Angel of Ash (21 page)

“Damn you, Anthony.”

“It’s her, isn’t it…Ms. Barrett, the exotic American.” It wasn’t a question, Anthony knew it, he was closer to Asher than Asher’s own brothers. “Did you tickle her under the sheets?”

“You will not speak of her again.” Asher returned, utterly cold, utterly fierce, staring at Anthony with evil intentions in his eyes. “I do not want to hear her name, nor see her face ever again, do you understand?”

“My God…you did have the beauty. And that is why…” Anthony hesitated; he’d pushed Asher too far. Asher was usually hot tempered, quick to anger, when Asher’s voice became deadly cold, when it looked as if he’d rather squash you beneath his booted heel than let you breathe, Anthony knew he’d said too much. Instead, he tried another tactic. “Then come…Asher, forget about her, the solution to your problem is to find a biddable, warm, female as quickly as possible and there are sure to be plenty at the dinner.”

Asher stared at Anthony, he contemplated his words, he knew Anthony was right, the best way to get over Angel, to forget her, her face, her eyes, her voice, her scent was to drown himself in another female. Standing up, he stretched, smiling devilishly. “You are right, I will join you tonight. I am sure there is some female which shall tempt my palate, at least for tonight. I shall be ready within the half hour. Have the carriage brought round.”

Her aunt and uncle chatted away, excitedly anticipating the evening, Angel not having to force a smile upon her face tonight, not when she felt so young and beautiful and alive. The night was crisp and clear, stars twinkling above. The many carriages before them, were agonizingly slow heading towards their destination, until finally, they were in front of the viscounts large manor home, directly outside the city of London. They were in a long processional, waiting anxiously for their turn. Once it had come, the women nearly bounded out, Henry keeping them respectable, reminding them of their high station in life. But it had been so long for his wife who had not attended a London ball in well over a year and never for Angel, who had shied away from such gatherings, especially in America where she had found little time for entertainment.

“The Duke and Duchess of West Moreland along with Ms. Angel Barrett, the duchess niece,” exclaimed the butler as they waited for their turn at the top of the stairs. The crowd looked up expectantly, it was rare for the duke and duchess to be in attendance and nearly everyone froze at the shimmering beauty that Angel was, resplendent in her gown, glowing with good health, youth and beauty. A low murmur began among the crowd, the men, understandably in lust with such a beautiful specimen, the women, some jealous, some sly, some in genuine interest.

“Smile my dear, you are the most beautiful woman in the room,” her aunt whispered to Angel, before introducing her to their hostess, who smiled widely, she would forevermore be recognized as the leading hostess of London after this coup, both a duke and duchess and an American beauty, goodness.

“My lady,” Angel said, curtseying perfectly and smiling, showing her small white and even teeth. “Thank you for your invitation into your lovely home.”

Lady Rexler, a woman of middle years, three husbands buried and an eccentric view upon the state of the world, smiled prettily, looking younger than her fifty two years. “Oh, of course, but it is I who must thank you for agreeing, an American, we have so few here, and mostly men. This is simply fabulous, do; come, come, and I shall introduce you about…of course, if it is alright with your aunt and uncle?”

Her aunt nodded, more than pleased that Lady Rexler, a close associate, had taken so well to Angel, and placed herself in her husband’s arms. “Yes, of course, a waltz is about to begin, we shall amuse ourselves as you see Angel about.”

“Splendid, Ms. Barrett?”
Angel nodded, smiling. “Certainly, my lady.”

With Lady Rexler leading the way, they made their way around the large ball room, the twelve French doors opened wide to let in a welcoming breeze for the overly warm dancers. The silk gauze that covered the doors danced prettily in the wind, as if ghosts long ago forgotten, remembering the intricate steps of dancing long ago buried. Lady Rexler chatted away, asking Angel numerous questions about America, sometimes, asking another question before even getting the answer of the first question. Angel smiled politely, however, as she was introduced to scores of people from foreign diplomats, to American businessmen, to world renowned opera singers, to the rakes, movers and shakers of England society. At one stop, it came out that Angel herself was a splendid pianist as Marco DE ‘Ares, stared at Angel’s hands, the slight web between the fingers as all accomplished pianists encountered. “Tell me, ms, are you a pianist, also?” He asked, his dark, Italian eyes staring with undue interest into Angel’s.

Nodding, Angel smiled slightly, taking her hand back once his grip loosened. “Yes, I am sir, however, a wonderful guess.”

“Shall we hear you play, perhaps, even we shall play a duet, Lady Rexler, I did happen to notice you had two grand’s directly across from each other.”

And the Lady Rexler tittered, smiling and fluttering her arms excitedly. “Oh, do! Do! What a wonderful idea such an intelligent young man, you are, Senor DE ‘Ares.”

And Angel, always wanting a chance to play, smiled. “What shall we play?” She asked, her foot lightly tapping to the music since taking place.

“Whatever is your wish, my lady, whom is your favorite composer?”

“Beethoven, Mozart,” she said. “Especially Symphony 6.”

“Superb, you have splendid taste.”

“Oh, I shall have everything the ready for you two.” Lady Rexler interrupted.

“And as we wait, may I be so bold as to have my name stenciled in your dance card, if it is not already burgeoning with others.”

Angel smiled. “No, not quite, sir, and yes, please, do,” she said, handing him the card and pencil.

They stood next to each other, speaking of past musicians, conductors and things of that ilk. Angel found Marco’s conversation extremely enlightening, since the subject was so dear to her heart. When her first dance partner found her, a Spanish nobleman, Angel regretfully said goodbye, but not before Lady Rexler informed the two they would play together in no less than three sets. Nodding, Angel placed her hand lightly in the nobleman’s arm, a young man of thirty, no less, with dark brown eyes and just a few inches taller than Angel herself.

Even though not quite an accomplished dancer the nobleman was able to lead Angel around the ballroom, smiling widely at the beauty before him. And soon, Angel was swept away by one admiring guest and then the next, the time rushing towards midnight, so soon. Before Angel knew it, she was once again besides Marco, smiling in anticipation. The cooling breeze from the opened windows calmed her over exertion and smiling widely, she placed her hand in his arm as he smoothly glided her towards the dance floor.

Perhaps it was the music that Marco lived by so indefinably because they swept through the ballroom on feet enlightened with a superior ear, a superior tone and beat. Marco was just shy of six feet and Angel’s head just reached the tip of his chin, the couple, Marco with his olive colored skin, brilliant eyes and handsome face and Angel, the very personification of beauty drew admiring looks from many until the dancing couples swept clear of the floor in which Marco took full advantage of the widened space, cascading the biddable Angel in his arms until they both forgot about the couples, the stares, they forgot everything except the music which beat through their veins. The gauze veils of the windows cascaded towards them, became a part of their dancing as they swept in and out of the curtains, everyone staring in fascination at the exotic couple who seemed separate from the world, alienated from the society which would helm so many in.

As the music came slowly to an achingly beautiful halt, Angel became conscious of her surroundings, the applause, the excited chatter of whispering couples, hers and Marco’s heavy breathing. Smiling, she curtseyed towards Marco, to the delight of the crowd until Lady Rexler, standing on top of the stairs, announced the event to come.

“What a splendid couple,” she cried to the two hundred something odd people upon the floor. “And now, Senor Marco DE ‘Are, the most renowned pianist upon the Continent and Ms. Angel Barrett, the Duke’s and Duchess niece from America, has promised for our listening enjoyment a splendid duo from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6.”

Another applause, Marco bowing sharply before taking Angel’s hand, escorting her towards one of the two pianos. After small whispered notes to each other, the two sat in their respective seats, a page turner positioned at each piano.

It was Angel who began the melody first, her notes lovingly measured, superbly timed, but even more, filled with the soul of what all she was. She grew adrift in the passionate music, much as she had when Marco had escorted her onto the dance floor. When Marco joined her melodies and then the small orchestra positioned behind the two, Angel saw with no small pride that the couples had greedily taken to the dance floor, before she became lost in the music once more.

The symphony was long, climatic, dark, somber, and joyous all at one. Much like Angel’s mood. Sometimes as the notes poured through her hands, she felt so connected to the music she had to blink back surprising tears, other times she smiled at the enjoyable notes.

It was with some great reluctance that Angel’s hands finally stilled over the last notes, some great surprise at the large applause given to her and Marco, some great expectation upon looking up to meet Asher’s eyes.

The world seemed to freeze for her then, the applause drifted to the background, the people, the ball, until all that seemed left was her and Asher, his eyes upon hers, their souls locked together.

She unknowingly walked towards him, unknowingly smiled, just for him, one hand reaching up, this she realized, her mind cleared, she smiled wider, not remembering the words in which he’d rejected her with. The hurt of the past weeks, vanishing, unremarkable, not worthy of remembering. Not when he was standing so near, Oh, God, she needed him so much.

She was within a foot of him, still smiling and hesitantly placed her hand upon his arm. “Asher,” she said softly. “Asher may we speak.”

But Asher shook his head. There was nothing he would say to her. He would hurt her now; he knew and refused the imploring look in her eyes. “I have nothing to say to you, Ms. Barrett.” He returned.

Her lips gasping, Angel shook her head vehemently, she would not be able to live with herself if she did not tell him all that she felt inside, face to face, if she did not tell him what she’d so recently unearthed. Taking a deep breath she spoke those words which she’d spoken to the door just a month ago. “Asher, I love you, please, listen to me, I implore you.” Pausing again she said those words which caused her unimaginable joy, smiling. “I love you and we need to speak, please, Asher please, wait-.”

Asher seethed with rage, with passion, jealously and lust and a horrible craving he’d never be able to crush, not until the last of his days. It was her, Angel, whom he wanted, Angel whom he’d had eyes for since he’d spotted her splendid form, dancing in the arms of another man. That unknown emotion which he’d not spoken of for years tried to catapult out of the frigid reaches of his heart, he refused it, a seething rage directed towards her for making him feel this way. He’d not gotten her out of his system. He tried to argue to himself: It had been so long since he’d had such an apt tutor for a lover…a virgin one at that. Interrupting her, he stole her hopes, her dreams. “My dear, Ms. Barrett,” he said condescendingly informing her of what little value she had upon his being. “I must remind you…you were just a good lay, nothing more, nothing less. And you have confused lust for love because of your youth and innocence. I do not want you. I have had you. My cousin, Anthony and brother Caleb, have both laid interest in you…I have spoken to them and said that they would make no mistake by also making you their lover. It was a game, Ms. Barrett, simply to see who would be your first lover. You were nothing more than a game. I have broken you in for your next lover, a delight I will not soon forget, and for that I thank you. Good bye, Ms. Barrett. Enjoy your stay in England.” Almost nodding to himself, he turned, breaking their contact, towards the woman whom had called his name, smiling prettily as she made their way towards them, a lady of the ton and recent widower who was fast filling her books with new lovers.

Turning towards the widower, he walked away from Angel, leaving her in shambles at his words, the widowers body had no effect on him, but for his sake, he nodded, for his very own sake, to save his soul, his pride from Angel, he cupped the woman’s waist, for the sake of his heart, he smiled, forced as it was and nodded, for the sake of everything he held dear, he whispered in her ear of things he’d do to her.

Asher felt sick at heart, felt as if the floor beneath him, the very earth should open and swallow him whole. He felt Angel’s eyes upon him but refused to turn towards her. He felt the pain she exuded but refused to acknowledge its’ possession upon his very soul.

He guided the woman away from Angel, his hand possessively upon the small of her back. He didn’t look back, he dared not to.

People were speaking around her, their words flowing through and out of her; she tried to pay attention, but could not. She felt deadened inside, the shock from seeing Asher, his rejection of her once again, his hateful words, the beautiful woman at his side whom touched him so intimately, the way his hands touched the woman in return. The breadth of his black clad shoulders, his hand upon the small of the woman’s back, his head bent achingly near her ear and once so close to her lips Angel feared they would kiss, his laughter that drifted towards her, his dimples that flashed so deeply, but not for her, no, the woman besides him.