Wicked Angel (31 page)

Frowning, Lauren poured her tea and carefully added a bit of cream. "But why?" she asked at last. "I am sure his grace has many female friends. Certainly it is not so unusual—"

"It is the way he looks at you," Magnus abruptly answered her in German, his voice unusually cold.

Lauren cautiously slid her gaze to him. His eyes, locked on hers, looked like two hard nuggets of ice. ' T

beg your pardon?" she asked nervously.

"His desire for you is quite evident. It is obvious he would have you for his own if he could. After last night, there are many who speculate he will have you soon, if he has not already."

That stung her. Carefully, she placed the spoon on the chipped saucer and leaned back in her chair.

"What did he say?" Ethan demanded.

"He said there is much talk," she murmured.

"A sign of good fortune for the Hill family!" her uncle reasoned spiritedly.

Magnus sliced an impatient gaze across Ethan, who was sopping up the last bit of his eggs with a piece of bread. "I would like a moment alone with your niece, my lord," he said in English.

"Of course, of course," Ethan grinned, still chewing the bread as he heaved himself to his feet. "You two have yourselves a nice little chat," he cackled, and waddled out the door.

Magnus waited for Ethan to depart, staring at Lauren with the most foreboding expression she had ever seen on him. She smiled sheepishly. "Toast?" she offered lamely.

He growled and came to his feet at once, the chair scraping loudly on the pine floor. Grasping his hands tightly behind his back, he began to pace. "I have made a decent offer for your hand," he began in German. "A
very
decent offer. Yet you have put me off time and time again—"

"I have not put you off, I have
refused
you, Magnus," she solemnly interjected.

He paused, piercing her with a furious glare. "Please allow me to finish. I have asked myself why you would put me off," he continued. "Do you think to attract a better offer? Are you so naïve to think your situation is good? But now I understand—you have some fantasy of this duke, do you not? A childish fantasy—"

"How dare you!" she cried indignantly.

He leveled a darkly quelling look at her that effectively unnerved her into silence. "I do not fault you for it, Lauren. Everyone has them at some point. Even as a young man, I had such a fantasy for a woman far above me in social standing. Eventually I saw my infatuation for what it was: a
fantasy
—"

"I am not indulging in a fantasy!"

He suddenly gripped the table and leaned across, his eyes boring into her. "Make no mistake—it is
fantasy!
That man has no use for you other than to warm his bed! And you are not a young maiden with the luxury of time for such daydreams. You are in need of a husband and I offer you a good match, a wealthy existence, and respect."

"Respect?" she echoed in disbelief.

Slowly, he straightened. "And… affection," he said softly. "I have much affection for you, Lauren. I

have admired you since our paths crossed at Bergenschloss."

She started to remark that she could hardly believe that, given the way he had acted at Bergenschloss, but he quickly brought up a hand. "I do not ask you to return my affection. I am not so blind that I do not see your heart lies elsewhere. I ask only that in return for the protection of my name, you respect me as you would your husband. As you respected my uncle. I ask only that, and in exchange for your respect, I will allow your affections to be what they are—for
whomever
they are."

Her breath caught in her throat. A million thoughts tumbled through her brain, not the least of which was a familiar glimmer of fondness for him. That he would offer himself in such a way—without hope of her returning his affections—touched her very deeply. "Magnus, I—"

"Do not answer me now," he said gruffly. "Think on what I have said. But I must have your final answer tomorrow, do you understand? I will not stay here any longer, nipping after your skirts like a
dog
," he said disgustedly. "At least consider it.
Honestly
consider it."

He walked around the table and came to stand beside her. "Regardless of what you will decide, you must be very careful, do you understand? Do not fool yourself—the talk today is of
you
, not him. These people will cut you dead."

"You are exaggerating," she said weakly.

He sighed impatiently. "This is England,
liebchen.
They do not tolerate indiscretion in their little circles.

They will treat you as if you were as insignificant as the dirt under their feet."

Lauren glanced at her hands in her lap, refusing to dignify his threats with a response. She had only gone to the opera, for heaven's sake. He was trying to scare her into considering his offer.

"Think on what I have said." In an unusual display of affection, he gently smoothed his palm over the crown of her head before quietly quitting the room.

Lauren sagged as the door shut behind him. She had already considered his offer. She had considered it for
weeks
. She was fond of Magnus, but it was not enough. She did not and could not love him. Not ever. She loved Alex with all her heart, had loved him since the day he had come to Rosewood, and would love him madly for the rest of her life. There was nothing Magnus could offer her that would ever change that.

Oh, Alex! Sighing happily, she buttered a piece of toast.

Alex signed the last of the papers his secretary had left him, the bold strokes falling under words he had not read. It did not matter, nothing mattered anymore.
Christ
, he had done exactly what Paul Hill had feared. Like a rutting stag, he had compromised Lauren beyond reparation, had ruined the only woman he would ever truly love.

And he had betrayed Marlaine.

Marlaine.

A stab of remorse shot down his spine. She did not deserve this, this unconscionable perfidy, just weeks before their so-called wedding of the decade. He dropped the quill and closed his eyes, trying to blot out her delicate features and his guilt.

He did not have to see to know it was Arthur who entered the room unannounced. He opened his eyes to see his brother standing before him, the morning edition of
The Times
stuffed under his arm. Usually much too cheerful, Arthur's dark look surprised Alex. His brother stared at him for a long moment, then asked bluntly, "What in the hell are you doing?"

"I am reviewing some documents," Alex said blandly.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Alex."

"I don't think I do," he responded warily.

"Then I shall be perfectly clear. What in the hell is this little
on-dit
in the society pages? Why is everyone whispering about a certain duke who attended the opera last evening in the company of a certain countess?"

Alex snorted impatiently—the last thing he needed at the moment was Arthur's indignation over some trifling piece of gossip.

"You apparently left nothing to the imagination, I'll grant you that," Arthur continued, recklessly tossing
The Times
onto his desk. "Particularly when the two of you left—
alone
—and Paddy was escorted home by Mrs. Clark. Not her favorite nephew, who had escorted her
to
the ball! The little display you put on was only eclipsed by Bergen's. Seems
he
spent the entire evening staring wistfully at you and the countess!" he exclaimed, and fell heavily into a leather chair.

"What, Arthur, you believe the rubbish you read now?" Alex asked snappishly.

"It's all over town, Alex. Is it true?" his brother asked angrily.

Alex sliced a heated gaze across his brother. "Not that it is any of your affair, but
yes
, I accompanied her to the opera. Just as I accompanied Lady Fairlane when her husband was away last week. What of it?"

"This is
different
, Alex. Unlike Lady Fairlane, Countess Bergen is not married to one of your good friends. You escorted her while your fiancée was away tending her dying grandmother. The night you escorted Lady Fairlane, your fiancée was also in attendance! And Lady Fairlane, for all her charms, is
not
beautiful. Countess Bergen is breathtakingly so, a fact noted in
The Times
, along with the observation that you could not have seen a single bloody act last night, as you could not take your eyes from her!" he shouted, gesturing wildly at the newspaper on the desk.

"What rubbish," Alex muttered angrily, shoving the paper aside.

"But damning nonetheless! What of Marlaine?" Arthur asked, point-blank.

Commanding himself to control his rising fury, Alex said calmly, "What is wrong with you, Arthur? I thought you enjoyed the titillating pieces of trash they print about me. This is certainly not the first time there has been talk."

"This is the first time I have heard very unflattering comments about you from acquaintances who saw you with her. I do not
like
hearing indecent speculation about your whereabouts when I am trying to enjoy myself at Harrison Green's. I suppose I just chafe a bit when the Christian name is slandered. But tell me nothing happened, Alex, and I will not say another word," Arthur insisted.

Alex looked his brother squarely in the eye and considered lying. But he had never lied to Arthur, and it was one thing he would not do. Apparently, it was the
only
reprehensible thing he would not do. "I cannot tell you that," he said quietly.

Arthur's mouth fell open. "Are you
insane!
" he bellowed.

"It would seem."

Gaping, Arthur leaned forward, bracing his hands on top of his knees. "That's all you can say?
Jesus
, Alex, have you no more regard for your title than
that?
Has it somehow escaped you that this is the worst possible moment to be flaunting your infatuation all over town? Think of your position in the Lords!

For Chrissakes, what about Marlaine? She is about to become your
wife!
"

"Do you think I do not know that?" Alex shouted angrily. "By God, do you think I have thought about anything else? What do you want me to do, Arthur? Bloody hell, _ would_ that I could change it all! But unfortunately, I have not as yet determined a way to turn back the bloody
clock!
"

A tense silence filled the room. Arthur's eyes flashed angrily as he stood abruptly and went to the window. Alex frowned as he regarded his brother's rigid back. He understood his desire to protect the family's good name. That same instinct, coupled with a healthy dose of guilt, had plagued him all night and all morning.

"You must begin to undo the damage. Today. Before Marlaine returns," Arthur said quietly.

"I fully intend to," Alex responded, and wondered just how, exactly, he could undo it all. He could not stop
thinking
about Lauren, much less navigate a way out of this mess.

"I will help you," Arthur said, turning to face him. "But first, you must promise
to forget
her once and for all! It can never be, do you understand that?"

He understood. The pain in his chest reminded him of it with every breath. "I think we could both use a drink," he mumbled, and went to the sideboard.

Arthur stayed for a while, devising a tale that he convinced himself would make last night look very innocent. Alex nodded at points that seemed appropriate, letting Arthur plot. He was far too distressed by what possible excuse he could make to Lauren tonight to really listen. Did he offer her a sum to forget it had ever happened? The very thought disgusted him. Did he explain that he had responsibilities, and therefore could not consider a continuing liaison with her? Brilliant, Christian, he thought bitterly, a little late for that. Did he suggest she become his mistress? God, how contrived that would seem! And exactly when did he say all this? Before or after he made love to her again, because God knew
that
idea was consuming him.

It consumed him well after Arthur left and up until the moment Finch announced Marlaine and the duchess. Startled, Alex came off the leather couch like a fox caught in the henhouse. The
last
thing he expected or needed today was Marlaine. God, not now, not
today
, he silently begged, but Marlaine walked in behind Hannah, her face a wreath of smiles. "Alex! I have missed you dreadfully!" she cried as she hurried across the room to him.

He perfunctorily kissed her cheek and wondered madly if she could see the shame burning his face. "I am glad you have returned," he said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could. "How is Grandmama?"

"Did you not receive my letter? She has made a remarkable recovery! Oh, Alex, the doctor thinks she'll be able to come to the wedding after all! It is simply divine providence, don't you think?" she beamed.

"That's wonderful news."

"Oh my, you do look awfully worn. Have you been eating? I hope you did not work too hard at Parliament."

His excuse for leaving Tarriton knifed through what was left of his conscience. "I have eaten with alarming regularity," he said wearily, and turned to Hannah. "Good afternoon, Mother."

"Alex. I thought you would want to know that Marlaine is staying with me at Arthur's until her mother can return to London." She crossed the room to him, her expression thoughtful as she lifted her palm and pressed it against his cheek. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Of course!" He laughed, and pulled her hand away from his face, fearful that she might feel the heat.

"Did the two of you think I would expire?" he joked, and turned away from his mother's probing eyes to Marlaine, motioning her toward the couch. "Come and tell me about Grandmama."

"Of course I shall, but first I must dash off a note to Lady Paddington. I promised my mother I would let her know the moment we returned with the news of Grandmama's condition. Did you not receive my note saying we were arriving today?" Marlaine asked again, frowning prettily.

He had not looked at his correspondence in three days. "I must have missed it," he said, and left it at that.