Angel Of Windword

by Maggie Dove

  Edgar squinted his beady brown eyes. “Has Scotland Yard been knocking at our doors?” he asked cynically. “I have my hands full, Miss Clemmons. Stop worrying and lend me a hand with the children. There are too many of them, I can’t tell them apart. Don’t you want to see Colin before you leave?”

  Janie scoffed. “You must be jesting, Mason. I’m eager to get to Windword. That filthy little bastard is your problem, not mine.” Then with a sly lift of the brow, she snickered, “You should be delighted that I’m leaving. No one will hear or watch you this time.”

  Edgar Mason smiled in spite of his ugly mood. Let her go. He didn’t need her after all. The children could go hungry. What did he care? Let them cry—the object of his lust was chained and waiting for him in a room located in a remote corner of the house. He was not about to allow those yowling little ingrates to deter him from enjoying himself.

  “Mason, about the body …”

  “Go to Windword, Miss Clemmons,” Edgar clipped. “No one will find that girl’s body when I’m through with her. But before you go, let me thank you for making me a very rich man.”

  “Mason, don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Lord Nicholas may refuse to pay the ransom. It is taking him too long to respond to the note. Don’t you think? Maybe he doesn’t love the bitch after all,” Janie taunted wickedly.

  Edgar watched her leave. Chortling, she grabbed her bag and left the Mason poorhouse, never bothering to look back, never once asking to see her only child.

  Shortly afterwards, Edgar made his way down the hall, ignoring the dirty, desperate faces of the little ones before him. He pushed their tiny hands aside. “Out of my way!” he yelled as he raced to satisfy his lust for the girl. He did not want to hear the sounds of gurgling stomachs, nor smell the odor of excrement and urine. It was the French girl he wanted, and he wanted her now.

  Anxiously, he let himself into the room and locked the door behind him. “Wake up, my girl. Edgar wants you badly.” Filled with dark, vile cravings, he walked over to the bed and began to undress. “Are you sleeping, Frenchy? Let me pry open your silky, white thighs. Let me see the pleasure that awaits me.”

  Angelique did not move.

  “Pity, Frenchy, I want to listen to your screams while I have you. Damned drug works too well. Next time, perhaps?” he asked, standing naked at her side. His itchy hands quickly began to untie her bodice until her full breasts were displayed before him. His greedy eyes never left her bosom as he uttered gluttonously, “Why, Frenchy, they are perfection, so young, so firm and all mine!”

  His fingers pinched hard her rosy nipples and his mouth went down to bite them. He wanted to taste her blood. This would be the beginning of a long and torturous night for the young French girl. But the excitement was too great for him, and he ejaculated prematurely. When his short-lived gratification began to wane, he cursed violently, furious with himself. Trying to catch his breath, he sat on the chair beside the bed, his member hanging limp by his thigh.

  “I’ll still have a look at you,” he said angrily as he rose to stand by the bed. Tilting his head, he licked his lips while his hands lifted her skirts and roughly pulled down her petticoats. Before she could be completely exposed to him, he heard the thunderous sound of the door collapsing to the floor.

  “Get off her, you bastard—get your filthy hands off my wife.”

  Edgar’s eyes widened in horror as the blood drained from his face. He had never seen anyone more furious or more frightening! The viscount looked like the devil himself, his eyes bulging with rage, every muscle in his body bent on retaliation.

  Edgar took a step back from the bed. “I assure you, Kent, I didn’t hurt her. We were never alone … until … until now!” he stammered, cowering from the looming savage who was quickly upon him. “Please, I beg you. Don’t kill me!” he pleaded, before turning to run.

  A split second later, Edgar felt excruciating pain as he was grabbed by the nape of his neck, and his body crashed against the wall. His mind went blank for a moment. Terrified, he tried to move, the pain in his joints unbearable. He did not utter a sound, hoping he would not be noticed as he rose to a crouching position. He needed to escape, to flee from the Herculean monster who had attacked him. Luckily, the viscount seemed occupied as he tended to his wife.

  Clutching his clothes, Mason slipped out of the dark chamber. Running through the halls, he managed to dress and exit the building. However, he did not get far; the two armed guards waiting for him outside the front door easily handcuffed him.

  “Surely, there has been some mistake—release me!” Mason demanded frantically. To his horror, his pleas were completely ignored. His coughing became fitful at the sight of the children waving goodbye as the guards dragged him away.

  Nicholas had seen Edgar Mason making his escape from the room, but he had not bothered to stop him. Wasting no time, he had taken the key ring from the floor where Mason had dropped it, and had paid no more attention to the man. He would deal with him later. The sight of Angelique, pale and weak, held captive in chains on the bed before him had torn at his gut.

  Nicholas released the chains and rubbed her ankles and wrists, trying to revive her circulation. Damned, bloody bastard! he cursed, wincing at the ugly red marks which the handcuffs had caused her. Mason would pay heavily for this. The bastard would pay with his life.

  “Angelique, I’m here now,” Nicholas said, trying to soothe her, but Angelique did not respond. No doubt, she had been drugged.

  His hands trembled with fury as he adjusted Angelique’s skirts. He tore off his own shirt and wrapped her in it, shielding her nakedness. Quickly, he carried her from the Mason poorhouse and into his coach, cradling her in his arms until they reached their destination.

  Upon arriving at the empty family townhouse, Nicholas carried her up the stairs and opened the door to their bedroom, placing Angelique on the bed.

  “Nich … Nicholas.”

  He heard her call out his name and felt her hand move toward him. Instantly, Nicholas looked up to her face. Her eyes were warm. “Nicholas,” she called softly, as her fingers trailed a path from his forehead to his cheekbone. “Forgive me.”

  Hours later, after Angelique had been checked by a physician, and after much rest, Nicholas sat on the bed, holding her hand. With apprehension, he looked into her eyes.

  “Did Mason hurt you?”

  Angelique gave him a reassuring smile. “I was drugged, Nicholas, but I would know if he hurt me. I don’t think he had an opportunity. Janie was with me most of the time,” she replied, squeezing his hand.

  I assure you, Kent, I didn’t hurt her. We were never alone. Relief flooded his senses as Nicholas recalled Mason’s exact words.

  “Angelique.” He grabbed her to him. Like a starving man, he kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her neck, her mouth. “I will always be grateful to Gertrude Mason for alerting me in time. I would never have forgiven myself if he had …”

  Angelique’s finger went to his lips, trying to silence him. “Hush, darling, there is something you must know. I’m afraid it is a bit shocking. It is about Janie and your brother, James.”

  “Save your strength, sweetheart. I know all about it. Mrs. Mason filled us in when she brought Colin to us.”

  “Did Madame Mason also tell you how Janie manipulated me into thinking you were Colin’s father, and how you were having an affair with Clarissa? Oh, Nicholas, how could I have doubted you?”

  “That stops now. I love you, Angelique. Don’t ever doubt that, and don’t ever leave me again.” Under his breath, he admitted gruffly, “I couldn’t bear it.”

  Angelique managed a smile. “I’ll never leave you. I’m miserable without you.”

  Having said this, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

  The effects of the drug still making her a bit groggy, Angelique woke to find Nicholas lying beside her on the bed. She smiled languidly as he held her against him.

  “How long did I sleep?”


  “About three hours.”

  “Nicholas, what did the doctor say after he examined me? Did he say anything to you about a …”

  Nicholas looked questioningly into her eyes. “About what, darling?”

  “About a … oh … Nicholas … there’s something I neglected to mention when we were last together.”

  His jaw tensed. “Don’t talk of that time at the pond, Angelique. I was a fool about Bertrand. It’s best left forgotten.”

  “Oui, it’s best left forgotten,” Angelique agreed earnestly, “but this has nothing to do with that … first there’s Colin. I promised him that I would be his maman.”

  Nicholas smiled warmly. “I have no objection to raising my nephew as our own.”

  “There’s more, Nicholas.” She took his hand and kissed his fingers, looking solemnly into his eyes. “Colin is not the only child who will call me Maman. You see, my love, we are going to have a baby.”

  Nicholas’s eyes filled with tenderness as he placed his hand to her belly. “Angelique, are you certain?”

  “Oui,” Angelique nodded. “Oui, my darling Nicholas,” she repeated, giggling with delight at the look of joy and amazement on his face.

  * * * *

  Clutching her cloak tightly to her chest, Janie bit her bottom lip as thunder and lightning exploded above her. She knew she had to find shelter, but she was determined not to return to the manor house until Nicholas heard what she had to say.

  Squinting against the blinding rainfall, relief overtook her when she finally recognized the tall, draped figure of a man making his way toward her. “Nicholas, at last!” she shouted. “You have come for me as I knew you would—follow me!”

  He trailed behind as she ran to the wine cottage. Glancing back to make certain he was still following her, Janie entered the cottage and dragged herself down the wooden stairs. She opened the creaky old door to the cellar, calling to him over her shoulder, “Nicholas, darling, come quickly.”

  “I am not Nicholas, Janie,” Lord Edmund announced as he descended the stairs and followed her into the wine cellar. “Nicholas is not here. He is in London with his wife. You hurt her badly, Janie, and now you must come quietly.”

  She slowly turned to face him.

  “So you’ve come to lock me up, have you? Well, Mason will just have to do away with you, too. I saw Nicholas in the storm,” Janie squealed, swaying back and forth. “He was there, hiding behind Gertrude’s skirts.”

  “You saw the boy when you entered the house. Then you disappeared into the storm. We’ve been searching for hours. Janie, you are not well. You need help. Your mother is waiting for you.”

  Humming, Janie looked around the room and opened a bottle of wine. “What are you doing following me on a night like this? Drink some of this.” She laughed. “Maybe it will make you bearable.”

  “Edmund, are you all right? Is she with you?”

  “Marguerite, don’t come down here,” Lord Edmund shouted. “Go away!”

  Ignoring her husband’s command, Marguerite descended the stairs with Anna following close behind, both women dripping wet from the rain. “I will not go,” she insisted. “We are not leaving you alone with her, Edmund.”

  “What madness has possessed you, Janie? Why did you kidnap Angelique? You are going to rot in jail,” Anna spat out angrily.

  “Don’t.” Marguerite held her daughter back, motioning Anna with her arm to stay behind. “Look at her eyes,” she whispered. “Do not antagonize her further. The authorities are outside looking for her. Your father will deliver her straight into their hands.”

  Janie scoffed at the two women before her. “Don’t be too sure. Grand ladies of the house, with your high and mighty attitudes and your feigned generosity, I simply loathe you!”

  “But why, Janie?” Marguerite asked. “We have always considered you a part of this family.”

  “Hypocrites, like my dear, departed Jamie. Filthy drunk, he was—sleeping with me as well as his wife. I never wanted to see the child, fearing I would be staring death in the face. But Colin doesn’t look like death at all. Imagine the brat resembling Nicholas instead. That blundering, fat bitch will pay for bringing the boy here and letting you in on my secrets.”

  Clenching his teeth, Lord Edmund grabbed her elbow. “Come with me, Janie.”

  Struggling, Janie freed herself from his clutch. “I’ll do no such thing!”

  Running past Marguerite and Anna, she sprang up the stairs with her hands outstretched. Mimicking a male baritone, she spat out, “Go to the devil, you filthy slut—seducing the viscount, while lusting after my brother. Get out whore, and take your future bastard with you!”

  Before reaching the top step, she turned back to sneer down at James’s family. “And that is exactly what I did. I got out with my bastard. But not before I pushed James down these very steps.”

  “No, Janie,” Marguerite gasped, her eyes wide with horror at the terrible revelation. “Tell me that you didn’t kill my son!”

  “I killed him … I did … I did … I did!”

  Tittering uncontrollably, Janie raised her knee to show the Kents just how she had kicked James hard in the stomach, and how she had watched as he fell down the stairs to his death.

  “No, Janie, m’darling girl! Give yourself up, daughter.”

  The look of surprise, followed by absolute terror on her mother’s face, was the last thing Janie saw before she lost her balance and tumbled downward. Her mother’s horrified, anguished scream was the last sound she heard, as she lay broken and dying in a pool of blood.

  Epilogue

  Windword Hall

  May, l904

  Sated and content, his head resting on a soft pillow, Nicholas stared up at the ceiling as he lay in bed with Angelique. “I made it a point to visit Gertrude while in London,” he said casually. “The orphanage has highly improved, sweetheart, since you moved it to its new location. You should feel proud, Angelique.”

  Angelique smiled lazily, her head upon his chest as she absently twirled his chest hair around her forefinger. “Oui, but Gertrude deserves most of the credit. Nicholas, you didn’t tell me why you needed to go to London. You were gone for such a short while, I scarcely had time to miss you.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, chuckling, before giving her a playful swat on the rump.

  “Ouch!” she exclaimed, rubbing her backside. “That hurt, monsieur.”

  God, she felt good in his arms; sprawled on top of him, her naked breasts pressed flat against his stomach. Damn, if he was not ready for her again! He grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “You missed me. Don’t deny it.”

  Her eyes twinkling with mischief, she placed a kiss on his burly chest. “Oui, I missed you.”

  He would not mention Edgar Mason’s death to her. Not today, Nicholas decided. Today was a day filled with celebration, his daughter’s first birthday. Tomorrow, he would give her the news. In London, Gertrude informed him that Mason had been much too sick to survive an English prison. There had been no need for a trial. A death sentence had been handed to Edgar in a much higher court.

  Reaching behind his pillow, Nicholas brought out a large, velvet pouch and handed it to her. “I went to London to retrieve these for you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Janie pawned them well. So well, it took me all this time to find them. Open it.”

  Her indrawn breath was audible when Angelique emptied the contents of the pouch on the bed. Before her eyes, she saw displayed all of the stolen jewelry that Janie had taken from her. “Oh, Nicholas, thank you—thank you! I adore you for this,” she cried, hugging him to her and pressing little kisses on his face and lips. With a low groan, Nicholas fitted his mouth to hers.

  “Nicholas, we mustn’t. I must go!” she shrieked, suddenly disentangling herself from his embrace and rising from the bed.

  “Get back here. Is this the thanks I get for retrieving your jewels?”

  Angelique giggled. “
I’m getting dressed,” she said over her shoulder as she walked toward the window. “Don’t try to change my mind, monsieur. We’ve dallied enough. Did you forget about Aimee’s party?”

  “Ah, darling, don’t—not yet,” Nicholas demanded roguishly, pulling back the covers and patting the mattress at his side. “Be a good girl and come back to bed.”

  Angelique ignored his throaty request. Smiling, she pulled her chemise over her head and wiggled into it. She dared not turn from the window, knowing that the tempting sight he presented to her on the bed might very well convince her.

  “Stop trying to lure me back into your bed, monsieur. You already gave me plenty. All night long and most of the morning,” she teased, gazing lovingly at the two children below. Colin was turning into such a little man; and Aimee, their beautiful daughter, was adorably taking her first steps, tumbling in every direction.