Angel's Devil (11 page)

"The boy,
Henry, wanted to see the stables," he offered, though it seemed a poor
reason. "And I thought Simon and Lady Angelique would appreciate my
efforts." He couldn't admit that for a fleeting moment he'd simply wanted
the company. Her company. James shrugged. "Not that it amounted to
much."

"Thursday night, eh?” Grandmama Elizabeth queried after a moment.
"Don
Giovanni."
She sighed. "At least I'll have your nonsense to keep
me entertained."

James grinned.
"Thank you, Grandmama."

She picked up
the cards and began dealing. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this."

On Thursday
evening Abbonley even thought to send his own coach to pick them up. It had
been ages since Angel
 
had attended the
opera, and she changed her gown four times before she found one that pleased
her. Belatedly she remembered that she hadn't actually said anything about the
evening to Simon, and she hoped Abbonley would make certain he appeared. This
was for the two of them, after all, for their wedding.

When they
arrived, the viscountess and Lord Abbonley were already there. Angelique gave a
smile as the marquis rose to take her hand. He was dressed in black and gray,
and looked magnificent. "Lady Angelique," he said softly, and brought
her fingers up to his lips. "I'm pleased you could attend tonight."

She curtsied,
then after a moment remembered to retrieve her hand. "Good evening,"
she returned, taking a breath.

They had barely
seated themselves when she noticed that the patrons in the audience below had
begun murmuring, and dozens of pairs of opera glasses turned in their
direction. She leaned toward Abbonley. "Where is Simon?" she
whispered.

"I don't
know," he returned, glancing down at his libretto. "Didn't you tell
him about tonight?"

"Me?"
she retorted quietly. "You're his cousin. Why didn't you—"

"This was
your idea, my lady." The marquis raised his head and looked over at her
speculatively. "You and Simon don't seem to communicate very well."

"We
communicate splendidly," she shot back, angry that he appeared to be
correct.

"What,
dear?" her mother queried, turning to look at the two of them and stifling
an obvious frown.

"Lady
Angelique and I were discussing whether the number of waltzes at Almack's
should be limited or not," James stepped in smoothly.

"You
were?" Lady Elizabeth queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Just
curious," the marquis affirmed. "Trying to catch up on London trends,
you know."

"We were
both in agreement that the patronesses are at least twenty years behind the
times," Angelique, grateful for the assistance, added with a smile.

James grinned
back. "The dance scarcely causes a raised eyebrow anymore in Paris."

"Exactly,"
Angel agreed, "and I don't see why—"

"We are
not in Paris," Angel's mother put in shortly.

The marquis
looked at her. "No, Lady Niston, we are not." He smiled again,
looking over at Angelique. "And it is a resounding shame. Your daughter
would be the belle of the city."

His emerald
eyes danced as he spoke, and Angel was glad to know this was only a charade. It
was difficult to accept that someone who didn't believe in love could be so
proficient at utilizing its trappings.

"My
daughter is engaged," Angel's mother said succinctly.

The marquis sat
back. "An almost-married woman is not supposed to be thought of as
attractive?" he queried, his eyes still on Angelique.

The curtain
rose before her mother could muster a response to that, and Angel rather
thought that she might have liked the opera if she hadn't been so distracted
with looking over at the marquis, to see whether he was enjoying himself.

At intermission Lady Elizabeth ordered Abbonley to
go fetch her a glass of claret, and he reluctantly rose to comply. The
viscountess looked over at Angelique, the light green eyes holding hers for a
long moment. The old woman gave a slight nod, as if to herself. "You
know," she said, shifting her gaze to Angel's parents, "Simon and
I've been discussing having a house party at Abbonley to welcome James home.
I'd like you to join us. We are to be family next year, after all."

Niston cleared
his throat. "I don't—"

"Thomas,"
Lady Elizabeth interrupted, "James mentioned that your son is interested
in horses. You know Abbonley has one of the finest stables in England.” Her
expression softened a little. "And whether the engagement is public
knowledge or not, it is a fact, and I think our young couple deserves a
celebration." She glanced at Angel's mother. "Don't you?"

Her parents
looked at one another, plainly displeased. "We would be honored, Elizabeth,"
Camellia said, giving a stiff smile.

The marquis
returned a moment later and handed over his grandmother's wine. "This is
why some people have servants, you know," he muttered, taking his seat
again.

"Jamie,
I've asked the Grahams to come visit us at AbbonIey after the Season,"
Elizabeth informed him. "I thought we might have a party for Angelique and
Simon."

James looked at
her for a moment, something unreadable crossing his features. "Well, I'm
pleased to hear it," he said, turning to Niston with a smile.

"Hm. Very
good," the earl muttered as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose again.

"James,
come with me to White's," Simon cajoled, stepping into the library.

James looked up
from the book he was reading, where it seemed he'd been on the same page for a
rather lengthy period of time. "I told you," he said, "I'm
occupied." He stretched his bad leg, making a' show of wincing even though
it didn't bother him all that much anymore.

Simon was
apparently unmoved. "So now you're a hermit, are you?"

"I believe
I shall become one, yes," he returned with a slight grin.

"Except
for the opera the other night."

"That was
your darling betrothed's idea. Don't blame me."

"It still
would have been nice if one of you had thought to inform me."

"Well,
then, did someone inform you that the Grahams will be holidaying with us at
Abbonley?' James commented, wishing to forestall any further miscommunications.

Simon raised an
eyebrow. "What? How in the world did you arrange that?"

"It was
Grandmama's idea," James explained, deciding it better if he didn't
mention that he'd made the same offer, himself.

His cousin
dropped into the other chair before the fire. "But that's splendid. I can
continue to see Angel, and we can continue pressing her parents."

"It all
does fall into place rather well, " James commented, wondering for an odd,
elated moment if Angelique would look upon Abbonley with the same delight as
he.

Simon grinned.
"Absolutely."

The affair at
the Tremaines was to be the last grand ball of the Season. Upon her arrival
Angel was cornered by Louisa and Mary, who proceeded to question her about her
invitation to Abbonley. "Lady Elizabeth thought it would be pleasant to
have some of the marquis's friends welcome him home," she replied.

"But no one
goes to Abbonley," Mary protested.

Louisa nodded
agreement and glanced dramatically about the room. "They say the marquis
even ordered Simon not to go inside while he was overseeing it," she
muttered.

"Well,
that's rather silly, don't you think?" Angel pointed out.

Louisa opened
her mouth to respond, then abruptly snapped it shut again.

A hand slid
around Angel's elbow. "Lady Angelique," Abbonley greeted her with a
sly smile, "my grandmother's been looking for you."

Abruptly
realizing what had curbed Louisa's tongue, Angel nodded up at him.
"Excuse me," she said to the two girls, relieved at the interruption.
"Afraid I'll begin more rumors?" she muttered out of one side of her
mouth as she stepped away with him.

He grinned.
"One can never be too careful. Actually, though, I had a question for
you."

This should be
interesting. "Yes?" she returned, smiling up at him.

He cleared his
throat. "It's been over a week since you last introduced me to a potential
spouse. I was wondering if you'd given up."

"But
Hester PeachIey fulfilled all of the requirements you gave me. Apparently she
is perfect for you." Abbonley tilted his head at her, looking devilishly
handsome, and Angelique wondered who in the world might be the perfect woman
for such a rogue and why she hadn't for a moment wanted him to find her.

"You mean
I need to add another specification to my list," he murmured.

Angel shrugged and pursed her lips. "It's
your
list." The
marquis chuckled. "I think a sense of humor would be agreeable," he
admitted.

"Hm,"
Angel replied, glancing about the room. "Let me review this. You want
someone demure," and she ticked the points off on her fingers, "from
a good family, intelligent and With a sense of humor." She looked up at
him. "Have I left anything out?"

"No, I
believe that will do it."

The room was
quite crowded, and Angel spent along moment searching while the marquis waited
patiently beside her. She could feel his interest and curiosity in the way he
was studying her features, and she was determined to find the exact woman who
would be both perfect and absolutely wrong for him. Finally Angel spied her,
seated with her mother halfway across the room. "I've got one," she
said triumphantly, and started over.

Unexpectedly
Abbonley took her arm. "Just a moment."

"What is
it?" she queried, surprised.

"You're
not heading for Flora Dalmia, are you?"

Angel wrinkled
her nose at him, disappointed that he'd guessed. "How did you know?"

He looked at
her for a moment, a hint of humorous exasperation touching his lean features.
"Just a hunch."

"Well, let
go, and I'll introduce you," she urged.

He freed her
elbow, but made no move to continue. "Absolutely not," he stated,
shaking his head.

"But why
not?"

"Miss
Graham, I don't mean to be cruel, but Miss Dalmia is shaped rather like a
teapot."

Despite her
determination to remain solemn a laugh burst through Angel's lips, and she
raised her fan to her face. "So a good figure is yet another requirement?
You're becoming rather particular, my lord."

Abbonley looked
down at her. "And I begin to think that you have been dishonest with
me."

"Dishonest?"
she returned, raising an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'm
saying you never had any intention of helping me find a wife."

"Perhaps
that is because I doubt your sincerity in looking for one."

He folded his
arms. "How could you know that, when you've done nothing but point me at a
flock of farmyard hens?"

Angel raised
her chin. "Generally, sir, when one is looking for a wife, one does not
make a list first. One meets a woman, becomes acquainted with her, and then
decides whether he thinks they might be compatible."

The marquis
didn't look impressed with her argument.

"This, I
take it, is a description of your and Simon's courtship?"

”Perhaps."

"It sounds
dull."

Now she was
offended. Their courtship might not have been extraordinary, and perhaps Simon
hadn't swept her off her feet, but they suited quite well. "Why, because
Simon didn't have a string of available females brought around so he could
examine their teeth?" she snapped.

James laughed
at her, and Angel lost her temper. "What I think, my lord, is that you're
afraid."

His emerald
eyes narrowed. "Afraid?" he murmured. "Of what, pray tell, my
lady?"

"I think
you loved Desiree Kensington, and she didn't love you, and you're afraid to
make another mistake."

Slowly Abbonley
dropped his arms, and his face turned quite pale. "Just to show you how
much I care for your opinion," he returned in a very quiet, controlled
voice, "I will marry the first single woman who comes through that
door." He pointed at the side entrance to the ballroom.

Angelique was
shocked. "What if she doesn't wish to marry you?"

"Oh, she
will." He looked toward the doorway. "I can be quite charming. You
said so, yourself."
   
 

"I won't
have anything to do with this," she returned, finally realizing that quite
a few guests were looking their way, and that even if they had been pretending
a seduction, she'd spent far too long speaking to him. She started to walk
away, but he reached out to take her hand.