When Angels Fall (12 page)

“I thought since we’re trapped here we could discuss your clothing—or lack of it—until it’s safe to leave.” When she tried to pull away, he grasped at her skirt.

“Wilmott is gone. It’s safe for me to leave now,” she told him struggling with his iron grip.

“He might return. I suggest we wait awhile longer.”

“I should think it will be safer for me to go than to stay.” She snatched her skirts from his grasp and ran to the other side of the billiard table. To her chagrin, her struggles had loosened her hairpins completely and now her hair tumbled free down her back in a long cascade of silvergilt curls.

Anxiously she searched the room for another means of escape. But the room had only one door, which only Ivan could unlock. With his great height, he would have no problem retrieving the key. She watched him go to the cue cabinet. In mute dismay, she saw him take out a billiard cue and begin to chalk it.

“Shall we play while we wait?” He tossed the cue to her. She barely caught it.

“I don’t know how to play billiards, and besides, I must insist that you open—”

“I shall teach you. The game’s quite simple.” With that, he took out another cue. He chalked it and placed three balls on the table—two white ones and a red. He positioned the white ones at one end of the table and the
red one at the other end. With that task completed, he easily bent and made a shot from the top of the table. In amazement, Lissa watched as his ball first struck the red one, then made a four-cushion carom.

He straightened. “You see, it’s quite easy. All you need is a good stroke and follow-through.”

Fascinated, yet terror-stricken, Lissa watched him walk to her side of the table.

“You understand?” he asked.

Vehemently she shook her head.

He bent and demonstrated again. When he straightened, he gave a cynical little laugh. “That’s all it takes—a good stroke and follow-through. But you’d be surprised the number of men who can’t quite pick up the game.” He looked down at her meaningfully, an amused glint in his eye. “Billingsworth, for example. Yes, let’s take old Billingsworth. You can just look at the chap and see he hasn’t a good stroke and follow-through.”

“How dare you speak like that . . .” she whispered, his meaning all too clear.

He ignored her. “Now you try,” he said, nodding toward the billiards.

She gripped the cue. She didn’t dare bend over the billiard table, and he knew it only too well.

“Come along, my dear proper little Miss Alcester, it’s really quite easy. You just lean forward like this and—”

It was all she could do not to smash the cue over his handsome head. Yet with heroic self-restraint she placed the cue on the table. He was baiting her. He wanted a reaction. She wouldn’t give him one.

“That’s not going to do it, Lissa.” He shook his head. A whisper of a smile touched his lips. “You’re giving up much too easily. Where’s that spirit I remember? Where’s that girl who met every challenge?”

She tried to control her ire, but it was not easy. “That girl,” she said evenly, “has grown into a lady—a lady who will not be fooled by your licentious little games.”

“But come now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

With widening eyes she watched as he sauntered around the table. He picked up her cue and without warning thrust it back into her hands. His gaze then flickered down to her neckline and he said huskily, “Love, I’ll wager you a thousand pounds to play with me. Just for one game.”

Her temper began to flare. What he wanted her to do was bad enough, but that he should offer money for her to do it was beyond insult.

“And pray where, my lord, would I get a thousand pounds with which to pay you should I lose?” She tried to put down the cue but his hand wrapped around hers and she couldn’t release it.

“You won’t need it. I can almost assure you a complete win.”

“And why is that?” she snapped.

He leaned forward. She stiffened and watched the corner of his mouth lift in a cynical grin. His knuckles grazed the swell of flesh that rose over her neckline and he whispered, “Because I never play well when I’m distracted.”

Her control snapped. Angrily she turned away, and even managed a step or two before he caught her from behind. The cue fell to the carpet with a dull thud while his arms took her by the waist. He was at her back and though her legs kicked out, she was fighting only with the air.

“Why are you tormenting me like this, Ivan? What do you want from me?” she cried out in frustration. Forcibly she pulled at his hands but they held like steel.

“Everything. I want everything from you, Lissa. And then when you’ve nothing left to give, I want some more.” He turned her around and forced her head up to look at him. Appalled, she felt his hands run down the sides of her bodice. He seemed to finger every whalebone stay in her corset.

She finally saw the anger in his eyes. “You won’t get it. I promise you that,” she whispered harshly.

“And why won’t I?” He laughed bitterly. “I have everything else. I have Powerscourt and land as far as the eye can see. I even own those miserable little shops in the village—so what’s one more conquest?”

“You’ll never have me. You’ll never have Violet Croft.”

“You dare me?”

She stared at him, hurt and anger filling her eyes. So he did truly hate her. The thought whipped at her heart like a quirt. Yet, however much his hatred might be justified, she couldn’t allow him to destroy her. If she challenged him he would win every time. Her only defense was to stay clear of his path and hope that he would find livelier prey elsewhere.

“Do your best to ruin me, Ivan,” she said in a brittle tone, “for I have my own plans to thwart destruction. Wilmott, for one.” She looked down at his hands spanning her waist, then gave him a dispassionate smirk. “So, if you can bear to part with my company, I have more desirable companions to seek out this evening.”

Disgusted, he dropped his hands. He gave her a brutally assessing look, then he went to the cue cabinet and retrieved the key. Hardly able to believe he was complying with her wishes so easily, she watched him walk to the door and unlock it.

Her hands immediately flew to her hair and as she made for the door, she tried to fix her chignon. She hadn’t enough hairpins, however, and when her hand reached for the doorknob, her hair once more fell down her back.

Bother it!
she told herself, and pulled on the door. She just wanted to be free. She would find some discreet nook in the passage where she could fix her hair. With her mind on her appearance and not on her task, it took her a moment to figure out that the door was not opening.
Quickly she fiddled with the key in the lock. The door was unlocked. Why was it not opening?

Then she saw why. Ivan’s foot was resting at the threshold, easily keeping the door closed. Her eyes traveled the length of his body until they clashed with his own.

“Please let me pass,” she said, desperate to keep her voice cool and uncaring.

“If you think you’re going out there in that absurd little dress, think again.” His gaze again raked over the low décolletage of her gown. She had to fight back the urge to cover herself with her hands.

“This dress is made of French taffeta. It’s not at all absurd,” she countered.

“It’s a child’s dress. Made for you when you were a child. You’re no child now, Lissa.” His words were harsh, yet her name on his lips was as seductive as a caress.

“That’s right, I’m no child, but a woman who has the right to leave. Wilmott is surely going out of his mind—”

“I could kill Billingsworth for taking just one glance at you in that dress, did you know that?”

She swallowed and tried to move away. His arm went up and blocked her in against the door.

“I’ll not have every man gazing upon you like this,” he whispered. “I’ll not give them the pleasure. For that pleasure will be mine and mine alone.”

“No, Ivan, no . . .” she murmured when she felt his hand stroke her hair. Her eyes rose to his face. He suddenly seemed so solemn. His hand ran down her hair once more. Its color seemed to mesmerize him. His strong fingers wound through its silvery gold length and his lips tightened, but from pain or pleasure, she couldn’t tell.

Then her gaze rested on that terrifying, magnificent scar. That scar that reminded her of so many unleashed passions. It slashed down his cheek like a sleek bolt of lightning—and like lightning, it was just as dangerous. So
dangerous, in fact, she felt if she touched it, she would burn. Forever.

He had stopped caressing her hair. His thumb stroked the rose satin of her cheek until his hand moved beneath her chin and tipped her head back. His lips moved closer until she felt his breath, hot upon her cheek. All she would have to do was sigh and they would meet. She would feel his lips upon her again, as she had dreamed so many times since the night he’d left. But this time perhaps they would be tender and sweet. This time she might be able to comprehend the feelings they aroused, and this time she might be able to handle them. She was a woman now, as even he had pointed out. She was capable of being kissed.

But not by Ivan. Never by Ivan. The memory of one stormy night in the stable came back to haunt her. His touch upon her cheek at the cottage also rose like a specter before her. He hated her. His punishment would be to ruin her. He was already on the path to doing so. First with a kiss, then with a caress. That had ruined her mother. She would not be so foolish.

Her head turned away and she was brought back to reality by his harsh words.

“Disenchanted, my love? So soon? Does this disfigured face repulse you?”

“My God, no, Ivan. No.” She looked up at him. Anger burned into his every feature. The scar had whitened and her only instinct was to touch it. She raised her hand to caress his ravaged cheek, but just as she did so there were suddenly noises in the corridor. Her head turned to the door. Immediately Ivan laid his hand across her mouth. Her own hand dropped to his arm. She looked at him with frightened eyes.

His finger went to his lips.

“Where could she be? And Lord Ivan’s not to be found anywhere?” Adele’s voice echoed in the passage. Footsteps came nearer.

“Ivan went for more brandy.” Wilmott’s voice echoed back. “But it’s Lizzy I’m worried about. She’s obviously gotten lost in these damned passages.”

“No doubt when we find Lord Ivan, Lissa Alcester shall surely turn up too.”

“Adele! What you’re implying is improper indeed,” Honoria answered faintly.

“Perhaps, but it’s nothing you’ve not heard before. You remember those two. Lissa and her handsome stableboy. There was talk even back then that she—”

“Shush, you witch. You’ll not speak about Lizzy that way,” Wilmott broke in.

“Yes, Father,” Adele sniped.

“Come along. Perhaps she wandered back into the Hall. We’ll ask some of the footmen if they’ve seen her.” Wilmott led his daughters out of the passage and soon the corridor was silent again.

Lusty Lissa.
Her eyes closed to Ivan’s stare. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. Would she ever escape all the ugliness the world had thrust upon her? Had she been cursed at birth?

Ivan’s hand dropped to his side. They weren’t touching at all now. Her hand swept to the doorknob. She pulled it open five inches but immediately it was slammed shut.

“Let me out of here, you cad,” she whispered harshly.

“And how many fights will George have to fight tomorrow because of his sister’s indecent dress here tonight?” he answered back just as harshly.

Horrified, she backed away from him. Her hands helplessly covered her chest and her hurt-filled eyes stared at him in disbelief.

“That was cruel of you,” she said, her lower lip trembling.

“But no less true.” His sober gaze flickered once more to her attire.

“Then you plan to keep me locked in here forever?” she asked sarcastically.

He looked at her as if the idea of keeping her locked up in his castle had most definitely occurred to him before. Her mouth dropped open in surprise but before she could say another word, he opened the door and left her, locking the door behind him.

Just when Lissa was sure she was about to lose her mind, a maid knocked at the billiard room door. Wiping tears of frustration from her cheeks, she looked up just as a little servant let herself into the room with the key. The housemaid held Lissa’s shawl in her arms, and the only thing the girl claimed was that Lord Ivan had thought Miss Alcester might need it.

Wrapping the shawl snugly around her shoulders, Lissa thanked the maid. She smoothed her newly pinned chignon and wiped the last bit of moisture from her eyes. With a great deal of trepidation, she walked to the passage and made her way back to the conservatory.

The looks she shot Wilmott and Ivan were more lethal than poison. Wilmott shrank back in his seat when she entered the room, but Ivan, as she expected, seemed immune to her venom. He stood watching her, an amused gleam in his dark eyes. When she murmured her excuses for being so tardy, saying something about losing her shawl, the light in Ivan’s eyes only danced more.

She refused to look at him for the rest of the evening. She and Evvie said their farewells early, claiming they could not leave George unattended at the cottage for too long. They bid the Bishops and the Parks a fond good-bye, yet when they turned to Ivan Lissa was as cold as a snowflake. He ignored her mood entirely, however, and bent to kiss her hand. She hoped to give him frostbite, but she doubted she could, especially in light of the heated tingle
that remained on her hand long after she left in the Billingsworth’s poorly sprung carriage.

“Next week Powerscourt’s having a card game for the gents, Lizzy. Would you like to come with me? Just to watch, of course! I know how you ladies like an evening out.” In the dim vehicle, Wilmott looked at her hopefully.

She merely shot him another withering look and pretended not to have heard him. She then turned her eyes to the window and remembered how he’d behaved in the passage. It wouldn’t do to offend Wilmott overly much, but for tonight she just couldn’t bring herself to keep up the pretense of politeness.