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Chapter One Northamptonshire, England, 1818 “W ho shut the curtains on such a lovely day?” Angela Lacewood darted into the drawing room at Netherstowe, her bonnet pulled back off her head and a pair of thick gloves in one hand. “It’s like a tomb in here!” She’d been working out in the garden, basking in the lavish sunshine of late May when the butler had summoned her to receive an unexpected visitor. Why anyone would be paying a call at Netherstowe when the family was traveling abroad, Angela could not guess. Nor did she much care, to be truthful. She would deal with them as quickly as possible, then reclaim her privacy. As she crossed the darkened room to open the curtains, her eyes not yet accustomed to the dimness of indoors, a deep masculine voice reached out of the shadows, like a foot to trip her up. “Leave the curtains be! I shut them and I wish them kept that way until I go.” Startled by the brusque order, Angela dropped her gloves and took a stumbling step too near her aunt’s
Chapter One
Chapter Two A ngela could not decide whether she was sorry or relieved that she’d left her gloves back on the footstool with her bonnet. If she’d been holding them in her hand when Lord Daventry had baited her with yet another riddle, the urge to strike him with them might have been too fierce a temptation for her to resist. He was playing blindman’s bluff with her! Keeping her in the dark about his intentions and his feelings. Swooping in close to tease her with a tiny kernel of information calculated to set her lurching after him. Then dancing out of her reach once again, while she groped a fistful of air. “Did you wake up this morning, sir, and say to yourself, ‘This looks like a marvelous day to go vex my neighbor!’?” His lordship laughed again, clearly oblivious to his increasing danger of being throttled. “If that notion had entered my mind, I can assure you, Miss Lacewood, you’d be at the very bottom of my list of potential victims. Forgive me for not being more plainspoken. My
Chapter Two
Chapter Three D amn his fool pride! Lucius chided himself as he strove to ignore the hopeful light in his grandfather’s eyes. “Carruthers tells me you went out riding this afternoon.” The earl glanced up from his book. “In the direction of Netherstowe.” Lucius glared at the ancient valet who stood behind his grandfather’s chair. “Plenty of places lie east of here besides Netherstowe.” “True.” The faint specter of a smile passed across the earl’s face as he cocked one gray brow. “But that is where you went, isn’t it?” “What if I did?” Lucius turned to stare out one of the tall narrow windows of Helmhurst’s library. A thick bank of clouds had blown in from the west, shrouding the sun’s earlier brilliant glare. “Perhaps I was curious to discover whether Miss Lacewood bore any resemblance to the paragon you’ve been touting so continuously.” He’d discovered that Angela Lacewood bore a strong resemblance to the sunshine from which he shrank—too warm and bright for a creature of the night to
Chapter Three
Chapter Four C hampagne dancing its way down her throat was one of the sweetest luxuries Angela had ever enjoyed. Champagne surging back up, its innocent little bubbles scouring the back of her throat and nose, was another matter entirely! When she heard the earl declare that he knew the true reason behind her engagement to his grandson, she could not stifle a gasp, which set her choking on her wine. Her eyes watered and she struggled to catch her breath between bouts of violent coughing. She managed to hold on to her champagne flute long enough for a steadier hand to take it from her. A moment later she felt Lord Daventry gently tapping her on the back. “Are you all right, Angela?” he asked. “Can I get anything for you?” If she’d been able to reply, she might have told him it did no good posing questions to someone who was coughing too hard to speak. All the same, the warm concern of his tone eased her enough that she was able to catch her breath again. Before long, she had her coughi
Chapter Four
Chapter Five “W hat do you want with me?” Miles Lacewood squinted into the dimly lit study his housemaster had made available to Lucius for this meeting. “And who are you?” Was it only yesterday he had been posed those same questions by the boy’s sister at Netherstowe? His tightly guarded emotions had been pushed and pulled in so many directions since then, it seemed to Lucius that a fortnight must have passed. “Lord Daventry of Helmhurst,” he introduced himself, “a neighbor of your uncle’s.” The boy’s eyes widened. He was a well-made lad, tall for his age, with the same fair coloring as his sister. “What brings you to my school, sir? Nothing’s happened to Angela, has it?” Not the kind of calamity young Mr. Lacewood anticipated, perhaps. “Your sister is perfectly well, if that’s what you mean. But something has occurred which will be to her benefit, and to yours, I hope.” As always, Lucius chose his words with care. He did not want to speak of marriage or wedding when he intended neith
Chapter Five
Chapter Six L ucius Daventry raised one arm to protect his weak eye against the blinding sunlight. With his other hand, he twitched back the heavy curtain that draped the window of his traveling coach and peered out. Spotting the familiar spire of St. Owen’s in Grafton Renforth, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and let the curtain fall again. He would be home soon, and one benefit of this cursedly bright day should be a fine, clear night—perfect for his purposes. Lucius yawned. For the past forty-eight hours, he’d been venturing out into the world by day, then retiring to his bed at night. After three years as a night dweller, it felt unnatural, somehow. He always slept fitfully during the night, when an eerie stillness settled over Helmhurst. The muted daytime sounds of the place—servants coming and going, distant voices—lulled him into a peaceful, dreamless slumber he had never expected to enjoy again after Waterloo. For the next few months, he would have to skulk about the shadowed f
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven W hat had he done? Lucius asked himself, followed immediately by, what would he do now? Challenging Angela Lacewood to confront this part of his life had been a huge mistake—almost as big as the one he’d made by involving her in this ridiculous charade of an engagement. The only thing he’d expected less than finding his fiancée spying on him, was having her call his bluff. With a firm grip on her upper arm, he pushed her toward the crest of the hill. “Come along, Miss Lacewood, and you shall see.” She must be thoroughly convinced he was not involved in any of the diabolical practices gossip attributed to him. Otherwise she would have turned tail and fled back down the hill to safety, like a sensible young lady. What gave her such reckless confidence in him when he had done nothing to win her trust? On the contrary, he’d gone out of his way to put Miss Lacewood on her guard. As she’d done to him without even trying. Lucius couldn’t decide how he felt about her unmerited fa
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight H e had come so close to kissing her again, and this time he would have had no saving excuse. Confronting his near loss of self-control shook Lucius to the core. Three days after Angela Lacewood had bearded him in his den, he tossed and turned in his bed, trying to stop thinking about her. He was enjoying a conspicuous lack of success. He could not escape the preposterous sensation that Miss Lacewood was present in the room, watching him. Only an hour ago he’d woken from the most alarming dream, in which she’d been kneeling beside his bed. With one hand, she’d stroked his body in the most provocative manner, while with the other she had reached up to tear away his mask. Lucius had returned to consciousness with a violent start, his pulse and breath racing, his body slick with sweat and aching for a woman…though not just any woman. Angela Lacewood had come close to seducing him that night on the tower roof. And she hadn’t even needed to deploy the potent weapon of her beau
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine I f Lord Daventry didn’t yet regret continuing their bogus engagement, he soon might. Angela couldn’t help thinking so as she watched him sitting opposite her in the darkened interior of his traveling coach. Chaperoned by a disapproving Tibby, they were taking Miles to London. There the young man would collect the gear he’d ordered and the uniforms for which he’d been fitted on a previous trip to the city. Then he would board a ship bound for India, to take up his commission. Ever since they’d set out from Grafton Renforth early that morning, her brother had been pestering the baron with question after question about regimental life. Hours later, he had still not exhausted the topic, though Angela was becoming heartily bored with it. “It’s going to seem pretty rum, giving orders to enlisted chaps old enough to be my father.” “You’ll do well to leave most of the ordering to your sergeant,” Lord Daventry advised. “Chances are he’s forgotten more about soldiering than you’ll
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten “I don’t know when I’ve seen a man so altered for the better in such a short time.” The earl’s murmured words echoed Angela’s own thoughts. The two of them sat at a small writing table at one end of his library, addressing invitations to the ball. At the other end, Lord Daventry and the vicar were bent over a chessboard. “Perhaps not altered,” the earl corrected himself, taking care that his grandson should not overhear. “Restored to what he once was. You’ve had a better influence on him than I dared hope, my dear child.” Angela kept her head bowed over her writing, so the earl’s shrewd gaze would not divine her true thoughts on the matter. She knew very well it was neither her influence nor for her benefit that Lord Daventry had made such an effort to be sociable recently. And it had been an effort. Angela was under no illusions about that. She had seen the stares and overheard some of the whispers that first morning at St. Owens. Though Lucius Daventry had concealed his f
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven W hen he saw the blacksmith raise one massive hand against Angela, Lucius wondered if his mask had caught fire. Then he realized that he was feeling a manifestation of his own rage. If he’d had time to think about it, the intensity might have frightened him. But he only had time to act, with a swiftness that seemed to outstrip even thought. The next thing he knew, Lucius had the blacksmith’s fist pinned to the door. “Lay so much as a finger on her, Gunner Shaw,” he growled, “and I’ll make you regret it for as long as you live.” The well-honed edge of his threat seemed to penetrate the blacksmith’s gin-soaked brain. “No, Lord Lucifer…Col. Daventry…sir!” “And if you bring harm to your wife,” Lucius added in a grave but less menacing tone, “you will not need me to make you regret it.” All the rage seemed to leech out of the powerful, stocky man. “I know…sir.” Lucius released the blacksmith’s arm. “Let’s walk.” He shot a glance at Angela. Vexation and relief fought a bloody
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve L ike day and night. The words played a sweet, haunting melody through Angela’s thoughts as she twirled around the sitting room, showing off Lizzie Shaw’s exquisite handiwork to Tibby, Hoskins and the rest of the servants. “Ye look like a princess, miss, or a duchess!” squealed Violet, the parlor maid. For the first time in her life, Angela felt like a princess. At least, the way she imagined a princess might feel. Though perhaps the blithe, buoyant sensation that bubbled through her veins was superior to anything a true princess might experience. A lady born to the crown might take her exalted station and privileges for granted. For Angela, tonight would be a fairy tale come true. Mr. Hoskins beamed his approval of the silk and lace confection that billowed around her in shades of gold and blue. “A countess, you mean, Violet. Our Miss Angela will be Countess of Welland, one day.” Though she knew he’d said it to please her, the butler’s words flattened a few of Angela’s
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen H ad he once hoped it would never be necessary for him to kiss Angela again? As she glided over the terrace at his side, Lucius resolved to eat his foolish words, even if his pride choked on them. “You claimed you did not dance well.” He leaned close to whisper the words in her ear as they moved off the terrace after several very pleasant dances. “What other mistaken ideas do you have about yourself, my dear?” “I said I hadn’t much practice,” she corrected him. “I believe I might enjoy dancing, perhaps even become good at it, if I had more opportunities. And a congenial partner.” Something about her answer troubled him faintly. Since he could not decide what, Lucius dismissed it from his thoughts. “Would you care for a drink to refresh ourselves? We must not neglect our program for the evening. Remember, dancing was only part of it.” A little wine, another dance or two, perhaps something sweet from the buffet. Each and all served up with a generous dollop of flirtation
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen “I should have hosted a ball ages ago,” said the earl as he and Angela waved goodbye to the last of his guests a few mornings later. “I found the whole event most invigorating. Now it’s too fine a day to go back inside. Let us wander around to the rose garden and sit there awhile.” “Very well.” Angela took the earl’s arm and they began to walk. “I’m glad you enjoyed it all so much. It was everything I ever dreamed a ball would be.” Almost everything. The earl patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “A rare jewel deserves a perfect setting in which to shine. I must say, you sparkled admirably that night.” “But not much since?” She cast him a sidelong glance. “Go ahead and say it, for I can tell that’s what you’re thinking.” “Would I ever insult a lady with such a remark?” The earl shook his head and did his best to look offended. “I expect we all tend to droop a little once the excitement is over.” “Are you feeling poorly?” Angela looked more closely
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen “P lease don’t go.” Angela whispered her entreaty into the darkness. A golden thread with no more substance than a sunbeam, it wrapped around Lucius. Around his hands and his feet. Around his shoulders and his chest. Around his loins and his thighs with a particular, delicious tension. That she could hold him and kiss him the way she had, after the way he’d treated her on the night of the ball, and ever since, drowned his doubts and thawed his desire. Around and around him that gilded cobweb spun, snaring his heart for good measure. A hundred times. A million. Multiplying the barely existent force of a single strand into a bond too strong for Lucius to break…even if he’d wanted to. “Are you certain this is what you want?” Did she understand what his staying would mean and where it was sure to lead? “You’re not just doing this as a last kindness to my grandfather? Or because you feel sorry for me?” “I do feel sorry for you,” she said. “I feel sorry for myself. I’d do alm
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen A fter all that had happened at Helmhurst the night of the earl’s death, Angela had thought her life couldn’t get any worse. Then the Bulwicks arrived home on the eve of the funeral, having been summoned by hysterical letters from Tibby which had finally reached them. Clemmie and Cammie appeared none too pleased at having their tour shortened, while their parents were clearly outraged over all that had been going on at Netherstowe in their absence. And without their oversight. Lord Bulwick had scarcely been in the house five minutes when he fixed Angela with a grim stare and demanded, “What’s this I hear about your brother buying a commission and trotting off to India without so much as a by-your-leave from the family who raised him like a son?” A few months ago, her uncle’s glowering look, all fierce gray eyebrows and ruddy jowls, would have set Angela sputtering, dropping cutlery and tripping over footstools. But she had faced down a far more dangerous character since
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen S o much for her pitiful strategy to play for time, Angela thought as she drove toward Helmhurst in the carriage Lucius had sent for her. Though she knew he could easily spare the vehicle, it gave her a queasy feeling of guilt to accept such solicitous gestures from him when she knew she wasn’t carrying his child. It was beginning to look as though she never would. She owed Lucius the truth. Today, after the reading of his grandfather’s will would be as good a time as any to tell him. Or as bad. Ever since the day of the funeral, when she’d suggested that he might have gotten her pregnant, Lucius had been most attentive, in a distant, abstracted fashion. He’d put his small gig at her disposal for her usual round of visits to her friends. In the evenings, he’d frequently called at Netherstowe to rescue her from the company of the Bulwicks. But in all that time he had never attempted to touch her or kiss her. Nor had he revealed his feelings with any tender words. Surel
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen “T his is your fault, you know.” Lucius glared at the fine marble stone that had recently been erected over his grandfather’s grave in St. Owen’s churchyard. “You filled Angela’s head with all this sentimental nonsense about me. The poor girl probably has a misguided notion she’s granting some last wish of yours by persisting with this engagement.” Light was fading from the early autumn sky that darkened from a rosy lavender in the west, through hues of purple and blue to velvet black off in the east. Not a single cloud threatened to obscure the view Lucius would get through his telescope in a few hours. The faint breeze had a bracing nip that warned of colder nights to come. It rustled among the leaves with a sound that put Lucius in mind of his grandfather’s voice in a gentle rebuke. Lucius would have none of it. “You were the one who said you didn’t want me to wed Angela if it meant compromising her happiness. You were right about that at least. I see it now. But ho
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen “W hat’s this?” Angela cast a dubious glance at the paper Tibby held out to her. “Dunno, pet.” Tibby’s thin shoulders rose in a shrug and her sparse eyebrows arched high. “The vicar left it for you while you were out paying your call on Mrs. Shaw. I couldn’t coax a word out of him. The poor man looked like he supposed I’d bite him. The two of you haven’t quarreled, have you?” Angela took the letter from Tibby’s hand gingerly, as if it might bite her. “Me, quarrel with the vicar? Never.” She’d probably hurt his feelings dreadfully, though. The back of her throat tightened and her stomach began to churn. She hadn’t meant to be so harsh in her rejection of his modest overtures. But the things he’d said about Lucius not caring for her had stung. For the first time in her life, she’d felt the need to sting back. Now she regretted it. How was poor Mr. Michaeljohn to divine the true extent to which his friend might or might not care for her, when Lucius took such pains to con
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty L ucius pummeled his pillow, half wishing it were his own face. Off in the distance he could hear all the muted sounds of daytime activity that should have lulled him to sleep—faint footsteps and the soft murmur of voices. This morning they had lost their soothing power. Yet neither were they sufficiently loud or unusual to provide a distraction from the thoughts that worried at him. For the first time since he’d hit on his plan to promote a match between Angela and Mr. Michaeljohn, Lucius found himself wondering whether he might be doing the right thing but for all the wrong reasons. A very soft voice from deep in his conscience even dared to question whether he’d done the right thing at all. He did regret harrying the vicar out of bed this morning, at an hour when most people other than himself were still fast asleep. But he’d so wanted Angela to read what he’d written. He could not bear to wait until Michaeljohn’s next visit to Helmhurst. It had been all he could do t
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One “B ath?” Lucius asked, as though he had not heard the vicar perfectly well, or there had been some ambiguity about his news. “Angela has gone to Bath?” The two men sat in the library at Helmhurst, a neglected chessboard between them. Nathan Michaeljohn gave a glum nod. “A few days ago, with no word when she expects to return.” “If she expects to return,” Lucius corrected him, “which I doubt she does.” He’d finally succeeded in driving Angela away. Never had triumph tasted so bitter. Even the faint hope that, in Bath, she might secure a husband worthy of her love did not avail Lucius. For he knew she could search the world over without finding a man who would love her as he did. “Now, now.” The vicar tried to force a smile, but failed. “Don’t lose hope, my friend. If Miss Lacewood could consider forgiving what I did, I’m sure she can do the same for you. Your motives were more noble than mine.” “They weren’t. You’re too charitable, Nathan, especially considering how i
Chapter Twenty-One
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