Wicked Angel (5 page)

she murmured.

"I am fine, Marlaine."

"Are you quite certain? You look as if you have something on your mind," she insisted.

"It's business." Extending his hand to Arthur in greeting, he added, "East India."

"What, again? By God, Alex, we should withdraw!"

Alex chuckled as he sat on a leather couch. Arthur dropped beside him while Hannah took a seat near the hearth. Marlaine picked up Alex's discarded coat and folded it carefully over one arm before joining her there. Alex reported the contents of his correspondence to Arthur, absently playing with his empty whiskey glass. Unnoticed, Marlaine rose from her seat and crossed to Alex's side. "A drink, darling?" she asked softly. He glanced briefly at her as he handed her the glass, and returned his attention to Arthur, who was quite adamantly reviewing the pros and cons of investing in the East India Company. Marlaine returned with a fresh whiskey and handed it to him with a quiet smile.

From the corner of his eye, Alex watched her as she returned to her seat. He had the brief, blasphemous thought that on occasion, she behaved like a well-trained dog. Sitting prettily with his coat folded across

her lap, she smiled softly at the others without breathing a word. In contrast, Hannah sat on the edge of her chair, leaning forward and listening intently to her sons as they spoke of high tariffs and the need for economic reform. Every so often, she would interject her own opinion.

They talked until Finch appeared and, moving immediately to divest Marlaine of Alex's coat, announced a bath had been drawn for his grace. Alex tossed the last of the whiskey down his throat and stood. "If you will excuse me, Mother. Marlaine," he nodded, and began to stride across the thick carpet. "I assume supper at the usual time?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Eight o'clock, dear. Lord and Lady Whitcomb will be joining us."

Alex nodded, and walked out the door, Finch trailing behind.

Hannah Christian, the dowager Duchess of Sutherland, peered over the rim of her wineglass at Alex and sighed softly. His handsome face and warm green eyes betrayed no emotion whatsoever. It was silly, she knew, but she had worried about him since the day he had assumed the title. In contrast to Arthur, who enjoyed each day as if it was a new beginning, Alex seemed to take each day too seriously, as if the success of each one was his own private responsibility.

It was perfectly ridiculous, in her humble opinion. He was a strong and capable leader, with a sharp mind for business details that had enabled him to expand the family's holdings beyond her wildest imaginations.

He could manage the family fortune standing on his head and, as his leadership was also highly regarded in the House of Lords, he could be the toast of all London if he so desired. Certainly the
ton
had tried to make him so. He was one of the most sought-after personages in all of Britain. A young duke, excessively wealthy and exceedingly handsome, his influence was unparalleled among the peerage. Yet he seemed forever bored—at times, even anxious. Her gaze shifted to Marlaine sitting on Alex's right, her quiet smile reserved for him alone. Alex hardly seemed to notice her.

That's what Hannah hated about the whole betrothal. He hardly
noticed
Marlaine.

She casually sipped her wine as she contemplated the pretty blond. She had nothing against Marlaine; she was a pleasant, well-bred young woman, the daughter of the affable Earl of Whitcomb, and a very suitable match for a duke. But not her son. Hannah wanted Alex to know the sheer joy of love she and her beloved Augustus had known, that complete adoration one feels for a true soul mate. She wanted her son to marry for love, not for some arcane sense of responsibility. She had hoped that in some dark corner of his soul, Alex might
want
to love the woman he would marry. That maybe, just maybe, he would realize Marlaine did not strike the chord in him that made him want to move mountains just to please her.

Alex's gaze met hers across the table, and he very subtly lifted a brow, as if inquiring what she was thinking. Hannah shrugged helplessly. He smiled faintly and shifted his gaze to Arthur, who was relating some outrageous event that had occurred at a rout of the infamous Harrison Green, much to Edwin Reese's considerable amusement. Hannah had noticed that other members of the youthful set hung upon every detail of a Harrison Green affair, but Alex, as usual, looked bored.

His mother was mistaken—Alex was not bored. He was quietly plotting to entice his future father-in-law into supporting a set of reforms sure to make their way out of the House of Commons next Season. Reforms that would lower the sky-high tariffs he was paying on his shipping line.

When supper was concluded and the women retired to the green salon, Alex, Arthur, and Lord Whitcomb stayed in the dining room for the customary cigar and port. Alex absently watched the hands

of the porcelain mantel clock as Arthur and Whitcomb discussed a pair of hunting dogs. Convinced the expensive timepiece was winding down, Alex checked it against his pocket watch.

"Are we boring you, Sutherland?" Whitcomb grinned. Startled, Alex hastily shoved his pocket watch out of sight.

"He's smarting over another reported loss from East India," Arthur said, chuckling.

"That so? Never thought dallying in shipping was the way to go," the elderly earl remarked.

"It would be quite profitable if the tariffs weren't so damned high," Alex said.

Whitcomb shrugged. "Those tariffs also keep foreign grain from coming to our shores and competing with what you grow out here, son."

"Yes, and when the domestic markets are flooded, it keeps the smaller farmer from exporting his grain to the continent."

Whitcomb chuckled and puffed on his cigar. "Don't know why you'd worry about that. From what I hear, most of them can't afford the labor tax necessary to harvest the grain to begin with. It's not as if they are competing with your exports."

"My point exactly, Edwin. Competition is healthy. This country is long overdue for economic reform.

Taxes are strangling the shipping and agricultural industries—the system is antiquated and lacks equity. Just think of the profits you would realize in your factories if the labor tax was equalized across all industries," Alex said calmly, and took a long sip of his port, eyeing his future father-in-law above the rim.

"Perhaps," Whitcomb said thoughtfully. "Can't deny the countryside suffers worse than the manufacturers.

But I don't like the reform package the Radicals are pushing—they want to do away with the whole parliamentary system, I fear, and the first step would be allowing the Catholics a seat. Can't have that, you know."

Alex did not immediately respond. Catholic emancipation was a point of great contention among his peers, but he honestly could not care less if Catholics held a seat in Parliament. "All I know is that we need relief and a
new, fair
system of taxation. Perhaps next Season we could work together toward a more palatable set of reforms."

Whitcomb smiled as he drained his port glass. "I might be amenable to that. Always enjoyed a good fight in the Lords. Well, gentlemen, shall we see what the ladies are about?" He did not wait for an answer, but shoved away from the table. Alex and Arthur dutifully followed him to the green salon, where they sat quietly listening to the ladies talk of engagement parties for two hours more.

Later, as Alex stood in the foyer with his mother, he heard Marlaine mention that she and Lady Whitcomb would return the next day to discuss the winter engagement party. He managed not to snort impatiently.

Two days later, having escaped the tedium of Sutherland Hall, Alex stopped at a rushing stream so his stallion, Jupiter, could drink. He had been chasing the same buck all morning, but the animal was wily and knew how to evade him. He guessed he was at least five miles from his hunting lodge, Dunwoody. Only a day's ride from Sutherland Hall, he often came to Dunwoody for a few days of respite from his title. Or his wedding.

Rubbing his eyes, he dropped the reins as Jupiter drank and considered calling it a day. His thoughts drifted to Marlaine. She, of course, had not wanted him to go hunting. She had fretted about it, anxious that something might happen to him and she would not be there to care for him. He had rather salaciously suggested she come along and take care of all his needs, but Marlaine had grown wide-eyed with mortification at the mere suggestion. He had never bedded Marlaine, respecting her ironclad determination to hold on to her virtue until the very last possible moment.

So he had come alone, unable to endure one more day of idle chatter about their wedding. Marlaine and her mother were insisting on an event during the Season—meaning he had several long months to wait until he could bed her. And several long months to listen to talk of trousseaus, wedding breakfasts, engagement fetes, and bridal trips. Dear
God
.

She had whimpered when he left. He had responded to that maidenly display by telling her she best get accustomed to his absences. He had left her standing at the great entrance to Sutherland Hall, cautioning him with all sincerity to have a care for his person. Have a care, indeed. He had scaled mountains and forded roaring rivers without a nursemaid and supposed he could manage to hunt alone for a few days.

A sound in the brush startled him, but he never saw the animal. Jupiter suddenly reared, neighing loudly.

Caught off guard, Alex grabbed the reins and fought to contain the massive horse, almost falling from the saddle for his efforts. Horse and rider rushed headlong across the stream and into the brush, blinded by dense foliage and shackled by the thick undergrowth. When Jupiter burst through the thicket into a small clearing a few moments later, Alex pulled up hard, finally gaining control. The incident left them both panting; they stood in the clearing, each fighting to regain their breath. He became aware of a stinging in his leg and looked down. His buckskin breeches were torn and his shin was bleeding where he had obviously slammed up against a thornbush.

"What then, have you never seen a hare, old boy?" He soothingly patted the steed's neck, and attempted to turn back. Jupiter moved awkwardly, neighing softly when his right foreleg came into contact with the ground.

"
Christ. "
Alex sighed wearily and dismounted. He felt for broken bones, thankfully finding none.

Nevertheless, Jupiter was in no mood to use the sprained appendage.

"Bloody, bloody hell," Alex muttered, and glanced around him. Dunwoody lands were vast but oddly shaped, and he could not be completely certain he was still on his property. He impatiently removed his hat and ran a hand through his thick hair as he debated what to do. He hated the thought of leaving Jupiter, but without knowing the full extent of his injuries, he could not chance walking him very far without risking serious damage. Walking to Dunwoody was out of the question; he had ridden too far. If he was not mistaken, the village of Pemberheath was due north, perhaps a mile or two more. At least he hoped so.

He reluctantly tied Jupiter's rein to a low limb of a tree and covered his heavy rifle in a pile of leaves.

"Mind you keep an eye on it," he said lamely, stroked the stallion's nose, and walked out of the clearing, headed north to Pemberheath.

Traipsing through the wheat stubble, Lauren could not see the hog, Lucy, anywhere. It was unusually warm for the time of year, and she paused to loosen the collar of her work gown. She absently examined a wheat stalk Lucy had stomped in her escape and wondered how long hogs lived. Lucy had to be positively ancient by now, and the older she got, the more obstinate she became. For reasons beyond Lauren's ability to understand, the children loved her. The last time Lucy had gotten it into her head to take a stroll in search of new fodder, it had taken the considerable efforts of both her and Rupert to lure her home, and she had not gone so far that time. As Rupert had taken Ethan and Paul to Pemberheath, she would have to corral Lucy by herself. She had no earthly idea what she would do once she found the walking ham, but if she did not return with her, the children would be frantic.

She came to the edge of the field, but still no Lucy. Beyond the barren wheat field was an orchard of new apple trees, donated by Abbey's friends, Lord and Lady Haversham. Beyond that, a few spindly stalks of harvested corn. And farther still, a field of pumpkins, which Lauren had already bartered for enough tallow to last the next two months.

Dear Lord, but it was terribly warm. The heavy mane of her hair was making her neck sticky, and she attempted to knot it, but her efforts did little more than keep a few errant strands from her face. She wiped a hand across her brow and continued plodding through the field, shaking her head at the damage the enormous pig had caused as she had rumbled through the cornstalks.

She found Lucy in the middle of several destroyed pumpkins, happily munching away. "Oh
no!
" Lauren groaned. As she approached, the headstrong hog moved in front of the pumpkin she was devouring and glared at Lauren.

"Lucy, come away from there!" she insisted, fully cognizant that Lucy had never heeded a single command in her long life. Lucy responded with a loud, warning snort. Lauren slowly circled her, thinking that if she could grab the last pumpkin in the row, the ham might follow her. But the moment Lauren reached for the pumpkin, Lucy charged. With a shriek, Lauren jumped out of the way. Lucy had
never
charged her. Standing between Lauren and the half-eaten pumpkin, Lucy began to paw the earth like a bull. Lauren cautiously backed away, but it did not convince the swine of her good intentions, and she continued to paw the earth, snorting wildly. Besides food, Lauren knew of only one thing that would calm Lucy.

She sang, a little frantically, a song from a Shakespeare play. If there was one thing Helmut had liked in his declining health, it was a good play. English, German, or French, it made no difference. A variety of plays had been staged at Bergenschloss at great expense, and if Helmut liked one in particular, it was played several times.