more when she felt Nicholas beside her and heard his deep drawl.

  “Thornsworth, old man, you don’t mind if I dance with my wife.”

  Alistair had been about to object, but quickly changed his mind. “Of course, my good man. She’s all yours.” Stepping back from Angelique, he took his leave.

  Angelique began to protest, but Nicholas swept her in his arms. “Come closer, Angelique,” he invited huskily. “I want to feel your arms around me.” She shook her head in refusal, but he tightened his embrace despite her protestations, whispering hoarsely into her ear, “You can put up with one dance. Surely, you can withstand the agony for a few minutes. I did not see you fight Thornsworth’s advances earlier. You tolerated him just fine. Bloody fool …”

  “Alistair made no advances—and I did too fight them, monsieur!”

  “Make up your mind. Which was it?” Not waiting for a response, Nicholas drew her tight against his hard chest until she thought she could not take another breath, and he began to twirl her to the music.

  Realizing that every eye in the place was fixed on them, Angelique smiled dutifully up at him as they danced. The music stopped, but they remained on the dance floor.

  “I’m glad you’re wearing the necklace.”

  “Janie noticed it on the dressing table. I had to wear it. But do not worry, monsieur, Clarissa is welcome to it as soon as the night is over.”

  “Clarissa means nothing to me.”

  “Really?” Angelique bit out sarcastically. “I must have imagined her walking naked from your bedroom wrapped in silks … silks which you brought from India.”

  Angelique looked over her shoulder. It would not do to cause a scene. Not at the Canonbury ball … not tonight of all nights! Confident they were not being overheard, she demanded in a tight whisper, “How naïve do you think I am? You are not back two hours, and she’s in your bed. I don’t care if you run off with her, but do try to be a bit more discreet, my lord. I refuse to be pitied.”

  “Damn it, Angelique, she wasn’t in my bed, and the silks were for you,” Nicholas responded, humorously. “I had hoped our brief separation would warm you toward me, but I find you are angrier than when I left. Get through your head. It’s you I want.”

  The tenderness in his expression amazed her, making her want to throw her arms around him. A thousand emotions passed through her, but she refused to bend—not even a little. This evening when she had first seen him in her dressing room, her skin had suddenly turned to gooseflesh. If Clarissa had not intruded, she would probably have forgiven him everything. No! Never again would she permit herself to fall into his trap, nor would she allow herself to forget the kind of man he was. The memory of Clarissa’s naked body, draped only in sheer Indian silk, a gift from Nicholas, tormented her beyond reason. Beneath his lovely words lay an adulterer whose lust she would never appease. She would never admit to him that she had missed him terribly while he was away. He would never know.

  Her feelings in turmoil, she turned her face away from him, not wanting him to see how his words had affected her. “But I don’t want you. I’m only pretending. It is an act, monsieur.”

  “Is it also an act to want to tear out Clarissa’s eyes every time you see her near me?”

  Angelique hissed, baring her teeth in an obligatory smile. “Conceited bastard,” she whispered. Without another word, she turned and left him standing alone on the dance floor.

  * * * *

  Clarissa, never missing an opportunity, rushed forward. “Come, Nicky darling. You promised me a dance.”

  “Did I?” Nicholas asked, staring after his wife’s back and cursing under his breath as he watched her being pulled back onto the dance floor by Lord Jonathan Bladen—the infamous Marquis of Haventhorn. Absently, he took Clarissa in his arms, and they began to waltz.

  “Was she very angry about earlier, Nicky?” Clarissa asked with a sly grin.

  “I have a mind to send you packing to your brother.”

  She stiffened. “Live with Chauncy and that silly wife of his? You must be joking, Nicky!” Then, following his angry stare, she laughed haughtily. “Jealous, darling? I am certain Blade would just love to get his hands on her. I wonder how long before she starts cuckolding you, Nicky. That is if she hasn’t already. Two months is a very long time, my darling.”

  Nicholas did not bother to respond. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her none too gently to a group of old dowagers. “Ladies, my sister-in-law is captivated by the fine art of needlepoint. Please tell her where you meet, so she can join you one of these afternoons.”

  Ignoring Clarissa’s pleading look and the eager exclamations directed at her from the elderly women, he turned and began to make his way back to the dance floor in search of Angelique. He stopped when he noticed her face flushed with anger, alongside his friend Blade, who looked as though he had just been affronted, his eyes blazing, his mouth clenched with irritation.

  Angelique spotted Anna and made her way toward her. “It seems to me there are a few young men pining for your attention, chérie. Why are you all alone?”

  Anna returned her gaze to the staircase. “I do not wish to be otherwise occupied when Lucas makes his appearance. Have you seen him?” she asked, bursting with excitement.

  “I wouldn’t know … I’ve never met Lucas,” Angelique responded, more than a bit distracted. She had not enjoyed doing battle with Lord Bladen. The nerve, insinuating French women were easy. After the stories she had heard and what she, herself, had seen in London during the past two months! Nonetheless, she did feel a little guilty at having thrown in his face the scandal she had heard involving his Aunt Belinda and “that awful gardener”.

  “He knows now what he can do with his passionate interlude!”

  “What interlude? What are you talking about, Angelique?”

  “Why are these … these men …” Angelique stammered, embarrassed to go on.

  Anna laughed heartily. “Why are these men so intent on having you? The reason is quite simple. Their sweethearts have thrown themselves at Nicholas for years. They want to get even with him. I hope you are setting them straight.”

  “Oui, of course, but I’m exhausted! It’s hard work having to repeat that I’m madly in love with my husband over and over again.”

  “It shouldn’t be so hard—since it is the truth.”

  The truth—her relationship with Nicholas was nothing but a lie
!

  “My heart is pounding so, Angelique. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep since Mother mentioned that Lucas would be here tonight. I haven’t seen him in over three years!”

  “Are you certain you love him, chérie? After all, you were just fourteen the last time you saw him.”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything,” Anna declared with conviction. “I’ve loved Lucas my entire life. The more men I meet, the more I love him.”

  “But you are cousins.”

  “Distant cousins. Only distant cousins,” she replied smiling, quickly recounting how her father’s fourth cousin, Jeremy, had met and married Lucas’s mother, Gabriella, when he had gone to Italy on business many years ago.

  “When I was seven, I fell off my horse,” she went on, “and was knocked out for a few seconds. When I came to, a pair of brilliant green eyes stared down at me.”

  Her eyes rooted to the staircase for any sign of Lucas, Anna took a breath and continued, “Angelique, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. He looks like a Greek God,” she said, sighing. “Then he picked me up and introduced himself. I almost fainted all over again. Nicholas is only a couple of years older than he is, so needless to say, they shared plenty—including their love for the sea. Sometimes I think Nicholas is closer to Lucas than he was to our own brother, James. Oh, why must I bring up James tonight?” she chided herself. “My heart breaks every time I think about his death.”

  “Hush, chérie. Any minute now you shall see your Lucas. You wouldn’t want him to find you frowning after all these years, would you?”

  “Wait until you see him, Angelique. He even puts Nicky to shame.”

  Angelique chuckled incredulously. “Does your brother know how you feel about this Adonis?”

  Anna looked horrified. “Promise me you won’t say anything to Nicholas! He won’t approve.” She smiled wistfully. “Oh, Angelique, tonight I plan to sweep Lucas off his feet.”

  “Poor Lucas won’t know what hit him,” Angelique teased.

  “Oh—hush!” Anna retorted, laughing. “Nicky didn’t know he was ready to take a bride, but the moment he saw you, he changed his mind. He thought he was in love once, but—” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly serious. “Never mind. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “Take that look of panic from your face, chérie. I know all about Clarissa.”

  “That witch broke his heart, Angelique. I’ve never said this before, but I’m convinced she killed my brother, James,” Anna exclaimed passionately, her eyes narrowing into slits of contempt. “I hate her!”

  “Chérie, surely, you cannot believe Clarissa actually killed your brother.”

  “Yes, I believe it. James was drunk, and he fell down a flight of stairs. She was the reason he was drunk. She’s as guilty as if she herself had pushed him down those stairs.”

  The image of Clarissa in silk was imprinted on Angelique’s mind, and she was still seething at the thought of that near-naked woman in her husband’s room. “If it is any consolation to you, I hate her too,” she whispered heatedly. “But never mind Clarissa, what are you going to do when you finally see this wonderful Lucas?”

  “You mean after I faint at his feet and the Dowager Duchess has to drag me to her chambers in a huff?”

  “Your wife’s intoxicating beauty accented by her voguish French style has taken London quite by storm, my boy. She has been dubbed a genuine original by the flattering tongues of the ton. You are a fortunate man, my dear Kent.” The Dowager Duchess’s words came back to Nicholas as his eyes scanned the ballroom for any sign of Angelique. Good God, what a trying ordeal. The ‘ton’, thought Nicholas, the term was a bit outdated, but, for that matter, so was the Dowager Duchess of Canonbury. Damn, he was itching to leave. Then his eyes fixed on Angelique. Good, she was with Anna. He was tired of watching his wife dance and swirl past him in someone else’s arms. Another hour and he would insist that she retire for the night. No doubt, she would protest.

  Across the room, five majestic chandeliers hung from the high-beamed ceiling, but the luster of their sparkling crystals could not compare to the glow emanating from his young wife tonight. Unlike he, who was longing to leave, she was, no doubt, reveling at being the center of attention.

  “Enjoying yourself?” asked the familiar voice, taking Nicholas by surprise and making him turn around.

  Unable to believe his eyes, Nicholas squinted at the figure walking toward him. “Of all the—you!”

  Lucas chuckled, coming to stand before him with a familiar, reckless grin. “Surprised to see me? Not nearly as surprised as I was when I heard about your recent nuptials. How hard did dear old Uncle Edmund have to twist your arm to get you into this predicament?”

  Seconds later, after exchanging enthusiastic hugs and hearty pats on the back, each man stepped back to inspect the other, and for a silent moment, they smiled in camaraderie, glad to be reunited. “What the devil are you doing back?” Nicholas laughed with delight. “I never thought you’d risk your sorry hide.”

  Lucas gave Nicholas a broad wink. “Rest easy, cousin, my return to London has nothing to do with Marguerite. But speaking of marital bliss, how are the Marquis and Marchioness of Devon? I’ve been told the marquis no longer wants me dead. It seems he gave Marguerite a mere slap on the wrist, and it was never spoken of again.”

  “Lucas, I hope you are not planning on taking up where you left off three years ago. They’re happy now—don’t spoil it.”

  “My, but you’ve turned into a pillar of virtue!” Lucas guffawed. “Who would have thought the Lothario from Windword Hall would admonish me for having an illicit affair.” He turned his attention to the powder room. “I wonder what is keeping my escort. She’s been in there so long, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve imagined her. Well, never mind her. I need a favor from you, Nick.”

  “What is it this time—poker—an angry husband—the Bank of Kent?” Nicholas asked, knowing exactly why his very industrious cousin was back in London.

  “My contacts in America are quite lucrative,” Lucas replied. “As soon as I convince you and Uncle Edmund to let me head the organization in the States, I’ll be on the first ship to Boston.”

  “You don’t have to convince us, Lucas. It’s to our advantage to have someone we trust in America. We were going to suggest the very thing. You’ll need to stay for a few days so we can discuss details.”

  With a sudden scowl, Lucas looked about the room. “A few days may be too much to bear. It’s a bit stuffy on this side of the Atlantic. In Boston, a man is judged by what he makes of himself and not by what he has been fortunate enough to inherit. I’d rather be deemed on my merits and not because I happen to be the Marquis of Bradenford.”

  Nicholas laughed incredulously. “Listen to you. You sound just like Anna in one of her fiery speeches.”

  “How is the little minx?” Lucas asked fondly. “Maybe I’ll stay long enough to best her at tennis. What do you say?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued with a questioning grin. “Well, enough about Annie. How is the beautiful mademoiselle? Is she making you a good wife?”

  Nicholas smirked, knowing he was going to be mercilessly ribbed.

  “Tight-lipped as ever—my God—would you look at that!” Lucas whistled under his breath, his eyes full of deviltry. “Wouldn’t I just love to have her in my bed tonight?”

  “Nick, do you know her name?”

  Wondering who could have caught his attention, Nicholas followed Lucas’s gaze. Then an uncontrollable fury seized him, making him want to wring his cousin’s neck.

  “Get your eyes off her—she’s mine.”

  Lucas laughed. “Relax, cousin. I’m not about to risk my life for any woman, not even your lovely French bride. Tell me, who is the delectable tidbit standing beside your Angelique. She is the one who stirs my loins.”

  “You damned well better not mean Anna!”

  “Anna?” Lucas blanched. “She cannot be!”

  “She is—you son of a bit
ch—I’ll kill you if you think—”

  “God, Nick, who would have thought? She’s beautiful!”

  “Lucas, cousin or no cousin, you put one finger on her and I swear I’ll—”

  “For God’s sake. I love her as a sister. I’ll kill any man who goes near her.”

  “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

  “Worried about me—me?” Lucas began to object, his voice rising.

  “The little idiot fancies herself in love with you,” Nicholas quickly interjected. “She continues to pine for your affections and passes every opportunity that comes her way. Marriage to you is out of the question—she deserves better.”