Angel's Devil (8 page)

"Angel,
we're going in," her mother hissed, pulling at her arm.

"Excuse
me," Angelique muttered, reluctantly turning away.

They found
themselves in the back row. Simon had seated himself next to Lily's mother, and
the three of them were discussing the Stanfred estate, only a mile or so from
Niston. In a moment they had pulled her mother into the discussion as well.
Finally, Miss Charlotte Hartford took a seat at the pianoforte and began to
play, and the room quieted down.

Several minutes
into the piece someone took a seat beside Angelique, but she was trying to
remember which of Mozart's pieces was being suffocated, and didn't pay any attention
until she felt her fingers gripped. Startled, she glanced over to see the
marquis looking sideways at her. Quickly she faced front again.

"What are
you doing?" she whispered.

After a
hesitation his fingers released hers. "Hester Peachley is a damned blue-stocking,"
he murmured back, "you little hoyden."

"What's
wrong with being well-read?" she protested, surprised he had lasted for
as long as he had. Generally, Miss Peachley wiped out her male companions in
less than a minute.

He gave a
slight shake of his head. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with either a
well-read woman or the ability to converse in an intelligent and insightful
manner."
 

"So what
is the difficulty?" she returned, hiding a grin and not at all surprised
to hear that he was so enlightened.

"The
difficulty is that a blue-stocking wields her knowledge like a damned battle
axe, cutting down every male opponent within earshot."

"You were
wounded then?"

"Nearly
mortally."

Laughter burst
from Angelique's lips, and she quickly raised her hand to smother it. Her
mother and the ladies directly. in front of her turned to glare. Those two
women began whispering to their companions, and only a moment later it seemed
everyone in the room had turned to see that the Marquis of Abbonley was seated
beside her. "Go away," she murmured at him through clenched teeth.

"But we
are nearly cousins," he protested.

"I thought
this is what you were complaining about before. And no one knows Simon and I
are engaged. You'll ruin everything." Finally everyone's attention
returned to the front of the room as Miss Hartford's playing became more
enthusiastic. "Go away," she repeated. "I introduced you to Miss
Peachley because she's respectable and from a good family and intelligent, just
as you wanted. Go converse with her."

"Not for a
hundred pounds," he returned indignantly, and she had to stifle another
laugh.

"You'll
make Simon angry," she warned.

Abbonley leaned
forward to look across her. His skin smelled faintly of shaving soap. Angel
licked abruptly dry, lips and reluctantly turned to follow his gaze.
"Simon appears to be quite content," he commented. It did look that
way, but then Simon loved classical music. "Besides, I'd rather converse
with you."

With a blush
she determinedly faced front again. "I'm not speaking to you," she
whispered, though his comment quite pleased her. "I'm listening to
Mozart"

He leaned
closer. "It's Haydn," he murmured, his breath soft in her ear, and
she shivered.

"Shh,"
she muttered, swallowing. "I hate these stuffy things anyway."

"Then why
are you here?" He paused for a moment, then out of the comer of her eye
she saw him grin. "To introduce me to Miss Peachley, of course. I
appreciate the sacrifice."

"Quiet,"
she admonished when her mother glanced hostilely at the two of them.

"And
speaking of classic creations," he went on, undaunted, "how is your
Brutus?"

Actually she
was worried about the mastiff, but extending this conversation further would be
perilous to her reputation, and her equilibrium. James Faring, she was finding,
could be quite unsettling. "He's tolerable," she returned.

"Perhaps I
shall come visit him," the marquis commented. Before she could reply the
piece ended, and he joined in the applause.

5

"I did try to warn
you that Miss PeachIey can be rather . . . biting," Simon said as he and
James sat at the breakfast table the next morning.

"You told
me that already. Yes, I know. I should pay attention to you. Pass the
marmalade."

Simon passed
the bowl. "Then why did you go back to talk to her at intermission?"

"Because
she irritated me excessively."

"You gave
her a set down, didn't you?"

James grinned
and 'motioned for the plate of bacon. "Me? What gave you such an
outlandish idea as that?'

Simon laughed,
then leaned back and eyed his cousin. "You are in a good mood today,"
he commented.

James grunted
noncommittally. In truth he was in a good mood. He had concocted a plan last
night before retiring, and the smile it brought to his lips had developed a
tendency to return when he didn't expect it.

"Hm. Do
you go to Gentleman Jackson's with me today, then?" Simon asked,
apparently realizing he wasn't going to get a further explanation.

James grimaced
and flexed his shoulder. "Don't believe I'm up to boxing yet," he
said ruefully, wondering if he would ever be able to do so much as dress again
without flinching. "You are eventually going to let Lady Angelique in on
your plan, aren't you?" he queried offhandedly, rising.

Simon gave a short smile. "I told her last night after the recital."

"And?"

"She—how
did she put it—thought it was delightfully silly of me, I believe."

"It is
rather out of character, cousin," James noted, disappointed. He had
actually been hoping to hear what Angelique's reaction to his flirting had
been.

His cousin
grimaced. "I know. I hope her parents never find out the truth."

"Do you
wish to give up your scheme, then?" James queried. Abruptly, he hoped his
rather stiff cousin wouldn't back down. Teasing with Angelique, a farce or not,
was the most amusement he'd had since before he'd gone off to France with
Wellington.

Simon shrugged.
"No. Angel would be heartbroken. She already complains that I'm too
conventional,"

"Good for
her," the marquis applauded. "You never listened to me when I
complained about your propensity for propriety. "
               
,

"Very
amusing, Jamie."

James grinned
and headed for the door. "I'll see you at lunch."

He had already
arranged to have Demon saddled and waiting for him, and in a short time found
himself in a section of London he rarely frequented. His task accomplished and
the well-wrapped parcel in hand, he headed back to Mayfair, a grin once more on
his face as he reached the Grahams' house. Belatedly he realized he should have
informed Simon of his intentions, but this was all his cousin's idea, anyway.
Besides, he wanted to hear from Angelique what she thought of this absurd
little scheme.

At his knock
the door was opened by a white-haired butler, who almost managed to mask his
surprise at the unexpected visitor, "If you will wait here a moment, my
lord," the butler said, ushering him into the hall and walking through a
door, James's calling card in his hand.

"Give
Millicent back!"

A small form
hurtled down the stairs and slammed into James before he could dodge out of the
way. He took the impact with a grunt and reflexively put out a hand to steady
the small person stepping back away from him. It was a boy of perhaps nine
years, the red-brown hair and brown eyes immediately identifying him as a
Graham.

"Apologies,
sir," the boy said. A look of wonderment came over his face. "You're
the Marquis of Abbonley, ain't you?"

"Give me
Millicent, you beast!"

A second form
came down the stairs, showing little more decorum than the first. This time
James was ready, and he sidestepped to avoid a collision. The slim, bright-eyed
girl gave him an insight as to what Angelique must have looked like as a child.
.

"Hullo,"
she said, then lunged for the boy. "Give her back, Henry!"

The boy had a
doll in one hand, his fist wound through the poor thing's hair, though it
looked as if such rough treatment could do little more damage than had already
been inflicted. "Not until you give me Hero back!" he returned at
equal volume, dodging behind James. '

"I don't
have your stupid horse. You lost it!"

"Did
not!"

"Did
too!"

The marquis was
beginning to feel like a maypole. "Where was Hero last seen?" he
queried.

Henry stopped,
and the girl wrenched the doll out of his hand. "That's not fair,
Helen," he snapped.

"You
stopped," she retorted.

"But he's
the Marquis of Abbonley," Henry protested, gesturing at James. "He
was wounded in the war, and he's a member of the Four-Horse Club." He
bounced on his toes. "Drives to an inch, they say."

"And you
must be Henry," James commented, amused. The boy drew himself up
straighter. "Yes, sir. Henry Graham, my lord." He eyed the girl.
"And this is my sister, Helen."

"How come
you to know so much about me, Henry?"

"Henry
knows everything about members of the Four-Horse Club," Helen supplied,
holding the doll in the same manner that her brother had.

"I'm
flattered," he said, holding out his hand. Henry shook it vigorously.
               
'

"Henry,
Helen, don't harass our guest."

Lady Niston
stepped into the hallway to herd her young ones away. Angelique stood behind
her in the doorway, chuckling. Henry dodged around his mother and headed back
for James.

"Did you
drive here in a rig?" he asked.

James returned
his attention from Angel. "Rode my horse."

"What's
his name?" Helen asked from under her mother's arm.

"Demon."

"I
say," Henry exclaimed. "He's the black Arabian you rode from London
to Bath in thirty-eight hours, ain't he?"

James nodded,
surprised the boy knew of that, though it was one of his few repeatable
exploits. "He is."

"Oh, may I
see him? Please? Please, Mama? They set a record!"

"My
lord?" she queried, grabbing Helen by her skirt and apparently accustomed
to the pair's high spirits. She would have to be, if her older daughter was any
indication.

He smiled.
"Just don't touch him," he warned, and the two headed for the door.
"He bites."

"Yes, my
lord. We'll be careful," Henry called over his shoulder.

"I'd best
go see to that." Lady Niston sighed, then hesitated. "Pimroy,"
she said, turning to the butler and gesturing at the wall, "please
straighten those paintings again." With another displeased glance at James
she excused herself to follow the children.

"Lady
Angelique," James said, taking Angelique's hand, "we seem to be
nearly alone."

"Which is
to say we are not, my lord," she responded with a grin, pulling her
fingers free. "And Simon told me all about his plan, you know." She
gave him a scowl. "You might have let me in on it sooner."

James raised
his hands in surrender. "I am only the loyal vassal. Blame your betrothed
for keeping you in the blind about this."

She grimaced.
"All right." With a glance at the butler she sighed. "I have to
admit, hearing the truth from him did leave me somewhat relieved. Last night
you were very . . . " she flushed, "charming."

"You mean
to say you thought my attentions sincere?" he queried softly, enchanted.
She looked up at him, and after a long moment he dropped his eyes from hers.
This wasn't a seduction, for Lucifer's sake. There were no witnesses but the
butler for him to impress with his interest in the chit. "You were
flattered, I hope."