Read The Rogue and the Rival Online
Authors: Maya Rodale
The Rogue and the Rival (32 page)
She was beautiful, more so than he had imagined. In fact, he had never imagined her like this. Her hair was piled atop her head in some elaborate arrangement that left a few honey-hued curls hanging around her face. He gazed at cheeks he had cupped in his hands, lips that he had thoroughly kissed, and eyes that had seen right through him and might have loved him anyway.
She wore a gown of violet-colored silk. At least, he thought it was silk. He couldn’t tell from the other side of the ballroom, and really, who cared about fabric? He cared about what was under it. And her breasts. God. He could concede that it was the fashion for women to wear gowns with such low necklines, to have their breasts there on display. But he wanted nothing more than to cover her with his jacket so that no other man could gaze upon them. He wanted her all for himself.
He was staring. He couldn’t look away. Helen of Troy had nothing on her.
And then she looked up and caught his eye.
She did not smile. Nor did she scowl. He could not discern the expression on her face. But she did stare back at him. One, two, three heartbeats. He counted. His heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t help but notice it. Four, five, six, seven. She looked away.
But he did not look away. He watched her turn to the gentleman next to her. And his heart stopped in his throat.
“Phillip? Have you been listening?”
“Who is that?” Phillip asked, gesturing slightly to that man next to her.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“That fellow? Lord Frost. He’s new to town this season, likely looking for a bride since his wife died about a year ago. Seems to be a decent fellow.”
Phillip did not want to know that Frost was a decent fellow. He couldn’t possibly be. He had deceived Angela, ruined her, and caused the death of her father. God, the ton would have a field day if that rumor were to start circulating . . .
“Why do you ask?” Parkhurst questioned.
“I thought he looked familiar.” It was the truth. Phillip recognized him from Angela’s sketchbook. He also recognized the look on Frost’s face as he spoke with Angela: it was an expression of adoration. And it would be sort of perfect, wouldn’t it, if Frost was to make an honest woman of her, after all these years?
He sincerely hoped Angela didn’t think of it like that. “The woman he’s talking to is Miss Sullivan,” Parkhurst continued. “She does drawings for the
London Weekly
. In fact—” Parkhurst stopped short as he put two and two together. “It is you in that drawing! Now Lord North owes me twenty quid. Splendid. And that is why you have returned, right? Where were you, anyway, and how does she know you? And—”
London Weekly
. In fact—” Parkhurst stopped short as he put two and two together. “It is you in that drawing! Now Lord North owes me twenty quid. Splendid. And that is why you have returned, right? Where were you, anyway, and how does she know you? And—”
“Are they . . . betrothed?” Phillip asked, cutting off Parkhurst. That was not a conversation he wanted to have at present. Fortunately, his friend was easily distracted.
“No. But according to my mother, they ought to be. She heard from her sister-in-law who heard from her cousin that Frost used to court Miss Sullivan, years and years ago. Everyone expected a betrothal announcement, but then he married another, and she disappeared for a few years. There was something about a small-town scandal, but I can’t remember it. Either way, there are rumors about them. Wards off many suitors for her. So you’d think that she’d jump at the chance to marry anyone, let alone a viscount.
Women
. I swear they are impossible to understand.”
Women
. I swear they are impossible to understand.”
“You look exceptionally beautiful tonight,” Lucas said.
It’s not for you,
Angela wanted to shout. She had suspected that Phillip might be here tonight. She was determined to look her best for the encounter, not to please him but to show him just what he had given up, and because it made her feel better and stronger to be pretty.
It’s not for you,
Angela wanted to shout. She had suspected that Phillip might be here tonight. She was determined to look her best for the encounter, not to please him but to show him just what he had given up, and because it made her feel better and stronger to be pretty.
She had been stunned by the reaction Phillip received just by walking into the ballroom tonight. It was then that she realized she hadn’t quite believed him when he spoke of his reputation.
Society will not be kind to us,
he had said.
Society will not be kind to us,
he had said.
They were not kind now. “Did you hear about the orgies in Paris?” they whispered to each other in hushed tones. “What about all those ruined girls? Was it four? Or fourteen?” “He has a dozen illegitimate children starving in the streets.” “No, I heard on good authority that it was at least twenty starving orphans.” And then there was speculation as to what he had done during the past year, an unaccounted-for block of time in which no stories had surfaced about him. And those were only the things Angela had managed to overhear.
She, too, was among the gawkers. But she couldn’t be the only one gawking at him because he was so outrageously handsome. He held himself like the duke he had been raised to be: strong and sure. And then he smiled, slightly amused at the reaction. Like it was just the welcome he had expected.
From her far corner in the ballroom, she searched his face for a clue of the man she had known. She was used to seeing him in the roughest garments, if any. And there he stood, in black-and-white evening dress. The clothing was different, but she could still see enough of the man she had known. And he could still make her heart beat double time.
Did you miss me?
His smile seemed to say.
His smile seemed to say.
“Yes,” she had whispered. But no one had heard, for they were too busy with whispers of their own.
“Did you hear me, Angela? I said you were more beautiful than ever tonight,” Lucas stated.
“Thank you,” she replied. Lucas kept staring at her. “What is it?” she asked.
“Your beauty has increased with time. And you were utterly ravishing when I first knew you.”
“Ravishing,” she repeated. Ravished was more like it.
“Angela—” Lucas murmured. But she ignored him, because she had the queerest feeling of being watched.
Don’t look,
her brain urged. But it was no match for her desire. She saw Phillip, standing with some gentleman she didn’t know. Phillip was watching her. He didn’t smile, and neither did she. She couldn’t, really. Every part of her was so overwhelmed with the heat of desire and anger. She wanted equally to slap him and kiss him. Instead, she stood where she was, frozen, and stared at him.
Don’t look,
her brain urged. But it was no match for her desire. She saw Phillip, standing with some gentleman she didn’t know. Phillip was watching her. He didn’t smile, and neither did she. She couldn’t, really. Every part of her was so overwhelmed with the heat of desire and anger. She wanted equally to slap him and kiss him. Instead, she stood where she was, frozen, and stared at him.
He had come back.
And remembering how it was said that he could ruin a woman with his eyes, she turned away.
“What were you saying?” she asked.
“I was asking if you’d like to take a trip with me this weekend to my house in Oxfordshire. Just the two of us. Alone.” Lucas discreetly took her hand in his.
“Are you mad?” she hissed, snatching her hand away. Someone would be sure to see them, and that someone would talk, and before she knew it, her reputation would as black as . . . Phillip’s. And where was Lady Palmerston? She had promised not to leave Angela alone with any man, and yet she had.
“You are not an innocent, Angela. The rules don’t apply to you.”
“Thank you for pointing that out,” she said dryly. Was the heat in the ballroom tonight due to the masses of people? Or the mortification of what Lucas had just said? Or because she was sure Phillip was still looking at her? Where was her aunt?
“I never stopped loving you, Angela.” She saw something in his eyes that made her think he might have spoken the truth. And she had waited years for those words, had she not? Wasn’t this moment supposed to be grander? She spoke without thinking.
“And I never felt sorry for your wife, until now.” It was the truth, she realized. She had never met her, so Angela couldn’t hate her. But there was many a night that she seethed with jealousy. Another woman was married to Angela’s husband.
“Do not pity her,” Lucas said harshly, and his eyes darkened.
“Why not? Her husband was in love with someone else.”
“The child she died giving birth to wasn’t mine.” If he had any feelings about that situation, they were not apparent in his voice. And she thought of his pride then, and what it must have cost him to admit something like that to her. She did not know how to feel about the stirring of tenderness she felt for him. Or was it merely pity?
“You have not been lucky in love,” she observed.
“No. But I believe in fate. Could it be anything else that brought us together again, with no obstacles in our way this time? We have a second chance now, do we not?”
She hesitated in her response. She wasn’t sure, and yet not one but two potential second chances were here in the ballroom.
“Ah, there you are, Angela,” Lady Palmerston cut in. “We should go say hello to Lord and Lady Winsworth.”
“Angela, think about my invitation,” he urged.
“I will. Good-bye, Lucas.”
For the next three hours, Angela danced with many men, none of them Phillip. When she wasn’t waltzing, she was talking with many people, none of them Phillip. By the end of the evening, just one question burned within her: Why had he come back if he was not going to talk to her?
“What invitation did Frost want you to think about?” Lady Palmerston asked once they were settled in the carriage for the drive home.
“What? Oh. I had quite forgotten about that.”
“You know, my dear, that I remember—”
“Everything, I know. He wanted me to go away with him this weekend to his house is Oxfordshire.” After repeating his proposition, Angela laughed.
“Obviously you haven’t given it much thought.”
“No. It’s outrageous. He obviously still does not have a care for my reputation.”
“Unless he means to marry you this time,” her aunt posited.
“I had that thought, too.” They parted seven years ago under utterly devastating circumstances, and after a few weeks’ reacquaintance, his intentions were clear. She didn’t know how she felt about it. Sometimes she thought it was too soon. Unless it was too late.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what might have distracted you,” Lady Palmerston said slyly.
“Oh, hush Aunt Know-It-All. You know very well what has distracted me all evening.”
“Quite an entrance the bloke made,” she remarked casually.
“Indeed,” Angela agreed. It would be the topic of every ton conversation for the next week, if not longer. The prodigal rake had returned.
“Well, are you going?”
“Where? Oh, right, to Oxfordshire with Lucas. It depends, I suppose.”
“On Lord Huntley, I presume,” Lady Palmerston supplied. Angela did not, nay, could not, contradict her. And in this moment, she felt another swell of hope. Her hope, like a child taking its first steps, tottered and then fell.
“Why didn’t he speak to me tonight? After all those things he said this afternoon?”
“Probably because he didn’t want his filthy reputation to tarnish your own good reputation that you have worked so hard to achieve. Touching, really. I never thought that Huntley had the mental space devoted to thinking of someone other than himself. Angela, what did you do to him?”
“I loved him,” she said so quietly that she didn’t think her aunt could hear.
But she did.
“You’re still up. And still here,” Emilia said, while pausing in the doorway to the library later that evening. Phillip was sprawled in a leather chair before the fire, which though dying down, still provided a decent amount of warmth and light. Even in London he maintained his evening ritual of sitting before a fire and brooding about Angela.
“I turned down Parkhurst’s offer to go to a gaming hell. Where is Devon?”
“Upstairs, with the girls. He reads to them before bed. I guess I’ll join them . . .”
“Join me, if you’d like. I could use a distraction from myself.”
“OK.” Emilia came in and sat in a chair opposite his. She bit her lip and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. She looked at Phillip out of the corner of her eye. A moment passed.
“Oh, just say it,” he said.
“Angela is your fiancée from the abbey, right? The one you borrowed the money to save, right? And the reason you’ve returned to London.”
“Yes.”
“I knew it! Neither she nor our aunt breathed a word about you. I had no idea, until recently it slipped that she had spent some time in an abbey, and I couldn’t help but put two and two together. And then that drawing in the newspaper . . .”
“Very well done of you.”
“But you didn’t even
try
to speak to her tonight! I thought you came here to get her back. And I can’t see how ignoring her is going to accomplish that. Or is it because she wouldn’t see you when you called today?”
try
to speak to her tonight! I thought you came here to get her back. And I can’t see how ignoring her is going to accomplish that. Or is it because she wouldn’t see you when you called today?”
“You women. Always talking,” Phillip muttered.
“It’s about time you learned that.”
“Talking to Lucas Frost, of all the cads in the world.”
“What is wrong with Lord Frost?” Emilia asked. “Is it because of the rumors about him and Angela from years and years ago? They are unconfirmed, you know. But they have become friendly of late.”
“I cannot say. Will not say, rather,” Phillip said. Emilia did not seem to know much about Angela’s past. It seemed that Angela could keep a secret. But was it to preserve her reputation or an effort to pretend she had never known either of them?
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