My Lady Angel

Besides, she was ill…

He sat up sharply, his senses all on the alert. No. He had not imagined it. There had been pain in her face.

She really was ill.

And he had forced her to meet him, forced her to listen to his insults, forced her to remain when she wished only to flee from him.

His behaviour had been totally unforgivable.

Angel stood rigid until the door closed behind him, and then she collapsed into the nearest chair, moaning softly. She was in too much pain to move.

But she was just lucid enough to curse her cousin. He was even worse than Aunt Charlotte had suggested. He was the devil!

‘My lady—’

Angel looked up to see the butler standing in the doorway, aghast.

‘I’ll fetch Benton at once, m’lady,’ he said, almost slamming the door behind him in his haste.

Angel closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the cool damask of the chair. That was a little better. Her head ached so.

‘My lady, let me help you to your chamber.’

Angel breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome sound of Benton’s voice. She could not have faced Aunt Charlotte’s incessant questions. Not now. Benton would keep Aunt Charlotte at bay. In a very short space of time, Angel was upstairs and in her own bed, and Benton was gently cooling her brow with a cloth soaked in lavender water.

Angel opened her eyes a fraction. The curtains were closed and the room was dim, lit only by the fire. It was blissfully peaceful.

‘Have the pains returned, m’lady?’

‘Yes. And I have the headache now, too.’

‘Shall I fetch you a little laudanum?’

‘No, Benton. You know how I hate it. Sleep is all I need.’ Angel smiled weakly at her faithful abigail. ‘You may ask my aunt to prepare one of her tisanes. It will make her feel useful.’

Benton rose obediently.

‘You need not tell her whether or not I drink it,’ Angel added softly, snuggling down into the welcoming softness. She really ought to stop to consider what Cousin Frederick had said, but her head ached so much that she could not begin to order her thoughts. She would just close her eyes for a space. In a moment or two, her mind would be clearer, and then she could…

Angel woke with a start. She lay for a moment, listening.

There was no sound at all. The house was totally silent. Everyone must be abed. The faint glow from the dying fire showed that she must have been asleep for hours. And the pain was gone.

She lay back on her pillows and gazed up at the silken canopy. In the gloom, it seemed to be floating.

So that was Cousin Frederick.

She closed her eyes, trying to picture him in her mind. She could not. She ought to be able to do so, surely? It was very strange. But Cousin Frederick’s character was so overpowering that she had only the vaguest memory of his face. She could remember little more than his fierce anger. That, and his voice—taut as a tempered steel sword blade, whipping at her skin. No, she would not soon forget that hard, merciless voice.

For the rest, he was tall and strong—strong enough to master a mere woman, at least—and he had dark hair. In fact, from what little she could remember, he had not looked like a Rosevale at all. Why, Pierre was more a Rosevale than Frederick!

Was he? The question hit Angel like a blow.

She turned on her side and fixed her gaze on the fireplace as she strove to remember Cousin Frederick’s exact words. He had said… He had accused her— Good God, he already knew about Pierre! But how…?

Aunt Charlotte. Of course. Who else?

It did not matter that Angel had counselled caution. Pierre had promised to do, and say, nothing, but Aunt Charlotte had given no such undertaking. She would probably have broken it, even if she had. No doubt she had written to only her dearest friends, and in strictest confidence. No wonder the rumours were flying all over London.

And what of Pierre? Had he heard? Angel did not know which circles he now moved in. Perhaps he had been spared the covert looks and sly whispers. She must see him as soon as possible, warn him of the dangers of speaking out of turn.

She must warn Aunt Charlotte, too. And take her to task for her lack of discretion. That would not be easy. Since her father’s death, Angel had gradually learned to take on the responsibilities of her new status, but it was incredibly difficult to play the part of the stern head of the family with an old lady who had been like a mother to her for years.

None the less, it must be done. Tomorrow.

And the moment Angel was well enough to travel, they must set out for London, in hopes of saving Pierre from Cousin Frederick’s wrath.

Chapter Four

‘S o it was a waste of time?’

‘Completely. I learned nothing more than we already knew. Perhaps if I hadn’t lost my temper with her…’

Ross shook his head. ‘It never was your most attractive feature, I will admit. And just lately…’ He held up a hand. ‘No, do not turn that wicked tongue of yours on me, if you please. I promise you that I should not respond, so it would be a waste of energy. You would do better to spend some time in the ring. Do you good to hit someone.’

Max strode over to the window and stared down into Dover Street. Why was he so bad-tempered these days? He’d learned to control it when he was in the army, dammit, so why couldn’t he do it since his visit to the Abbey? ‘She’s coming to town,’ he said at last, willing his tense muscles to relax. He turned back to Ross. ‘She’s out of mourning now, of course. I fancy she plans to set herself up in Rosevale House and start introducing that cursed Frenchman to the ton as the rightful Earl of Penrose. It makes my blood boil, Ross. I could cheerfully strangle her.’

‘Why? You said yourself that the title is worthless.’

‘Aye, but I’ll not have it stripped from me to provide amusement for a…for a…’ Words failed him when he thought of her. He felt that all-consuming anger again. What was it about that woman…?

‘It’s understandable that you are angry,’ Ross said calmly. ‘But have you thought that she might be an innocent victim in this? She may have been taken in by a plausible rogue.’

Max made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

‘It wouldn’t be surprising,’ Ross said, ‘considering the kind of life she’s led. She’s by no means fly to the time of day. She’s been in mourning for years, remember, first for her husband and then for her father. And she was kept pretty close before that—married out of the schoolroom, by all accounts. Her husband never permitted her to come to town, you know.’

‘How on earth did you learn that?’

‘I have made it my business to find out,’ Ross replied with a rather satisfied smile. ‘While you were posting off to confront the wicked Baroness, I decided there might be subtler ways of handling the situation.’

Max nodded somewhat reluctantly.

‘There is plenty of speculation about your Baroness, Max. She may not have spent time in Society, but her aunt appears to be a gossip of the first order. Since the Baroness is a very wealthy woman, every gazetted fortune-hunter in London will be after her, I imagine. The Frenchman may well be one of them. Had you thought of that?’

Max ran an unsteady hand through his hair. ‘No, I hadn’t.’ He paused, thinking. ‘It’s more than possible, as you say, that the Frenchman is a fraud who means to trap her into marriage. She’s a wealthy prize—rich enough to set any man up. I should have thought of that. I’m afraid I have not been thinking straight at all since I met her.’

Ross looked at him in surprise. ‘So Captain Rosevale, the consummate tactician, is no more? Pity. I’m sure cold logic would be a better weapon than blind anger.’

‘You’re right, of course. As usual. And, for once, I shall take your advice to heart. We need to plan our assault like a military campaign. And the first thing we need is intelligence. What have your subtle enquiries discovered about the Frenchman?’

‘Unfortunately for us, he is playing his cards very close to his chest. I’ve found out where he comes from—somewhere near Toulon—but nothing more. If we are to smoke him out, we’ll need to do a deal more digging.’

Max nodded. ‘That means a trip to France. But I’m loath to leave London while that—while my dear cousin is in residence. Even if she has been duped—though she struck me as too strong-minded for that—she could create a great deal of mischief. I don’t think I can risk leaving the field to her.’

‘I don’t suggest that you should.’ Ross put a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘Look, Max, there is no call for both of us to go. Provided you trust me to—’

‘Devil take it, Ross! You know very well—’

‘If you trust me with such a delicate mission, old friend, I will gladly go to France and do your spying for you.’ He laughed infectiously. ‘Could be quite like old times, eh? Creeping around among the Frenchies, trying to discover the lie of the land.’

Max smiled back. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. ‘I do believe you intended to go all along, you rogue.’

‘Yes, well, perhaps…’

‘Believe me, Ross, I am very much in your debt. There is no one else in the world I would permit to do this for me. You—’

‘I am nowhere near repaying everything that I owe you, Max, so I suggest you stop praising me to the skies. Besides, I’ve a notion that a trip through France would just suit me. What we saw of it last time was not exactly…ideal, was it?’

They exchanged a look of shared understanding. The memory was very real to them both. The whole of Wellington’s army had been glad to leave the Pyrenees behind and start across the French plain. Conditions had been harsh, for everyone, but the army had known that victory was almost within reach, after so many years of struggle.

‘I think I begin to envy you, my friend,’ said Max after a moment.

‘I am sure I have the easier task. I have only to make my way to the south of France and bribe my way to the information we need. Whereas you must brave the drawing rooms of the ton and this impostor’s nefarious schemes…and the matchmaking mamas, too, of course.’ Ross grinned. ‘You are become an eligible bachelor at last.’

‘You think you are jesting, Ross, but it is no joke, believe me. The acquisition of a title seems to change even a man’s appearance. When I was a mere Captain Rosevale, I had neither face nor fortune to commend me. I have little more by way of fortune now, heaven knows, but it appears that an unmarried earl will always be described as handsome by the ladies of the ton—especially those with unmarried daughters. I heard it with my own ears.’ He shuddered. ‘Downright nauseating.’

‘Don’t worry, Max. I promise to keep reminding you to look in the glass. Besides, if your impostor has his way, you will be plain Mr Rosevale again…in more senses than one.’

‘It does have its attractions, Ross. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.’

‘You are too modest, Max.’ Ross gave his friend a long appraising look. ‘And you are not ugly… Well, not really…’

Max grinned, refusing to rise to Ross’s bait.

‘More seriously, though,’ Ross continued, ‘I ought to warn you that your impostor really will turn the ladies’ heads. He is quite disgustingly handsome. And he has the manners to match, too, I’m afraid. I suppose we’re lucky he isn’t wearing regimentals. If he were, the ladies would be falling at his feet.’

Max grunted. It seemed the odds were stacked against him. He could rely on Ross to ferret out what information there was to the Frenchman’s discredit, but it would take time. Meanwhile, Max himself would have to find ways of undermining the man here in London. Or, if not the man, then the woman… That blasted woman! She—

He refused to let his temper rule him, this time. He must plan his next moves with the utmost care. If necessary, he must be all smiles and soft words. Logic and cold calculation were what he needed now. In hot blood, a man made mistakes.

And after all, Ross could well be right. She might be innocent of any wrongdoing. She might be the prey, not the predator.

‘If the Frenchman is after her money, will you protect her?’ said Ross, echoing Max’s unspoken thoughts.

‘I should, of course…’ Max had a mental picture of the silver-haired harridan with a temper as fiery as his own. ‘But, having met her, I doubt if she’d accept protection from me. I can’t force her to spurn him, can I?’

‘No. You’d have to marry her yourself to do that.’

‘That’s the second time you have suggested I marry Angelina Rosevale. What’s got into you, Ross?’

Ross shrugged eloquently.

Max thought back to that tempestuous encounter at the Abbey. He had not behaved well—and he knew it. She was only a woman, after all, and an unworldly one, into the bargain. She had neither husband nor brother to defend her. So it was his duty to do so.

His duty did not extend to marrying her!

‘After our recent encounter at the Abbey, I think I am the last man on earth that Lady Rosevale would marry. In fact,’ Max added, remembering her exact words, ‘I’m sure of it. She told me I was no gentleman. I’d have to drag her to the altar by the hair.’

Ross’s eyebrows rose. ‘I hadn’t thought of abduction. But now you come to mention it…’ He grinned wickedly.

Max raised his eyes to heaven. He knew better than to respond when Ross was in one of his rollicking moods.

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Ross after a moment, looking rather more solemn, ‘you would not need to resort to abduction. Much better to make the lady fall in love with you. She—’

‘Confound it, Ross, I—’

‘She wouldn’t be the first, would she?’

Max clamped his lips tight together.

‘Seriously, Max, you know very well how to turn her up sweet. After all your practice in Spain, an unworldly widow should be like wax in your hands. Charm her into favouring you over the Frenchman.’

Max began to shake his head, but stopped. It was true that he could make himself attractive to women. It was just that he had never tried it when the stakes were so high. In Spain, a little dalliance had been a light-hearted thing, a fleeting pleasure for both parties. But this? This was too important. His cousin was pursuing a dangerous path.

If she was being cozened by a plausible impostor, it was Max’s duty, as a gentleman and her closest male relative, to do everything in his power to save her.

And he would. Somehow. Whether she willed it or no.

Aunt Charlotte had fallen asleep. At last! Angel offered up a silent prayer of thanks, even though it had taken a long time. They would be in London in little over an hour from now. Not much of an opportunity for Angel to order her thoughts and decide what she was to do.

She had had time enough to reflect on Cousin Frederick. Days of time. It had not helped. She still could not make up her mind about him. She could not even remember him properly. His temper had been so overwhelming that she had thought of little else…apart from his strength when he had held her fast.

He had threatened her, had he not? And he had accused her of conspiring with Pierre to steal his title. Not in quite such stark terms, of course, but that had surely been the import of his words.

He had been furious. He had said things that were unforgivable. So she had every right to hate him, just as Aunt Charlotte did. And yet…

Angel glanced across to where Lady Charlotte slept in the corner of the carriage. Her mouth hung slightly open. Every now and then, a little noise emerged. How mortified the old lady would be to be told that she snored!

Angel smiled to herself. Poor Aunt Charlotte. She hated the idea of growing old and losing control. She prided herself on her self-control—except where Cousin Frederick was concerned. There she had no control at all. She had nothing but cold, implacable hatred for him, and for all his family. That, Angel supposed, must be the reason for her aunt’s unaccountably sudden acceptance of Pierre, too. Nothing else made any sense. It all seemed totally out of character for such a refined lady.

Angel shook her head. There was no point in brooding about Aunt Charlotte. She was impossible to fathom. Besides, Angel still had to decide what she was going to do in London. About Pierre. And about Cousin Frederick.

She did not fully trust Pierre, though she was not sure why. Perhaps it was because of Aunt Charlotte’s lightning conversion to his cause. On the other hand, he might be exactly what he said. Angel owed it to her honour, and to her family, to give Pierre every opportunity to establish his credentials. If he proved to be her Uncle Julian’s son, it would be Angel’s duty to take his part against Cousin Frederick.

A little tremor ran through her at the thought of taking on a man who could outface her in her own drawing room. She quelled it very deliberately, putting the odd sensation out of her mind, and reminding herself that she was wealthy enough—as Cousin Frederick was not—to call on all the resources of the law to back her. She could do it. But it was daunting, none the less. She—

The carriage hit a bump. Aunt Charlotte woke up with a start.

‘Oh, dear, have I been asleep?’ she asked, putting her hands up to straighten her lace cap. ‘I do apologise, my love. How boring for you to have no one to talk to. I promise I shall try to keep awake for the rest of the journey.’ Another bump jolted them both. ‘And if the road continues like this, I shall have no difficulty,’ she added waspishly. ‘Considering how high the tolls are, it is too bad that the road is in such an appalling state. Do you not think so, Angel?’

Angel nodded absently.

‘I wonder how soon Pierre will call on us. You did write to tell him we were coming to town, did you not, Angel?’

‘Yes, Aunt. I asked him to call on us the day after tomorrow.’

‘But why so long? We—’

‘I have asked my man of business to call on me tomorrow. I must discuss matters with him before we see Mr Rosevale again. I would not have Mr Rosevale cherish false hopes.’

‘Nonsense. There can be no question of that. You yourself saw the likeness to the portrait.’

Angel took a deep breath. Patience!

‘And he is such a delightful young man. So handsome! So charming! And so eligible, too. I predict he will have half the ladies in London dropping the handkerchief.’

‘Quite possibly, Aunt, though his looks will not avail him much without a title or an estate. He told us they were living like peasants, remember?’

‘Yes, and it is quite shocking. You must help him, my dear!’

‘Must I?’ said Angel warningly.

The old lady began to look a little flustered. ‘I very much hope you will help him. You cannot take Cousin Frederick’s part, surely? From what little you told me, he behaved to you like an absolute blackguard. Exactly what I should have expected from Augustus Rosevale’s grandson, of course. Not an ounce of good in any of ’em.’

Angel kept silent. She was not about to encourage her aunt’s intemperate outbursts even though, in this case, she was right. Her cousin had behaved in an appalling fashion. He was foul-tempered…and a little frightening, too. She felt that odd tremor again, running down her spine. She forced herself to ignore it and to focus on Pierre. Pierre was gentle, and charming, and understood exactly how to make a lady feel…valued.

‘They are certainly not at all alike, Aunt. But I wonder whether Mr Rosevale will be able to stand against Cousin Frederick. He will be a formidable opponent, I think.’

‘But Pierre will have you to stand with him. Will he not? He is exactly what a young man should be, you know, and you—’

‘If he were as perfect as you say, Aunt Charlotte, I should marry him myself!’ cried Angel, in exasperation. ‘He—’

Aunt Charlotte clapped her hands in delight. ‘Of course! That is exactly the solution! If you marry him, there can be no question about his place in Society. Your position would be unassailable, too, and—’

Angel closed her eyes in despair, trying to shut out Aunt Charlotte’s excited chatter.

What on earth had she said? She was mad, totally mad, to have even hinted at such a thing to Aunt Charlotte. The old lady was annoying, certainly, but there had been no justification for Angel’s loss of control. It was the curse of the Rosevales! In hot blood, the Rosevales said and did things that no sane person would ever dream of doing.

Now Aunt Charlotte would treat it as settled. And the last thing Angel wanted to think about was marriage. To anyone.

‘Dear Aunt,’ she said gently, ‘pray do not throw yourself into transports. I was teasing you—and I apologise for it. It was not well done of me. You know well enough that I have no desire to take another husband. Even one who is absolutely perfect.’ She smiled hopefully at the old lady, who was looking very disappointed.

Lady Charlotte frowned for a second, but then her brow cleared. ‘Let us not make any hasty decisions, my dear,’ she said brightly. ‘It is too soon to decide—of course it is—but nothing is impossible, especially with such an exceptional young man. We must wait and see. But I have a feeling that something special will come of your relationship with him. You mark my words! Just wait and see what happens!’

Angel groaned. ‘Thank you, Aunt,’ she said in clipped tones. ‘I think we have said quite enough on this subject.’ She stared meaningfully at the old lady until, finally, Lady Charlotte nodded and looked away.

Angel breathed a gentle sigh of relief. ‘I think I shall go to Célestine’s tomorrow,’ she said lightly. ‘If I am to go into Society, I need something to wear apart from half-mourning. I must say, it will be quite a treat to wear bright colours again.’

Lady Charlotte beamed and nodded, as if nothing had happened. ‘Indeed so, my dear. And, for a lady of rank, Célestine is the only possible modiste. She is particularly talented when it comes to gowns for great occasions, like Court presentations. Or weddings…’

‘Aunt…’ Angel warned.

‘But it is true, my love. Why, only last year, three of the grandest brides of the Season were dressed by Célestine and—’

‘It does not apply to me. I am a widow, not a new bride. And I am not planning to remarry. I must ask you to speak of something else, Aunt.’

There was an awkward silence for several minutes. But, as the carriage was now travelling through the villages on the outskirts of London, there was much to distract the ladies, especially Angel, who had not visited London for years.

‘My goodness,’ she said, when the carriage slowed to negotiate the increasingly heavy traffic, ‘I had not remembered that the city was as busy as this. At this rate, we shall not reach Rosevale House before dark.’

‘Don’t worry, my dear. John Coachman will find our way. Besides, some of the streets are now lit by gas lamps. I am told that it is as bright as day.’

Angel did not attempt to contradict her.

‘It makes the streets much safer, too, I hear. Not that you would be out in the streets after dark, of course. No lady of quality would ever do that. Which reminds me, Angel. I know you are a widow, but you are new to Society and you do have a reputation to lose. It is important that you know exactly how to go on. I shall help you, naturally, but I…er…I ought to remind you, my dear, that you must never go out alone. In fact, it would be best if you always took the carriage—’

‘I must take some exercise, Aunt.’

‘But not by striding around the countryside like a peasant searching for…for…’

‘Lost sheep?’ said Angel mischievously.

Lady Charlotte tut-tutted. She was in her element now. ‘You may take exercise on horseback. In the park. It is a splendid place to see and be seen.’

‘No doubt. But a quiet amble in the park, stopping to chat at every other moment, provides little by way of exercise, Aunt. I shall continue to walk.’

‘But—’

‘But, to please you, dear Aunt, I shall take a maid with me. Let us hope she can keep up!’