Wicked Angel (24 page)

"interest" had turned his ordered world upside down. What in the hell was it about Lauren that made him so insane with longing? She was beautiful, true. But he had known many beautiful women and had never felt such a peculiar sense of urgency about seeing them, not even when his physical need of them was at its greatest. It was not actually lust that bewitched him, although he certainly seemed to have plenty of
that
in store. Perhaps it was her wit, or her unusual gift for languages, or her amusing penchant for tossing in little quotations from English literature when the conversation warranted. She was a clever woman.

But he did not normally
dream
about clever women.

It could be her genuine kindness. She had a certain quality he admired and envied. He recalled her charming tale of the Potato Man, her insistence he dance with the mousy Charlotte Pritchit because it was a "nice thing to do," her acceptance of Paddy's leaden conversation. And God knew Abbey Ingram thought she was a saint incarnate because of her attention to those unfortunate children at Rosewood.

Yes, he thought as the quill's tempo increased, he had all the symptoms of being hopelessly besotted.

Frustrated, he tossed the quill onto the desk and stood, moving to the window. Jesus, the need to look deep into those dark blue eyes was slowly devouring him. He wanted to feel her body beneath his, hear her melodic laughter. He wanted to listen to her sing, recite some little poem, and experience the impact of that devastating smile on all of his senses.

Bloody hell, his desires were intolerable, insupportable, and infuriating! He was a
duke
, for Chrissakes!

He had responsibilities to his title and to Marlaine, not the least of which were marrying and producing an heir. He should be paying attention to the details of managing his vast estates,
not
daydreaming about a woman constantly shadowed by a giant Bavarian! He should be helping Marlaine plan their wedding trip,
not
wondering when he might see Rosewood again.

But the truth was that while he was a duke, he was also a man. And this man wanted Lauren Hill, the rest of the world be damned. He had tried to find conviction of purpose in the deepest recesses of his soul, but to no avail. He just could not conjure the will to fight his increasing desire.

He heard the door open and steeled himself—as he did every time a door opened in this house—for the news that Grandmama had died. He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

Marlaine was smiling. "It's wonderful news! The doctor says she is somewhat better."

"Truly?" he asked, surprised.

She hurried toward him, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. "She is not out of the woods, but he believes there may be reason to hope!" she said brightly.

"That's marvelous news, Marlaine."

She beamed at him. "Yes, isn't it?"

He extended his hand to her; she came willingly when he pulled her into his arms. "It is my fervent prayer that she survives to see you happily married," he said softly, and kissed the top of her head.

"I am very optimistic," she said, nodding hopefully, and with a timid glance at the door, pulled away from him, out of his arms. Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and resumed his position in front of the window. "Mama's spirits are much brighter. She said we might have a game of loo after supper," she added.

"I shall look forward to it," Alex muttered, already dreading it.

The next morning Marlaine was glad to see a few feeble rays of sun had broken through the clouds as she descended the stairs. They all needed a little sunshine to chase away the gloom. Although Grandmama had not improved through the night, she had not worsened, and the doctor had said that was the most important thing.

She made her way to the dining room, hungry for the first time in days. She was pleased to find Alex there, reading a paper, the remains of his half-eaten breakfast pushed aside. "Good morning," she said, smiling.

He glanced up and gave her a weak smile. "Good morning."

"Grandmama is the same," she said, her smile fading a bit. "But the doctor said we should be much encouraged if she did not worsen in the night."

"Ah, that's excellent news." He turned his attention to the paper.

The invisible wall was coming between them again, she thought, and walked to the sideboard and slowly helped herself to some eggs and toast. Alex had been distant with her for some time now, but then again, the strain had been hard on everyone. Preparations for such a large wedding were so very stressful anyway, and coupled with a family crisis—well, it was hard on everyone. "Shall I fetch you something?"

she asked.

"No, thank you," he mumbled from behind his paper. Shrugging, she took a seat to Alex's right. He continued to read. "Have you seen Papa this morning?"

He did not look up. "He has gone to the stables, I think. Said a mare is about to foal," he muttered absently.

She pushed her eggs to one side of the plate and picked up a slice of toast, disturbed that she felt so… inconsequential. Determined to prove herself wrong, she tried again. "What are you reading?"

He glanced briefly at her from the corner of his eye—impatiently, she thought. "The commerce news."

"Oh," she murmured, and took a bite of toast as she examined his profile. He looked strange—bored, perhaps. Rather uneasy. Honestly, it was the same restless look he had worn for days now, as if he was waiting for something. She shook her head, annoyed at her thoughts. Of course he was restless.
Everyone
was restless, waiting for Grandmama to improve or take a turn for the worse.

It was little wonder Alex would be on edge—after all, he hardly knew Grandmama. He had come to Tarriton to be with
her
, she reminded herself, and she had hardly tended to him.

He needed a distraction. "Mama informs me that Lord and Lady Harris will be in Paris when we wed.

Lord Harris has some business there that cannot be postponed," she said nervously, scattering her eggs about her plate.

"Ah, well. I am quite certain they have attended enough weddings to last a lifetime," he said indifferently, and turned a page.

"Lady Harris gave us a set of beautiful port glasses as a wedding gift. They are heavy crystal, and Mama says one can find that sort of crystal only in Belgium." Her eggs were now scattered across the entire plate, toast notwithstanding.

"Hmm. That was very thoughtful."

A vague sense of fear began to rise in Marlaine, and it was not the first time she had experienced it. Oh, she was keenly aware of how little they had in common. He liked horses, she did not. He was concerned with politics, but she liked balls and gardening. Sitting there, desperate for conversation, she could not think of a solitary thing that would particularly interest him. But it wasn't because of their differences. Her eyes narrowed. He was
bored
.

Unnoticed, she leaned back in her chair, staring at him. He was bored, all right, and he had been bored since Countess Bergen had attended the Harris ball! As many times as she had tried to convince herself there was nothing to fear, he had acted distracted, as if he would rather be
anywhere
than with her. He was
bored
, damn it!

She abruptly dropped her fork in her plate.

The loud clatter startled Alex; he jumped, turning quickly to her. "Is something wrong?"

"I should very much like for you to walk in the gardens with me, Alex. The sun has come out, and it looks to be a fine day," she said, resolutely folding her arms across her middle.

Slowly, he lowered the paper, studying her warily. "If that is what you would like."

She pushed away from the table and stood. "What I would
like
," she snapped irritably, "is some companionship!" She did not wait for his response, but moved swiftly for the door, half-tempted to bolt for her rooms.

Alex had the good grace to put the paper aside and follow her. Halfway down the corridor, he caught her elbow. "Slow down," he said softly. He opened the door leading onto the terrace, and gestured for her to precede him. Once outside, he slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and led her toward the gravel path wending through the shrubs. They walked slowly, neither speaking. Marlaine's initial twinge of fear began to give way to anger. Mama had told her about men; she knew of their needs, their roving eyes. Alex was no different, nor did she expect him to be.
Honestly
she did not, but she thought he should have the decency to be properly interested in their wedding, to give her at least
some
measure of interest! Unconsciously, she sighed heavily.

"I hate to see you fret," he said quietly. She jerked a startled look to him. He smiled down at her, a warm, caring smile. "Your Grandmama is feeling better. Perhaps she will pull through." His words were so tender that they brought her to the verge of tears. Hastily, she looked away, her insides churning.

There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted him to understand. She had found the courage to speak her mind once before, but this somehow seemed harder.

She nervously cleared her throat. "Alex, I know about Countess Bergen," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked coolly.

"I mean, I have noticed how you… how you
look
at the countess."

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "What nonsense is this?"

"I am not imagining things," she said weakly. His green eyes narrowed uncertainly. "I… I understand, of course. She is very beautiful."

"Sweetheart, you are quite mistaken—"

"Please do not deny it!" she quickly interjected. "I am not a little girl. I
see
how you look at her." Alex looked astounded, and it angered her. Did he think she was blind? "It's all right. I know how men are, Alex. But… but…" She paused, inwardly grasping for courage. Alex reached for her hand, but she shook her head and brought her hand up, stopping him, before raggedly continuing. "I know how men are, but I do not think you have given me a proper chance, Alex. I shall make you a good wife; I swear it on my life. But you must give me the opportunity to show you!"

Stunned, Alex stared at her. Her bottom lip quivered slightly, her brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Good God, what was he doing to her? He felt a surge of remorse as he looked down at the young woman he had determined would make him a good wife two years ago. Serene and quiet, Marlaine had never asked him for anything, yet she was compelled to ask him for the chance to be a good wife.

A deep shame rumbled through him, and he anxiously shoved a hand through his hair. She had never asked him for a bloody thing, had never done anything but be the perfect lady, and he had forced her to ask for his respect. He hated himself for that. He hated the turbulence, the restlessness Lauren had brought him. He was suffering through each day, tormented by thoughts of a dark-haired angel, when all the while a sweet young woman stood by, eager to be his wife. All at once her serene nature seemed so much more desirable, so much
easier
than the turmoil Lauren created in him. What demon had
possessed
him?

"I know I am not as…
lively
, or pretty, but I—"

He grabbed her hand and yanked her into his chest. "Marlaine, you are a beautiful woman, and I should be very proud to have you as my wife. I am sorry, sweetheart, I am so sorry I have caused you any pain." Marlaine's lips parted slightly with surprise; for the first time in at least a month, Alex wanted to taste those lips. "I shall make you a good husband, too, if you will give me the chance," he said, and impulsively kissed her fully on the lips. Marlaine stiffened in his embrace; her arms dropped to her sides as his hands swept down her spine. Alex gentled his kiss, his tongue sweeping lightly over the seam of her lips. She stood as rigid as a marble statue, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips glued together. He stroked the nape of her neck and caressed her spine, trying to relax her. She did not relax. Rather, she tolerated him. With a kiss to her cheek, he let her go. The poor girl was beet red, quite embarrassed.

"Alex, I… Mama and Papa are just inside!" she whispered.

"It's all right, Marlaine. It's quite all right." he lied.

The tension seemed to leave her body, and she sagged against his chest. "I shall be a good wife," she muttered. Alex understood. She would be a good wife, all right, dutifully submitting to him like a sheep.

In the meantime, she would keep her maidenly virtue intact until she was required by law to submit to him. He sighed and folded her in his arms. There was nothing to be done for it.

Grandmama slowly improved over the next two days, but the doctor warned the family that she was not yet out of danger. He stressed that she could take a turn for the worse at any moment. So they continued to wait. Alex tried very hard to be a dutiful fiancé, seeing to Marlaine's welfare. The restlessness had not yet disappeared, but he was hopeful that it would eventually go away. She was, he kept telling himself, a perfectly good match. Someday, he would be grateful she had shown him such patience.

He was in the library searching for something to read when the Reese family butler found him. "Beggin'

your pardon, your grace, but a messenger has come."

"A messenger?"

"From London, your grace."

He nodded. "Send him in."

The man who appeared in the door of the study had obviously ridden hard. Alex strolled across the room to meet him. "What message?" he asked.

"From Lord Christian, your grace," he announced, and thrust a grimy, folded parchment at him. "He bid me tell you that you are needed in London." Alex nodded, fished in his pocket for some coins, and directed the man to the kitchens. He unfolded the parchment and scanned it quickly. Arthur wrote that the issue of Catholic emancipation was expected to pass the Commons on the morrow. But the Lords was a house divided, the members turning on one another over this divisive issue. Alex's presence was urgently needed if the reform measure had any hope of successfully passing the upper house.