Angel's Devil (7 page)

His cousin
relaxed a little. "It was no accident. I meant that we met early last
Season, Angel and I, and we had so much in common and became such good friends,
that, well, I suddenly realized I was very much in love with her."

James studied
his cousin for a moment. "So elope."

Simon actually
blanched. "I could never do such a thing. Angel's parents would never
forgive us."

"But
they'd forgive you playing this little game with their daughter's honor?"

"They
won't know it's a game. And as the three of us will, her honor will never be at
risk."

"What about the rest of the
ton?
They've already got their
noses into this. And I'm trying to make amends. I'm looking for a wife. I don't
want—"

His cousin
snorted. "You? Looking for a wife?" He gestured toward the door
Angelique had disappeared through. "That was what you two were talking
about?"

"Why does
everyone find the combination of myself and matrimony to be so damned amusing?"
James growled.

Apparently
seeing that he was serious, Simon sobered. "All right," he said,
"find a wife.
After
you've helped me." He raised a hand when
James began to protest. "Your reputation will receive barely another
scuff. And with your wealth, there are females about who wouldn't care if you
were a one-eyed dwarf with a hunched back, anyway."

"Simon—"

"James,
please. I want to get married. Help me."

James sighed.
"All right. But one of us is going to regret this." He looked over at
his cousin, his expression serious. "And I hope it's me."

Simon stepped
over and clasped his shoulder. "It will be neither of us. Trust me."

4

"When do I
get to meet your Simon?" Lily Stanfred queried as she and Angelique rode
together in Hyde Park.

"He's
supposed to come for tea this afternoon," Angel smiled, then sighed.

"What is
it?"

"Oh, just
thinking. If I can stand my stuffy parents for another nine months, I'll be
free."

"And then
what?" Lily smiled.

Angelique threw
out one hand. "I can do anything I wish! No one will complain about me
ruining the floor or the furniture if I take in a stray dog, or cat, or . . .
fox; no one will tell me I'll be ruined if I want to go walking in my garden
without my bonnet, or without my shoes; no one to disagree if I like the ratty
old chair in the morning room and don't want it moved up to the attic."

"Heavens,
Angel, it sounds as though you want to become a red Indian."
              
.

"Well, I
don't wish to scalp anyone, of course," Angelique answered, then laughed.
"I only mean that it will be pleasant to make decisions for myself,
without someone else dictating what's best for me."

"As long
as Simon approves," her friend pointed out.

"Oh, of
course."

Angel smiled at
Lily. If her friend had been there for the beginning of summer she might very
easily have been named the toast of the Season. Fair-skinned, Lily Stanfred was
gentle and elegant, with blue eyes soft as a lamb's and hair the color of—

"The
pollen that peppers the petals of proud primroses," a voice lisped, and
Angel looked up, startled.

Percival Alcott
and his brother, Arthur, approached them.

Angel cringed,
for though she had managed to get through the Season with fewer than a dozen
dances with both brothers, she considered even that number to be too many.
"Beg pardon?"

"I said,
my lady, that your exquisite companion's fair locks are the very color of the
pollen that peppers the petals of proud primroses," Percival repeated, his
slightly nearsighted gaze on Lily.

Angel gave her
friend an amused glance. "Lily, may I present Mr. Percival and his
brother, Mr. Arthur Alcott? Sirs, Lily Stanfred, daughter of Lord
Stanfred."

"I'm
pleased to meet you," Lily nodded somewhat uncertainly.

"Miss
Stanfred," Arthur acknowledged. "A pleasure."

"I am a
poet, you know," Percival stated, raising a monocle to gaze at Lily
through one pale blue eye.

"I could
tell immediately," Angel broke in, trying to stifle her laughter. She felt
only a little guilt in her relief that Percival had set his sights on Lily
rather than herself. Two more horsemen approached them, and the. welcoming
smile that came to her lips became even more amused as she recognized the
second rider. Perhaps tonight she would have her chance to introduce Abbonley
to his next possible intended.

"Angel,"
Simon Talbott greeted her as he reined in. "You look lovely, as
always."

"Lady
Angelique," James Faring echoed, giving her a speculative look when she
was unable to cover her smile.

He was mounted
on quite possibly the most splendid stallion she had ever seen, a coal black
Arabian giant with a long mane and full, arched tail. She had forgotten that
the marquis was as well known for his taste in horseflesh as he was for his
scandalous reputation.

"I don't
believe I've had the pleasure," the marquis said after a moment, looking
over at Lily.

"Nor have
I," Simon murmured, and kneed his bay gelding, Admiral, forward.
"Forgive my boldness, but you must be Miss Lily Stanfred."

Lily smiled and
placed her hand in Simon's waiting fingers. "Mr. Simon Talbott, I
presume."

Smiling, Simon
raised her hand to his lips. "None other. How was your journey to
London?"

"Quite
pleasant, Mr. Talbott. Thank you."

"Simon,
please," Simon begged, and Lily nodded.

"Thank
you, Simon."

"Don't
mind the rest of us, Simon," the marquis said dryly.

Simon shook himself. "Beg pardon. James, Angel's dear friend Miss
Lily Stanfred, and Mr. Percival Alcott and Mr. Arthur Alcott. Ma' am,
gentlemen, James Faring, the Marquis of Abbonley.”

"My
lord," Percival said, twiddling his fingers in a bizarre version of a
salute.

"I say,
Abbonley, is it true you saved Wellington's life in Belgium?" Arthur
asked, then subsided as it became apparent that he was being ignored.

Angel looked
sideways at Abbonley to find him exchanging pleasantries with Lily, and she
scowled, displeased. Her friend was no match for the Devil. And with him wife hunting,
there was no telling what might happen.

She was trying
to decide how to intercede when a scrap of paper blew across the grass. At the
sight of it her mare shied and reared. Used to the gray's flightiness, she
leaned forward and pulled on the reins. Before she could complete the action a
hand grabbed her bridle and hauled the mare down.
    
 

"Let go! I
can manage," she snapped, looking up to see the marquis close enough to
touch, his eyes on her.

He obliged,
releasing his grip, but didn't move away. "So I see. You sit well, my
lady."

Before she
could respond, Percival decided it time to put his two pence in. "That
mare is too unpredictable for a lady,” he noted stuffily. .

"Lady
Angelique handles her well enough," the marquis contradicted.

"Heaven is
not unpredictable," she argued, glaring at Percival. "She's
spirited, not a half-dead cart mule like you ride."

"Angel,"
Simon admonished.

The marquis
gave a shout of laughter, his eyes dancing as he met her irritated gaze. She
had already begun trying to decide how to take back what she had said, but as
she looked at the amused expression on his handsome face the notion, and her
annoyance, faded.

"Heaven?"
he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Percival,
blustering at the insult to his mount, bobbed his head. "Again, highly
improper."

"What do
you call your . . . steed?" the marquis asked.

Percival
flushed. "Lancelot," he said loftily.

"Ah, a
noble moniker, indeed."

Angel was
enjoying the exchange. Anyone who thought Percival Alcott as great a fop as
she, and had the wherewithal to point it out, was definitely an ally.

"And what
do you call that?" Alcott asked, indicating the marquis's grand stallion.

"Demon,"
Abbonley answered promptly.

Angelique
chuckled, then stopped as both men looked her way. One gaze was pale blue and
patronizing, the other wickedly amused emerald. She cleared her throat, seeing
her chance. "There is to be a recital tonight at the Countess of
Beaufort's. Lily and her mother will be going with Mama and me." She
turned to look at Simon. "Will you both be attending?' '

Simon threw a
quick glance at the marquis, who shrugged.

"It sounds
quite tolerable. Why not?"

Angel smiled.
"Why not, indeed?"

The rest of the
day seemed interminably long, and even after she arrived at the Countess of
Beaufort' s drawing room with her mother, Lily, and Lady Stanfred, she was hard-pressed
to keep from pacing. Most of the guests had arrived and were milling about the
entrance to the music room, but Simon and the marquis had yet to appear. Since
Abbonley was the only reason she'd suggested they all attend, she was beginning
to feel quite aggravated.

Finally the two
gentlemen appeared at the top of the stairs. The unexpected presence of the
marquis immediately set the rest of the guests, most of them female, buzzing.
As soon as she spied Abbonley, the Countess of Beaufort parted from Lady
Andrews and elbowed her way through the crowd to greet him. It took the two
gentlemen several minutes to make their way over to Angelique's party, and she
smiled, mostly with relief, as Simon reached her side.

"Angel,"
he greeted her, brushing her knuckles with his lips. "And Miss
Stanfred," he smiled, repeating the gesture. "Good evening,
ladies."

"I had no
idea these functions were so popular," the marquis commented, taking her
hand in turn.

"The countess serves exceedingly savory refreshments," Angel
explained,
sotto voce,
and he chuckled.

"So that's
the secret. I thought it might be the music." Angelique glanced across the
room to see that the other guest she had been waiting for had also arrived.
"Mama," she said, "Excuse me for a moment. Lord Abbonley has
asked me to introduce him to someone."

Camellia Graham
stifled a frown. "The recital is due to start any moment, darling, so
please hurry," she agreed reluctantly .

The marquis was
eyeing her curiously, but followed her willingly enough. "My future
bride?" he queried at a whisper.

"She meets
all of your requirements," Angel returned.

"Miss
Peachley?"

The tall young
woman, leaning against one wall and looking quite bored, turned her head.
"Yes, Lady Angelique?”the brunette answered, fingering her fashionable
cropped ringlets ..

"May I
present James Faring, the Marquis of Abbonley? My lord, Miss Hester
Peachley."

"Miss
Peachley," Abbonley said pleasantly, reaching for her fingers in his usual
bold manner.

Miss Peachley
turned her wrist to shake his hand instead.

"Abbonley,"
she returned. "I didn't know you attended recitals."

"Oh, I
always enjoy something new," he offered, giving Angelique a suspicious
glance. "Your name sounds somewhat familiar to me."

"Yes?
Perhaps you've read one of my articles. I am a supporter of women's
liberation."

"Ah,"
he murmured. "Liberation from what, if I may ask?"

"Men."

"From the
subjugation of men, or from the presence of the male of the species?"
James queried pleasantly. His lips twitched, and Angelique thought he must be
amused. She stifled a smile.

"Men have
used women as nothing more than procreative slaves for far too long. It is my
belief that this must-"