My Fallen Angel (5 page)

“Garrick, what’s wrong?”

It wasn’t rational. He’d only just met her. “Nothing,” he said, his voice clipped by years of concealing his emotions.

“Is your hand bothering you again?”

He almost laughed. If only it were that simple. Pain could be willed away. Fear could be controlled. Nothing could have prepared him for Lucy. Nothing.

They completed the journey in silence. Lucy wondered if she’d said or done something to upset him, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall what. Their time on theroad had been almost magical, like those mornings when mist rose up from the ground and swirled about her feet, making her feel as if she walked upon a giant cloud. She hugged herself. Truly, she would treasure the memory of this trip to keep with her when he was gone.

They rounded the bend of the road to her aunt’s house, relieved beyond words that they had finally made it, only to crash into Garrick’s back two steps later. She looked past his shoulder.

The place was lit up like Vauxhall Gardens.

“’Twould appear your absence has been noted,” he drawled.

Anxiety made her voice tremble when she replied, “’Twould appear so.”

And any hope that her absence
hadn’t
been noted was banished the moment Lucy opened the front door. Garrick was momentarily forgotten as she peeked inside, light spilling like milk onto the porch to illuminate the mellowed granite steps she had paused upon.

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light, only to wish for the blackness to swallow her up again when she spied her aunt standing in the middle of the spacious hall. She leaned heavily on her silver-tipped cane, one foot tapping on the marble floor, an expression on her face akin to the look she wore the time Lucy’d been caught drawing eyes on the back of Lord Craven’s bald head. He’d fallen asleep, and she’d been unable to resist the smooth drawing board.

She tried not to cringe. “Good eve, Aunt Cornelia,” she said after a very long and awkward silence.

Her aunt’s eyes narrowed and Lucy recognized the look on her face. It was her I-do-not-trust-myself-to-speak look and it meant Lucy was in deep, deep trouble.

Lucy’s feet felt as heavy as cannonballs as she slowly stepped into the foyer. When her aunt spied the costume she wore, her nostrils pinched together and then released, much like an enraged horse.

It was perhaps fortunate that at that moment her Aunt Cornelia spied Garrick entering the hall, for she was positive that once her aunt found her tongue, Lucy’s ears were going to be scorched from the tirade that was sure to follow. She glanced back, deciding to try a diversionary tactic.

“Ahh, Garrick, this is my Aunt Cornelia. Auntie, umm, this is Mr. Garrick Wolf.”

“Garrick
Asquith-Wolf,”
he corrected.

Strangely, Cornelia looked even more enraged when she heard his name. “My lord Cardiff?” she all but snapped.

“At your service.” He bowed.

Lucy turned to face Garrick.
Lord Cardiff?
Good heavens, the man she had kicked in the family jewels, the man who had cupped her chin and looked at her so kindly, was the infamous Lord Cardiff? The most famous rake in all the Royal Navy? How amazing. How … disconcerting. How utterly wonderful.

Why, she imagined every virgin in the county had spun fantasies about the man, as she had, fantasies about what he looked like, what it would feel like to be held in his arms, always wishing he would make one of his rare appearances at a ball. He was a legend among members of the
ton.
He had scorned his title to fight for the king’s navy. But, heavens, he was no rake and he was twentytimes more handsome than her dreams had ever conjured.

She glanced back at her aunt, only to cringe when she noted the dark scowl. Not surprising since his
lordship
was the sort of man any chaperone in her right mind would beat over the head with a club. Lord Cardiff was called “Wolf,” she suddenly remembered, and not because of his appetite for food. The thought brought her back to reality with a clunk.

“What
are you doing with my niece, my lord?” Aunt Cornelia asked.

Garrick looked a bit flustered by the question.“I … ahh … I came to her rescue. I’m a friend of the Duke and Duchess of Warburton, you see.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say, for her aunt relaxed her stance a bit, but she still didn’t lose the distrustful look in her eyes.“And
how
did you meet up with her?”

“I followed her.”

Cornelia resembled a bull the way her head rose with anger, then fell with suspicion, nostrils flaring for added effect.“You
what?”

“I followed her. I’ve been watching your house, you see. As a favor to the duke.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. He’d been watching the house? How marvelous. He’d been spying on her. Perhaps he’d seen her in her undergarments. Oooooh, that would be something …

“I am waiting for an explanation, Lucinda.
Where
have you been?”

Lucy flinched, turning back to her aunt. She gulped, deciding that honesty was the best policy.

In an attempt to make light of the situation, she made her voice as offhand and as unconcerned as possible, announcing, “I was at the Earl of Selborne’s.”

It took a great effort on her part not to grimace as she waited for the explosion.

It was immediate.

“Lucy Hartford, you incorrigible girl! How dare you do something so impetuous!” Cornelia banged her cane on the ground for emphasis.

“I went because I’d heard the earl and countess were on holiday,” she attempted to explain.

But, as usual, her aunt failed to be swayed by Lucy’s outstanding logic. The matron’s cap atop her head looked ready to blow off, and so Lucy added hastily, “I know it was risky, but even Garrick—ahh, his lordship, agreed the idea was sound. Didn’t you, sir—ahh, my lord?”

She looked at Garrick, who remained traitorously silent on the subject.

She returned her gaze to her aunt.“And it was terribly easy to break into the earl’s estate. In fact, we even discovered the name of the countess’s solicitor.”

Her aunt didn’t say a word, merely stared at her. Lucy wondered what she was doing, then realized her aunt didn’t trust herself to speak She flushed, then busied herself with brushing off her breeches, which were covered with ash. Next, she fussed with her hair, then inspected her boots.

Aunt Cornelia must have counted to at least one hundred before she turned to Garrick.“The truth, my lord, if you please. And do not sugar-coat it. The odds ofmy niece sneaking into someone’s estate without destroying something in the process are slim to nil.”

“Aunt Cornelia!” Lucy exclaimed, looking at Garrick in chagrin.

Garrick bowed slightly, and Lucy could swear she saw his lips twitch. The movement brought his blonde queue forward and for the first time she noticed the small gold hoop hanging from his right ear. She tilted her head to stare at it curiously.

The adornment was forgotten, however, when he said, “You are correct, my lady. I believe tonight’s casualties were a jacket, several shrubs, a large patch of the earl’s lawn, and a few years off the life of some of the earl’s servants.”

“Tattletale,” Lucy hissed.

“I was afraid of that,” Cornelia murmured.“Well, I’d better hear the whole story.” She looked from Garrick, to her niece, then back to Garrick again.“Follow me.”

She turned away, her cane thumping as she crossed the polished floor, leading them toward a parlor Lucy had privately dubbed the Flower Room. Every piece of furniture, wall hanging, floor covering, and bric-a-brac had flower buds on it. Lucy took a seat on a particularly hideous looking sofa with the unfortunate combination of red roses and yellow primroses as its pattern.

“Proceed,” her aunt announced, taking the chair opposite.

Garrick stood by the grate, one arm resting on the mantel. She became aware of him again, of the way the fire reflected in his eyes. How handsome he looked in the light. How he managed to look so unrumpled wasbeyond her. She had no doubt she looked like something the barn cat had played with and then left behind.

“I caught her as she fell out of a tree.”

Lucy stiffened, her appreciation of him disappearing in a puff of pique.“You didn’t catch me,” she huffed.“I would have landed just fine without you.”

Garrick quirked a brow at her. Lucy had the sudden urge to wire his mouth shut using the gold hoop in his earlobe.

He turned back to her aunt with a droll expression schooling his face.“We had to climb the same tree again to break into the earl’s home.” He paused, as if debating how much more to tell her. His gaze caught hers.

Not much,
Lucy begged with her eyes.

He frowned, once more looking at her aunt.“Suffice it to say, it was a long night.”

Thank you, God,
she silently prayed.

“The good news is that we discovered the name of the countess’s solicitor. With any luck the man will be the key to discovering where the boy’s former guardian resides, but it will require a trip to London.”

Cornelia’s gray brows arched. She had the appearance of a woman who knew there was more to the story, but had decided she’d heard enough. Instead she looked between the two, rubbing her temple with a hand that shook “Have you any idea how many years you’ve taken of my life, young lady?”

Lucy felt the familiar sting of a blush fill her cheeks. She looked at the floor as if it held the answer to getting back into her aunt’s good graces.

“And what will Harry say when he hears of thisevening’s fiasco?” She stiffened.“Dear Lord, what if he decides not to ask you to wed him?”

Lucy plucked at a string on her sleeve. That Garrick had to overhear this conversation fostered fresh waves of humiliation.

“No, I won’t frighten myself by thinking such thoughts,” Cornelia mumbled.

The thread grew longer. Suddenly Lucy realized why. Her sleeve came off. Just slid right down her arm and landed in a pool of dirty white at her feet. She looked up, hoping against hope that Garrick hadn’t noticed.

He had.

For some reason, the realization made her want to cry.

She looked away. Nothing had gone right tonight, she thought, absolutely nothing. And her aunt was correct. Dear Harry would be furious when he discovered tonight’s escapades, not that it mattered much to Lucy. Her aunt pressed the match. It had seemed like a good idea to Lucy, too, until she’d met Garrick.

“I can’t thank you enough for your assistance tonight, my lord,” her Aunt Cornelia continued.“I’ve no doubt my niece would be spending the night with the local magistrate if not for you. It was most wise of His Grace to ask you to watch over us, but you should have made your presence known to me long before now.”

“I was afraid the duke’s concerns might alarm you, my lady.”

“Yes, I see your point. Still, it would have alarmed me
more
if I’d spied you skulking about in our trees. I suppose you’re staying at the local inn?”

“Indeed.”

“Hmm, well, at least it’s clean, and you won’t be staying there for long should you decide to go to London. I only hope your theory about the solicitor being the connection between the countess and Tom’s former guardian proves correct, although I must confess, I have my—”

“But Aunt Cornelia, don’t you see?” Lucy interrupted, biting back her irritation that her aunt gave Garrick the credit for something she’d discovered. Plus she needed to show Garrick how little his derision affected her.“The countess would never have associated with a man such as Jolly. She had to have hired
someone
to do her dirty work, someone she trusted implicitly. Why not a solicitor? Indeed, she wouldn’t have to tell him what her business with Jolly was. Only order the man paid.”

“Lucy, what happened to your sleeve?”

Lucy colored, momentarily thrown. She could have sworn Garrick laughed.“Er, ahh, nothing, Aunt. I must have gotten it stuck in the tree.” She looked down, only to force herself to look up again.
“As
I was saying.‘Tis obvious we need to go to London to explore this lead.”

“We?” her aunt spat out.

“Yes,” she said firmly, looking at Garrick.
“We.
Although his lordship might beg to differ.”

His lordship
had
begged to differ, although the next morning Lucy had cause to regret being so firm in her insistence on going to London. If anything, Garrick looked even more furious than when he’d left the night before. The chill in his gaze blew through her heart like a winter wind. She looked away, wondering what it was about the man that made her heart pound like a woodpecker gone mad.

“Good morning,” she said softly. The fact that they were alone made her unaccountably nervous. Ridiculous, she told herself, trying not to fidget in her chair. She’d climbed trellises with jars of hatefid spiders in her hands. Jumped off roofs with injured kittens in her arms. She’d even shot a person once. Of course, that had been an accident. The point was, Garrick made her feel the veritable ninny. As if she’d lost her wits. Like those silly women at balls who swooned when a handsome man strolled by.

She fixed her eyes on the tiny violets imprinted on her dress, determined not to let him see how her breath quickened when he stopped before her.

“Where’s your aunt?”

Look up, Lucy, you can do it.
And she tried, she truly did. Her gaze got caught on skintight breeches that revealed thighs of Davidlike perfection. Next they paused on the bulge in his breeches. A very large bulge, she amended, blushing. His hips were the next detour. Masculine hips. Everything about him was big, even the fists clenched at his sides.

She peeked up farther. His white shirt had parted to reveal a sun-bronzed chest. She swallowed. Good heavens, would she ever get used to looking at the man? And his shoulders, they were so wide. His neck so thick. His chin had a teeny-tiny cleft in it. His lips were so achingly sensual, she licked her own in appreciation. She steeled herself, looking into his eyes.

And blanched.

He was livid.

“Are you done?” he snapped.

Well, no, not really.
She’d have liked to stare at his lips a bit longer. And that earring of his still fascinated her.“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“I asked you a question,” he clipped out.“Where is your aunt?”

It took a moment to gather her thoughts, mostly because she’d suddenly caught a whiff of him. Salt and man, that’s what he smelled of, as if he had brought a bit of the sea into the room with him.

“She’s above stairs, dressing,” she finally croaked, her voice as raspy as Lady Hortense just before she’d keeled over and died.

“And the boy?”

“Above stairs, too, I should think.”

“Fine. I’ll wait outside.”

“No, wait,” she called, impulsively reaching for his hand.“How…how does it feel today?”

She smiled up at him, a great giant of a smile that was meant to ask him if he felt as giddy and as wonderful and as strange when he saw her as she did when she saw him. He didn’t look away, and for second, just the tiniest bit of a moment, something burned in his eyes.

“How does
what
feel?”

She blinked, telling herself she hadn’t imagined it.“Your hand.”

“’Tis fine,” he gritted, trying to jerk away.

She wouldn’t let him, just held onto it like a lifeline to a ship.“Wait,” she said softly, slowly standing up. She’d misjudged the distance between them, though, for he was far closer than she realized. Their bodies brushed. She saw his eyes widen.
Yes,
she thought.
There it is again.

“I haven’t thanked you for yesterday.”

“No need.”

Almost, she closed her eyes. His voice washed over her like warm water, pooling in her very soul.

“Yes,” she contradicted.“There is a need. If not for you, I might be dead.”

He didn’t say a word, just stared down at her, his eyes so different when viewed up close. Color upon color blended within them—green, blue, silver, so complex they reminded her of a stained-glass window or the colors of the sea.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble.”

He didn’t respond, just continued to stare down at her. She waited for a reaction, any reaction. Perhaps a slight lift to the corner of his mouth. Perhaps a minor softening of his remarkable blue eyes.

She got nothing.

Disappointment almost made her look away. Almost. Was she so hopeless then? Were her feelings so totally one-sided?

And then she saw him tense. Saw him move an arm. A finger rose to her chin, tilted it up. Hope beat a rhythmic staccato in her breast like the flutter of a bird’s wings as it soared through the sky. Her breath caught, held, then released in a soft sigh as he gently stroked the line of her jaw.

“You should be careful,” he murmured, his eyes scanning her own.

He
does
feel it,
she thought.
He does, he does, he does.
She hadn’t imagined yesterday. Hadn’t imagined a moonlit night and warm, mingled breaths.

“I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”

She nodded slowly, hardly daring to move, hardly daring to breathe, wondering if she were imagining the words, the moment. And then his head began to dip toward hers.
Yes,
her heart cried out.
Oh, gracious, yes. Thank you, Lord. I will never ask for another thing again. He likes me. He truly likes me.
Her eyes closed. Anticipating. Waiting. Dreaming.

Warm lips pressed against her on the forehead.

Her eyes sprang open.

He stepped back, then patted her on the head.“You see, I wouldn’t want Dear Harry to get angry with me.”

And with that he turned away.

Lucy watched him go, feeling wretchedly deflated.

•  •  •

It took Lucy nearly fifteen minutes to collect herself enough to fetch Tom. The stairs of her aunt’s home creaked as she made her way up them.

She found the boy sitting on a window seat in his room, his knees tucked up under his elbows. His head—with its mop of unruly blonde curls—rested on his knees, the expression on his face as glum as she herself felt. He didn’t bother to look at her. Not even when she walked up behind him did he glance up, which was odd, for usually he loved to bait her with a lecherous grin, loved to tease her in that cockney accent of his—an accent she’d done her best to rid him of, and failed, over the past two weeks that he’d been in her care.

“What’s the matter, Thomas Tee?” she asked gently, using the pet name both she and her friend Salena, Duchess of Warburton, called him.

Tom turned to look at her, his violet eyes lacking their usual luster. He shrugged.

Misery loves company,
she thought, and so she patted him on the knees, indicating that he should make room for her on the seat.

He sighed, then dropped his feet to the floor and scooted over.“I dunno,” he said at last.“I gots a feeling.”

Lucy’s brows rose, for when Tom got a feeling it usually meant he’d eaten too many sweets.

“What kind of feeling?” she asked warily.

He shrugged again.“Like somethin’ bad’s about to happen.”

Lucy’s eyes widened.“Bad? How do you mean?”

He seemed to mull her question over.“Bad like last night.” He looked up at her, his normally cherubic face troubled.“You near ‘bout got killed.”

“Who told you that?”

“Wolf.”

Lucy’s brows rose. So he had met the boy? She wondered when. It must have been this morning, sometime before she’d gone downstairs.

“I never asked to be no bleedin’ nobleman’s son,” Tom continued.“Always thoughts y’all a bunch’a crackpots, I did,” he mumbled to himself, then suddenly looked up, obviously realizing what he’d said.“Except for you an’ Salena an’ Adrian an’ Beth, o’ course.”

Lucy contained a smile.“Of course.”

He was silent a moment, then said, “I s’ppose I’m just afraids that next time you really will gets hurt.” He looked up at her in pensive admonishment.“You’re ‘bout as graceful as a drunken sailor, me loidy, you don’t needs ta push yer luck by snoopin’ around fer me.”

Lucy tried not to take offense at his words. But it was hard. Especially when Garrick obviously felt the same way.

“Tom, I can take care of myself. You needn’t worry. And now there’s Garrick to look after us. You’ll see. Things will be set to rights.”

Tom worried his bottom lip, then took a deep breath and said, “I’ ope so.”

“They will, you’ll see. Now, grab your things and head down to the carriage. I’ll meet you there.”

A current of excitement raced through her at the thought of seeing Garrick again, no matter that he didn’tseem to notice or care about her existence. She could
imagine
him taking notice. Her imagination was good. So much better than reality.

Tom’s face lit up.“Yer bringin’ the bird with ya?”

Lucy nodded vaguely. And she could imagine him kissing her, too, like he’d done yesterday, before she’d given him a foolish display of disgust by shoving him backward.

“Well, are ya?”

Lucy blinked, forcing herself to concentrate.“Er, of course. He goes everywhere with me, although Aunt Cornelia has insisted he ride with the servants.”

“Ah, Luce, why can’t he ride with us if I promise ta take care o’ him meself?”

“Because me aunt—” She rolled her eyes at the boy’s contagious form of speech.“Because
my
aunt says he can’t.”

Tom pouted.“That old battle ax is always gettin’ in the way o’ me fun.”

“Tom,” Lucy chided gently.“My aunt is not a battle ax. She is a very kind lady who is going out of her way to help you.”

Tom looked down at the floor, his expression turning contrite.“It’s just that I’ve been makin’ so much progress teaching Prinny new words. I thought it might be fun ta practice some more on the ride to London.”

“And drive us all crazy in the process,” Lucy muttered, before her eyes narrowed suspiciously.“And just what have you been teaching him?”

Tom stood up, then said jauntily, “Oh, this an’ that. You’ll sees.” With that he headed toward the door.

Lucy watched his retreating back, her eyes narrowing even further. Unfortunately, the only words Tom would likely teach her African Grey were the unsuitable kind, and Prinny
already
had a vocabulary totally unacceptable for a lady’s pet. That was why she liked him.

She shook her head, wondering when the little imp had sneaked into her room for Prinny’s “lessons,” and what she would do without Tom when he was gone. She’d miss him terribly, she admitted, a deep sadness settling in her bones.

That sadness only grew worse when she spied Garrick outside. When Tom was gone, so would Garrick be. Then it would be back to her normal humdrum life. There would be no more swashbuckling heroes. No more dreams of being kissed by a fair prince. It was back to plain, silly, frumpish Dear Harry. The end of her adventure.

And back to the man she knew she could never love, or marry.