Almost an Angel (21 page)

"I haven't until today."

"Is that supposed to make a difference?"

"Yes!" She leaned forward, setting her forearms on his desk as she tried to make him understand. "It was important that Mags and I go alone. If I had told you, you would have insisted on coming along."

"I certainly would have. Imagine my shock and fear when I learned that the two of you had gone out alone. Again!"

"But nothing happened!"

"That is entirely beside the point."

"No, James, that is the point." She pushed away from the desk, standing up to pace between two dark mahogany bookcases. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about what they'll do to you next time you show your face down there."

 "I am the earl. They will do nothing to me."

Carolly swung back around to face him. "Don't count on it. Garrett was—"

"Garrett was simply trying to protect you. He was helping them see you in a different light."

Carolly threw up her hands in disgust. "Don't be so naive, James! He was turning them against you."

She hadn't realized the truth of her words until she spoke them aloud. Even though she hadn't heard Garrett's words, she now realized he had been skillfully manipulative, inciting the village against his cousin. How could he do that? And why?

She turned toward James, needing to see if he understood the horrible things his own heir was doing to him. But when she looked, she didn't see dawning comprehension, only a grim certainty.

"James?"

"I am not naive, Carolly."

She paused, licking her suddenly dry lips as she stepped toward James. "You mean you know what Garrett has been doing?”

James shrugged. To her surprise, she realized his anger had dissipated, replaced by a sad acceptance as he folded his hands precisely in front of him on the desk.

"But why?" Carolly asked, starting to pace again. "Why would Garrett do this to you?"

James did not answer until Carolly collapsed back into her chair, and then only because she glared at him until he spoke.

"Besides the inheritance, Garrett owns a sizable share in the mines and deeply misses his lost income. I believe he thinks if he can incite the villagers, I will be forced to rehire the women and children."

"Thereby returning the mine to its former production level and his previous level of income."

"Yes."

Carolly shook her head, unable to fathom that anyone could be so greedy. "How badly does he need the money?”

"Bad enough."

Carolly tilted her head, wondering what alternative to suggest. She decided to try being blunt. "Cannot you simply forward him the income?”

"Were he to ask for my assistance, I would gladly forward him the required amount. But he resents taking funds from me almost as much as I dislike his wastrel lifestyle."

Carolly frowned, disliking the note of censure in James's voice. "You would punish him for his problems? I thought you were friends."

"We have our moments. But I would definitely take steps to prevent him from falling into such difficulties again, were I given the opportunity."

Carolly squirmed in her chair, disliking James's firm stance, but recognizing the sound of an entrenched position. James clearly did not like the life Garrett led, but he refused to help unless asked. And Garrett was clearly too proud to ask, but was becoming more desperate by the second. Whose pride would break first? And what damage would occur in the meantime?

"Have you tried speaking to him? Perhaps if you phrased it just the right way, he would feel more able to talk with you."

Carolly hadn't thought it possible, but James's expression became even more grim. "I am afraid not. None of my talks and lectures, or even my more subtle interventions, have sufficed."

Carolly bit her lip. "This has happened before?"

He nodded once, a quick slash of frustration.

She looked down, toying with the folds of her skirt. "Just how long have you been paying off his debts?"

"Since he was in leading strings."

Carolly sighed. "Perhaps if you helped him this last time and told him it was his very last chance. That you would not—"

"I did. Last time."

"Oh." Carolly bit her lip, racking her brain for a solution.

James looked at her, his eyes bleak. "I told him that the next time he approached me, I would put severe restrictions on his income, and I would also let it be known that I had disinherited him."

Carolly sat bolt upright in her chair. "Can you do that?"

He shrugged. "He'll receive the title and a modest income from the near lands no matter what, as long as I don't have a son." His gesture was expansive as he indicated the house

and grounds. "The rest is mine to dispense as I wish."

She began to understand the depth of the problem. "Then, if Garrett is in debt again, he must be very worried."

James nodded. "Yes."

"But . . . why do you let him incite the villagers to riot?" She tried to read an answer in his expression, but his gaze was abstract, his manner resigned.

"I cannot stop him. Short of locking him up, he will find some way to speak with them."

Carolly frowned, trying to follow James's plan. "So you eventually intend to rehire the women and children?"

"No."

"But—"

James pushed to his feet, coming forward to gaze earnestly down at her. "You must trust what I say, Carolly. The villagers will not riot. I am very nearly the sole employer here. They will not move against me. Plus, this summer's crop looks good. Things will turn around soon."

She sighed, imagining he was right but unable to accept it. She had thought Garrett a feckless charmer. Now she saw him as a monster. One who actually plotted against James for money—and one whom James didn't seem to fear.

"What will you do?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"Pray for a good crop. Meanwhile, you will promise me again that you will not go into the village without speaking with me first." He leaned forward. "And do not think I shall be as forgiving next time. If there is a next time."

Carolly clenched her hands together, hating to again be on the receiving end of James's disapproval. She had a fleeting moment of sympathy for Garrett. But then she remembered what James's heir had done—was doing—and her charitable feelings fled.

"James. . ."

"You will obey me in this!"

Carolly closed her mouth, knowing that further discussion would be futile. The situation with Garrett was clearly far more complicated than she first thought. As for her broken promise, she was beginning to feel quite guilty about it. Although he hadn't said as much, James had been desperately worried about her. She could tell. She would no doubt go to her grave remembering the fear in his angular features as he came tearing into town—probably expecting her to be the object of another stoning.

"I'm sorry, James. I should have spoken with you first."

"Yes, you should have."

She looked up at him one last time, defiance surging through her. "I should have spoken with you, but I still would have gone."

He frowned at her. She remained composed, refusing to be cowed. He glared, and she raised an eyebrow. Then he cursed in an explosion of breath.

"I . . . worry about you all the time," he admitted, his words halting and stiff. He abruptly gripped the edge of his desk, his fingertips white with the strain. "You must be more careful."

Never before had she seen such torment in his eyes. Not even that first time when he'd rescued her from the mob. It was shocking, and she was beside him in a moment. "James, what is it?"

He took her face in his hands, searching her features as though memorizing every detail. "You need not go to Boorstin—"

She cut off his words quickly, hoping she could forestall the coming painful exchange. "James, we have discussed this."

"But you were beaten—"

"James."
She fell silent, feeling the heartache build again. She had almost convinced herself that she would go happily to Boorstin. Soon, after the festival. When her uncle forced her to. And she'd convinced herself she would not miss James or crave his touch. But now his words exposed her wound again, and she looked away, fighting the tears in her eyes. "Please don't—"

This time he stopped her words with a kiss so swift it startled her. His lips were bruising, hungry, demanding, and somehow frightened. She did not need to think about her response. His touch had always inflamed her senses, but even as her body matched his passion, she tried to soothe his fears. She stroked his arms and back, let her fingers find the tense muscles of his shoulders. Then he raised his head, gasping for breath even as he pulled her tightly against him. She rested her head against the hard wall of his chest, listened to his heart beat triple time. It took a long while, but eventually the beat steadied and she felt him calm.

"Carolly . . .”

His strangled word was interrupted by the rattle of a carriage outside. Another guest. Someone who needed to be greeted and escorted and settled into a room. Both Carolly and James groaned as one, knowing they would not have time to talk about this anguish they both felt.

But then, maybe it was for the best, Carolly thought sadly. "You should see to your guests," she said.

"I don't give a damn about my guests," he snapped.

"James!" she exclaimed, a part of her annoyed, wanting to push him away. "One of them may be your future wife!
Should
be your—"

Suddenly he caught her by the upper arms, his hands clenching as he drew her to him. "I do not want
them.
I do not want them in my house, or in my bed, or as my wife! Damn it, Carolly, can you not see what this does to me?"

She shook him off, forcefully shoving him away. "Just what is it doing to you?" She waited, staring into the swirling gray torment of his eyes, praying he would say something, anything, about
loving
her. If only he would say the words, ask her to come to him, maybe she would throw everything away just to be with him.

But he remained stubbornly silent.

Her anger built to flashpoint. "Quite a problem, isn't it, James?" she said, sarcasm lacing her voice. "You're too honorable to take me as a mistress and too proud to have me as a wife. But it's killing you to just let me leave." Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to cry. Not now and certainly not in front of him. "Good thing I'm not meant for this world," she reminded herself, "or this could really hurt."

She started to turn away, but he grabbed her, spinning her back to face him. "Leave this world? Carolly, you never arrived! You appeared at my door and told me you were here to help me. Help me? The truth is, all you wished was to play around in my life and then abandon me!"

"I'm going to be an angel!"

"You are going to be
alone!
" His hands felt like fiery manacles around her arms, and she saw the steady throb of anger in his temple as he continued. "I thought you were the boldest woman alive, but now I see you are truly a coward. You refuse to live your life, to take what is offered with both hands."

She pushed him away, stung by the echo of truth in his words. Could she truly be using her hope of becoming an angel as an excuse not to live the life she should? Carolly shook her head, denying it even as a part of her agreed. "
I
am not running away," she said as she glared at him. "I am running
toward
something. You just can't accept it."

"That you will be an angel?" He swung away from her, stomping toward the cold fire grate. "Is that your big dream?" He twisted around to confront her. His eyes pleaded with her to think. "Look at yourself, Carolly. Anyone can be good and holy and chaste. All you need do is spend your life saying
no
. The challenge is to say
yes
. To take the risk of living."

His words intensified the ache she'd fought all this time, but she stubbornly continued to refuse to acknowledge it. "I have taken that risk. I have fallen in love. 
I-love-you
." She punctuated her words with her fist, beating the air in front of her. "But apparently, James, you haven't. So I intend to bring you other women to love. I have reconciled you with a niece you barely even knew, and now I'm working on the villagers. I have taken risks, James. How about you?"

"Me?" He stepped forward. "Would you give up saying you're going to be an angel for me? I thought I'd wanted this fanciful nature back; but not if it keeps us apart. Will you toss aside your madness, your fantasies, and your pretend games to be my wife?"

“They are not pretend!" she screamed.

“Then you do not love me as much as you say!"

They stared at each other. Barely a hand's breadth separated their bodies, but their souls seemed to glare at each other from across a huge expanse. James refused to believe in her rationality, and she couldn't cross over to his. She wouldn't give up everything she knew to be true just to make him comfortable. Heck, he'd even helped her regain it again—her past, her identity . . .

Into the silence came a discreet knock.

And another.

And another.

"Yes?" James's word split the air like a knife.

The door opened, and James's rigidly formal butler entered, his face impassive even as his gaze hopped from Carolly to James. "Excuse the interruption, my lord, but the Viscount and Viscountess of Drebes have arrived with their two daughters. As have Lord and Lady Phillips. Three daughters, one son."

Thank you, Wentworth," James ground out. "Please show them to their rooms. I shall be there directly."

The butler nodded and withdrew, his movements slow as he quietly closed the door behind him.

Carolly waited to speak until she heard Wentworth's measured footsteps fade away. "You should greet your guests," she commented softly.

James nodded, but the movement was forced. "Come along, then."

Carolly took a step backward and drew her arms around herself, shaking her head. "No, I don't think so."

"I beg your pardon." His tone was stiff.

“This is your party, James. I've taken on the role of Girl Friday for you, but I cannot sit around to watch you marry someone else."