Angelina (22 page)

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Authors: Janet Woods

Tags: #Historical Romance

BOOK: Angelina
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The sounds of music reached his ears and he remembered he’d promised Rosabelle a dance before supper. Not that she lacked partners, he thought, reluctantly heading back the way he’d come, but not to dance with her would be a noticeable insult.

Both Wrey girls had shocked him this night. Angelina was exquisite with her ivory shoulders emerging from a subtly tinted gown, and her hair decorated with flowers. Her innocence was infused with an air of self-consciousness, as if she’d suddenly discovered her beauty. She reminded him of a delicate butterfly.

Rosabelle’s fiery beauty robbed him of breath. That her mother had sanctioned such a gown was questionable. The statement it made was both tempestuous and sensuous. She flaunted herself like a strumpet, he mused. The man who took her for his wife would have to beware.

The invitation to meet her in the pavilion had been indiscreet and he hoped William had disposed of the note. Attractive as she was, he had no intention of becoming involved with Rosabelle, nor satisfying any romantic fantasy she had in her empty head about him.

James was waiting for him when he entered the hall, his lips carved into an apologetic smile. “Celine has confessed all, my friend. Rest assured, I’ve promised not to beat her.”

He smiled at the notion. James couldn’t summon up enough aggression to beat a mad dog.

“I’ve been trying to figure this all out, James. One conclusion I’ve reached. I wouldn’t stand in the way of a son of yours inheriting Monkscroft and the title.”

“Celine will not accept the inheritance,” James said quietly. “If we are ever blessed with a son who inherits Monkscroft, it will be by God’s will alone, not the will of your father and stepmother. We intend to inform your father of this decision as soon as we return to London.”

Rafe gave him a searching look. “You’re both agreed on this?”

“Our minds are as one.”  James took his arm and steered him back towards the festivities. “Celine merely wished to warn you of what was afoot.”

 A woman’s voice cut in, low and husky. “James! You are depriving me of my dance partner. I insist you keep your business talk until tomorrow.” 

Rosabelle attached herself to his arm as soon as they descended the staircase. Her smile was animated and her voice assumed an archness that made him want to shake her. “You’ve danced only with Celine tonight. I shall be the envy of every woman here.”

  He assumed his amiable social persona and pulled a practised smile to his lips.

“The men flock around you like bees to honey.”

“They are boys.” She slanted him a bold glance when she made a deep curtsy. “There’s only one man here, I admire.”

“Then he should consider himself a lucky man.” Rafe hoped the dance wouldn’t last long. Her decolletage drew the eyes, and preventing his glance from lingering there was becoming a strain. He felt himself begin to perspire a little.

“You’ve not complimented me on my gown,” she cooed, as if well aware of the effect she had on him. “It’s quite the latest fashion.” 

“It is...sensational,” he murmured dryly, and recalled Elizabeth’s scandalised expression when she’d set eyes on it. “Your mama was taken aback, I think.”

“It’s not the gown mama chose for me.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him as she dipped and swayed to the music. “But you must be aware of that, Rafe.”

It was definitely not a gown Elizabeth would have approved for her daughter. “I’m aware only that your mother’s taste would not encompass such a gown,” he said carefully. “It suits you.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

He smiled wryly at the enthusiasm in her voice. Her immaturity had never been more obvious. There was one last glimpse of her decolletage when she dipped into a curtsy. He brushed a kiss across her hand when the music ended, and only just avoided giving a loud sigh of relief.

“Until later,” she whispered when another, more eager partner hurried towards them.

He relinquished her with a thankful smile, and could still smell her musky perfume clinging to him after she’d gone. Her last words alerted him to the fact she expected him to keep the assignation. She’d lose her bounce when he didn’t turn up, and hopefully, her infatuation would fly along with it. He grimaced when he spotted Angelina, cornered by Nicholas Snelling.

   Rescuing her, he partnered her in a minuet. Despite her late introduction to dancing, she was graceful and light on her feet. She’d been partnered for every dance, and her complexion was beginning to glow.

“You look as though you need refreshment,” he said when the dance ended. “Lemonade is being served in the courtyard, and I wouldn’t be averse to some myself.” 

Her face dimpled into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Rafe. My feet have been trodden on so many times you’ll have to carry me off the dance floor if I stay here much longer.”

“That’s a penalty beautiful young ladies have to endure when they’re thrust into society.” He offered her his arm, guiding her to where Elizabeth stood. “We’re retiring to the courtyard for refreshment. Would you care to join us, Lady Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth graciously declined the offer. The courtyard was well lit, the fortune teller attracting one guest after another. She saw no need to act as chaperone on this occasion. Angelina’s behaviour had been exemplary all evening. It would not hurt her to have a little breathing space.

Between dances, her daughter had worked her way around the ballroom, exchanging pleasantries with each guest and making them feel welcome. Elizabeth had been complimented on Angelina so many times she’d basked in her daughter’s glory, until she suddenly remembered the girl had been raised by another. A grudging respect for Alexandra Pakenham came into her mind.

She was smiling when she watched the pair walk away. Rafe’s eyes were full of amusement as he made an aside to Angelina from the corner of his mouth. She wrinkled her nose and laughed. They have a rare rapport, she thought in surprise. There is more to Rafe Daventry than meets the eye. 

Although Elizabeth liked the impeccably mannered earl, she’d always thought his gallantry a little too practised. With Angelina he was spontaneous, as if her freshness penetrated the world-weary facade he wore.

He was protective of her, and it was obvious she liked and admired him. Rafe would make the perfect husband for her, Elizabeth mused.

 Proposing marriage to Angelina Wrey was the last thing on Rafe’s mind as he found a vacant seat for them away from the gaggle of maidens and young blades waiting at the gypsy grotto. He signalled to a servant to bring them lemonade.

Angelina gave an ecstatic sigh and promptly relieved her feet of their slippers. Hidden by her skirt she set her feet down upon the cool, stone slabs of the courtyard.

Glancing sideways at her, he grinned. “If I didn’t know you to be the most circumspect person on earth, I’d imagine you’d just disposed of your slippers.”

She wriggled a set of stockinged toes from underneath her skirt and laughed. “Circumspect or not, see how happy they are to be free of restriction.”

“Indeed, they’re the happiest looking toes I’ve seen in a long time.”

The toes were discreetly withdrawn in case they were observed by a pair of 

dowagers patrolling the paths around the courtyard. Both ladies simpered at him and bestowed approving smiles on Angelina.

He waited until they were safely out of earshot. “You’ve conquered all tonight, even the dowagers. You’ll be besieged with invitations, and the young lords will fight duels over you as they barter for your hand.”

“I refuse to be haggled over like an object on a market stall.” She scowled fiercely at him. “James and my mother are aware of this.” 

“You think you’ll be able to resist a male intent on conquest, little Angelina? They’ll come courting in droves, flaunting their feathers like proud peacocks. Their fine manners and flattery will turn your head.”

You are making the assumption my head is easily turned. Let them flaunt. I’ll pluck their fine feathers and send them draggle-tailed back from where they came.”  She turned her back on him, making her displeasure clear. “You’re an oaf if you imagine I’m susceptible to empty, male flattery, Rafe.”

“This oaf is worthy of your disdain.” He smiled a little as he slid his hand inside his jacket. “Perhaps you’ll forgive my teasing when I offer you a small token for your birthday.”

“You are a master at teasing me.” Her frown was a shadow of its former self when she turned back to him. He watched it replaced by a smile. Her laughter was gently self-mocking, sending a delicious tingle down his spine. “I’ve decided to forgive you on this occasion, especially as you offer me a gift.”

“What a mercenary creature you are.” He withdrew his hand. “I’ve half a mind not to present you with it now.”

Her eyes were sparkling with laughter as she cajoled. “My curiosity is piqued, Rafe, do not keep me in suspense.”

“Very well.” His fingers closed round the tissue wrapped package, withdrawing it a little. “I warn you, it’s but a poor token, not worthy of your splendour.”

As quick as a bird her fingers darted to the package and withdrew it. She laughed when he made to snatch it back, quickly unwrapped it. Her gasp of pleasure was reward enough.

“It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received, Rafe.” Spreading the delicate ivory fan upon her knees she inspected its decoration, exclaiming in astonishment. “This has Ravenswood painted upon it!”

“My grandmother’s work. It was her fan.” Gently, he ran a finger over the surface, closing it. “I thought you would like it.”

“I do indeed.” Gracefully she fanned it open again, to gaze at him over the top. “Thank you, Rafe. Because it must grieve you to part with it, I’ll treasure this gift the more.”

All he could see were her bright eyes slanting towards him. The same hue as

emerald she wore at her throat, they were soft, and luminous with unshed tears. Without thinking, his fingers brushed the fan aside and he leaned forward and gently kissed her. For a moment she was unresponsive, then her mouth seemed to quiver a little and clung to his most sweetly.

Suddenly, she made a small sound in her throat and pushed him away, blushing scarlet. “You should not have...I should not have allowed...” Her eyes were mortified as she gazed at him. “What must you think of me?” 

“What must I think of you?” Rafe smiled a little at that. Taking a glass of lemonade from the footman who appeared, he waited until the man had gone before placing it in her hands. “I think you’re an innocent who has just experienced her first kiss, and was frightened by it. Rest assured, it was a kiss from a friend who holds you in high esteem. If I offended you, I most humbly apologise.”

“It was unexpected, that’s all.” Her blush faded a little as she applied a cooling stream of air to her face. After a while her graceful movement slowed and she gave a cat-like grin. “Did you enjoy kissing me, Rafe?”

He felt uncomfortable until he saw the mischief in her eyes. He shrugged slightly, appearing to consider the question. It would not do to admit his enjoyment of it was totally unexpected, even to himself. “As much as one enjoys kissing a frog.”

“A frog!” Indignation chased across her face, then she laughed and struck him lightly with the fan. “You’re an incorrigible rogue, Rafe Daventry.” 

“And you’re going to get into trouble with your mama if you do not don your slippers,” he whispered.

Elizabeth had something more on her mind, and she didn’t seem to notice Angelina scrambling into her slippers. “Have you seen Rosabelle? I thought she might have come to visit the fortune-teller.”

“We’ve not seen her, mama.”

“Perhaps she’s in the garden, then. Thomas and William have gone to look for her.”

Remembering Rosabelle’s note, Rafe grinned to himself. Thank God he’d not been tempted to keep the tryst. A dalliance in the pavilion with Rosabelle could have had dire consequences.

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

Rosabelle stroked the glittering diamond and ruby pendant the Marquis had placed around her neck. “It’s a most beautiful token, My Lord.”

“Call me George, my pretty.”

She sprang away from the Marquis when his lips brushed her shoulder. “La, sir!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “You must not presume to take liberties with me.” 

“Ah, Rosabelle.” George placed his hands over his heart. “I’d give all I possess for a kiss from those lips.”

“All?” Her eyes gleamed when she remembered his wealth. “Be careful I do not hold you fast to those words.”

George was too seasoned a campaigner to let an advantage slip through his fingers. The girl was cocksure of herself, and reckless with wine. Let her think she had the upper hand. Once she was his she’d learn differently.

He smiled, stroking a finger over the plump curve of her rouged mouth. The girl sought to make the most of her attraction, but he liked his women to be bold. He moved his hand to the nape of her neck, drawing her towards him. The resistance he expected was not there. She gazed at him, excitement in her eyes.

“Perhaps I’ll allow you one kiss, George. You’ll not press me for more?”

 One kiss was all it took, he discovered. He’d long suspected Rosabelle’s pipkin was begging to be cracked, and he set out to prove it to himself. His lips had barely touched hers when her mouth parted and her tongue moistly sought his. Her immodesty might have shocked another fellow, but it served to excite him. He had no patience with shrinking violets.

She swayed against him with a small sound of satisfaction when his arms came around her. Her breasts thrust against his chest and his response was swift. Gad, she made him feel like a young rake again.

He bore her down amongst the cushions and slipping his hand inside her bodice gently thumbed her erect nubs. She arched against him. Wondering if he dare go any further, he explored the folds of her scarlet skirts, stroking the thighs beneath.

She stiffened for a moment, then gave a tiny gurgling giggle and relaxed. George frowned when his breeches grew tight. Either the girl was too tipsy to know what she was doing, or she was deliberately leading him on. If hadn’t extracted a promise from William not to violate the girl, he could have mounted her without one word of protest. Uttering an oath, he moved away from her.

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