Wicked Angel (20 page)

She did not have a headache. No, she was rather extraordinarily perturbed by his invitation, that had been clear. She had obviously mistaken his gesture of conciliation as something altogether odious. It had irritated him to the extent that he had come to the park alone—an event, he mused, that was as unprecedented as it was boring. It was not as if he did not have a mountain of work waiting for him and a speech to prepare for the Lords. He would take the mare around again, he decided, then return home.

He did not allow himself to think why, exactly, he had come in the first place. Nor did he dare to think about that kiss last night. What must he have been thinking?
Bloody, bloody fool
.

He tugged the horse around and started forward, his thoughts still on Marlaine's reticence. Surely whatever ailed her would be forgotten with a new bracelet. Mulling it over, he turned onto the main path just as David's phaeton rounded a bend ahead of him. His cousin didn't see him. He was too engrossed in his conversation with Lauren.

Alex felt an immediate constriction in his chest at the sight of her with David. How ridiculous! He had heard them make plans for the drive today—bloody hell, it was the reason he had come, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He slowed his horse to a walk, greatly irritated with himself. This was
absurd
. He was engaged to be married, had his pick of the prettiest mistresses in London, and had absolutely no business chasing about the park on the slim hope of seeing a young woman. It mattered little that her kiss had ignited him—he should go home and stop this
pointless
pursuit.

Inexplicably, he did not move as the phaeton headed straight for him. "David!" he called. His cousin's head jerked up, and seeing Alex, he hastily pulled the carriage to a halt. Lauren, shading her eyes with her hand, looked up, her blue eyes slicing across him. For a brief moment, she looked almost sick. It did not set well with him at all, and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

"Sutherland! What a surprise!" David grinned.

"Good day, David. Countess, it is a pleasure," he said coolly.

"Thank you," she answered tightly, and glanced at her lap.

"Nice piece of horseflesh you've got there. Must be the mare you gave Lady Marlaine?"

Alex flinched inwardly at the mention of Marlaine. "It is. She is not comfortable riding her just yet."

"Ah, not a better day to practice, either," David said wistfully. "I thought to take Countess Bergen around to Kensington Gardens. Why don't you tie her to the back of the carriage and ride along?"

Lauren's mouth dropped open, clearly appalled by the suggestion.
That
made him angry, angry enough that he impetuously decided that she would just have to put up with him. No country countess was going to keep him from enjoying a very fine afternoon. "Grand idea, Westfall," he said, and swung a leg over the saddle, dropping quickly to the ground. He secured the mare's reins to the back of the phaeton, reminding himself that she was just another woman, even if she did happen to be the only one in all of

London who could not abide him. He marched around to the side of the phaeton and hauled himself onto the seat. David had climbed down to adjust the harness, and Lauren, damn it, was staring at him as if he had sprouted horns.

He had not sprouted horns, in Lauren's humble estimation. He had become, impossibly, even more ruggedly handsome in his brown coat and skintight buff breeches. She recalled that she once thought he looked like a man who scaled mountains. Scaled them? He probably
rearranged
them!

"Countess Bergen?" Lord Westfall said, motioning at the carriage seat. She moved a fraction of an inch and busied herself with rearranging her skirts. When Lord Westfall vaulted upward, practically landing in her lap, she did not so much as breathe. She scooted another fraction of inch toward the duke. Lord Westfall wriggled uncomfortably and cast a meaningful look at her. She reluctantly scooted another inch, then another, until her escort was satisfied and her thigh was pressed tightly against the duke's iron one.

The chestnut lurched forward with a slap of the reins, and the sudden movement of the carriage caused her to pitch against Alex. Lauren frantically righted herself, perching precariously on the edge of the seat with a spine as straight and stiff as Lady Pritchit's attitude.

"Where did you find the mare?" Lord Westfall asked.

"Rouen."

France?
Dear God, the expense of bringing that horse across the channel must have been greater than the price of the horse itself!

"A trotter then?" Lord Westfall continued.

"Yes."

Lord Westfall chuckled. "Lady Marlaine must get on her back if she's to learn to ride her."

"She will," Alex responded curtly.

Her escort laughed cheerfully. "Yes, I rather suspect she will," he grinned, then lapsed into a monologue about horse-breeding in Rouen, a subject, apparently, with which he was well acquainted. Lauren barely heard Alex's clipped responses, she could scarcely even breathe with his thigh searing an imprint into her own. She concentrated on her lap, stealing furtive glimpses of those powerful thighs. His strong hands, encased in supple leather gloves, rode lightly on his knees. She remembered the feel of his palm on her cheek, and a furious blush crept into her face. Mortified by her body's sudden revolt, she did not notice they had come to the gardens until Lord Westfall pointed out a particularly colorful patch of columbine.

"Lovely," she muttered.

"Why, they are the best in all of England," Lord Westfall exclaimed as he brought the carriage to a halt.

"Perhaps Countess Bergen is indifferent to flowers," Alex remarked coolly.

Indifferent? If only he knew! She risked a look at him then. His jaw clamped firmly shut, he returned her gaze with a look of cool displeasure.

The mare began to neigh, jerking at her tether. "She's a bit unsettled, Alex. You might have to ride it out of her," Lord Westfall said, peering over his shoulder.

Apathetically, Alex asked, "Want to give it a go?"

Lord Westfall jerked forward to peer around her, grinning eagerly. Oh
no
, he was going to leave her with him! She tried to catch his eye, but Lord Westfall was far too enamored of the mare, and did not hesitate to toss the reins to Alex as he clambered out of the carriage with boyish enthusiasm. "Perhaps a quick turn about the park. What say I meet you at the entrance? You don't mind, do you, Countess?" he asked, but had already untied the mare.

She honestly had no idea if she minded or not, because she could not even
think
. Speechless, she watched Lord Westfall swing up onto the mare's back and rein in tightly to keep her from bucking. With a jaunty wave, he galloped off, his coat billowing behind him. She was still watching him in disbelief when the carriage started forward.

"You shall see him again, do not fret," Alex muttered. "I promise I shall not assault you, so you may ease that look of horror."

A gasp of surprise lodged in her throat. Oh, she was horrified, all right, of what his mere presence did to every fiber of her body.

"What is the matter, Countess? Cat got your tongue?" he demanded, glancing irritably at her from the corner of his eye.

"No," she said hastily. "I just…"

"Just what?" he demanded.

She swallowed nervously. "I just… I suppose I am not
accustomed
—"

"I am sorry," he interjected, his jaw clenching tightly. "I am hardly accustomed to accosting women on the street, either. I must have drank too much port," he muttered.

Too much port. God, how very deflating—a drunken moment to him, a snatch of heaven to her.

She glanced at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, fighting another surge of strange emotion bubbling to the surface. She was a damned fool, but she had her pride, and she would rather die than let him see how that admission hurt her. She suddenly giggled. "Oh,
that
. You must think nothing of it!
Of course
it was the port! No, no, no, I was referring to Lord Westfall. I am unaccustomed to being left for a horse!" Her laughter sounded shrill to her ears.

His jaw flinched. "Please accept my apology," he muttered, and focused his gaze on the road ahead.

"Well, of course I shall!" she said with irrational gaiety. "We won't speak of it again."

He muttered something under his breath, but the hard edges of his face seemed to soften. "And I apologize for David, too, but my cousin lives for horses. He would have suggested it himself before the end of our drive, I assure you."

Lauren risked another glance at him, recalling how that stern mouth had so tenderly touched her own.

She realized she was trembling, and nervously cleared her throat, afraid to utter one single word for fear that it would come tumbling out in some incoherent, gushing way. She could not think of him like that.

She had no
right
to think of him like that. "It's… it's a pity Lady Marlaine could not join you for a ride—I think she would have liked it very much. You will give her my regards, won't you?" she chirped, wincing inwardly at her foolish,
foolish
remark.

"Naturally," he muttered. A muscle in his jaw jumped erratically. She forced herself to turn away and concentrate on the scenery. They rode in silence for what seemed an eternity, until they came to a lake.

Alex unexpectedly brought the carriage to a halt. "It has been many years since I have gone so deeply

into the park; one tends to forget the beauty of it."

"It's wonderful," Lauren agreed wistfully.

He paused, looking out at the lake, seemingly a bit more relaxed. "Would you like to walk about?" he suddenly asked, and leapt to the ground before she could answer. Through no will of her own, she nodded, and the next thing she knew, his broad hands had grasped her waist to lift her down. As her feet touched the ground, his hands stilled on her waist. He looked closely at her. Too closely. Lauren felt herself color, and quickly stepped away before he could see how he stirred her.

She thought she heard a faint sigh as he gestured toward a path leading into a copse of willows. She obediently moved, and they walked, side by side, neither speaking. The sounds of human voices, horses neighing, and the creaks and moans of a dozen carriages began to fade as they wandered deeper into the grove. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a beautiful, peaceful walk, but Lauren could not dismiss the nagging thought that she should not be alone with him. She should definitely not be alone with him.

But she did not ask him to turn back.

"When I was a boy, my brothers and I spent many hours exploring this park. If I am not mistaken, we should find a small clearing just ahead."

He was right. The grass was tall and damp in the seldom-used clearing, and as she fidgeted with her skirts so as not to ruin the hem, Alex strolled to the edge of a small pond and went down on his haunches to drink. The thigh that had touched hers was suddenly bulging against the fabric of his breeches. God, but it was exceedingly warm, she thought suddenly, and impulsively removed her bonnet as he splashed water on his face. The muscles in his back strained against the fabric of his coat; she tried to imagine what his bare back looked like. It was a mistake; she felt a queer sensation in her belly as she gazed at him.

She abruptly pivoted on her heel and strolled across the clearing before her thoughts went any further.

Alex, too, was trying to keep his thoughts simple, but it impossible. God help him, he had once noticed only her eyes, but now, he took in everything—her trim figure, the way her gown hugged every feminine curve, the taper of her elegant fingers from which her bonnet dangled carelessly. He noticed little things, like the way she worried her bottom lip when flustered, or how she demurely dipped her gaze to the ground when in repose. And now, the way she strolled across the clearing, seemingly without pretense or guile.

Her hair was knotted at her nape, and he remembered it as it was in the pumpkin field when he had first seen her—thick, wavy and unbound. He stood slowly with the fleeting image of her lying naked in his bed, her luxuriant hair framing her. Bloody hell, he had no business being here. He tried to think of Marlaine, tried to remember her eyes. Marlaine's eyes were large, brown, and pretty.

But they did not sparkle; not like Lauren's.

She stopped to inhale the fragrance of a lilac bush. The thought of her married to that German suddenly invaded his thoughts, pricking at him like a thorn. It was none of his concern, none at all, but that angel was too enchanting, too pretty… too
good
for the Bavarian. She was too good for any man, any man but—

He stopped himself right there.

Lauren turned away from the lilac bush, absently swinging her discarded bonnet, and smiled nervously at him.

"I am curious," he said at length, "how did you manage to escape Madgoose? He never seems to be far from your side."

A slight frown creased her brow. "
Magnus
," she corrected him, "is my friend. There are times he accompanies me, and times he does not. He is only visiting London."

Alex arched a dubious brow. "Really? I have not seen him
visit
with anyone but you."

"That's because," she said with a pert toss of her head, "he does not know many people in London. And he does not care for small talk."

"Does he care for orphans?" he snapped. His own remark surprised him. It was terribly rude, but he smiled with satisfaction when her brows snapped to a dark V.

"As a matter of fact, he came to London by way of Rosewood. He has met the children and finds them delightful."

"I suppose he must if he is to win your hand."

She folded her arms tightly across her middle. Her bonnet bounced at her side, telling him that a foot tapped anxiously beneath her skirts. "He is not going to
win
my hand," she said with great authority.

"Count Bergen is a…" She glanced at the ground. The bonnet grew still. "And when is your wedding planned?" she suddenly asked.