Angel's Devil (12 page)

He brought her
fingers to his lips in what looked like a polite gesture, but in truth he was
holding her so tightly she would have had to wrestle him to break free.
"Just a moment, my lady. We're not through with this game, yet."

Reluctantly
Angel looked away from his grim expression toward the doorway. Mrs. Beadle
entered on her husband's arm, and then the Countess of Devenbroke. "This
is absurd," she whispered, trying to tug free. "Let me go and forget
this. I apologize if I've made you angry."

The marquis
kept his eyes on the entrance. A moment later he nodded and gave a slow,
humorless smile. "There you are, Lady Angelique. It's done."

Angelique
looked. "No!" she gasped as Lily Stanfred spied them from the doorway
and came forward with a smile. "You can't be serious, my lord. She's not
at all what you wanted."

"She is
perfect, my lady. Demure, polite, intelligent, from a good family, and with a
sense of humor or you'd never have her as a friend." Finally he looked
down at her, his eyes cold. "Why didn't you send her my way before?"

"Because
she . . . you . . . " Because Lily was exactly what the marquis had been
looking for, she realized. "You are the Devil himself, sir," she said
instead, fighting tears, "and I hate you."

She pulled away
and intercepted her friend. "What's wrong, Angel?" Lily asked,
putting a hand on her arm. "You're white as a sheet. Whatever were you and
the marquis talking about?"

"Nothing,"
she returned, forcing a smile that felt ghastly.

"I was
just a little warm, and he was concerned."

Her friend eyed
her closely. "You both looked rather angry to me," she offered, then
smiled. "But that's none of my affair. Is your Simon in attendance
tonight? He said there was a new country dance he wanted to teach me."

"Yes, he's
here." Angel turned to look for him. Unfortunately the first sight that
caught her eye was Abbonley in discussion with Lily's father, Lord Stanfred.
The baron said something and nodded. The marquis glanced in her direction, then
turned back with a smile and offered his hand to Lord Stanfred, who hurriedly
took it.

"Oh, no,"
she
whispered, wondering what in the world he
was up to. He couldn't have meant his words seriously. It was completely
absurd, even for someone who claimed not to believe in love.

"Angel."

At Simon's
urgent tone, Angel jumped. "What is it?" she snapped.

For a moment
Simon looked taken aback. "Have you seen James?" he muttered,
glancing about.

"He's over
there, with Lily's father," she returned. "I'm sorry if I snapped . .
. " Angel trailed off, for it was obvious that Simon's attention was not
on her. She turned to follow his gaze, then drew in a sharp breath.

Raven-haired
Desiree Kensington stood just inside the curtained entryway. Her low-cut
russet gown was by far the most daring ensemble in the room, and was being much
admired both by her husband, the much older Lord Kensington, and by several
other gentlemen of somewhat dubious reputation.

Abruptly Lady
Kensington straightened, and at almost the same moment Abbonley turned and saw
her. His complexion went white. The rising murmur of the other guests sounded
like the hum of a beehive as they noticed the drama

"Damnation,"
Simon breathed.

"James,"
Desiree exclaimed with a smile, attracting the attention of whomever had
remained oblivious to the growing tension.

After a moment
the marquis nodded, excused himself from Lord Stanfred, and strolled over to
Desiree. Simon tensed, but James leaned down to take Lady Kensington's hand and
raise it to his lips. She smiled and said something, but at his return smile
and murmured response she paled and took a step away. He released her hand and,
seeing Simon, walked over as the crowd parted to let him through.

"James,"
Simon whispered, "are you all right?"

"Fine,"
the marquis replied in a calm, unconcerned voice.

A waltz began
in the background, and as the marquis glanced about, Angelique saw loneliness
and hurt in his eyes. She had been furious at him, but seeing his pain
distressed her a great deal more than she had expected.

Lord Kensington
appeared behind them, approaching at a gouty limp, face red and expression
angry. If Angel had any say, there was not going to be a second duel over
Desiree Kensington.

"James,
this is our dance," she improvised quickly. Her promised dance partner
would simply have to do without her.

James looked
down at her, his expression blank. "Oh—of course," he replied, and
led her onto the floor.

"I'm going
to change your mind, you know," she ventured.
          

He started a
little. "Beg pardon?"
 

"I said
I'm going to change your mind. About Lily."

"Lady
Angelique, I really don't wish to continue that argument at the moment,"
he said quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"All
right," she acquiesced, "But you must realize that while she might
fit your silly Iittle list she’s
 
not at
all whatyou
need."
               

His expression darkened. "I doubt you have any idea what it is I
need."
 

Angel thought the set-down completely uncalled for,
especially after she had just rescued him from a scene. "I apologize, my
lord, if I was wrong in thinking that you and I might possibly have become
friends in the past few weeks. If my ideas and advice are not welcome to you, I
shall not offer them again."

His gaze snapped down at her. After the briefest of moments he looked away
again at Simon, watching them from the side of the ballroom, Lily beside him.
"Friends," he repeated at a murmur. "Very well, my future
cousin. I shall not be the first to back out of this arrangement. I don't have
much honor left, but enough remains for me to be able to keep my word."

The waltz ended and he returned her to her parents. Angel watched as he
made his excuses to the Tremaines and then left the ball. Lady Kensington
watched his departure as well, with cool, dark eyes. It might not be any of her
concern, but Angel found that Desiree's interest in the Devil didn't please her
at all.

James opted to ride Demon to Abbonley. Simon was mounted on Admiral, and
the two of them set off ahead of a caravan of five coaches, one of which held
Grandmama Elizabeth and a battery of smelling salts, and the others containing
a great deal of her luggage.

Simon had kept nearly silent all morning, and James couldn't blame him. At
least the evening had been a complete disaster, for he hate wasting his energy
on partial ones. To say that he had been shocked at the sight of Desiree
Langley—no, her name was Kensington, now—was an understatement. He hadn't realized
she was in London, though in retrospect it had been foolish to assume her
elsewhere. She was still a beauty, perhaps even more so than she had been. Five
years ago when he had been in love with her, when he had killed a man over the
issue of her heart, she had been a vision.

Whatever she had been to him, she was certainly not the reason he had
hesitated to' choose a wife, for he had decided to marry, after all. He was
rather relieved, in fact, that the choice had been made. Despite Angelique's
vehement protests, Miss Lily Stanfred did meet all of his requirements, and he
was rather surprised that he hadn't noticed her earlier.

The whole thing might have been even worse than it turned out, for despite
his anger he wasn't certain he could have gone through with his pronouncement
if it had been Hester PeachIey striding through that door. Besides, this way it
would aggravate Angelique Graham no end, and sometimes that outspoken chit was
completely beyond bearing. She had practically forced him into choosing Miss
Stanfred. And—

"James?"

He turned his head, wondering how long Simon had been

speaking to him. "Sorry," he mumbled. "What is it?"

"What did you say to her?"

James frowned. "To whom?"

"To Desiree, of course."

"Simon . . . " he warned in a growl.
        
 

"All right," his cousin said, throwing up a hand. "Forget I
asked. Never mind. Don't tell me."

"Sweet . . . " James muttered, glancing back at his grandmother's
carriage. "She said she was pleased to see me, and I told her to go to the
devil." He paused, noting Simon's shocked expression, for it would never
occur to his cousin to say such a thing to a woman. "I didn't think at the
time that I was quite possibly referring to myself."

His cousin looked at 'him for a moment. "I hoped you thanked Angel for
keeping you out of a scene," he said stiffly, "you trying to become
respectable, and alI."

"What do you mean?"

"The old baron, Kensington, was after you when you and Angel went out
onto the floor. I hate to think what might have happened if he—" Simon
blanched.

James looked at him, knowing exactly what his cousin was thinking. "I
don't duel anymore, Simon. And certainly not over her." He looked away,
taking a deep breath. "Did I tell you I've invited the Stanfreds to join
us at Abbonley?"

Simon blinked. "When did this occur?"

"Last night. They'll be here in a fortnight or so." He grimaced,
unexpectedly reluctant to speak of the true reason for their visit. His own
state of matrimony was supposed to wait until after his cousin's had been
settled, anyway. "I thought the Grahams might like the company. Keep them
from feeling outnumbered and lull them into thinking this is an innocent
outing."

Simon laughed, back in good humor again. "You make it sound as though
this is a military campaign."

James raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it?"

On the afternoon of their second day of travel they crossed the edge of his
property, and he found himself looking about to make certain all of the trees,
the streams, and the walls, hedges and tenant cottages were still there, still
in place. Half an hour later they wound around a turn in the road and Abbonley
came into view on top of the hill. At the sight of the great white
horseshoe-shaped manor, he pulled Demon to an
 
abrupt halt and sat staring up at it.

"Welcome back, James," Simon said softly from beside him.

James had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. "By God,
it's good to be home," he declared fervently, and Simon grinned.

7

"I
s that
it?" Henry asked, craning his head to look out the coach window. "Is
that Abbonley?"

"I hope there's a pony for me to ride," Helen pouted, banging
Millicent's head against the edge of the seat. "Angel got to bring
Heaven."

"Buttercup couldn't have travelled this far," Camellia pointed
out patiently.

"Papa, is that Abbonley?" Henry yelled, waving his arm outside
the coach.

"We'll know in a moment," Lord Niston replied from his mount.

Angelique settled back in the cushions, taking deep breaths and trying to
quell the fluttering of her stomach, which manifested every time Henry asked
if that was Abbonley ahead. She told herself it was because she was looking forward
to seeing Simon and working on their plan, but knew it had more to do with the
marquis. She wasn't entirely certain whether they had parted friends or not,
but she was not about to let him marry Lily Stanfred just to spite his future
cousin.

"It is Abbonley, isn't it!" Henry yelled, leaning precariously
out the window. "Oh, it's grand! Can you see the stables, Papa?"

Angel couldn't resist any longer, and she leaned forward to look around
Henry's shoulders. A huge white manor sprawled atop a gently sloping hill. At
the foot of the rise a lake opened across a clearing, hemmed at the shore by a
sizeable glade. It was breathtaking.