Capture The Wind (41 page)

“True enough, I suppose,” Lindell said grudgingly. “Still, I say she should be put on the next ship across the Channel. The infernal woman is everywhere, I’m told. At soirées, royal balls—the prince made an absolute cake of himself by tailing after her all one evening and engaging her in earnest conversation. But what can one expect from a prince who married Mrs. Fitzherbert? Dear God. What a mess this country is in.” He leaned forward slightly. “That is why I am so impressed with the duke. He has vision.”

“The duke?”

“Tremayne. I told you—Charles Sheridan. He is very adroit not only in business, but in politics. The man casts a long shadow, and I am most impressed with some of his ideas.”

Not at all interested in the machinations of the government at the moment, Angela asked if her mother would be joining them for breakfast.

“Alas, no. She has one of her headaches and took a powder to soothe it.” After a short pause, he added, “I think it was the excitement at seeing you again. We were so worried, you know.” Another pause. Then, “When the captain of the
Scrutiny
told us that you had been taken by pirates
 . . .
” He let his voice trail into a pregnant silence, and Angela tensed.

“The captain of—do you mean Captain Turnower?”

“But of course. How else do you think we knew about it? When everyone else was either taken prisoner or murdered by those beastly pirates—it was a miracle Turnower escaped—he was all that was left to tell of your fate. Oh, we agonized so many nights, wondering if you were still alive and unharmed.”

Her fork clattered to the edge of her plate with a brittle clink. “Captain Turnower is a coward and a liar.”

John Lindell stared at her. “Whatever do you mean?”

“He would have left us tied to the mast of a burning ship rather than give up room in the lifeboats to two women he did not want aboard his ship in the first place. If the pirates had not taken us, we would have gone down with the
Scrutiny.”

“That’s a rather hard accusation, Angela.”

“But true.” She took a deep breath. “I was there, Papa. I know what happened.”

Lindell’s hands crunched the pages of his paper with a loud rustle, and his face took on a hard expression. “If this is true, then I shall see that Turnower is properly punished.”

“If
this is true?” She stared at him. “Do you doubt my word?”

“No, no, not at all. But I had heard
 . . .
” He stopped and looked down at his plate.

“You heard what, Papa?”

He looked back up at her, sighing. “I heard that you were taken by the pirates, not rescued. There is a vast difference, and I assumed—Angela, I never told your mother about it. She knows only that you were picked up by a passing ship when the
Scrutiny
went down, and it has taken you some time to get back to England.”

Gesturing to the newspaper he still had wadded in his fists, she asked carefully, “And the article released about our rescue? Does it go into lurid detail, or is that only for those adept at reading between the lines?”

His mouth thinned into a hard line as he murmured, “It states that you have been abroad for a holiday before your marriage to the baron.”

“Marriage!” Shocked, she stared at him for several long moments. The faint clatter of dishes in the steward’s pantry behind closed doors indicated that the servants were craning their necks to listen. Angela smothered the burning desire to shout her defiance and said calmly, “And who am I to marry?”

“Baron Von Gosden-Lear, of course. I am well aware that you did not marry your Royalist. His letter arrived here two weeks after you had gone.”

“And you read it.”

“Of course. Angela, I was frantic. I would have read the king’s correspondence if I had thought it would give me information about your welfare.”

Slightly shamed, she nodded. “Very well. I understand. But I do not understand your insistence upon my wedding the baron. Has it not occurred to you that I am well past the age where you may force me into such an action?”

“Naturally. But in light of the scandal that your disappearance could have caused, what else was I to do? I had to concoct a plausible explanation that would not damage your reputation and render you unfit for marriage to any proper suitor. Surely, you understand.”

“I know, Papa. But I am back now and all is well.” Pushing at a coddled egg with the tines of her fork, Angela knew he was trying to maneuver her into doing as he wished. But not for nothing had she managed to survive aboard a pirate ship, and she looked up at him after a moment and said softly, “I refuse to wed the baron. It is useless to pursue that course. Should you persevere, I will think little of telling the truth about the past few months of my life.”

John Lindell just stared at her without speaking, until the silence dragged on unbearably. Finally he gave a helpless shrug and said, “Do as you will, Angela. I cannot fight both you and your mother. I have too much else on my mind at the moment.”

It was not the most auspicious way to begin her first day back in England. Angela had the dismaying thought that she would have much preferred remaining aboard the
Sea Tiger
with pirates. At least the battle lines there had been clearly drawn.

Alicia Lindell grasped her daughter’s arm tightly. “Just look,” she whispered. “So many earls and dukes
 . . .
why, even a baron is of little consequence here.”

Rather chagrined by her mother’s reaction to the elegant drawing room filled with guests, Angela whispered, “Of even less consequence is an untitled banker.”

Her mother shot her a frown. “Don’t be impertinent. Are you not the least impressed by the assemblage here?”

Truthfully, she had to admit to a certain awe. Where else but in London could one find such a vast and glittering array of jewels and nobility in one gigantic room? Ornate gold pillars and wall coverings embroidered with birds in flight and leafy palm fronds provided an elegant background for the sumptuously garbed guests that danced beneath five—no, six—massive crystal chandeliers that held several hundred candles apiece. It was all very impressive and ostentatious. Appropriate, Angela thought with a trace of cynicism, for a duke said to dabble in politics and profit.

In the two months since she had been back in London, she had heard more than enough about Tremayne. Urbane, sophisticated, witty, his present held as many mysteries as his past. Rumors flocked about many of the peerage, but Tremayne seemed to have gathered more than his share of gossip. His first wife had died under mysterious circumstances, it was said, and his second wife had succumbed to a fever several years before. Neither wife, rumor held it, had been very pleasant.

Then there was the matter of his only son and heir. It was whispered that there had been a violent quarrel and the duke had killed his own son. The cause of the quarrel was said to be a woman, which lent spice to the rumors. No one had seen or heard from the heir in years. All portraits of him had been removed from the walls, and if mention of him was made, the duke refused to respond. It was as if he had never existed. Few could even recall his name, and those who did forbore repeating it. It was as if he had disappeared off the face of the earth.

“Very mysterious,” John Lindell had agreed testily when she confronted him, “but hardly sinister. If the boy died, it must have affected the duke greatly. Is it any wonder that he avoids mentioning him?”

Angela’s efforts to determine the exact nature of the business between her father and Tremayne had been futile. Lindell was as close-mouthed as a clam, as Dylan would say.

“Look dear,” Alicia whispered excitedly, “here comes the duke with your father
 . . .
oh, my, he’s going to introduce us!”

Turning, Angela saw a tall, handsome gentleman with silver-flecked dark hair at her father’s side. She had the thought that he looked exactly as a duke should—austere, reserved, and aristocratic. He carried himself with the air of a man who knew his own worth and did not have to flaunt it. Angela had never met him or anyone like him. Dukes had not frequented her social set. Yet there was something about him that was vaguely familiar.

The duke’s steady gaze was unnerving, and made her much too self-conscious. She hid a tremor of nervous reaction with a graceful curtsy when her father made the introductions. Childhood hours of deportment classes came to her rescue, so that she was saved from embarrassing herself.

“Your Grace,” her father was saying, “may I introduce my wife and daughter
 . . .
” John Lindell sounded as if he were about to burst with self-importance as he made the introductions, and Angela kept her gaze trained downward while the duke spoke to her mother.

“I believe we have corresponding ties, Mrs. Lindell. My mother was by way of being your mother’s fourth cousin, is that not so?”

Hand fluttering at her throat, Alicia stammered, “Why, I
 . . .
I never knew that, Your Grace.”

“A small tie, to be true, but a tie nonetheless.”

Then Charles Sheridan bent forward over Angela’s hand, his voice low and well modulated. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Lindell. I see that the rumors about your beauty have not been exaggerated.”

“You are very kind, Your Grace,” she murmured, and met his eyes with a small sense of shock. They were a deep blue, thick-lashed and penetrating, seeming to see through her to the very marrow of her bones.

“No, not at all,” he replied with a faint trace of amusement. “Many things may be said of me, but never has the appellation of
kind
been applied to my character. Truthful to the point of tactless, perhaps, but not kind.”

Floundering for a polite reply, Angela was saved from the necessity by her mother’s intervention.

“Your Grace, we are so pleased that you honored us with an invitation this evening. It is a lovely affair.”

Bowing slightly in Alicia’s direction, the duke released Angela’s gloved hand at last. “I am pleased that you are enjoying it. So often, these things can be such a bore.” Raking Angela with another searching glance, he turned to her father again. “Would it distress you, John, if I were to ask your daughter to honor me with the first dance?”

Shocked, Angela heard through a buzzing in her ears her father’s delighted acceptance, then the duke took her hand again in a light grip.

“Miss Lindell, it would give me great pleasure if you would accompany me on the dance floor. It is customary to begin with a minuet.”

“I
 . . .
I would be honored, Your Grace,” she managed to say. Dear Lord. She had not danced in months. What if she stumbled, or forgot the steps?

But the painstaking drills of the dance master her mother had insisted she have as a child came in good stead, and when the musicians began the stately strains, Angela found herself in the middle of the vast dance floor with the Duke of Tremayne. Other couples danced beside them in the slow, elegant steps of the old French dance. She could feel sidelong glances and open stares and knew most of the guests were wondering who she was. John Lindell may have been well known in business circles, but this was an entirely different matter.

When the dance was over and the duke had returned her to her mother’s side, he left with a formal bow and murmur of appreciation. Angela could feel her mother trembling with excitement.

“He has effectively ensured your acceptance,” Alicia whispered in Angela’s ear. “I cannot believe our good fortune. Look at the way everyone is staring at you and whispering.”

“This is ridiculous,” Angela murmured. “I feel like a porcelain doll in some grotesque masquerade. Do you suppose we could sip punch for a few moments, then steal away without being noticed?”

Giving her an astonished glance, Alicia asked, “Why, ever would we want to do that? Your arrival into the
ton
has just been secured.”

“Because this promises to be a deadly dull evening. I know hardly anyone here, and those I do know are insipid bores.”

Alicia fluttered her ivory and lace fan rapidly, hiding her frown. “You just danced with the duke, for heaven’s sake.” Her voice lowered dramatically. “He is a widower, you know. This could be the beginning of a new world for you, Angela, an introduction into the realms of the elite. Can you not see beyond the moment?”

“Mother, really
 . . .
”

The ivory and lace fan snapped shut with a vigorous click. “I have always envisioned a wonderful life for you,” Alicia said with an accusing frown. “Why must you thwart me at every turn? After all, you could be spending this evening with Arthur, instead of at a soirée where the aristocracy is whispering about you.”