Forbidden Angel (16 page)

“I thought my father would lose his mind. My mother was his world. He was inconsolable for a very long time.”

Adrian drew in a deep breath, then let the air slide out slowly. He wanted, needed, for her to comprehend his next words. “I have witnessed others, men and women alike, who have lost a spouse they loved, and have thus seen what
love
can do. I determined I would not fall victim to that malady or to one day be destroyed by it.”

Angeline straightened in his arms. “It’s not something we can always choose to feel or not feel. And if you could refuse love, do you not see all the truly wonderful things that would be missed?”

As much as he wished to tell her of his feelings, the words just wouldn’t come. Instead, he managed, “We should dress for dinner, sweetheart. We must leave soon for Newbrook.” He stood and deposited her on her feet.

Later that evening, in the woods outside Newbrook Hall, Frank dismounted and knelt to examine a hoof print. Something had changed. As he measured the depth of the print with his finger, he realized what it was. The horse was now riderless. A twig snapped behind him, seconds before a blinding pain shot through his head. Blackness closed in and he fell, face first, into the dirt.

As the nondescript hackney stopped in front of Newbrook Hall, Jeffrey’s principal seat, Adrian swung the door of the conveyance open and stepped down, followed closely by Michael. Both looked cautiously around.

The mansion was dark. No lights were lit outside, nor did any show through the windows.

Seeing nothing amiss, Adrian let down the steps, and reached in to help Angeline alight. As they neared the front door, it opened and Jeffrey ushered them inside.

Adrian took note of the surprising display of lamps that were lit, and at the fire burning brightly in the large fireplace. Heavy draperies covered the windows, blocking all light from within.

After lifting the fur-lined pelisse from Angeline’s shoulders, Adrian handed it to the butler, followed by his greatcoat, hat, and gloves.

Michael paced nervously, stopping only to hand his hat and coat to the servant. From time to time, he examined the drapery-covered windows.

Jeffrey ushered them into the drawing room. “Tell me what’s happened since last I saw you.” His staff, with the exception of the butler, was noticeably absent.

At the sound of rustling skirts and quick footsteps, Adrian pivoted. A young woman rushed toward him. Petite, with fiery-red hair curling riotously over her head, she appeared more impish than he knew her to be.

Her face, with its light dusting of freckles across the pert nose, lit as she spied Adrian. After a few quick steps, she flung herself into his outstretched arms.

Laughing, Adrian caught her around the waist and hugged her, kissing her soundly on the cheek.

She peeked at him from beneath thick lashes framing large, green eyes. “It has been so very long, Adrian, and I’ve missed you terribly.” She kissed his cheek in return.

Lowering her feet to the floor, Adrian directed her to Angeline. “Pen, I would like you to meet my Countess, Lady Angeline Spencer. And this . . .”—he addressed Angeline—“is Lady Penelope Dennison, my cousin.”

Angeline smiled at the young woman. “Please, call me Angeline. We are family, after all.”

“And you must call me Penelope.” Her expressive face beamed with warmth.

Adrian snagged Penelope’s hand and led her to Michael. “Penelope, I would like you to meet my close friend from America. This is Captain Michael Harrington. Michael, Lady Penelope Dennison.”

Penelope held out her hand. “Captain? You’re a soldier, then?”

Michael bowed over her hand. “Yes, with the United States Army.”

“Ah. That would explain your speech. But it’s also very soft and soothing, like velvet against my skin,” Penelope said guilelessly.

Adrian choked back a laugh as he caught the horrified expression on his uncle’s face.

“Child, what a thing to say,” Jeffrey scolded.

Michael grinned. “I’m from Georgia, ma’am, outside Savannah.”

“Shall we go in to dinner while you tell me any additional news?” Jeffrey suggested, eying his daughter.

Adrian drew Angeline’s arm through his and watched as Michael offered to escort Penelope. Penelope dimpled prettily before slipping her hand through the crook of Michael’s elbow.

Dinner was served on the sideboard and Jeffrey excused the footman so the five of them might talk more freely.

As succinctly as possible, Adrian relayed new information, frowning when he mentioned Frank’s decision to ride separately.

“You say Frank is somewhere outside? Why hasn’t he joined us by now?” Jeffrey asked, checking his pocket watch.

Michael’s forehead creased. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Perhaps we should have a look around.”

“Is it safe?” Jeffrey questioned.

Without responding to Jeffrey’s question, Adrian rose. “We’ll be back soon.” He patted Angeline’s hand reassuringly.

She nodded. “All right, but please be careful.”

“Frank has probably just lost track of time. We’ll use the rear entrance,” Adrian said to Michael as he came to his feet.

Jeffrey caught up with them as they neared the back door. “Are you armed?” He held two pistols in his hands.

“We are, but we’ll gladly accept these as well.” Adrian stuck one in the waistband of his trousers and Michael procured the other.

Adrian and Michael slipped outside and eased quietly around the side of the house. Michael motioned to the tree line. “We should stay off the drive and keep to the edge of the trees. The moon is full. It would be easy for someone to see us in the open.”

“What about Frank?”

“I’ve worked with him in years past. He could find us with his eyes closed.” Michael pointed to the tree line. “See the shadows cast by the moon? They are darker on that side of the road, and the trees are thicker. That’s the side Frank would use, as well as anyone tracking us.”

After walking only a short distance, they heard a faint sound in the bushes ahead. Michael held his finger to his lips and stopped. The sound came again from the same place. Michael motioned Adrian to move ahead while he stepped deeper into the woods.

Adrian found Frank leaning against a tree, his hand pressed against the back of his head.

“What happened?” He gingerly moved Frank’s blood-covered fingers aside to check.

Michael eased in beside them.

“Boss, this ain’t no amateur and it sure as hell ain’t Malcolm. It was my fault. I let my guard down. The second I realized what he’d done, he was on me.” Frank straightened. “For him ta be followin’ us like this, someone’s talkin’ ta him.”

Adrian gripped his arm. “We need to take a look at your head. Let’s get back to the house.”

Frank halted. “Another thing. If this fellow had wanted me dead, I would be.”

With one man on either side for support, they walked Frank back to where the others waited. Jeffrey met them as they entered. He examined Frank’s wound, and called for his butler.

“Timms, please get something to clean and wrap Mr. Bates’ injury.”

Timms bowed and quickly left the room.

Angeline viewed Frank. “There was someone following, wasn’t there?”

“Yes.” Michael helped Frank to a chair.

Jeffrey glanced toward the door. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t believe he’s outside any longer, but I suspect he will show again soon,” Michael responded.

Penelope moved closer. “Father will be traveling to Mayfair tomorrow. May I come? I must admit, since you’ve allowed me into your confidence, I would like to see how things proceed.”

“I would love her company, Lord Jeffrey.” Angeline smiled at Penelope.

Jeffrey clasped his daughter’s hand. “I can’t help but be concerned for her safety.”

Michael’s gaze fastened on Penelope. “We will see that no harm comes to her.”

Jeffrey glanced at Adrian, who nodded his approval. “Very well, then. We’ll be there in the morning.”

Adrian followed Jeffrey’s gaze, and noticed the pain etched on Frank’s face.

“How is your head, Frank?” Jeffrey queried. “You’re welcome to stay and travel with us tomorrow.”

Grimacing, Frank replied, “If I won’t be puttin’ you out none. My head’s hurtin’ somethin’ awful.” Gingerly, he leaned forward to press his face in both hands.

“Timms, please see a room is made ready for our guest, and help him upstairs.”

“Yes, my lord.” Timms slipped his arm under Frank’s. “I might be able to find a bit of something to make you feel better, and to take the chill off. Are you a drinking man, Mr. Bates?”

“I been known ta be, upon occasion.” Frank offered a faint grimace as he levered to his feet.

Angeline watched as Adrian added more wood to the fire and climbed back under the heavy quilt. A fog had rolled in overnight, leaving the room damp and chill. She snuggled against the warmth of his body and rested her head on his chest.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” She ran her fingers down his belly and felt him chuckle. Their lovemaking had been sweet and tender at one point, fiery and passionate the next. They’d dozed off just before dawn.

Adrian caught her hand. “Why don’t you rest for awhile? I’ll send Shirley up in an hour or so to help you dress.”

He slid from beneath her, rolled from the bed, then tucked the quilt in around her.

“Mmm.” She burrowed down into the thick mattress.

Later, Angeline stretched and threw back the covers. After reaching for her wrapper, she scooted from the bed, and crossed the room to eat the toast and tea Shirley had left for her. After the first bite, her stomach heaved. Rushing for the washbasin, she emptied her stomach. Even splashing water on her face and washing out her mouth didn’t help. She experienced another wave of nausea.

After she finished, Angeline tugged on the bell pull to summon Shirley and sank onto a chair to wait for her.

Shirley bustled into the room, noticed Angeline’s pallor, and rushed to her side. “What is it, my lady?”

“I’m feeling ill this morning. Please, help me with my hair and dress. I need to join the others downstairs.”

“Should I call Lord Windsford?” Shirley moved toward the door.

“No, don’t do that. It’s undoubtedly something I ate last evening. Please, just help me.”

“Of course, my lady.” Shirley called for more hot water and emptied and cleaned the washbasin.

Thirty minutes later, and somewhat steadier on her feet, Angeline joined Adrian and Michael, deep in conversation in the drawing room.

“Have we heard from anyone yet?” She settled in a chair near the fire.

Adrian gave her a sharp, assessing glance. “They should be here any moment.”

Carriage wheels rumbled on the cobbled road outside, and they looked in unison toward the front window.

“I suppose there’s no reason for secrecy anymore, is there?” Angeline murmured.

Jeffrey, Penelope, and Frank stepped briskly into the front hall, depositing their heavy coats with Mansfield. The three hurried into the drawing room.

Adrian regarded Jeffrey. “No problems this morning, Uncle?”

“None whatsoever.” Jeffrey gained Adrian’s side. “How are you, my boy?”

Adrian’s gaze flicked to Angeline. “I’m worried about her.”

Jeffrey’s voice lowered. “Mr. Thornby will be here shortly, and we’ll hear what he has to say. Perhaps he brings good news.”

Shirley scurried through the doorway carrying a large tray of pastries, hot tea, and a pitcher of honey. As she sat the tray on the table, Adrian noticed how she focused on Frank who slouched in a chair in the corner, a bandage wrapped around his head.

“What’s happened?” Shirley rushed to his side to examine the bandage.

“No need to fuss, woman, I ain’t really hurt.” Frank’s lips kicked up at the corners. “I sure could use a cup o’ coffee, though,” he wheedled.

“The informality with your servants is surprising, Adrian, but I find it quite refreshing,” Jeffrey admitted.

Reassured that Frank’s wound was properly cared for, Shirley fetched his coffee and returned quickly to his side, intent on more fussing.

“Shirley, where do the pastries come from?” Adrian eyed the tray.

Shirley’s gaze traveled from the tray to Adrian. “They’re delivered fresh daily with a few other supplies.”

Michael stepped forward. “Who’s the delivery person?”

Frank, whose attention was now focused on the tray of pastries, lifted out of the chair.

“Someone who used to deliver here before us. He said he was told to come around as there were new folks in residence.” Shirley shifted uncomfortably.

“Is he still here?” Without waiting for an answer, Adrian set her aside and headed for the kitchen, Michael and Frank on his heels.

Henry Garfield’s head snapped up, eyes widening, then he whirled and raced for the back door. Adrian caught him, flipped him around, and, with an arm across his throat, pinned him back against the door. He drew back a fist and hit Garfield squarely in the jaw.

When Adrian pulled back again, Frank laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Boss, if ya kill him, he ain’t no good ta us.”

Garfield raised his arms, trying to shield his face. Adrian looked past Frank and noticed Angeline and Penelope at the door, Jeffrey behind them.

Adrian lowered his fist, but kept Garfield pinned. “Please, Uncle, take the ladies back to the drawing room.”

Michael stepped in front of the women, blocking their view with his body.

“I want to hear what he has to say,” Angeline insisted, showing every intention of staying.

“And I’m no simpering weakling.” Penelope lifted her chin.

“I can see that. However, go back to the drawing room and we will share all in a few moments.” Michael caught Jeffrey’s eye. Jeffrey quickly gathered the women and ushered them away.

“Sit down, Garfield,” Adrian ordered, shoving him toward the long, kitchen table.

Henry dropped into the closest chair, rubbing his jaw. “I could have you arrested for assault,” he blustered, glaring at Adrian.

“You plannin’ on livin’ that long?” Frank interceded.

Henry’s face paled. “You can’t just . . .”

Frank lifted a brow. “Don’t see why not. Nobody would find ya, and sure ain’t nobody gonna miss ya.”

“Why are you here?” Adrian demanded.

Garfield had the temerity to smirk. “Deliverin’ supplies. A man needs to make a living.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “That was
one
. I will ask you once more, but I must tell you, at three we will not ask again, and you can take a walk out back with Frank. Now, why are you here?”

Henry’s gaze darted from one large man to another. “I told you, I’m deliverin’ food.”

Adrian inclined his head. “That was
two
. You do not look like a stupid man, but you are about to make a very stupid mistake. For the last time, and think carefully before you answer, why are you here?”

Frank had picked up a large carving knife from the table and thumbed the blade. Garfield swallowed heavily, his eyes bulging. “Look, if I tell you, he’ll kill me.”

“Charles Malcolm?” Michael suggested.

“Not that sniveling weasel. Some fella I never afore laid eyes on. I’m sure Malcolm hired him, though he never rightly said.” Garfield’s pleading gaze flew to Adrian.

Adrian leaned over him. “And why would
he
want information on our comings and goings?” His face was inches from Garfield’s.

Garfield gulped. “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

“What does this man look like?” Michael hovered close to Garfield, his size adding further intimidation.

Garfield stubbornly pressed his lips together.

“Mr. Garfield, you fear this man will murder you if you talk, but I promise, if you do not speak, you’ll fare no better from us.” Adrian spoke quietly.

Garfield drew in a shaky breath. “He’s tall and swarthy, with black hair and eyes. He has a mustache and goatee. And an accent. A Spaniard, I think. He wears a hat most often, flat brimmed.” He glanced around frantically. “I gotta leave. He’s probably watching.”

“Tell him I want to talk to him,” Adrian ordered, backing away. When Garfield shook his head, Adrian pointed a finger at him and added, “Just do it.”

Henry Garfield rushed through the back door and down the path leading around to the front of the house. Scanning the road in both directions, he started running.

“You shouldn’t meet this man alone, Adrian. It’s obvious he’s no amateur and far too dangerous,” Michael cautioned.

Adrian leaned a hip against the table. “Do you have a better idea?” At the sound of the heavy knocker on the front door, Adrian shoved away from the table. “That should be Thornby. Let’s hope he has something positive to tell us.”

Mansfield had just ushered Edward Thornby into the drawing room when the men returned from the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mr. Thornby,” Adrian said.

“Good morning, my lord,” Edward responded timidly.

Adrian extended an arm in Jeffrey’s direction. “I believe you may know my uncle, Lord Newbrook, and this is his daughter, Lady Penelope.”

Edward blinked myopically. “Yes, of course. It has been quite some time, though.”

“Would anyone care for some tea and pastries? Shirley made certain there’s honey on the tray for you, Mr. Thornby.” Angeline informed Edward.

Edward’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, I would indeed love some.”

Angeline poured tea into a cup and sweetened it with honey before setting the cup and saucer on the table beside Edward.

“What news do you bring, Mr. Thornby?” Adrian asked.

Edward searched through his satchel for some notes he’d made. Cleared his throat. Adjusted his spectacles. “First, I shall address the concerns surrounding Lord Windsford. As you know, no formal charges were ever filed as there was neither proof nor actual belief in his guilt.”

With approval, Adrian noticed Angeline lean forward, clearly intent on understanding everything.

Edward went on. “I have petitioned for a time to present information against Sir Malcolm. Though most is circumstantial, it would not hurt to shift whatever perception of guilt might still exist to him, especially if Lord Windsford is to take his seat in The House of Lords. I have an acquaintance, a Mr. Jeremy Stallings, who would like to discuss the happenings of that night with you. He works privately under direction of Scotland Yard.”

Surprised, Adrian considered the suggestion. “I would be happy to speak to him, but I’m not certain what he could find after all this time.”

“He is quite good, my lord, and highly regarded in his field.” Again, Edward cleared his throat. “Sir Charles Malcolm returned yesterday by freighter. At first he refused to see me, but I believe curiosity got the better of him, and he agreed. I met with him before coming here. I suggested he should drop his pursuit of Lady Windsford, as she is now married.” He met Adrian’s intense stare.

Angeline reached for Adrian’s hand. “Please, Mr. Thornby, what did he say?”

“He laughed and refused to even consider it,” Edward replied. “As you know, there is a note signed by the late Lady Longhaven, for a considerable amount. And another for Lady Angeline’s hand in marriage in exchange.”

“How binding is the last note?” Jeffrey asked, unable to remain quiet.

“It only gives permission for him to marry her; it cannot force her. However,”—Edward surveyed the room—“he is a vile man and stated even to me that he will, without compunction, demand payment in full plus interest if she does not marry him. He will see Lord William’s name dragged through debtor’s court and any hope for her brother’s future ruined. He would beggar the estate.”

Angeline gasped.

Adrian stiffened. “I will gladly pay the note.”

“It is a very considerable amount, my lord,” Edward stressed.

Adrian shrugged. “It does not matter.”

Edward hesitated, then added, “I can present that option to him, but I suspect he won’t accept.”

“Why ever not?” Jeffrey questioned, his voice taking on an edge of menace.

“This is where the situation becomes more complicated.” Edward sighed.

“How could that be?” Adrian asked with some skepticism.

Edward shrugged. “For some reason known only to him, Charles Malcolm seems set on marriage to Lady Angeline.” He peered over his spectacles directly at Adrian. “Because there is some question as to her true identity at the time you married, which could negate the marriage, she would be free to marry Malcolm. I have to believe Malcolm is privy to at least some part of this information, and is biding his time.”

Adrian ran his fingers through his hair and scowled. “How is that even possible? We only just became aware of it ourselves.”

“I could not say, my lord.” Edward paused as if collecting his thoughts, and Adrian knew he wouldn’t like what was to follow.

“He is also aware there may be a question of the validity of the marriage between Lady Franchesca and Lord William,” Edward said in a rush.

They all began exclaiming at once. Angeline raised her hand, and the room quieted.

“I don’t understand. How could my parents’ marriage be in question? Everyone knew they were wed and knew her as Lady Longhaven.” Angeline’s bewildered gaze found Shirley, who remained silent.

Edward answered reluctantly. “When your father and mother married, it would have been without her family’s permission or approval. She was underage. It would help if we could find a certificate, a special license Lord William would have needed to obtain before the marriage. In all honesty, I know nothing of such a document and I have handled his affairs for many years.”

“That would explain why she signed her letter to me as she did,” Angeline considered aloud.

“How is that, my lady?” Edward asked.

“The letter you brought to me was signed Franchesca Elaina Cordova, not Ashley. Also, Bunny has said the same thing to me, that my name, the name my mother gave me, is Angelina Franchesca Cordova.”

“Then with all of this information, why would Malcolm be this determined?” Adrian asked, aware that Angeline flinched at the question.

All eyes swung to Edward Thornby.

“The answer
is
the name.”

Angeline sprang to her feet. “That makes no sense, whatsoever.”