Wicked Angel (36 page)

Alex had, of course, anticipated Whitcomb would abandon his support of reforms. "I would hope your vote would not be unduly influenced by this unfortunate incident. The reform movement is valid and vital to this country—"

"I don't give a
damn
, Sutherland, do you hear me? You can bloody well look for support elsewhere!"

"I will not have Marlaine's name disgraced before all of society!" Lady Whitcomb interjected, oblivious to the exchange between her husband and Alex. "As far as I am concerned,
she
abandoned
you!
And believe me,
everyone
will know why!"

"Say whatever is necessary, Lady Whitcomb," he said blandly.

"Oh, rest assured I will say—"

"Mother!" Marlaine succeeded in gaining everyone's attention. Pale as a ghost, she slowly stood and glared at Alex. "I think enough has been said. I would thank you to leave now, Alex."

He desperately wanted a word alone with her, the chance to apologize one last time. "Marlaine, could I—"

"No! Please go."

"I cannot tell you how very sorry I am—" he attempted.

"You heard her. Get out of my house," Whitcomb growled. Marlaine lifted her chin and stared at him hatefully. There was nothing else that could be said.

Alex turned and walked out of the drawing room.

The next day, Alex made one final call. Pulling his hat lower to shield the blinding rain from his eyes, he marched to the door of the Russell Square town house. When the diminutive butler opened the door to his pounding, he did not pause to shake the rain from his coat, but strode inside and demanded to see Paul Hill. It had been five full days since he had looked into her dark blue eyes or heard the melodic sound of her voice.

Five full days that he had worried unto death he had lost her forever.

He had done what he had to do: wreaked havoc in London. His announcement that Marlaine had ended their engagement had set the
ton
on its ear. This morning,
The Times
had carried nothing else on the society pages except speculation as to what extraordinary indiscretion had forced an end to the Match of the Decade. There were several theories: that he had lost a sizable fortune in East India; that the reforms he pushed had been more than the Reese family could endure; that his sudden drinking, obviously indicating a larger problem, had forced her hand. He was in no mood to explain himself to anyone, and least of all, to Paul Hill. Davis pointed to the parlor, and Alex marched inside.

It was Ethan Hill who greeted him from a chair pulled in front of the fire, his stocking feet propped in front of the flames.

"Where is Paul?" he demanded of the enormous man.

Lord Hill grinned as Paul emerged from the hall, his cane forcefully striking the floor. "Come calling again, have you?" he asked blandly. Alex angrily yanked off his gloves.

"Not every day a duke with
five hundred thousand
a year comes calling!" Lord Hill noted cheerfully as Alex carelessly tossed his gloves onto a chair. "A brandy! That's what we all need. Shall you have a brandy, your grace?" the rotund gentleman asked, grinning.

"No. I have come to learn the whereabouts of your niece."

"Ah, how marvelous! Had your cousin here a month ago," Lord Hill chortled.

"She has left London with her fiancé," Paul announced, expressionless.

Alex shunted an impatient glare at Paul. "Where is she?"

Paul cocked his head to one side and considered Alex. "You may not put much store in formal betrothal agreements, your grace, but the Hills do."

"Aye,
but
," Lord Hill loudly and hastily interjected, "until the vows have been said, the Hills will consider
all
offers!"

A muscle in Alex's jaw flinched. "I do not believe a formal agreement prevents her from speaking to me,"

he said, trying desperately to keep his tone even.

"Unfortunately," Paul remarked, "she does not ever want to speak with you again."

Paul Hill was playing with fire. Alex deliberately turned to his uncle. "It is extremely important I speak with your niece," he said with icy calm. "And I am in no mood to argue that point."

Paul actually smiled at his deadly tone. "Neither am I. You may
think
you can come in here and demand to see her, but I think it only fair to warn you that I will kill you before I allow you to harm her any more than you have. I had your word, Sutherland," he said in a low voice, reminding him of their wager.

"How do you think you will stop me?" he asked incredulously. "I will not let you, or your uncle, or the whole bloody kingdom stand in my way! Tell me where she is!"

"Perhaps you did not hear me. She does not want to speak with you again.
Ever
," Paul added emphatically.

A rage was building in Alex that he feared he could not contain. "Tell me where he has taken her!" he shouted.

"Haven't you done enough? I will not allow you to trifle with her any longer! God, don't you know that she
loves
you?" Paul shouted, his face turning red.

"And what do you think
I
feel? Why on earth would I come here, demanding to know where she is?

Why in God's name would I do that?" Alex roared. Paul folded his arms across his chest, fiercely resolute.

Alex's shoulders sagged. "I have," he said in a ragged voice, "journeyed to the far ends of this earth and seen everything there is to see. I have climbed mountains, forged through jungles, and thirsted in deserts.

I have a title that affords me the greatest luxuries, any woman I could ever want, and wealth so great it is obscene. I have experienced it all, or so I thought. Because never—
never
—in all that time have I been so completely and thoroughly
affected
by another human being! Never have I desired to move the sun just to see one
smile!
I have wended my way through the most tumultuous week of my life, have disappointed everyone I love, have neglected my responsibilities, and have thrown all aside for just the
chance
to talk to her! And
you
think to deny me? I swear to God, I shall bring the full force of my name down on your house!" His voice boomed in the small room. "Tell me where in the hell she is!"

"Good
God
," Lord Hill muttered, for once speechless.

Slowly, a smile crept across Paul's face. "Bloody hell, you
do
love her," he muttered. Enraged, exhausted, and emotionally spent, Alex could do little more than roll his eyes in exasperation and sink into a chair directly across from Ethan Hill.

Paul limped to the sideboard and poured three brandies. "What do you intend to do?" he asked casually, handing the brandies around. "She is formally betrothed to Magnus."

Alex groaned as he accepted the glass. "I do not know," he answered truthfully.

"If you think to end our agreement with the Bavarian, there will be damages to consider," Lord Hill interjected. Alex and Paul ignored him.

"You had best devise a plan, my friend. Magnus Bergen is not an easy man to deal with," Paul warned him bluntly.

"Ha! He pales in comparison to Lauren," Lord Hill snorted. "Now
there
is a stubborn little wench for you."

Paul smiled wryly. "She will not see you, you know that. Unless, of course, your head is on a pike."

"Where is she?" Alex quietly insisted.

Paul exchanged a look with his uncle. "Rosewood. They intend to marry and depart for the continent the first of August."

"Bloody grand," Alex muttered, springing to his feet. He stalked to the door, pausing only to retrieve his hat and gloves.

"Sutherland!" Paul called. Alex's hand stilled on the doorknob as he turned to Paul one last time.

"Godspeed." Alex nodded curtly and walked out the door, slamming it resoundingly on Lord Hill's cheerful prediction that there would be a duel before it was all said and done.

Mrs. Peterman met him at the door of the Rosewood manor wearing the same disapproving scowl she had worn the first time he had come. Folding her arms tightly across her dirty apron, she eyed him suspiciously.

"Is Miss Hill about?" he asked, dispensing with any greeting.

Mrs. Peterman did not answer right away, taking in his clothes, his boots, and even his mount tethered nearby. "Is she expecting you?"

"I rather doubt it," he responded dryly.

"Never know who is going to call anymore," she grumbled. "Bout fell out of my chair, I did, when that giant brought her home. Said he was going to marry her. Poor Mr. Goldthwaite, he—"

"Mrs. Peterman, is she here?" he interrupted.

She frowned. "No, she ain't." Alex's heart lurched against his chest—he had come too late. "Mr.

Goldthwaite took her and the children to Blessing Park," she said curtly. "If you don't mind, I've enough to do to get the children fed today," she said, and closed the door.

Alex pivoted on his heel and marched to his horse.

At Blessing Park, Jones showed him to the gold drawing room, where he anxiously paced until Michael came bursting into the drawing room, a broad grin on his face.

"No doubt you've come to scold me for leaving London unexpectedly," he said, chuckling. "That, or someone has died," he added cheerfully, striding across the room to greet his friend. As he neared, his grin faded. "God forgive me," he exclaimed. "
Has
someone died?"

Alex managed a wry smile and shook his head. "No. I have come…"He choked on the words, unable to admit he had come for Lauren.

"Yes?" Michael asked with genuine concern. Alex glanced sheepishly at the Marquis of Darfield. If there was a man in the
ton
who had given in to love, it was Michael Ingram, and he had fought its onset with gusto. But he had succumbed, quite thoroughly, in Alex's estimation. Surely Michael would understand the desperation he himself felt.

"Good God, man, has something happened?" Michael demanded.

Alex took a deep breath. "Is Countess Bergen here?" he asked.

Confusion scudded across Michael's face. "Yes… have you brought her bad news?"

"I suppose that depends on one's perspective," Alex said dryly. "My engagement with Marlaine is ended."

Michael blinked, staring at Alex in shock. Then suddenly, he turned and went to the drink cart and poured two whiskeys. "I think," he drawled as he handed a glass to Alex, "I have put two and two together."

"Let me explain—"

He was interrupted by Abbey's cheerful burst into the drawing room, grinning happily. "Darling, have

you—" She drew up short the moment she saw Alex. Neither he, nor Michael, judging by his little chuckle, missed the sudden change in her demeanor. "Oh. Your
grace
. You have come," she said simply.

"I believe, my love," Michael said, sauntering toward her, "you meant to say that mean-spirited, detestable reprobate has come."

Abbey paled visibly and shot an imploring look at her husband. "I have no idea what you are saying, Michael. You must excuse me—I look a fright," she said, taking a step backward. Michael caught her hand and pulled her, against her will, into his side.

"You look wonderful." He wrapped an arm firmly around her shoulders. Abbey's cheeks were suddenly quite red, and she stared intently at the carpet. Michael grinned at a bewildered Alex. "You and I have never minced words, Sutherland," he said laughingly. "I have been hearing about an unforgivable scoundrel for several days now. Apparently you are he."

"I see," Alex muttered.

Michael's grin broadened. "Now I understand why my wife has refused to identify this evil being to me.

Undoubtedly she feared I would take your side, as we are cut from the same black cloth," he said, and smiled adoringly at Abbey. "The wedding is off, darling," he said, and quickly put a hand over her mouth before she could shriek a response. "Countess Bergen is in the paddock with my head gardener, Withers," he said cheerfully, and with a playful kiss to Abbey's temple, removed his hand.

"Oh, Alex," Abbey said, and sighing, gave in to their long-term friendship." I am so sorry! But you had best be prepared. Lauren, well, she does not speak… very…
highly
of you."

Alex nodded and tossed the whiskey down his throat. "I assure you, I have come quite prepared to battle to the death," he said, and strode past them just as Michael gathered Abbey into a loving embrace that he could not help envying.

He could hear the sound of children's laughter as he walked across the west terrace. As he sprang down the stone steps onto a gravel walkway lined with clipped hedges, his heart raced. At the end of the walkway, he paused to straighten his neckcloth, desperately needing to collect his thoughts. As he tried to think, he heard her dulcet laughter.

It literally snatched the breath from his lungs.

He stepped forward and peered around a tall hedge, unnoticed by those in the paddock. His eyes riveted on Lauren.

His angel was standing in her old leather boots, wearing a boy's white lawn shirt and buckskin trousers that fit her curves like a glove. She was absolutely glorious; her hair was bound in a single braid, and she wore a ridiculous-looking hat garnished with a wide variety of fruit. Her cheeks bore a hint of color, her teeth gleaming in a smile. Little Sally clung to her leg, and Withers, a man with fists like hams, was standing next to her, watching a child being led about on the back of an old nag.

Slowly, a smile spread his lips as he watched Theodore, sporting a new pair of spectacles, come eagerly to Lauren's side when she beckoned him to fetch Sally. Lydia leaned against the paddock railing, smiling coyly at the stable boy leading the nag. Young Horace was hanging by his knees from the railing, his head just inches above the ground, shouting for Lauren to look at him.

On top of the nag sat Leonard. He said something that caused Lauren to burst into musical laughter. She

moved to help him dismount, tousling his hair affectionately when he refused her offer. But the moment his legs hit the ground, he flung his arms around her waist and hugged her.

Dear God, he had forgotten.