Angel Of Windword

by Maggie Dove

  “It hurts, Angelique. I can’t help that. However, starting tomorrow, I’m going to put this bloody mess behind me and hold on to what’s left of my pride. But first, you will tell me the truth.”

  “Tell you what, chérie?”

  “Are you in love with my brother?”

  “Very much so,” Angelique admitted.

  “Then go to him,” Anna ordered. “Nicky must be fit to be tied.” Her lips curved into a half smile as she rose from the bed and gave Angelique a warm hug. “You’re very dear to me, Angelique. I’m fortunate to have you as a sister.”

  Before she could respond, Angelique heard a knock on the door.

  “Anna, it’s Nicholas. Let me in.”

  “Come in, Nicky, your wife was just telling me all about Henri Bertrand.”

  “Oh?” Nicholas commented tightly, as he walked into the room.

  “Calm down.” Anna smiled. “She was also letting me know just how much she loves you. Now go, both of you. Goodnight!”

  A tender expression crossed his features. “Let’s do as she asks, Angelique, before she changes her mind.”

  Her cheeks burning, Angelique turned away from his dark, penetrating gaze and stepped into the hallway. Nicholas followed her, shutting the door behind them. He guided her to their suite at the end of the hallway. Once they were in the room, he turned to her, closing his arms around her. “Is it true?”

  “Oui, I love you, Nicholas,” she admitted. “I love you very much.”

  The fire she saw in Nicholas’s eyes sent a tingling to the pit of her stomach. Grabbing her against him, his mouth covered hers in a ravaging kiss. For a long time, all he did was kiss her. His lips were warm and tender while his tongue entered her mouth in slow, delicious thrusts. Slowly, he withdrew his mouth from hers, drawing in his breath as he disrobed her and her breasts fell free to his view.

  She felt as if she would melt under his smoldering gaze, only to shiver when he began to place soft kisses on her neck and shoulders.

  Stepping back, Nicholas started to undress. “Come to bed, Angelique,” he groaned in a guttural command before carrying her to his bed. Placing her on the soft mattress, he lowered himself down beside her.

  His mouth traveled from her lips to her breasts. Whimpering, Angelique grasped his head to her bosom and ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back. “Please, Nicholas, please!” she begged him.

  “Please what, angel?” she heard him ask in a teasing, husky voice. “Where exactly is it you want me to please you—here?” His hand moved down between her thighs. “Or here?” he whispered roughly, as his forefinger stroked her intimately, driving her into a frenzy.

  Lifting her hips, he entered her and began to move slowly within her, emerging slightly only to penetrate deeper and deeper with each thrust. Panting, Angelique moved her head from side to side on the pillow as she arched her hips to meet his thrusts. “Don’t hold back, Angelique,” he urged, increasing his pace, rapidly building the pressure inside her. Then jolt after jolt of savage pleasure riveted through her body as his warm seed poured into her.

  A short time later, Nicholas stirred. “Marry me, angel,” he whispered into her ear, while they lay side by side, her buttocks curved snugly against his thighs.

  Smiling, she turned in his arms to lift her face up to his. “But we are married.”

  “I want you to bear my children,” he said hoarsely, his dark, granite features full of passion. “I want to grow old with you. I love you, Angelique. God knows, I love you.”

  * * * *

  Several weeks later, Angelique awoke to find Janie hovering over her with a breakfast tray. “Janie,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again and turning on her side. “Come back later.”

  Paying no heed, Janie placed the tray down and opened the heavy velvet curtains. “Time to rise, my lady. Lord Nicholas has left instructions for you to meet him in Hyde Park at noon. Something about a picnic—and a surprise.”

  “A picnic?” Angelique asked, stifling a yawn and squinting at the piercing light coming in through the bedroom window. She sat up and stretched, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes and noticed Nicholas’s empty pillow beside her. “When did he leave?”

  “Early this morning. He had business, but he insisted that I wake you now, to give you plenty of time to get ready. Something about you not keeping good time.”

  The rascal, Angelique thought, smiling. Her body ached from his ardent caresses of the night before; his masculine scent lingered over her. Embarrassed, she turned away from Janie, as though the maid could guess by her expression what had taken place between these torrid sheets last night.

  The past few weeks passed languidly through her mind and her cheeks warmed at the glorious things he had done to her in this very bed, things she had never imagined possible; wonderful, delicious things which had both shocked and excited her. He had used every part of his body to bring her to ecstasy, and had taught her to do the same. Nothing in her past could have prepared her for the extent of Nicholas’s lust, nor the abandonment with which she had followed his sultry, husky instructions.

  She certainly had never read anything like this in the racy St. John novels.

  Taking the porcelain cup and saucer in her hand, Angelique twirled her spoon in the dark hot tea and smiled to herself, knowing that Amanda’s books would be banned and the odious authoress would be banished if ever she had the audacity to write anything so bold.

  “Drink your tea, my lady. It’s getting cold.”

  Angelique took one sip of the tea and grimaced at the sour taste. Oh, how she missed her café au lait and croissants. “I’ve had enough, Janie—thank you. I’m afraid I’ll never grow accustomed to the bitter brew considered nectar in this part of the world,” she said, teasing. “Oh, I received a communiqué from Tante Mattie yesterday. She is settled in at Windword and will be waiting for us when we arrive a few days after the coronation.”

  “You hold your aunt dearly,” the maid commented before retiring the breakfast tray.

  “Oui, I’m longing to see her. I’ve missed her terribly. Were you able to find my yellow skirt?”

  “No, my lady, and I have looked everywhere,” Janie responded as she bent down to pick up a few items of clothing which had been recklessly discarded during the previous night’s passion.

  Pushing aside the covers, Angelique rose from the bed. “Did you say Lord Nicholas has a surprise for me? What is it?”

  The maid took Angelique’s pink lacy robe and handed it to her. “You wouldn’t want me to betray a confidence, would you, my lady? Before I forget, Lord Edmund is waiting to see you in his study once you’ve dressed,” she said dryly.

  “Janie, is anything troubling you?” Angelique asked, noticing for the first time her maid’s less than cheerful mood.

  “It’s my sister, Moira.”

  “Lord Nicholas has mentioned that your sister lives here in London. Is there anything wrong?”

  “She is quite ill,” the maid finally admitted, grimacing. “I’m sick with worry. My niece and nephew have no one to look after them. Oh, Lady Angelique, if you could see the wretched state these poor little ones are in.”

  “You must tend to her at once. Is her condition serious?” Angelique asked with concern.

  “Oh, no, my lady—just a sorry case of the flu. Moira does not need me in the evenings—her husband is home. Maybe if I went mornings, I would be able to assist her with the children.”

  “Janie, stay as long as necessary. You should take advantage of the time in London to be with your sister. Once the season is over, you will not be able to enjoy her company.”

  “I appreciate your kindness, but Moira’s husband and I do not get on. The less we see of each other, the better. I will return and help you dress for your outings at night. Oh—and, my lady, please do not worry my mother. She does not know of Moira’s illness. Like me, she’ll fret about the children.”

  “I shall not breathe a word to Bertie. She should not w
orry needlessly. Now go to Moira, but first be a dear and on your way out peep your head into the study, and tell my father-in-law I’ll be right down.”

  Janie smiled warmly. “Thank you, my lady. I hope Lord Nicholas appreciates how kind-hearted you are—I certainly do. Come to think of it—about your missing skirt—”

  The maid hesitated at the dressing room door. “I saw Lady Clarissa wearing a skirt exactly like yours only two days ago. Before I go, let me have another look in the armoire.”

  “Just as I thought,” Janie cried out from the dressing room. “There are other items missing, too! Come and see. Your blue dress, your white silk blouse and black skirt—I’ll just bet it is Lizzie. That girl is more than a bit scattered. This is not the first time she takes something by mistake in the laundry and hangs it up for Lady Clarissa to wear. I’ll have a talk with her and retrieve your belongings. Your bath is ready, my lady.”

  Entering the dressing room, Angelique shed her robe and negligée and stepped into the bathtub. When the maid tried to assist her with her bath, she waved her away. “Go to your sister, Janie, and don’t mention anything to Lizzie. I wouldn’t want Lady Clarissa to think I was accusing her of taking my clothes.”

  * * * *

  A half-hour later, dressed for her picnic with Nicholas, Angelique knocked lightly and entered the study to find a frustrated Lord Edmund sitting behind his large desk sorting through a multitude of yellow-stained documents.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord, but Janie said you wish to see me.”

  The earl stood, motioning for Angelique to take a seat.

  “Come in, come in, my dear. Your interruption is a godsend. I cannot find a single document on this desk. I suppose it’s my own fault, but it’s still quite maddening,” Lord Edmund rambled on as he sat behind his desk once again.

  “I don’t want to keep you from your picnic with Nicholas, my dear. I just wanted to inform you that Bertrand has been detained abroad. I know I told you he would be back in London by now.”

  Angelique sobered as she sat across from him in a big brown leather chair. “It is imperative that I speak with him, my lord. I must tell him that I intend to stay married to Nicholas when the year is over.”

  Staring at her through his reading glasses, Edmund smiled at the news. “Nicholas told me, and you don’t know how happy this makes me. I knew that you and Nicholas would work out your differences. It was only a matter of time. But are you certain you want to see Bertrand?”

  “Oui, now, more than ever. My heart weighs heavy when I think of how I’ve betrayed Henri. I cannot remain silent and allow Henri to think I will be returning to him. Lord Edmund, I must release him from his promise to me.”

  With a wave of his hand, Lord Edmund dismissed her words. “Nonsense, my girl. In the affairs of the heart, everything is fair game. Just ask your mother-in-law. She’ll tell you.” He chuckled. “Bertrand allowed you to marry my son. Surely, he must have realized there was a possibility something like this could happen between you. I’ve gotten to know the young man, and he is quite astute. Did he really think Nicholas was going to live with you for an entire year as your husband and nothing—”

  “Henri didn’t just allow me to marry Nicholas, monsieur.” Angelique glowered in frustration. “He was practically kidnapped and forced to go along with Nicholas’s scheme. My husband has admitted this much to me.”

  “Please forgive me, my dear. Now I’ve offended you. It was not my intention to make it sound as though you meant nothing to him. Marguerite tells me that I’ve always spoken my mind, but at this ripe old age, I must be getting worse. About Bertrand, I’m confident he will recover.”

  Angelique cleared her throat. “Lord Edmund, I cannot rest until Henri knows the truth. He needs to get back to England right away.”

  “Maybe it would be best if you sent Bertrand a note. He would receive it in the States. That way, you would never have to see him again.”

  “A note—certainly not!” She balked at her father-in-law’s suggestion. “Henri is very dear to me. He deserves much more than a simple note.”

  “Very well, then. He should be back within the month,” the earl replied matter-of-factly. “I’m afraid by the time Bertrand returns, you’ll be living at Windword. I suppose I’ll have no other choice but to send him there. Do you not think it best to tell Nicholas what you’re planning to do? His orders were for you not to see Bertrand, but the situation has changed. Bertrand is no longer a threat. I’m certain Nicholas is itching to get this bloody mess over with—the sooner the better.”

  Angelique shook her head. “Nicholas will only insist on being present when I talk to Henri. I don’t know how Henri is going to react. I’m afraid for both of them. No—I must do this alone. Leave Nicholas to me,” she said firmly.

  “I’ll do as you ask, my dear, but Nicholas will be livid. He hates any type of deception.”

  “I know,” Angelique agreed. “Hopefully, this will be the last time I shall have to keep something from him. Thank you, my lord. You have misgivings, yet you are willing to help me. I won’t forget this.”

  Angelique was about to bid her father-in-law a good day when Clarissa stormed into the study.

  “Edmund, I am James’s widow. Windword is my rightful place! Nicky can’t send me to my brother’s house to live. I’ll wither away in Burnley Hall.”

  With a curt nod toward the door, Lord Edmund acknowledged his other daughter-in-law. “Stop this raving, Clarissa, and sit down. You know better than I do—no one tells Nicholas what to do. “

  Blinded by her fury, Clarissa had not noticed Angelique standing beside the door until she was completely inside the room. “You!” she raged. “It’s all your bloody fault, you conniving little French whore. If not for you, Nicky would never have insisted that I leave.”

  Lord Edmund’s chair almost fell back as he jerked up, his face flushed with anger. “Apologize to Angelique at once,” he demanded. “This is precisely the reason why Nicholas has deemed to return you to your brother.”

  “Apologize to her? I will do no such thing—she’s a whore and nothing more! I want to strangle her little neck!” hissed Clarissa as she picked up her skirts and fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “Good riddance!” Edmund grunted, staring at the wooden door. “Pay no attention, Angelique, and enjoy your picnic. Clarissa Blake will go to Burnley Hall, and she shall live with Chauncy and his wife, Priscilla—whether she likes it or not.

  * * * *

  Clarissa could feel the flush of indignation on her face as she rushed up the stairs. Lord Edmund’s angry words grated on her nerves like fingernails screeching against a chalkboard. Apologize to the slut? Not in this lifetime! Hurling the bedroom door shut, she locked herself in her room and sent everything within her reach crashing to the floor.

  An hour later, she found herself sitting on the floor surrounded by broken mementos and goose feathers from the various pillows which she had shredded with a sharp, jeweled letter opener.

  She noticed a half-torn photograph of Nicholas among the debris. Her hands trembling with rage, she picked it up. He looked so handsomely daring, standing with his shirt flown open, on the deck of one of his damned ships. How dare he casually advise her at breakfast that she would not be returning to Windword Hall, that she was no longer welcome under his roof?

  “I’ve waited for years, you bastard—and for what? Nothing—absolutely nothing!” She tore what was left of the photograph into little pieces and threw them up in the air, allowing them to fall to the floor. “Damn you, Nicky! Damn you and your haughty little whore—you are both going to pay!”

  For weeks, she had been tormented by their cheap public displays of affection. Day or night, it did not matter to them, always ready for one another. Bile rose to her throat as she thought of the times that she had caught them in the library or in the dark hallways, clawing at each other’s clothes. On more than one occasion they had brushed right passed her as they rushed to
their chambers, not even acknowledging her presence, so enraptured with desire they were.

  Return to Burnley Hall? She stood and swatted the feathers from her wide skirts. When hell freezes over! Her plans were set in motion. She had already seen to those who would help her get revenge. By the time she was through with Nicholas, his sweet little wife would despise him.

  On her way out of the room, she noticed her favorite porcelain vase, a precious heirloom, which had been passed on through many generations and had been given to her by her grandmother, the Countess of Salesbury. The countess had cherished that vase. Her husband, the count, had presented it to her on their wedding night.

  Her grandmother’s last words came to mind; the soft, almost inaudible advice that had stammered from the dying woman’s frail, wrinkled lips, “Clary, one day James will make you a countess. Love passes, but your title lasts a lifetime. Promise me you’ll marry James Kent and forget his brother … Nicholas.”