The Rogue and the Rival (3 page)

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Authors: Maya Rodale

BOOK: The Rogue and the Rival
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“Jesus,” he said, not sure of if it was an acknowledgment or a curse.
 
It is still too hard to be good,
Angela thought as she made her way to the kitchen. Six years in the abbey, and still she could not control her tongue or her temper. Six years here, and she still wanted to shout in frustration or sometimes for no reason at all other than to hear her own voice echo endlessly in the stone halls. Anything to break the unrelenting silence. She longed for music, dancing, and laughter. Six years here, and she still could not get used to the rough woolen fabric of her practical gown against her skin. She missed the finely spun cottons, silks, and satins of the exquisitely tailored dresses she used to wear, even though she knew it was a frivolous and useless desire. Six years here, and her body still hummed with desire at the sight of a man.
Worse yet was that her body betrayed her with a quickened, excited pulse at the sight of a very bad man. All of England knew that Lord Huntley was bad. He ruined women left and right, gambled away the family fortune, and drank to excess regularly. His temper was notorious as well, as were his numerous duels. It was a huge scandal when his twin inherited the title instead of him, contrary to everyone’s expectations. He had fled to Paris, and tales of his debauchery had crossed the channel. In short, he was a legend. A paragon of sin.
Three days earlier, she had watched as the Sloan brothers unloaded his battered body from their cart, along with the usual assorted items from town. Her heart had lurched at the sight of him, not in disgust, but because something so beautiful had nearly been destroyed. That, and the fact that she hadn’t had any contact with men since she had arrived at Stanbrook Abbey six years earlier—other than Johnnie and William Sloan, and they were mere lads so they didn’t count. And then this one arrived, handsome and wicked, and in desperate need of some tender, loving care.
The abbess, otherwise known as Dowager Countess of Bamford, familiarly known as Katherine, assigned Angela to administer that care, in spite of her pleas and protestations to the contrary.
When Angela entered the kitchen, she saw Penelope Sloan and Helena Smith, her two best friends, or, if one was being too specific, her only friends. But that didn’t matter. More than occasionally, Angela thought their friendship was all that got her through the day.
Penelope was one of six children, including four daughters, born to a vicar. Having grown up in the church, and with few marriage prospects because she lacked a dowry, it was only natural that she join the abbey. She was happy here and certain of her path. Angela occasionally envied her certainty but more often admired her for it.
Helena was older than Angela by a few years. After a short marriage left her a widow, her only option, other than a religious life, had been to live as a housekeeper with her only remaining family, a miserly and lecherous old uncle. She declared that if she must bind herself to another man for the rest of her life, it might as well be the good Lord.
Angela’s two friends must have seen from her face that she was in a foul mood. After a quick greeting, they continued with their work, Penelope popping peas out of their pods and Helena peeling potatoes.
Angela had told a small lie to Lord Invalid. The cook, Henrietta, did have to prepare luncheon for fifty people, but not for another half hour. Angela set down the tray with a bang on the large, rough-hewn table in the middle of the room. She began to clear the tray, and the sight of the full bowl of porridge made her angry.
I won’t do it,
she thought as she scooped the contents into the scrap bin for the grateful pigs.
“What are you doing?” Penelope asked. Cooking was not one of Angela’s usual chores in the abbey.
“My good deed for the day,” Angela replied dryly as she began assembling ingredients and started to boil some water.
“Did Lord Invalid not like the porridge?” Helena asked with feigned innocence. Angela had checked on him earlier and saw that he was stirring. Thinking it best to be fully prepared when she went to tend to him and his wounds that morning, in case he woke fully, she followed Helena’s suggestion to serve him yesterday’s porridge.
It had also been Helena’s idea to call him Lord Invalid. The name had stuck. They had referred to him as such for the past three days that he had been lying unconscious in his room.
“Oh, has he woken?” Penelope asked eagerly.
“He must have done. Why else would she be making breakfast so late in the morning?” Helena said before Angela could answer. She was too absorbed in her own thoughts. “
I won’t do it
,” she muttered to herself as she slammed down a cast-iron skillet on the stove. She repeated this phrase as she vented her frustration on cupboard doors and the like while gathering the necessary ingredients and supplies for cooking Lord Invalid a feast.
“I heard a racket, so I knew I would find you here,” the lady Katherine said as she strolled into the kitchen with her usual expression of eternal serenity. She sat down at the table, smoothing out her dark skirts and running a hand over her gray hair, which was always pulled back into an immaculate bun.
“How is our patient?” the abbess asked.
“In a word, despicable,” Angela stated.
“So he has woken.”
“And I wish he hadn’t,” Angela said, picking up a large knife.
“Angela . . .” The abbess sighed in disapproval.
Angela began to cut thick slices of bread that had been freshly baked that morning. She set them on the plate and added a few slices of ham and cheese.
“I don’t wish him dead. I didn’t mean it that way. But why do I have to be the one to take care of Lord Invalid?”
“Yes, why did you choose her?” Helena chimed in, placing her arm protectively around Angela’s shoulders. “Considering what sort of man he is, and what she has suffered, it’s more of a hardship for her than any of us.”
“It is because Angela has not taken her orders yet,” the abbess answered. “She may still be in the company of men, though we may not be. I’m sure, however, that as long as he is here, we might have to make exceptions to that rule. Because we are caring for him, I’m sure God will forgive us.”
“You said to take all the time I need before I take my orders,” Angela protested. “And now I’m being punished for waiting until I was ready.”
“You are not being punished. It’s only practical. And furthermore, I think it’s for the best. You need to learn compassion and forgiveness for exactly the kind of man Lord Huntley is.” The kind of man who had ruined her, Angela thought, knowing the others were thinking the same thing.
“He doesn’t deserve it. No man like him does,” Angela said, cracking an egg into the hot skillet.
“Everyone deserves compassion and forgiveness. You, too, Angela,” the abbess said softly.
“I know.” Angela sighed. She turned her back to the room to pay attention to the stove. Tears were stinging her eyes. She blinked them back and added two more eggs. Six years here, and she still hadn’t forgiven herself for ruining her family. She had blood on her hands that just wouldn’t wash off, no matter how many prayers she uttered or, she suspected, no matter how many very bad men she nursed back to health.
“What are you making?” the abbess asked. “Breakfast was two hours ago, and you know that we fast between meals.”
“I am making breakfast for his lordship. Porridge is not to his liking.”
“You didn’t serve him the porridge from yesterday’s breakfast, did you?” Katherine asked, looking aghast. Helena and Penelope ducked their heads to hide their smiles.
“Maybe,” Angela replied, adding the eggs to the plate. She placed the food on the tray, along with a glass of water, a cup of tea, cutlery, and a napkin.
“Angela.” The abbess murmured her name, as she often did, in a voice laced with disappointment.
“I’m trying,” Angela said, pointing toward the plate. “But I’m not giving him the brandy he asked for.”
“I should think not,” Katherine replied. “’Tis the last thing he needs.”
I cannot believe I am doing this,
Angela thought as she carried the tray back to Lord Invalid’s chamber. It wasn’t just that he was surly, rude, demanding, and difficult that had her in a foul mood. He just so happened to be a specimen of the most loathsome breed of humans; he was an absolute scoundrel. She had an encounter with one once before, and as a result she ended up here.
And now she was supposed to wait hand and foot on a destroyer of virtue and goodness in her refuge, the abbey. Perhaps she had half expected that this sacred site would burst into flames when he entered. But it didn’t, and now she was bringing him a proper breakfast. She did feel slightly guilty about giving him yesterday’s porridge. No one deserved that, and it would not help him get well. Besides, the sooner he regained his strength, the sooner he would leave, and her life would return to its usual placid state. Angela ignored the fleeting sense of dismay at that thought.
When she entered, Lord Invalid was reclining in bed with a smile on his lips. He had the nerve to seem pleased at his situation, didn’t he! Oh, but he was so handsome when he shouldn’t be. Part of his head was covered in linen, because of the gash, and still that did nothing to diminish his appeal. One could almost imagine him getting hurt in some noble effort to save a damsel in distress or children from a fire in an orphanage. But that was highly unlikely. In fact, she didn’t know what had happened to him.
His eyes were a deep dark brown, slightly shadowed by black lashes. They promised seduction, followed swiftly by destruction. She had looked into those eyes earlier and felt a stab of fear. Temptation.
His brow, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, even though partially obscured by a few days’ beard, all proclaimed
nobleman
. His broken nose, however, made him seem human or barbaric; she wasn’t sure. Only he could make an imperfection seem perfect.
At least his shirt was buttoned, covering his chest that, in spite of the bruises over his broken ribs, was nice enough, tempting even. And as his nurse, she had to touch it. She shouldn’t look at it, let alone place her bare hands on it. But she did. And she had liked it.
“This is for your apology,” she said. At the sound of her voice he opened his eyes.
“I didn’t apologize,” he answered, sounding perplexed.
“Well, I think you ought to,” she said. Angela knew that he must be in pain, was likely confused, and certainly was unaccustomed to life in an abbey. She knew he could have been worse this morning. But if he was even half the man his reputation declared him to be, she found it essential to show him that she was not to be trifled with. So she would make it clear that he was at her mercy and not the other way around.
“I’m a man. Men do not apologize. What do you have there?”
“Three fried eggs, fresh-baked bread, slices of ham, and some cheese. Water and tea.”
“I’m deeply and sincerely sorry for something. I know not what, just that I humbly ask your forgiveness,” he said, placing his hand over his heart for emphasis and looking pleadingly at her. She restrained a smile. She would not encourage him.
“You are sorry for being difficult and making excessive demands upon me when I have other things to do.”
“I am sorry, indeed. I blame it on the severe pain and agonizing boredom I am suffering.” Lord Invalid grimaced in pain as he made the effort to sit up.
“Agonizing boredom? You’ve only been conscious for little more than two hours in three days,” she said pointedly.
“May I have the tray now?” When she did not move, he resorted to an act of desperation. “
Please.
”
“Since you said ‘please.’ ” Angela placed the tray on his lap.
“You know, I do think that might have been the first time I ever said ‘please’ to anyone,” he remarked, picking up the cutlery.
“Well I’ll just have to get you a prize then,” Angela replied dryly.
“Don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.” He seemed serious for a second, until she saw the hint of a sly smile, and she realized he was joking. So he was an absolute scoundrel with a sense of humor. That was even more dangerous than being just a plain old scoundrel. She should leave. Now.
“I don’t think you have one to ruin,” Angela answered, pulling over the chair and sitting down in spite of her better judgment. It was just that he was someone new to talk to, and it had been so long since she had engaged in conversation with someone new. Six years, to be precise.
“This is delicious,” he said. “The cook can make something decent after all.”
“Yes, she can.”
“So what did you do to get stuck nursing me?” Phillip asked after a moment of silence in which he devoured half of the meal.
“What makes you think this is some sort of punishment for me?” she asked evasively.
“Really, Angela,” he said patiently, setting down his fork and treating her to a withering stare. “I’m not as stupid as everyone believes me to be.”
“Are you as wicked as they say?” Angela asked, the words out of her mouth before she could censor them.

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