Wicked Angel (14 page)

He realized what he was thinking and frowned. It should not matter to him in the least how she hoped to accomplish what all women sought to accomplish. She was none of his concern—but God, he had thought of her often in the last months. In his mind, he had held her up as a paragon of virtue, an angel among mortals, a goddess among the damned.

His angel suddenly moved away from Paddy and Mrs. Clark, toward the far end of the ballroom. A fragment of treasured memory jolted Alex from his languid stance; his eyes riveted on that lovely derriere.

He was suddenly and overwhelmingly compelled to speak with her. With his head down, he began moving quickly around the perimeter of the crowd.

She disappeared into the crush. He looked frantically about the room, thought he had lost her until she suddenly emerged again, walking briskly through doors opened onto the gardens. He started after her, but was quickly intercepted by Sir Robert Peel. "What a pleasure, your grace! We were just speaking of you! Is it true? You intend to champion reform in the Lords?" the diminutive man asked.

"I have considered it, Sir Robert," he said, conscious of the crush around them straining to hear every word.

"A worthy cause, indeed, your grace. But the economic reforms the" Radicals would see include more than just a change in the tax laws, as I am certain you are aware," Peel said carefully.

Alex knew he referred to changes in parliamentary representation—allowing Catholics a seat, to be precise. And he also knew the Home Secretary, while progressive in his ideas, was not in favor of change as radical as that. "Indeed? I shall have to examine their platform carefully," he said evasively. "If you will excuse me, sir," he said, and walked away before he could be questioned further, out into the gardens.

Damn it, he had lost her. His eyes scanned the overabundance of rosebushes of which Lady Granbury was inordinately fond. Had she returned to the crowded ballroom? Had he just imagined it was she?

Surely he had only imagined it.

As he turned, a flash of lavender at the far end of the gardens caught his eye. Perhaps he had imagined it, but he would not rest until he knew. He walked purposefully in the direction of that splash of lavender with absolutely no idea what he would do or say. Only one thing was certain—if it was she, he had to look into her eyes again.

Bloody hell, it
was
her. She saw him as she reached the gate of a small arbor, fenced off from the rest of the garden. Her remarkable dark blue eyes rounded in surprise, followed by a devastating smile that conveyed her delight and made his heart leap to his throat. He clamped his jaw firmly shut. What in the hell was he
doing?

Lauren was wondering the same thing as she fumbled helplessly at the wrought iron gate. How had he found her? Had he come for
her?
Her heart began to beat with an anxiousness that took her breath away. In a moment of great anticipation, she brought both hands to the gate and yanked hard until the stubborn thing flew open. Conscious that she was grinning like an idiot, she passed through the gate, swallowing deep gulps of air to smother her excitement. Did she dare to hope? Dear God, did she dare to
believe
he had come for her? Her heart thumping wildly, she smiled brilliantly, frantically thinking what to say.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her for a long moment before speaking. "Miss Hill. It is a pleasure to see you again," he said stiffly.

Lauren laughed with absurd glee. "Mr. Christian, it is an enormous pleasure to see
you
again!"

He blinked. Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, he said, "You look remarkably… well."

"Oh!" She smiled, blushing. "Thank you! So do you!" Her hands found the little fence at her back, and curled around the rails in something of a death grip. Good God, her heart was beating so strongly she was certain she would be airborne at any moment. And her cheeks were beginning to ache from the broad smile she could not keep from her lips.

His green eyes flicked to a rosebush at her side, then riveted on her face again. "Might I inquire as to what you are doing here?"

With that one question, he swiftly killed all of her fabulous hopes. He had not come for her. Come to think of it, he did not seem particularly glad to
see
her. No, he actually looked uncomfortable! His expression hurt her. Why did he not just kick her in the shin? She responded sharply, "Perhaps I should inquire the same of you!"

He looked startled. "I beg your pardon. I meant only that I am very surprised to see you in London. I did not think… ah, that you… would necessarily…
enjoy
… the Season."

Lauren faltered. It was not what he had said, but how he had said it. He thought she did not belong here!

Maybe she did not, but who was he? The bloody king of England? The last time she checked he was a country gentleman, with no more right to be here than she had! "I
necessarily
enjoy it very much," she lied.

He nodded absently as his gaze floated to her mouth, swept the full length of her gown, and then traveled slowly to her eyes again. A heat crept up her neck and quickly flooded her cheeks at his frank perusal.

Dear
God
, she had not remembered him being so terribly handsome.

"I hope it is a success for you, then," he said flippantly.

A
success?
Lauren's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Christian, but whatever would you mean by that?"

He quirked a dark brow. "Just that most unmarried women partake of a London Season for one particular reason, is that not so?"

The truth infuriated her. "And what concern is it of yours?" she snapped.

He smiled then; her stomach sank at the unexpected dazzle of it. "Please forgive me. I suppose I am a bit astounded to find you here." Astounded. Astounded that a woman like her would attend a fancy reception. She frowned; his green eyes seemed to pierce her, which enraged her almost as much as the lazy smile on his lips. "You are right; it is none of my concern, and naturally, I wish you all the best in your

endeavors for a good match," he said.

A heartfelt panic in Lauren's throat threatened to choke her, and she looked nervously to the gravel path at her feet. Humiliated, she desperately wanted to disabuse him of the notion that
she
was looking for a match—
Ethan
was! "Mr. Christian…" She glanced up at him, only to be unbalanced by the depth of his green eyes. Really, she did not remember the arrogant swine being quite so handsome. For some reason, her brain chose that moment to remember he likely was married. She frowned; she might be in town for a particular reason, but he was a glib horse's ass. "Please excuse me. I should rejoin my party in the ballroom," she said icily.

He shifted uncomfortably and glanced up the gravel path. "Pardon, madam. Please allow me to explain myself. I merely wondered what would bring you to London, as I thought your heart belonged to Rosewood, and then, of course, it dawned on me, and I am—"

She unconsciously released a quiet shriek of frustration. "If you please, Mr. Christian, unless you have been charged with the royal authority for this interrogation, I hardly see what difference it could possibly make to you
what
I am doing in London!" She lifted her chin, pleased with herself for thinking of a rejoinder with a brain completely numbed by the sight of him.

She was not the only one who was numb. Startled by his own discomfiture and her apparent indignation, Alex's gaze swept the eyes framed with long, dark lashes, the slender neck, and the inviting swell of her bosom. Lauren's eyes sparkled with great irritation, and he thought them the most enchanting eyes he had ever seen. He clasped his hands behind his back, absently wondering why her entry into the marriage market should annoy him so. And why was she so angry with him for stating the obvious?

"Miss Hill, it is certainly no concern of mine what you are doing or
not
doing in London. I simply remarked that it surprised me. I should think you would not find that so terribly odd given that I have seen you sing to a hog, fence a young orphan, and sled into a tree," he attempted to jest. "By all means, if it is matrimony you want, I am quite certain you will be very successful." He thought he was handing her a compliment, but her sparkling eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Is that so?" she said in a very low, very soft voice. "You cannot imagine how it warms my heart to know you approve, Mr. Christian. Thank God, I should be able to sleep tonight now that I have your implicit approval! If you will excuse me, sir, I should go inside where
gentlemen
do not remark on a lady's motives for attending a silly afternoon reception! Good day, sir!" she snapped, and with a curt toss of her head, marched past him.

Bloody hell, what had he said? Stunned, Alex watched the gentle sway of the angel's hips and the grace of her movement in spite of her near sprint. He thought about her dark blue eyes as she skipped daintily across the path of a couple. She disappeared through the doors and, shrugging in bafflement, he followed

her inside.

Much to his considerable annoyance, he found himself looking for her. The angel was not hard to find; she quite naturally stood out among everyone. She was in the company of a young man leaning on a cane. He assumed it was her brother Paul, as the children of Rosewood had said enough for him to know about his infirmity. That he was relieved it was her brother irritated him.

But it was nothing compared with the swell of irritation when a very large and very handsome golden-haired man joined her. Lauren smiled up at the stranger, and he very instantly and possessively put his hand on the small of her back to lead her through the crush toward the door. Angry that he was even remotely curious, he was positively mystified by the unusual twinge of jealousy in his chest.

"Alex?"

He turned sharply toward the sound of his fiancée's voice with a sheepish grin. She smiled sweetly.

Gazing at her lovely smile, he was glad that
she
was his betrothed, and not some petulant woman who sang to hogs. He could not help himself; he slipped an arm around her waist and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead that made her skin heat beneath his lips.

She pulled away from him with a nervous laugh and glanced shyly around them. "Oh my, what has come over you? I am sorry you had to wait." He grinned unabashedly and kissed her forehead again.

Marlaine's cheeks fused pink and she cast a demure gaze to the floor, the nervous little smile still on her lips. "Darling,
please
. What will people think?" she whispered sweetly.

"I don't give a damn," he answered, and laughed when Marlaine's eyes grew wide.

The Season commenced with a vengeance in the three days that followed the Granbury reception, and Lauren attended more routs and teas than she had in all her life. Every day was spent madly dashing here and there in order to be seen in all the right places, and the constant social whirl was beginning to take a toll on her measly wardrobe.

Standing in the ladies retiring room at the Harris ball, Lauren tugged at the gown of sapphire blue brocade, the skirt draped with a thin layer of chiffon. She was squeezed so tightly into the thing, she very much feared her bosom would spring free with the slightest misstep. Her discomfort was made even worse by the fact that she found it impossible to dress her own hair without Mrs. Peterman to help her.

She had resorted to a simple twist—hardly the height of fashion.

She tugged at the gown one last time before leaving the retiring room and emerged onto a crowded landing. Slowly, she made her way to the dining salon, where a large buffet had been arranged with an elaborate display of food. Swiping a bite of cheese, she pushed onto the ballroom, where large crystal chandeliers ablaze with dozens of candles hung from elaborate ceiling friezes. At the far end, five sets of French doors opened onto a wide balcony and the gardens beyond, allowing air into the packed house.

Lauren gratefully accepted a glass of punch from a footman and stood to one side, surveying her opulent surroundings—until she saw Magnus standing at the bottom of the great curving staircase. His eyes slowly traveled the crowd; he saw her at almost the exact same moment she saw him.

Lauren frowned.

Magnus actually grinned.

And he began to move steadily in her direction. Lauren sighed, downed her punch, and with a stealth a jewel thief might have admired, moved swiftly and silently along the wall, her eyes trained on the crowd for any sign that the Bavarian was gaining on her. In so doing, she stumbled upon Charlotte Pritchit.

"Goodness, Charlotte, what are you doing back here?" Lauren gasped once she realized she had collided with her friend behind the wide leaves of a tall green plant. In her bright pink satin gown and newly cropped hair, Charlotte reminded Lauren of a miserable china doll. "You look faint! Are you quite all right?"

"You would look faint, too, if your mother was arranging your dance card for you," Charlotte muttered.

"But don't you
want
to dance?" Lauren asked.

"Of course I do, but she won't allow me to dance with just anyone! They must be titled, and not just any title but only an earl and above," she muttered helplessly. "She harbors some fantastic notion that I shall dance with the Duke of Sutherland, of all people! She honestly believes a single quadrille with him will create an
interest
," she said disgustedly.

"Is he here?"

"I don't
think
so! He rarely comes to these events, and even if he did, he would not be remotely interested in dancing with me, I can assure you!" Charlotte groaned miserably.

"Oh, Charlotte," Lauren laughed, "why on earth not? I cannot imagine what man would
not
want to dance with you!"

Charlotte smiled meekly. "That is exceedingly kind of you, but you do not understand. The Duke of Sutherland is one of the most popular men in all of England. Every woman in this
room
will want to dance with him. If he determines to dance—and he never does—he should not deign to look at me! And dear God, if he
should
, my mother will make an absolute
cake
of herself!"