Wicked Angel (17 page)

None of the Reese family noticed the man with the cane standing to one side, staring at his sister and the Duke of Sutherland.

Headed home in a hired hack, Paul was still reeling from the remarkable notion that Sutherland had eyes for his sister. The man was not only a duke, he was
famous
. Some called him a Radical for leading the reform movement in the House of Lords. He was bold, his ideas refreshingly original. He was, in Paul's estimation, exactly what the country needed in Parliament. Engaged to a beautiful woman, he was planning a marriage that would create a family alliance
The Times
predicted would be of enormous consequence in the next decade. And he was blatantly flirting with his very own sister. Paul looked at

Lauren. Settled against the squabs, she gazed dreamily out the dingy window, a contented smile on her lips. "Enjoy yourself?"

"Hmmm," she nodded.

"Meet anyone of particular interest? Or did Count Bergen keep them all at bay?" A small smile curved her lips, but Lauren slowly shook her head. "I was beginning to think you might have developed some attachment for the Duke of Sutherland," he said quietly.

Lauren's eyes shot open and she laughed. "
Him?
Hardly!" She laughed again, but it was a feigned laugh, he knew. That rake had impressed her.

"He is engaged, you know," he said carefully," to Lady Marlaine Reese. Earl Whitcomb's daughter."

Clearly startled, Lauren jerked her gaze to him, her eyes roaming his face. "Engaged?" she echoed, her voice small.

"You did not know?"

She blinked, then looked down at her lap, shrugging. "No, but why should I? I hardly know the man, and you know how aristocrats can be. Very particular about who is introduced to whom," she said, then added so softly he could barely hear, "besides, he does not particularly care for me, I think."

Paul remained silent on that point. But she could not be more wrong.

"Thank you, Finch, I'll show myself in."

From his desk, Alex glanced up as his younger brother sauntered across the thick carpet and dropped onto a leather couch. Grinning broadly, he stretched his long legs in front of him and shoved a hand into the waistband of his trousers.

"What," Alex asked dryly, "puts such a smile on your face this afternoon? Are you pleased with yourself?

Or some trifle?"

Arthur chuckled gleefully. "A trifle. Seems the entire
ton
is talking about the Duke of Sutherland this morning."

"Indeed?" Alex drawled.

"Indeed, your most exalted grace. I take it you have not heard the gossip?" Arthur asked, his hazel eyes sparkling with gaiety. Alex shook his head. "Then you may very well be the only person in London not to have heard how the aloof Duke of Sutherland paid uncharacteristic attention to a widowed countess. A beautiful, Bavarian countess."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Arthur, for that titillating piece of gossip. Should you not be on your way to your exclusive interview with the editor of
The Times?
"

Arthur's delighted laughter filled the large room. "Then you deny it?"

Alex shrugged; he was quite accustomed to the daily rumors and innuendoes surrounding him. During the Season he was often the subject of much drawing room speculation after an event like the Harris ball. "I

do not deny dancing with Countess Bergen. If one terms that 'uncharacteristic attention,' then I suppose I am guilty."

"And I suppose the fact that your secretary dispatched two dozen roses from the Park Lane hothouse this morning is just a coincidence," Arthur said nonchalantly.

A slow smile worked at the corner of Alex's mouth. He leaned back, propping a booted foot against the expensive, hand-carved mahogany desk. Clasping his hands behind his head, he grinned fondly at Arthur.

"
That
is the very reason I leave the business details to you. You rarely miss the little things that may appear insignificant to others." Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. "But you should have confirmed the destination of those roses. They were sent to Marlaine Reese."

"Yes, the roses were sent to Marlaine," Arthur grinned, "but the gardenias were sent to Russell Square."

Alex laughed heartily. "All right, if you must know, it would seem I insulted the countess. She does not like to be reminded that I first saw her staring down an enormous hog."

"I beg your pardon?"

Alex grinned and nodded. "Met her near Dunwoody last fall as she was about to become a hog's next meal. Tried to help her and almost broke my neck for it." Bemusement creased Arthur's forehead at the irreconcilable image. Alex laughed. "A rather old, cantankerous hog at that. They both hail from a small estate by the name of Rosewood."

A light of understanding dawned on Arthur's face. "I see—I don't suppose that was the reason you stayed a week longer than you had intended?"

"Of course not," Alex scoffed, unconsciously averting his gaze to the stack of papers in front of him.

"I was given to understand the countess had only just arrived in England. According to Paddy, she was recently widowed by a hunting accident."

"Aunt Paddy," Alex said dryly, "believes what she wants to believe in addition to every single thing Mrs.

Clark
tells
her to believe."

"Nonetheless, she does seem to have appeared from nowhere. I have not had the pleasure of meeting the countess, but I have met her brother. They say he has amassed a small fortune in the gaming hells of Southwark," Arthur remarked. "Seems to be unusually clever with cards."

"You don't say? I would not have guessed him a gambling man. By the look of things, they have not a shilling to spare. But then again, I would not have guessed her a countess."

"Apparently you have
some
interest in the woman," Arthur remarked jovially. "But far be it from me to make light of your little diversion."

"It is not a diversion, dear brother. Have you forgotten I will be married at the end of the Season?" Alex asked, smiling.

"I have not—have you?" Arthur laughingly shot back, and stood to leave. "I shall take my leave of you before you impale me with that letter opener. Incidentally, Mother has closed the Berkley Street house in favor of my home on Mount Street. Swears she cannot abide being alone."

Alex snorted. "She has not abided being alone in twelve years. I think it time we convinced her to sell it."

"We can certainly try, but you know as well as I that she is of the opinion one never sells property unless one is destitute or dead. By the by, do not forget that we have been properly shamed into attending Paddy's little supper party tomorrow evening. Shall I tell her to expect her favorite nephew?"

"Please do. And tell her I will attend as well," Alex said with a grin.

Across town, Paul counted again the fifty pounds he had collected at the Harris's gaming tables last evening. Coupled with his winnings from a recent foray into Southwark, he now had sufficient funds to provide a proper wardrobe for Lauren. If God granted him a little luck, in six weeks he would have enough to pay the interest on what Ethan had borrowed against his trust. Fortunately, he was winning with regularity and was beginning to build a tidy sum large enough to invest in the private securities with a decent return. He had studied his investment books in earnest, and was convinced he could achieve his ultimate goal of providing for Rosewood.

He folded the bank notes and stuffed them into his breast coat pocket as Davis entered the room. "Count Bergen," he announced, then with some flourish pivoted and made his exit. Paul grimaced to himself; he did not particularly care for the German, much less the prospect of Lauren living in Bavaria. Magnus entered carrying a massive bouquet of lilies.

"Good morning, Count Bergen," Paul sighed. "Are those for me?"

Magnus did not so much as smile. "Is Lauren about? I would like a word with her."

"Unfortunately, she is asleep. We arrived home quite late last evening."

"Yes, I know," Magnus said absently.

Paul regarded Lauren's suitor impatiently. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps she does not care to be so closely watched?"

"Yes," he said simply, and glanced about the room. His gaze landed on a table near the front windows, where a cluster of gardenias rested next to an arrangement of roses.

Paul followed his gaze and smirked. "As you can see, you are not the only man who vies for her attentions."

"Perhaps not, but your uncle is agreeable to my terms," he responded gruffly.

"Yes, but is Lauren?"

The German's eyes narrowed menacingly. He abruptly moved toward the table, dropped his bouquet on top of the gardenias, and turned on his heel, walking out of the room without a word. Paul glanced at the window, smiling quietly as he watched Magnus emerge from the house and bound down the steps, walking briskly in the direction of Covent Garden. "Apparently, she is not," he answered himself, and still smiling, returned to his books.

She had absolutely
nothing
to wear, and moreover, Lauren was in no mood to attend the supper party at Lady Paddington's. It was
his
fault—since the Harris ball she had not been able to get Alex off her mind. Unwilling to admit that he attracted her like no other man, and absolutely frantic that he did, she anxiously tore through her measly wardrobe. Why on earth should she feel any attraction for him? He

was
betrothed
for Chrissakes! She angrily yanked a gown from her wardrobe and examined it with a critical eye before tossing it on the bed with the others.

She was being ridiculous! She had absolutely no business even
thinking
of him. She was in London for one purpose, and that purpose did not include making moon eyes at a duke. He probably thought of her as little more than another conquest, anyway—if he thought of her at all, that was, and she was quite certain he did not. This was absurd; she could not possibly care less
what
he thought of her!

Sighing with frustration, she planted her hands on her waist and surveyed the gowns strewn about her small room, settling without enthusiasm on a demure gown of midnight blue obtained from a so-called affordable seamstress. She told herself it hardly mattered what she wore. There would be no one in attendance who would spark even the slightest interest for her. There never was. The only man who came even remotely close to interesting her was—

"
Stop
it!" she angrily chided herself. She picked up a glass pendant and donned it, then strolled to a full-length mirror and gazed pensively at her reflection. As much as she despised her reason for being in London, she actually enjoyed the parties, the glittering lights, and the fabulous costumes. But it was all an illusion. Her place was at Rosewood with the children, and it was to Rosewood she would soon return.

With or without a suitable match.

Yes, and what, exactly, constituted a suitable match? She hoped she might at least meet a man whom she could learn to
like
. Having been exposed to the best London had to offer it seemed less and less likely that love would enter into it. Actually, she had given up that ridiculous ideal the moment Ethan had seriously considered Lord van der Mill's offer. Now, she only hoped she could
respect
her future husband.

Her gaze traveled to the vanity and the bouquets of wilting flowers. The roses were from Lord van der Mill, whom Ethan kept on the end of taut string, ready to yank at the first sign the old man might see his way to outbid Magnus for her hand. Magnus had sent the others, as he did every day. He was trying very hard, and for some reason, had sent her
two
bouquets after the ball.

One corner of Lauren's mouth tipped upward. For some extraordinary reason, Count Bergen had changed his mind about her and was now rather determined in his pursuit of her. He had taken a town house on fashionable Bedford Square, he said, to be nearby if she should change her mind. And when she had told him she resented his constant surveillance, he had responded very matter-of-factly that it was necessary, because she would not allow him to see her any other way.

One had to respect such dedication to a cause. And she did respect him, but she could never
love
Magnus. Oh, she was fond of him in a friendly sort of way, had always been, even when he had suspected her of cheating his uncle and had wanted to haul her off to the Bavarian authorities. But she simply could not summon more than a feeling of friendship for him.

With a soft sigh, she walked to the window and parted the pale green drapes. Looking out onto Russell Square, she contemplated that perhaps she was not quite ready to give up on love. Unfortunately, she did not have the luxury of time to wait for it—she had to marry if she wanted to save Rosewood. She had to settle soon, and no handsome, arrogant duke was going to stop her.

No matter how badly she wanted him to.

Lady Paddington, with an ostrich feather bobbing precariously from her coif, appeared in the foyer, to greet Lauren upon her arrival. "Oh,
Countess!
I am so pleased you could attend my little gathering!" she

crowed with genuine delight. "Ah, but you look so lovely this evening! I daresay you and Lady Marlaine are the loveliest of women," she rushed on before Lauren could get a word in. "You shall become instant friends tonight, I am certain of it."

Oh, wasn't life
grand!
She could spend the entire evening listening to Lady Marlaine gush about her blasted fiancé!

"Come and let me introduce you to her and her mother, Lady Whitcomb. Lord and Lady Pritchit and their daughter Charlotte are also here. I rather think my nephew Lord Westfall might be interested in dear Charlotte," she whispered conspiratorially. Lauren swallowed her bitter surprise as Lady Paddington chatted on. Lady Pritchit grew increasingly hostile to her, particularly after she had made the unforgivable sin of dancing with Sutherland. As if she had been given a choice. "… and of course, Mrs. Clark,"

Lady Paddington finished.

Lauren missed the names of the other guests, but she had heard enough to know that this would be a tedious evening. She forced a gracious smile and followed Lady Paddington into the gold salon, her attention immediately drawn to a woman on her right. She had seen her at the Harris ball with Alex.