He’d agreed to remain in London and enjoy the time spent with his Grandfather, yet with simultaneous intent his efforts placed him out of depth and extraneous, uncomfortable in his own skin, and any other pitiable condition he contrived to label his inner disquiet. He’d become every kind of lovesick moonling he’d mocked in the past, and yet here he stood outside Inventive Investments with Jasper, Oliver, and Penwick, awaiting the ladies to complete their business upstairs so they could all be off for an afternoon, which promised to be bucolic and tranquil.
With truth, the last thing he desired was quiet. Quiet invited regret and disappointment to the outing every time.
His flashed a glance left where his friends engaged in jovial conversation on a topic he deemed less than interesting and as he idled, his eyes wandered to the corner of the building parallel to an adjacent awning secluding the bright sun, where a large tabby sat watching in equal measure to his surveillance. Peculiar, the unbreakable hold of the feline’s attention. It stared at him with such intensity one would think it meant to communicate something.
Rubbish.
His brain had gone to mush since his heart developed a voice. He’d tried every vice to vanquish the peculiar ailment, but Hazard no longer held allure, brandy tasted bitter, and he’d wasted himself at the Pleasure Garden, comparing each ladybird to a titian mermaid and finding none worthy.
Locked in stalemate with the cat, he stood unmoved until the approach of a curricle pulled his reluctant attention to the curb where a nondescript equipage rolled to a stop. Unremarkable horses, drab carriage, and ordinary driver, the coach seemed a study in myriad shades of mundane. An accurate stab of loss accompanied a memory of Nyx, glorious and majestic in the morning sunlight.
Another mistake in a long list.
Regretting his lapse, he trained his gaze to the alley only to discover the cat had vanished. Perhaps he’d become addled. Or she’d broken him, hadn’t she?
One of his comrades called his name and he banked as much gravity as he was able and rejoined the men, hardly aware of the elderly woman who disembarked from the newly arrived carriage. Then without just explanation he returned his interest to the street where a second occupant took the steps and settled on the sidewalk.
His heart stopped.
Words funneled through his ears.
An exhalation caught in his chest as his heart slammed against his ribs.
The surroundings faded from awareness, and he was barely conscious of the feminine laughter as Emily and the ladies exited the building behind him.
Time enervated.
There she stood as rare as a rainbow at night in the middle of London, on the same square of city block. How dare the world enjoy her and he be excluded. He managed a long stride forward in silent amazement.
“Angel.” The word sounded sharp because it was so very important, yet at the same time it became difficult to breathe.
Her eyes snapped to his, flaring wide with a series of emotions, as blue and true as he remembered, and beyond all volition he stole another two steps and yanked her forward, into the circle of his arms, his mouth seeking hers with determined accuracy, obliterating any objection or choice, his heart resounding with a hard beat.
She tasted like each of his memories and for a fleeting moment he lost himself.
“What the devil?”
Someone tugged at his coat with ferocious vigor. Jasper. Jasper’s recrimination pierced the haze. His friend managed to separate him through advantage of surprise, though Kell didn’t release his hold on Angel.
“Have you gone mad?” Jasper persevered, asserting himself between the two of them, unseemly and open to scandal as they stood connected in daylight, their hearts entangled.
“The lady doesn’t appear to object,” Oliver offered from the side.
Somewhere off in the distance, Kell heard a cat yowl.
And then they were surrounded, not just the gentlemen, but the ladies, urging everyone inside the brick building and upstairs, away from the large glass window, beyond prying eyes and dogged scandal-makers.
Emily’s friends departed and those who stayed assembled upstairs in silence, although a high-strung apprehension alive and anxious, rabbited around the room by way of discreet murmur and unanswered inquiry.
Jasper approached, his expression one of scrupulous aplomb though the situation remained fraught. “Good God, Kell. You, of all people are fly to the time of day and discriminate concerning scandal. What is this about?”
“I want her.” He said it matter-of-factly like the man he was, spoiled, ruined, and accustomed to getting everything he desired though this was different on more levels than he could comprehend. It wasn’t a matter of possession or gain, albeit he relished both aspects. Long weeks of retrospection and misery had revealed his true emotions. Angel had entered his life as if a benevolent answer to his longing, and he realized with utmost clarity he loved her deeply, his heart finally open along with his eyes. As he spoke, he noticed the older companion to be the same lady he’d encountered in Brighton. She smiled at him and the unexpected gleam in her expression caught him unawares.
I need her.
His proclamation focused apt attention on the lady at the center of the congregation, her cheeks aflame in a fetching shade of cerise.
“I don’t believe it’s as simple as all that.” Jasper’s tone expressed ample opinion, as if Kell behaved as a nodcock, and perhaps he had, but little mattered now that Angel stood within reach.
A flurry of conversation consumed the small cluster, all at once eager to offer advice or elucidate explanation, and Kell snatched Angel’s elbow, steering her clear of the gathering to a corner a few strides away. No one exhibited the inclination to follow.
He meant to come straight to the point, their privacy provisional, but this time she beat him to it.
“I regret having left you.” Something caused her voice to quiver. “And how things transpired.”
“Everyone has regrets.” Emotions collided and the fierce edge of his reply may have compounded rather than soothed her distress. “But you’ll never be one of mine.”
Her lovely eyes flared with his declaration, the crescents of her delicate brows winged high, still she hadn’t heard the half of it. She took time to arrive at the proper reply, her voice even and controlled when she spoke as if she’d rallied a brilliant show of courage.
“Nor mine. Still I had little choice but to steal away.”
“You continue to run from me. Why?” There was no help for it. His question sliced the air though his blood quickened with their whispering nearness.
“Not by choice.” Her eyes searched his, colored with desolation and some unknown sentiment that she’d never revealed, leaving him grasping at ideas and focusing all failure on his own shortcomings. “I know.” She took a small breath and bowed her head in a reticent nod. “I gave you my word.”
“I gave you my heart.” The depth of the confession cost him.
She smiled then, a slight and tremulous curl, and he wasn’t prepared for the impact. His heart stuttered. His hands itched to wrap her again in his embrace. He wasn’t angry as much as he was nervous. Him, nervous. The notion jarred him.
“It’s complicated.” Somehow her warning sounded like a challenge and how he loved a dare, though while she watched him closely her smile faded as surely as a comet’s trail. A beat of disharmony invaded their conversation. “You’re not a pirate.”
Was it his imagination that detected a note of disappointment in her question? “Nor are you a mermaid.” A memory, unbidden, vivid, and disturbing, rose to snatch his breath. Angel bared and beautiful, on the beach beneath the moonlight.
A loud awkward silence descended. Belatedly, they realized the others had gone silent in wait of some semblance of explanation. Time evaporated, minute by minute.
“No matter the circumstance, you cannot deny we are meant to be together.” He gently grasped her elbow and aimed her toward the cluster of friends in the
center of the room, a veneer of calm overriding the turbulence of his declaration. “This is far from over.”
“There is more at play here than love on the beach.”
Her words instilled fresh hope.
“You are a viscount.”
Yet this sounded more an accusation.
“What matters is how I feel, not who I am.” His insistence overrode the end of her sentence, his impatience evident as their privacy ran out.
“Lord Kellaway…” the old woman smiled as if she enjoyed their amusing distraction “…may I present my granddaughter, Lady Angelica Curtis, youngest daughter of the Earl of Morton.”
How was it possible? It tempted one to believe in serendipity, gypsies, and secrets confessed to stars, when somehow life transformed wishes into truths. She could be rotting away at the priory, married to the vicar, or forced into some banishment contrived by her father, but no. Benedict had just kissed her and like the prayer she believed him to be, her heart felt whole again.
Grandmother seemed to find the entire predicament entertaining, a strange conspiratorial glee tainted her words, but now as Angelica faced the viscount and his speculative entourage, she wondered in which direction to lead the conversation.
No proper way to explain her lack of objection existed. She’d allowed Benedict to haul her off her toes and into his kiss…an intoxicating, glorious kiss. A little thrill shimmied through her at the memory.
Still, she’d need to parse out scraps of sense to explain her behavior. “The viscount and I became acquainted in Brighton.”
Someone exercised a loud throat clearing at her use of the word acquainted. She eyed the man introduced as Penwick. He too held an earl’s title. Could he possibly know her father?
“I keep a cottage there.” Grandmother helped ease the awkward bend of conversation. “At the foot of East Cliff.”
“My home.”
All persons swiveled in Benedict’s direction as he joined the conversation, though her head jerked up in surprise. Oh, the impolite manner in which she’d referred to the property and its master was unforgivable. Benedict caught her distress and the rascal winked. Best she push on with further explanation. “We’ve come today to visit the League of Virtuous Equality. My sister and I are in need of guidance.”
Again, the room hummed with curiosity although not a soul voiced a decipherable word.
“A private matter then.” Jasper approached, an affable expression assuring his assistance. “We shall all leave you to it.”
It proved the only suggestion needed and in a flurry of reassembly and brief farewell most everyone made way to the door.
Except Benedict.
He claimed her ungloved hand in his and leaned close to whisper in her ear.
“Do not do anything rash. Good God, do not flee. I’m at home at the Duke of Acholl’s residence in Mayfair. Find me there tomorrow evening for dinner. Bring your Grandmother to chaperone, and your sister if desired, and remember this when you begin to fear your decisions.”
He leaned closer still, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin of her ear.
“I love you.”
He swept to the door and down the stairs before her heart absorbed the wondrous impact of his words.
Benedict loved her. It was an answer to her prayers. To her heart.
The room had emptied with remarkable fluidity. Emily St. David approached with Grandmother while Angelica sorted her emotions. With Benedict’s confession echoing in her ears she struggled to explain her predicament, grateful and relieved when Grandmother took control of the conversation.
“My son, the Earl of Morton, has been a dedicated zealot of religious studies for over a decade. When his wife died during childbirth, he grieved deeply. Unable to eat or sleep he wasted away and I sent word to the vicar with the thought the calming word of a religious man would produce a positive effect. As it happened, in his weakened state my son developed a dependency of scripture. I thought little of this interest and at times encouraged it, at first gladdened to see him moving beyond the tragedy of death. Until I noticed concerning behavior and idiosyncrasies whenever he’d visit Brighton, which occurred less and less frequently as he lost focus on anything but religious doctrine. Soon he barely left the house, then his bedchambers. All efforts to draw him out had an adverse effect.
“His interactions with Angelica and Helen were limited to holiday visits and annual interrogations to assess their Bible studies. The summers the girls spent with me offered the only carefree joy of their childhood and he held a threat to their well-being over my heat to prevent my objecting to his rules. That is, the little I knew. It wasn’t until the girls were grown that I learned the extent of my son’s inflexibility and their consequential suffering.
“At a loss to do much else, I attempted to dissuade his edacious preoccupation, but as time progressed, his religious studies consumed his mind and heart. I had no idea my granddaughters languished at his hand. His letters to me expressed the girls were involved in studies and education. Little did I know, he’d advanced his devotion to a level incompatible with my granddaughters’ welfare and future goals. When Angelica’s sister, Helen, was involved in an indiscretion, the incident provoked my son to an abusive level of lunacy and unfortunate rash action. In an effort to keep Angelica chaste and encourage her service to the lord, he took extreme measures.”
“He locked me in a priory.” Angelica’s vehement insertion added weight to the somber confession.
“Oh dear. He sounds a formidable adversary.” Emily shook her head in empathetic despair. “I’ve never had a situation such as this at the league. Most ladies attend meetings to gain independence and seek opportunity, more than escape danger. I’m concerned I may not be able to assist you if your father becomes involved. He will certainly locate you if you remain in London, most especially if you dare attend a public function.”
“Yes, we know he searches for us already.”
“Confrontation, embarrassment, accusation. It will become the grandest scandal yet.” Emily paused, her mouth drooping into a frown. “Oh dear. Kellaway avoids scandal at all costs having just been exiled from the city months ago. He doesn’t know about this, does he?”
The suggestion Benedict would discard his feelings for her were he to discover the risk of exposure discomfited Angelica. She still didn’t know the details of his meeting with Helen in Hay Market. She only knew she loved him. Quite thoroughly.
Grandmother reached for her hand in consolation and understanding. “I’m sorry, Angelica. I’ve failed you and your sister. I should have realized something was amiss and acted to remove you.”
The bleak note of Grandmother’s apology pained Angelica as much as the situation. “It wasn’t your responsibility.” She raised one hand to stroke a fingertip across her grandmother’s tissue-thin cheek. “Nor was it as terrible as it sounds.” Her voice waned, leaving everyone unconvinced. “Mother wished for us to be raised with values and Father misinterpreted her intentions.”
“He locked you in a priory against your will.” Emily refused to allow her to sweeten the bitter reality.
“Indeed,” Grandmother punctuated Emily’s sentence.
“We can’t dwell on the past.” Emily huffed a determined breath. “I learned that lesson well. Instead let’s solve this problem. No one will defeat us. I won’t allow it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Benedict endured Bitters’ ministrations for as long as possible and then with a curt wave dismissed the servant. He was more than capable of dressing himself despite the formal attire being more nuisance than indulgence. The servant’s not-so-subtle questions were more intrusive than the layers of linen and wool necessary to his ensemble. True, Bitters minded Kell’s business more closely than his own. Kell gave the hem of his brocade waistcoat a sharp tug.
What would Angelica wear this evening? He’d only seen her in mousy cotton gowns and moonlight. The latter much preferred to the former. Still the startling revelation
that his mermaid was indeed a proper lady tested the boundaries of his enthusiasm. If Angelica showed this evening, if she wasn’t deterred by her father’s imprudent and senseless actions, if she didn’t fear recrimination or scandal, if she harbored sincere emotion toward him…the endless list of “ifs” eroded his confidence.
“There you are. Looking every bit the rakish viscount.” The Duke of Acholl entered Kell’s bedchamber and cast an approving glance to where he stood motionless in front of the hearth. Prinny lumbered in Grandfather’s shadow.
“I hope the lady practices punctuality since we’ve gone to the trouble to dress in formals and prepare a careful menu. I’d planned to sup with Prinny and review correspondence this evening while sampling a new bottle of brandy. Your lady best be worth the effort.”
“I assure you, she is.” To elaborate would invite unwanted attention and he’d only dispersed of Bitters ten minutes before. He reserved doubt Angelica would arrive at all. Best to change the subject. “You look every part the duke.”
“This from a man who prefers to run barefoot with his shirt tails flapping in the breeze. I’m not sure I trust your skill of evaluation.” Grandfather chuckled. “I never achieved my goal of instilling in you a core of formality and convention, but you’re the better for it. You’ll always be young at heart.”
“Mother and Father obliterated your goal, and as far as being carefree, I find I’m adjusting to the trappings of my title.”
“True enough. Where your parents are concerned, I’d rather not explore skeletons hidden in closets. I keep my cupboards shut as tight as you do. We are of the same ilk.”
They abandoned the conversation with haste—too many unanswered questions clouded the room—and made their way downstairs to the formal sitting room. If only the butler would announce Angelica and her family.
“What are your plans?” Grandfather walked to the brandy service, perhaps impatient to taste the new bottle he’d mentioned.
“I do not know.” Kell didn’t say more although he released a long-held breath and paced the length of the room.
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