Devil’s Angel Page 18

  He pulled a leather pouch filled with money from his coat pocket and gave it to her. “Use this for whatever you might need.”

  Had Angel not been so eager to launch her scheme for restoring the house to its former glory, she would have asked to accompany her husband on his tour of his estate. Instead she accepted the pouch and, with uncharacteristic meekness, allowed herself to be driven off.

  When she reached the inn, she did not bespeak a room. In fact, her requests were quite different from her husband’s instructions.

  Then she set out for Mary Ilton’s cottage. She had liked and trusted the woman on sight and was certain that she could be an immense help in Angel’s plans for Ardmore.

  When Mary saw Angel at her door, she was so astounded that she was speechless.

  “May I come in?” Angel asked.

  “In here, m’lady?” the woman exclaimed incredulously. Recovering herself, she said, “Aye, m’lady. If that is what ye wish.”

  Angel stepped into a kitchen that also served as dining and living room. Two loaves of freshly baked bread were on the well-scrubbed plank table, sending up a delicious aroma that blended with that coming from a black iron pot boiling on the hearth. The savoury smell reminded Angel how long it had been since she had eaten.

  Mary was clearly nervous and uncomfortable at having a countess beneath her roof, but Angel, who was used to putting Belle Haven’s tenants at ease, disarmed her with questions about Lucy and Michael.

  Then Angel told her bluntly, “I need your help.”

  “My help, m’lady?” Mary stammered in surprise. “Ardmore is in dreadful condition. I want you to help me restore it to what it once was. I will employ as many people as it takes to do so. You know the villagers, who are good workers and who are not. I want you to tell me whom to hire. It will be hard work, but my husband will pay them well.”

  Angel intended to pay them very well. Lucian had said he would not quibble at the expense, and it would be a way of helping people who needed it badly but whom she suspected would be insulted were they offered charity.

  “And I want them to start immediately,” Angel said briskly.

  Mary’s expression grew wistful. “‘Twould be grand to see Ardmore as it used to be. Makes a body want to cry seeing it now. When Lord Ackleton was alive, it was full of servants and so clean it sparkled. Did ye know: the soldiers who seized his lordship chopped up the furniture in the great hall for firewood.”

  Angel smiled at her. “Will you help me?”

  “Aye, m’lady. Could I refuse ye after what ye and yer husband did for Nellie and her little ones. All the village is talking about the way his lordship forced old Ratliff to give poor Nellie a room and then carried her to it himself. Never thought to see the day when a lord of Ardmore would help one o’ us.”

  Clearly Ackleton had not been liked by his people. Angel said, “I think you will find my husband a better lord than Ackleton.”

  “He could be no worse,” Mary said with conviction.

  By the time Lucian reached the Golden Lion Inn a little after nine that night, he had ridden Ardmore from one end to the other.

  He had stopped at the house of the agent, Mr. Goldman, who had failed so miserably in his job of keeping the estate in excellent repair. The dwelling had been abandoned, apparently in considerable haste since the moulding remnants of a partially eaten meal lay on the table.

  Lucian subsequently learned the man had last been seen a week ago.

  At least the estate’s fields were in considerably better condition than either its house or the tenants’ cottages.

  The disrepair of the latter bothered him as much as that of the big house did. His tenants clearly did not know how well-off they were. He had seen the accounting sent to the crown by Goldman, and the tenants’ rents were laughably low in light of how productive their fields were. Yet, not a one of them was making any effort to keep his cottage from falling into ruin.

  The tenants themselves were hostile and sullen toward him. He suspected that they feared he would raise their rents substantially, but even that would not fully explain the undisguised hatred and distrust in their eyes as they watched him.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast. He looked forward to dinner, a glass of claret and, most of all, to Angel’s company.

  Lucian had become accustomed to her delightful presence during their journey. He was surprised by how much he had missed her this afternoon—not merely her conversation but also her sweet body sliding against his own as the coach rounded curves. He felt himself growing hard at the memory.

  He had promised himself that he would not make her his wife in fact as well as name until they were beneath his own roof. He had intended to bed her this very night, but now they were back at an inn.

  That was one of the reasons he had been so angry when he had seen Ardmore’s wretched condition. He had realized they could not stay there and once again he would have to postpone bedding her. His body ached at the thought of another night of abstinence.

  Ached so much that he seriously considered forgetting his promise to himself and making love to her at the Golden Lion.

  Then he caught himself. God’s oath, what was wrong with him? He was acting like a besotted fool instead of the man who could honestly boast that there had never been a woman he could not walk away from.

  Yet, as he went through the door of the Golden Lion Inn, he unconsciously lengthened his stride in anticipation of seeing Angel.

  He had been proud of her reaction to Ardmore. Lucian would have thought that no woman could be induced to spend a night there in its appalling condition, but she had been quite willing to do so. Had it been Kitty with him, she would have run screaming from the house, refusing ever to set foot in it again.

  He was, he realized, growing quite satisfied with his unwanted bride.

  A minute later, Lucian’s satisfaction dissolved into anger.

  “What the hell do you mean my wife is not here?” he demanded of Mr. Ratliff.

  “She… she said that if you came here to tell you that she was awaiting you at Ardmore,” the hapless innkeeper explained nervously.

  Damn it, Lucian would not tolerate a disobedient wife. He stalked out of the inn, furious at Angel.

  What could she have been thinking of to go back to Ardmore without him?

  Then a more unnerving thought struck him. Would she be safe in the crumbling, deserted mansion? He remembered the sullen hatred on the faces of the tenants. His heart seemed to freeze, and he urged his horse to a gallop.

  When he reached Ardmore, lights were glowing in several of the windows. He ran toward the front door, which opened at his approach.

  A nervous youth in rough homespun bowed him in.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “T-T-Tim, your new footman, my lord,” stammered the young stranger uneasily. “Y-y-your wife hired me.”

  “And where the hell is she?”

  “In the lord’s bedchamber. She says you’ll know which one it is.”

  Lucian ran up the broad staircase off the great hall three steps at a lime. He hurried to the bedroom that he and Angel had been in earlier that day.

  Stalking inside, Lucian checked himself at the sight of his wife sitting on an ornately carved chair studying a page in a large leather-bound book by the light of a triple-branched candelabra on a small table beside her.

  When she heard him, she hastily shut the book. Jumping up, she laid it on the table next to the candelabra and glided gracefully toward him.

  She had changed out of her black gown into one of Kitty’s childish dresses that Lady Bloomfield had found in Fernhill’s attic. Its red silk bodice was a too tight for Angel, stretching tautly across her full breasts, but the rest of the garment fit well, accentuating her slender waist and nicely rounded hips.

  A bolt of desire shot through Lucian at the tantalizing sight.

  Angel had washed her hair and left it loose. Almost dry now, it cas
caded in thick, lustrous waves about her shoulders. Lucian yearned to bury his hands and his face in its luxurious richness.

  She greeted him with one of her brilliant smiles that embraced her entire face.

  It almost made him forget how annoyed he was with her.

  Almost, but not quite.

  “Why the devil did you not stay at the Golden Lion as I told you to?”

  Her face puckered at his harsh tone. “I thought we would be more comfortable here.”

  “Here? God’s oath, have you taken leave of your senses?” He was famished, not having eaten since breakfast, and he was exhausted. He wanted food and comfort. He demanded irritably, “What do you propose we eat?”

  She looked toward a table that he had not noticed by the windows. Covered with a white linen cloth and lit by two candles in tall silver sticks, it held an array of covered dishes and a bottle of claret.

  “Surely that repast did not come from that kitchen below stairs.”

  “No,” Angel admitted, “I brought it from the inn.”

  When Lucian had entered the room, his attention had been so fixed on his wife that he had not noticed the changes to it. Now, as he looked around, he was dumbfounded.

  The thick layers of dust were gone from the furniture, and its wood shone from vigorous waxing. The floor had been swept clean and scrubbed. The bed now boasted both clean linen and curtains embroidered with colourful flowers—pink roses, blue cornflowers, yellow daffodils.

  “What have you done here?” Lucian asked, dazed by the change.

  “It only needed cleaning. It will look even better when it is painted.”

  He frowned.

  The glow immediately faded from Angel’s smile. “What is it?” she asked anxiously. “Do you not like it?”

  “How did you manage it?”

  “I hired several people from the village to clean. You said I could.”

  “You did not waste any time about it,” he remarked, startled and pleased by her initiative and energy.

  But he was, he reminded himself, still annoyed with her for failing to obey him. “Angel,” he said sternly, “while I applaud what you have done here, I am displeased that you did not follow my instructions and remain at the inn.”

  Her smile disappeared entirely.

  Lucian felt a sudden coolness, as though the sun had just vanished behind a cloud. Bloody hell, he didn’t want to chastise her, he wanted to make love to her.

  But an important principle was at stake. He would be master in his own home.

  “But I thought you would prefer to be beneath your own roof.” Angel seemed to droop like a wounded blossom. “Is it not better here?”

  “That is beside the point. I—”

  “No, it is not! It is very much to the point.” Her hurt expression was replaced by anger. “Why should I obey you when you are wrong? Only a fool does that. And you, my lord, have not married a fool.”

  No, he had not. Naive, but no fool. He would readily concede that.

  “Angel, I have told you before that I will not have a wife who sets herself against me.”

  “I am not setting myself against you! I am trying to make things better for you.”

  Bloody hell, but she made him feel like an ungrateful churl. Her lips curled rebelliously, calling his attention to her lovely little mouth.

  Lucian was beset by an overwhelming desire to kiss it. He struggled briefly to resist the temptation, then succumbed to it.

  As his lips came down on hers, his arms went round her. She stiffened against him, but he would not allow her to escape.

  After a moment, he felt the anger and resistance go out of her. He gentled his kiss. His mouth courted hers tenderly, coaxingly. She felt so good in his arms.

  He hugged her more tightly to him. She hugged him back, and his body instantly responded. God’s oath, but he wanted her.

  And tonight, thanks to her insistence on staying at Ardmore, he could have her.

  Lucian promptly forgot his annoyance at her for failing to obey him.

  Chapter 17

  Lucian deepened his kiss. When he felt the tremor of response that ran through Angel, he wanted to snatch her up in his arms and carry her to the bed.

  Then he remembered her innocence and her fear of his size. He was not going to frighten her by acting like a rutting boar.

  Reluctantly he forced himself to lift his mouth from hers.

  She looked terribly disappointed. “I am sorry, Lucian, that I do not know the right way to kiss.”

  He realized in astonishment that she thought that was why he had ended the kiss. She had not cast a single nervous glance toward his breeches.

  Which was good, in light of his present state of arousal.

  Her eyes entreated him. “Please teach me to kiss.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” he said, smiling broadly. And hers as well. He intended to teach her a good deal more than how to kiss this night.

  “Have you eaten yet, little one?” he asked, hoping that she had. His hunger for food was nothing compared to his hunger for her.

  “No, I waited for you.”

  He smothered his impatience. “Then let us eat first.” He was determined to treat her with the forbearance that her sweet innocence deserved. After waiting days for her, what would another hour matter. “Then I will give you a lesson in kissing.”

  When they were seated at the table, Lucian poured claret into her goblet to relax her a little when he made love to her. After filling his own goblet, Lucian raised it in a toast. “To us, little one.”

  She looked surprised, then her bright smile returned, and her vivid blue eyes sparkled with delight. “Aye,” she whispered happily, lifting her goblet. “To us.”

  Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from her face. She was beautiful. How could he have once thought her plain?

  Lucian turned his attention to the food spread before him: roast sirloin of beef, breast of capon, asparagus, freshly baked bread and butter and cherries for dessert.

  “What a busy afternoon you must have had,” he remarked as he helped himself to the asparagus. “How many people did you hire?”

  Angel looked up from the bread she was buttering. “A dozen.”

  Even though she had taken only a few sips from her wine goblet, Lucian unobtrusively refilled it.

  “I will have to find a housekeeper,” he remarked. “I have already hired Michael’s and Lucy’s grandmother, Mary Ilton, for the position.”

  “What?” he exclaimed, irritated that Angel would have dared to employ the household’s most important female retainer without so much as consulting him. What did his innocent child-wife know of hiring housekeepers?

  “Do you not think you should have asked my opinion first?”

  Angel was clearly surprised. “I did not think you would want to be bothered. Papa never did at Belle Haven.”

  “I am not Papa,” he said sharply, cutting himself off a bite of sirloin. “Are you certain she is qualified.”

  “Aye, Mary will make an excellent housekeeper.” He frowned. “How can you be so certain?”

  “I can tell. Papa always said I was an excellent judge of character.”

  Much as Lucian respected the scientific earl, he was not willing to accept his judgment in this instance. But he did not tell Angel that. He had no intention of antagonizing her when all he wanted at the moment was to bed her.

  Instead he turned his attention back to dispatching his food as quickly as possible, so he could move on to the dish he most craved.

  Whenever Angel drank from her wine goblet, he quietly refilled it so that she always seemed to be drinking from a full goblet. Not that she was in any danger of getting drunk. She drank so little that she would at most become pleasantly relaxed.

  She asked, “How was your ride?”

  Lucian, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of another kind of ride, looked at her guiltily. “My ride?”

  “The one you took this afternoon.”

  “O
h, that one. The fields are in far better condition than the house, but the tenants seem to hate me with alarming virulence.”

  “That is not surprising.”

  “Is it not? I confess it was to me.”

  “Only because you did not know that the most shocking stories about you have been circulating through the countryside.” She gave a little shudder, then smiled trustingly up at him. “I assure you I do not believe a word of them.”

  “Thank you,” he said dryly. Then, unable to resist teasing her, he inquired, “Why not? The tales could be true.”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically. “They make you out to be cruel and dishonourable—and I know you are neither.”

  Her faith in him touched him deeply. “Do you have any idea, little one, where these stories came from?”

  Angel looked up from the capon breast that she was cutting. “I tried to discover that, but it was difficult. From what I did learn, though, I believe that they were spread by Lord Cardmon’s steward. His lordship is your neighbour to the west.”

  Much startled, Lucian exclaimed, “I do not even know Cardmon or his steward. Why would the man tell lies about me?”

  “I think to make the people of Ardmore hate and fear their new lord.” She pushed a bit of capon breast about her plate absently, then added thoughtfully, “Though he could have done that with less effort than he expended.”

  Lucian frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “The people would be inclined to distrust and dislike any lord after Ackleton. He exploited his servants and tenants dreadfully. They hated him, and no wonder. He paid his servants only a third of what we paid ours at Belle Haven.” She gave her husband a defiant, challenging look. “I insist upon paying them here what we did at Belle Haven.”

  He could not resist teasing her, “By all means, throw my money away as you please!”

  “It is a fair wage,” she said defensively.

  He grinned at her. “I am teasing you. I have no objection to paying good wages for good work.”

  Her beaming approval so warmed him that he would happily have doubled the servants’ wages yet again if it would enable him to continue to bask in it.