Wicked Angel (11 page)

An exquisite pressure began to build in her chest, filling the space her pounding heart did not. She feared she would very well explode from the feel of his sweet breath mingled with hers and almost hoped she would. He pressed tightly against her, seeking to meld his body to hers, and she realized her body answered, curving into him, melting against him. It was the single most incredible experience she had ever had, and she felt herself slipping away on a wave of unprecedented sensual desire.

Then suddenly, it was over.

He lifted his head. His eyes swept her face as he ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. With a lingering, tender kiss to her forehead, he stepped away. Stunned, Lauren could only gape at him. "It has been my very great pleasure knowing you, Lauren Hill," he said quietly, and reached up to carefully brush a curl from her temple. She thought he would speak again, but he abruptly turned, walking toward the fence with his head down and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

She stood rigid, her chest heaving with each frantic breath, watching his long, determined stride until he disappeared into the pumpkin field. Only then did she notice she had destroyed her hat.

In the formal dining room of Sutherland Hall, Alex pretended to listen to his mother's recital of news contained in Aunt Paddy's latest missive from London. He stared at the massive silver candelabra in the center of the dining table, privately contemplating the last two weeks. Home now for two days, he could not stop thinking of Lauren Hill.

He had no idea what had possessed him to kiss her like that. Perhaps it was the look of genuine despair in her blue eyes when he had announced his departure, something he had done with no finesse at all.

Perhaps it was just plain desire—he understood, of course, that he desired her. Who would not?

She was beautiful, artless… And nothing more than a pleasing dalliance for the space of a fortnight.

He had had no right to kiss her so familiarly.

Familiar, hell. He had been completely unprepared for the impact of that kiss. That unusual, enchanting young woman had responded so achingly that she had almost knocked him from his boots.

"Alex?" Marlaine said softly. Hesitantly, he shifted his gaze to her. "I received a letter from my cousin, Daphne Broadmoore. She is coming home to Brighton next week, to Aunt Melinda's. Before I end my visit there, I thought to bring her round."

"Of course," he mumbled.

Marlaine blinked her wide brown eyes. "I hope you don't mind terribly. But now that we are engaged, it's really the thing to do," she explained.

The thing to do. Alex wondered, absurdly, if Marlaine would ever think wearing trousers and fencing a small boy was the thing to do. "I do not mind at all," he said, and motioned for the footman. "Thompson, bring round the whiskey, will you?" He smiled at Marlaine and gently squeezed her dainty hand.

God, he needed a drink.

It was the thing to do.

Paul moved slowly down the narrow hall to the drawing room, dreading the meeting with Ethan. A summons from his uncle was never good news, and he was sure this had to do with Lauren. It had to be; their funds were almost depleted, and the profits from this year's corn crop had been worse than expected. If he knew Ethan—and he did—there could be only one reason for this sudden little family meeting.

He entered the drawing room where Ethan was seated, as usual, in front of the fire. Lauren was quietly picking up the mess around him. "At last, he joins us," Ethan grumbled.

"What is it, Uncle?" Paul sighed, limping to the hearth.

"I have news," Ethan mumbled irritably, and poured a brandy. "There is a trust, reverting to Paul on his twenty-first birthday," he abruptly announced.

Trust? There was no trust! Paul's sense of foreboding began to heighten. "I beg your pardon?" he said slowly. "
What
trust?"

"Now don't get overwrought. It is not a
big
trust, just a little something your grandfather put aside, the stingy old—"

"Why have I not been made aware of this before now?" Paul demanded, the foreboding turning swiftly to anger.

"Well, as you could not
have
it before you reach your twenty-first year, I did not see the point."

Paul was about to tell him
exactly
the point, but Lauren startled him with a gleeful laugh. "This is
wonderful
news! Oh, Paul, you shall have money to invest, just as you have wanted!" Beaming, she whirled toward Ethan. "How much, Uncle?"

"Five thousand pounds," he muttered.

Lauren clasped her hands to her chest. "Five
thousand
pounds?"

"But I borrowed it," Ethan said bluntly.

Stunned silence filled the room as Ethan casually sipped his brandy. At length, Paul found his voice.

"You
borrowed
it?"

"For Chrissakes! I had to have
something
to set her up in London, didn't I?" Ethan blustered. "You think a Season is bought with a bloody song?"

It took Paul a moment to realize what Ethan was saying. He glanced at Lauren; she looked completely stricken. "
Ethan!
" he roared, the cry reverberating throughout the house. "What have you
done?
"

"What any man would do in my situation," Ethan said simply, and turned away. Anger exploded in Paul's chest; he lunged across the small room for Ethan, his hands grasping for his fleshy throat. Lauren flew between them, unbalancing him and causing him to stumble backward.

"Am I to expect everyone in this godforsaken house is mad?" Ethan bellowed, and straightening his lapel, lifted the snifter, intending to sip. But Paul lunged again, slapping it from his hand and knocking the glass and it's precious contents to the worn carpet.

"By God, you will find yourself
dead
if you touch me again!" Ethan roared, and attempted to push himself from his chair.

"Stop it,
stop it!
" Lauren cried, and pushed Ethan into his chair. "Paul! Whatever he has done does not warrant violence! And
Ethan!
" she snapped, leveling a heated gaze on their corpulent uncle. "You had best have a good explanation for stealing Paul's inheritance!"

"I did not
steal
it! I am your legal guardian! I had every right and every reason!" Ethan shouted, and looked helplessly to the carpet where his snifter lay on its side. "Is it not obvious to the two of you that we are in need of funds? This little spot of hell can't produce a bloody stalk of
wheat
," he grumbled, and gestured meaningfully toward the window and the Rosewood estate beyond.

"You have
stolen
from me!" Paul responded contemptuously, his rage barely contained.

"
I
am executor of this estate, not
you!
" Ethan shouted defensively. "I will determine what is to be done!

You cannot know the pressures I feel, having a bunch of outcasts—"

"
Ethan!
" Lauren gasped. He groaned irritably and heaved himself over the arm of the chair to retrieve his snifter.

"What have you done with the funds?" Paul breathed, working very hard to keep his voice even.

"I told you," Ethan shrugged, and reached for his decanter of brandy. Lauren snatched the glass container and moved quickly out of his reach, holding it tightly to her chest. Ethan motioned furiously for her to return the decanter. "I will not tolerate your impudence, Lauren."

"What have you done with it?" Paul bellowed.

Ethan slid a heated glare to Paul. "I engaged a modiste for your foolish sister, I sent a sum to retain a London house from my good friend Dowling for the Season, and that, as they say, is that!"

"A
modiste?
" Lauren gasped.

"You heard me," Ethan mumbled, and motioned for the brandy, but Lauren held the decanter hostage.

"Oh,
fine!
You probably thought I would marry you to that idiot Goldthwaite! That little pumpkin would not bring as much as a bloody shilling to this place!"

"What are you saying? Have you
betrothed
her?" Paul asked.

"No, I have not
betrothed
her," Ethan scoffed. "Not yet! But
I
am giving her a London Season and
I
will make a good match for her! What, did you think we could go on this way forever? With the likes of
Goldthwaite
sniffing at her skirts, for Chrissakes? I had to take matters into my own hands! I am sending her to London, and
this
time, she will not give it all away!" he bellowed.

Paul stumbled toward a chair, sank into it, and stared helplessly at Ethan. He had expected this, but not with
his
money—money he did not know he even had! Of course he knew Lauren must marry. As

hard is it was to maintain Rosewood, there was little choice. But
he
had wanted to be the one to make a good match for her. Lauren wanted to marry for love—she had told him that more than once. And he wanted to be the one to settle on her behalf with a man she could love. Ethan, he would give her to the highest bidder.

"Oh, Uncle, you cannot mean what you say! You cannot send me away! What about the children?"

Lauren cried.

Ethan turned his fleshy face to his niece. "What about them? Mrs. Peterman will tend them as she always has," he said roughly. "Oh come now, what use are you here, lass? The longer you work in those fields, the sooner your looks will fade, and then what use will you be? Even that mindless little apothecary won't want you then!" he blustered, and shifted a wary glance at Paul. "For Chrissakes, stop looking at me like that! Bloody hell, it's not like you will
lose
your precious trust. I merely borrowed against it!"

"Oh, that's rich, Uncle," Paul scoffed. "Exactly how do you think to repay it?"

"With a betrothal agreement, what else? In exchange for her hand, I will extract an annuity and the paltry sum of your trust!"

"Without a dowry? You have no dowry!" Paul angrily reminded him.

Ethan shrugged indifferently. "Don't need a dowry with a face like hers, you know. A man would just as soon have a beauty in his bed as another estate to tend. And there is always Rosewood. Not much of a place, but good enough for some, I'd wager, and I reckon you won't deny your sister a share in it if it comes to that."

Lauren gasped softly; silence filled the room as brother and sister gaped at Ethan. At last, Lauren spoke.

"Have you no
conscience?
Was your barter with the count not enough? Am I to have no say at all?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, you make it sound as if I am the first man to give a lass away for an annuity. It is the way of things, girl."

Lauren shoved away from the wall with that remark, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. She slowly shook her head. "I will not go to London. I will
not!
When and
if I
marry again, it will be to a man of
my
choosing, not
yours!
"

Ethan snorted his opinion of that and drained the trickle of brandy left in his glass.

She was going. Staring blindly at London through the dingy window of a hired hack, Lauren pressed her lips firmly together. She had steadfastly refused Ethan's ridiculous plan at first, had even laughed at him in her indignation. That had enraged him; he had threatened to marry her to Thadeus Goldthwaite if she did not comply. Granted,
that
prospect had her walking on pins and needles for a few days, but she knew he had little to gain from a marriage to Fastidious Thadeus, and had brazenly ignored him.

So he had done the one thing that could force her into anything.

She was on the front lawn one afternoon when the vicar came for Lydia. He explained, much to Lauren's horror, that as Lydia had resided at Rosewood for the last three years without benefit of stipend, Ethan had written they could no longer afford her keep. The vicar had dutifully found a convent willing to take the young girl.

Lauren glanced at her uncle filling the narrow seat across from her and winced as she recalled the terrible

row that had caused. As unfeeling as a rock, he had casually informed her that they could not afford to keep the children at Rosewood, and further, the only way they could
possibly
afford it was for her to marry well. Bless him, but Dr. Stephens, having heard about the ruckus from Abbey, had quietly paid Ethan three months of Lydia's keep. And Lauren had realized on that horrid afternoon that she would go to London.

Paul, having confirmed the existence of his trust with the family solicitor, was the one who finally convinced her she had to go. She
should
be married, he said; she was, after all, fast approaching the grand age of five and twenty. He had wrested a promise from Ethan that she at least would have a say in any offer for her hand, a great concession on Ethan's part. He reminded her that there was no other hope for Rosewood, and despite her optimism about her trade, there was still the problem of barren land and high taxes. And furthermore, he had argued, it was not outside the realm of possibility that she might actually fall in love with a man in London.

Paul was right. At least this way, she would have some control over her fate. Not like before, when Ethan had found the oldest and most senile match alive for her. It was, she very well knew, the only way she could save Lydia and the children at the moment. Deep down, she knew it was really the only way she could save Rosewood.

So she had reluctantly agreed. Yet she privately doubted a decent man was to be found among London's aristocracy. Lauren knew how the
ton
lived. Marriages were made for gain, adulterous affairs abounded, and she could not imagine that a single one of them could look at her charges without lifting their noses.

More important, she was quite certain not one of them could compare with Mr. Christian, the man she had not been able to purge from her heart.

When she had finally conceded, Paul insisted on accompanying her and Ethan to London. Lauren had pleaded with him to stay at Rosewood for the sake of the children, but he would have none of it. He had railed about his duty to her and Rosewood. He was a
man
now, he insisted, and would not allow her to go to London without proper escort. Furthermore, he harbored some fantastic notion that he would earn back all that Ethan had borrowed and more by investing the money he was sure he would win at the gaming hells. He had taught himself to gamble, he explained, and according to Dr. Stephens, he was quite good.