Wicked Angel (6 page)

"
Who is Silvia, what is she? That all our Swains commend her?
" Lauren sang softly, then paused.

She quickly resumed when Lucy angrily pawed the ground again. "
Holy, faire, and wise is she, The
heaven such grace did lend her, that she might admired be
…" Lucy stopped pawing and regarded Lauren suspiciously. "
Is she kinde as she is faire? For beauty lives with kindness: Love
doth to her eyes repaire, to helpe him of his blindness: And being help'd, inhabits there
…"

Putting aside, for the moment, that it was utterly
ridiculous
to be standing in the middle of a pumpkin field singing to a hog, Lauren had no idea what to do. If she stopped, Lucy was prepared to charge. But she could hardly stand here singing all day like a simpleton. Trapped between the wood fence and Lucy, Lauren tried to think while she sang.

Alex paused and removed his coat, then lifted his foot. Just bloody grand. A stone had pierced a hole in the sole of his very,
very
expensive boots. What he paid for the custom-made leather Hessians should have guaranteed him a walk all the way to Scotland and back. He slung his coat over his shoulder and continued, wincing every so often when he managed to step on a pebble and spear the bottom of his foot. God, he had never been so completely miserable. First that stubborn buck, then Jupiter, and now his boot. And to top it all off, he was positively melting under the bright sun. Alex angrily yanked at his neckcloth, muttering an oath or two against his tailor as he did, when an unusual sound caught his attention.

He had to be hearing things.

He paused, straining to listen. A gentle, lilting voice lifted on the breeze from nowhere. "
Holy, faire, and
wise is she, The heaven such grace did lend her
…" Yes, he was definitely imagining things. That was a song from
The Two Gentleman of Verona
. He almost laughed at the notion of some crofter singing a song from a Shakespearean play. With a derisive chuckle, he shook his head and started forward again, but quickly drew up short. "
Then to Silvia, let us sing, that Silvia is excelling; She
excels each mortall thing upon the dull earth dwelling. To her let us Garlands bring
…" He most definitely was not hearing things. Alex turned slowly toward the sound and quietly sucked in his breath.

God Almighty, it was no crofter.

Standing nearby in a field was a vision of a woman. Woman? She was an
angel
—with dark chestnut hair loosely knotted in the middle of her back, tiny curls of it swirling softly about her face. God, but she was
beautiful
. Classic, patrician lines, a small, straight nose, full lips the color of roses, the voice of a wren. Alex shook his head and squinted at her again. Had he been walking in the sun too long? Was this some kind of dream? He moved slowly toward the fence, captivated by her voice and extraordinary beauty. A movement to his right disrupted his attention, and he reluctantly shifted his gaze from the vision.

This was no dream.

It would not include such an enormous, mean-faced hog. Alex quickly shifted his gaze to the angel and frowned. Nor would an angel be wearing a plain brown dress and a pair of thick-soled, clumsy boots.

The angel was just a young woman who was… hell, he didn't know
what
she was doing. Except standing in a field. And singing to a hog.

He was suddenly embarrassed to be staring at her as if she were some priceless piece of art. At the very least, he ought to ask if she knew how far it was to Pemberheath. He braced one leg against the rough-hewn fence and called, "Good day!"

Both the hog and the woman started, jerking wide-eyed looks of surprise to him. A moment passed; the woman warily slid her gaze to the hog, and the hog to her.

Then the hog suddenly charged.

With a cry, the angel whirled and headed for the fence, her long hair flying out behind her like some

surreal banner. She ran for her life, and so did that huge swine. Alex dropped his coat and held out his arms, intending to help her. But the hog, which had to outweigh her by a factor of at least four, was moving with alarming speed and gaining on her. She must have sensed it because she glanced over her shoulder and shrieked. Reaching the fence just barely ahead of the swine, she ignored his outstretched arms and hurled herself across the structure in a cloud of brown wool and silken hair, landing squarely on top of him. His hands somehow found her waist, but the impact caused him to lose his footing, and the two tumbled to the earth, rolling down a short embankment.

Unexpectedly flat on his back, Alex blinked up at the clear blue sky, momentarily uncertain as to what had just happened. Another clouded moment passed before he realized his hand was trapped beneath her firm derriere. Before he could do anything about it, his view of the blue sky was abruptly obscured by the angel's lovely face, a pair of vivid cobalt eyes narrowed menacingly, and the banner of hair spilling over her shoulder and pooling onto his chest.

"Are you
mad?
" she fairly shrieked, and jumped to her feet.

A little stunned, Alex slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyeing her warily as she brushed the dirt and grass from her gown. "Am I?" he asked incredulously. "Madam, I was not the one singing to a hog!"

"You
startled
her! She was doing quite nicely until then, did you not see that?" the vision shouted at him.

Rather astonished, Alex struggled to his haunches, retrieved his hat, and stood. The lass was yelling at him. No one ever yelled at him. No one ever so much as lifted their voice. Most never really
spoke
to him. "I may have startled her, but what about you?" he shot back. "That hog was intent on swallowing you whole, and there you stood, singing like some actor on a stage!"

"A
stage"?
I was
calming
her, how could you not
see
that?" she cried, and punched her fists to her slender hips to better glare at him.

"
Calming
her? That's absurd! You silly little chit, she could have killed you!" he shouted.

"And just who are you calling a
silly little chit?
" she fairly shrieked, then as quickly as a cloud scuds across the sky, the anger slipped from her face.

And she laughed.

Not the polite titter to which he was accustomed from women, but a deep, heartfelt laugh. Her hands splayed across her middle as if to keep the laughter contained, and she bent backward with glee. Her hair reflected the sun's rays in the rich dark gold streaks as it drifted toward the earth. Her rose lips stretched over a row of even, white teeth, and she laughed so hard that tears seeped from the corners of her brilliant blue eyes. Quite unaccustomed to such an artless display of gaiety, Alex nervously shifted his weight to one leg.

"D-Do you s-see?" she gasped as she lifted a hand and delicately wiped a tear from the corner of her sparkling eye. "We are
arguing
about an obstinate old
hog!
" she cried gleefully, and followed it with another peal of melodious laughter.

He supposed he should be thankful she was not hysterical after the scare, but merely amused.
Greatly
amused—her dulcet laughter was infectious. "Are you hurt?" he asked, a grin slowly spreading his lips.

She shook her head, making the tiny wisps of curls dance around her flawless face. "No," she said, giggling, "are you?"

"No."

She peeked up at him through thick, curly lashes. "I am quite mortified, you know! I landed right on top of you! I thought you would… you know…
move
."

Alex chuckled as he bent to retrieve his coat. "My intention was to help you step over the fence."

She laughed roundly. "And did you think with that beast on my heels I would tiptoe across?"

"I rather suppose I did," he admitted sheepishly. God, but her smile was as brilliant as the damned sun beating down on them.

"I am Lauren Hill," she offered, and extended her hand.

A faint, indescribable tingle waved through the pit of his stomach as he took the long, graceful fingers into his and closed around them. "Alex Christian," he muttered, his eyes riveted on her hand. Belatedly remembering himself, he glanced up. A bit of color infused her cheeks as she slowly withdrew her hand.

Her gaze dipped to the tips of her chunky boots as she clasped her hands demurely behind her back.

"It would appear the hog has decided that as a meal, you are not worth the effort," he remarked.

Her head snapped up, and gasping softly, she leaned to one side to see around him. "
Now
where has that silly hog gone?" she muttered under her breath. "Honestly, the way Lucy keeps running off, you would think we never feed her!"

"Lucy?"

"We named her Lucy eight years ago when it became apparent she was much to old to be a very good Christmas dinner."

"I see. And do you often sing to Lucy?" he asked, another, uncommon grin curling the corners of his mouth.

"No," she said softly, her eyes riveting on his lips, "only when she is irritated."

He wished to high heaven she would not stare at his mouth like that. Uncharacteristically flustered, he turned abruptly toward the field. "Lucy apparently likes pumpkin."

"Yes, exceedingly well." Frowning, Miss Hill walked to the fence. Alex's legs moved of their own accord, but his gaze followed the soft sway of her slender hips and the dark chestnut curls bouncing lightly just above them. He recalled the feel of that round little bottom, and amazingly, he had an unmistakable urge to touch those curls, just above those hips. She turned suddenly, startling him. "Are you lost?"

"Lost?" he stammered.

"Lost. I hope I am not too forward, Mr. Christian, but is there a reason you are, you know,
here?
"

Alex was so captivated by her dark blue eyes and so startled by the uncommon address that he was momentarily unable to think of an answer. "Ah, well. I suppose one could say I have lost my bearings."
If
not my mind
, he added silently. "My horse drew up lame, you see, and I was walking for help. I thought the village of Pemberheath was nearby—"

"Three miles more," she offered helpfully. "Where is your horse?"

"A small clearing a few miles south of here. Perhaps you would be so kind as to point me in the proper

direction?" he asked, feeling uncomfortably absurd to be looking at her with all the admiration of a schoolboy. But hell, he was only mortal, and she possessed the most remarkable eyes he had ever had the good fortune to see.

"You shall come to Rosewood! I can send Rupert for help when he returns from the village," she offered, then smiled so charmingly he had to swallow. Rosewood, he had heard of it. Rupert? Was she married, then?

"Is your husband presently at home?"

"Husband?" she asked, confused, then abruptly laughed. "I am not married, Mr. Christian. Rupert lives at Rosewood—I mean, with my uncle, my brother, and me. Oh, and Mrs. Peterman," she added hastily.

It astounded him that he should be so pleased she was not married. "I would be most obliged if Rupert could find help." Still smiling, she gracefully flicked a thick strand of curls over one shoulder. Alex's eyes followed the movement, and he swallowed again. Hard.

She motioned toward a barely discernible path. "I am afraid it's a bit of a walk," she said apologetically.

"My only regret is that I cannot offer you the comfort of a carriage."

She giggled as if that was the most perfectly ridiculous thing he could have said, which, of course, it was.

"Oh, it is much too nice a day for carriages, Mr. Christian. It should be many months before we enjoy such fine weather again."

Fine weather? He was positively stifling. Limping slightly, he fell in beside the enchanting creature. Her eyes landed upon the slash of dark red seeping through his expensive buckskins, and he said, "A bramble bush, I think."

"I beg your pardon?"

He motioned to his leg. "Jupiter slammed into a bramble bush, I think," he clarified.

"Yes, bramble," she murmured, and turned her attention to the path in front of them. But not before he noticed the heightened color in her cheeks. They walked for several minutes before either spoke.

"Where did you learn the song you were singing?" he asked.

"It's a ditty from a Shakespearean play," she said with a graceful but dismissive flick of her wrist.

"
The Two Gentleman of Verona
," he said.

Surprised, Miss Hill snapped a wide-eyed gaze to him. "Why,
yes!
How did you know?" She beamed, clearly delighted.

How did he know? He was a generous patron of the arts, had boxes in the finest theaters and concert halls across Europe. But all of that seemed a bit too pretentious under the circumstances. "I am quite a fan of Shakespeare," he said simply.

"Ah, the '
Sweet Swan of Avon
,' " she said with a sigh.

Alex arched a brow. Singing Shakespeare and now quoting Ben Jonson? "You have read Mr. Jonson?"

The angel laughed lightly. "We may be a bit off the beaten path, sir, but we are not so remote we do not

have a book of English literature."

He nodded, silently regarding her as they continued along. Dressed in that plain brown frock and those awful boots, she looked like a simple country lass. But her speech was that of a gently bred woman, and she was obviously well read. It was an unusual dichotomy, one he could not quite understand. One he did not need to understand, not when she was looking up at him with those vivid blue eyes. She brought a hand to her brow and raked a loose curl from her forehead. For the second time, Alex was seized with a desire to touch the riotous curl of her hair.

"Do you read poetry?" she asked. He nodded, mentioning a couple of his favorites. He was astounded—she knew them all, and rattled off little stanzas of her favorite poems. He was completely mesmerized, stunned that he had found this unusual creature in the middle of a pumpkin field.

After a quarter of an hour more, a barn came into view. Three dairy cows mowed the grass in a large circle, tended by a young boy. She noticed him looking at the barn, and admitted proudly, "We just birthed a calf. Horace is quite convinced one of the bigger cows will smush the little fellow, so he has appointed himself its guardian."