Joanna Maitland – My Lady Angel (страница 9)

Angel closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the cool damask of the chair. That was a little better. Her head ached so.

‘My lady, let me help you to your chamber.’

Angel breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome sound of Benton’s voice. She could not have faced Aunt Charlotte’s incessant questions. Not now. Benton would keep Aunt Charlotte at bay. In a very short space of time, Angel was upstairs and in her own bed, and Benton was gently cooling her brow with a cloth soaked in lavender water.

Angel opened her eyes a fraction. The curtains were closed and the room was dim, lit only by the fire. It was blissfully peaceful.

‘Have the pains returned, m’lady?’

‘Yes. And I have the headache now, too.’

‘Shall I fetch you a little laudanum?’

‘No, Benton. You know how I hate it. Sleep is all I need.’ Angel smiled weakly at her faithful abigail. ‘You may ask my aunt to prepare one of her tisanes. It will make her feel useful.’

Benton rose obediently.

‘You need not tell her whether or not I drink it,’ Angel added softly, snuggling down into the welcoming softness. She really ought to stop to consider what Cousin Frederick had said, but her head ached so much that she could not begin to order her thoughts. She would just close her eyes for a space. In a moment or two, her mind would be clearer, and then she could…

Angel woke with a start. She lay for a moment, listening.

There was no sound at all. The house was totally silent. Everyone must be abed. The faint glow from the dying fire showed that she must have been asleep for hours. And the pain was gone.

She lay back on her pillows and gazed up at the silken canopy. In the gloom, it seemed to be floating.

So that was Cousin Frederick.

She closed her eyes, trying to picture him in her mind. She could not. She ought to be able to do so, surely? It was very strange. But Cousin Frederick’s character was so overpowering that she had only the vaguest memory of his face. She could remember little more than his fierce anger. That, and his voice—taut as a tempered steel sword blade, whipping at her skin. No, she would not soon forget that hard, merciless voice.

For the rest, he was tall and strong—strong enough to master a mere woman, at least—and he had dark hair. In fact, from what little she could remember, he had not looked like a Rosevale at all. Why, Pierre was more a Rosevale than Frederick!

Was he? The question hit Angel like a blow.

She turned on her side and fixed her gaze on the fireplace as she strove to remember Cousin Frederick’s exact words. He had said… He had accused her— Good God, he already knew about Pierre! But how…?

Aunt Charlotte. Of course. Who else?

It did not matter that Angel had counselled caution. Pierre had promised to do, and say, nothing, but Aunt Charlotte had given no such undertaking. She would probably have broken it, even if she had. No doubt she had written to only her dearest friends, and in strictest confidence. No wonder the rumours were flying all over London.

And what of Pierre? Had he heard? Angel did not know which circles he now moved in. Perhaps he had been spared the covert looks and sly whispers. She must see him as soon as possible, warn him of the dangers of speaking out of turn.

She must warn Aunt Charlotte, too. And take her to task for her lack of discretion. That would not be easy. Since her father’s death, Angel had gradually learned to take on the responsibilities of her new status, but it was incredibly difficult to play the part of the stern head of the family with an old lady who had been like a mother to her for years.

None the less, it must be done. Tomorrow.

And the moment Angel was well enough to travel, they must set out for London, in hopes of saving Pierre from Cousin Frederick’s wrath.

Chapter Four

‘S o it was a waste of time?’

‘Completely. I learned nothing more than we already knew. Perhaps if I hadn’t lost my temper with her…’

Ross shook his head. ‘It never was your most attractive feature, I will admit. And just lately…’ He held up a hand. ‘No, do not turn that wicked tongue of yours on me, if you please. I promise you that I should not respond, so it would be a waste of energy. You would do better to spend some time in the ring. Do you good to hit someone.’

Max strode over to the window and stared down into Dover Street. Why was he so bad-tempered these days? He’d learned to control it when he was in the army, dammit, so why couldn’t he do it since his visit to the Abbey? ‘She’s coming to town,’ he said at last, willing his tense muscles to relax. He turned back to Ross. ‘She’s out of mourning now, of course. I fancy she plans to set herself up in Rosevale House and start introducing that cursed Frenchman to the ton as the rightful Earl of Penrose. It makes my blood boil, Ross. I could cheerfully strangle her.’

‘Why? You said yourself that the title is worthless.’

‘Aye, but I’ll not have it stripped from me to provide amusement for a…for a…’ Words failed him when he thought of her. He felt that all-consuming anger again. What was it about that woman…?

‘It’s understandable that you are angry,’ Ross said calmly. ‘But have you thought that she might be an innocent victim in this? She may have been taken in by a plausible rogue.’

Max made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

‘It wouldn’t be surprising,’ Ross said, ‘considering the kind of life she’s led. She’s by no means fly to the time of day. She’s been in mourning for years, remember, first for her husband and then for her father. And she was kept pretty close before that—married out of the schoolroom, by all accounts. Her husband never permitted her to come to town, you know.’

‘How on earth did you learn that?’

‘I have made it my business to find out,’ Ross replied with a rather satisfied smile. ‘While you were posting off to confront the wicked Baroness, I decided there might be subtler ways of handling the situation.’

Max nodded somewhat reluctantly.

‘There is plenty of speculation about your Baroness, Max. She may not have spent time in Society, but her aunt appears to be a gossip of the first order. Since the Baroness is a very wealthy woman, every gazetted fortune-hunter in London will be after her, I imagine. The Frenchman may well be one of them. Had you thought of that?’

Max ran an unsteady hand through his hair. ‘No, I hadn’t.’ He paused, thinking. ‘It’s more than possible, as you say, that the Frenchman is a fraud who means to trap her into marriage. She’s a wealthy prize—rich enough to set any man up. I should have thought of that. I’m afraid I have not been thinking straight at all since I met her.’

Ross looked at him in surprise. ‘So Captain Rosevale, the consummate tactician, is no more? Pity. I’m sure cold logic would be a better weapon than blind anger.’

‘You’re right, of course. As usual. And, for once, I shall take your advice to heart. We need to plan our assault like a military campaign. And the first thing we need is intelligence. What have your subtle enquiries discovered about the Frenchman?’

‘Unfortunately for us, he is playing his cards very close to his chest. I’ve found out where he comes from—somewhere near Toulon—but nothing more. If we are to smoke him out, we’ll need to do a deal more digging.’

Max nodded. ‘That means a trip to France. But I’m loath to leave London while that—while my dear cousin is in residence. Even if she has been duped—though she struck me as too strong-minded for that—she could create a great deal of mischief. I don’t think I can risk leaving the field to her.’

‘I don’t suggest that you should.’ Ross put a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘Look, Max, there is no call for both of us to go. Provided you trust me to—’

‘Devil take it, Ross! You know very well—’

‘If you trust me with such a delicate mission, old friend, I will gladly go to France and do your spying for you.’ He laughed infectiously. ‘Could be quite like old times, eh? Creeping around among the Frenchies, trying to discover the lie of the land.’

Max smiled back. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. ‘I do believe you intended to go all along, you rogue.’

‘Yes, well, perhaps…’

‘Believe me, Ross, I am very much in your debt. There is no one else in the world I would permit to do this for me. You—’

‘I am nowhere near repaying everything that I owe you, Max, so I suggest you stop praising me to the skies. Besides, I’ve a notion that a trip through France would just suit me. What we saw of it last time was not exactly…ideal, was it?’

They exchanged a look of shared understanding. The memory was very real to them both. The whole of Wellington’s army had been glad to leave the Pyrenees behind and start across the French plain. Conditions had been harsh, for everyone, but the army had known that victory was almost within reach, after so many years of struggle.

‘I think I begin to envy you, my friend,’ said Max after a moment.

‘I am sure I have the easier task. I have only to make my way to the south of France and bribe my way to the information we need. Whereas you must brave the drawing rooms of the ton and this impostor’s nefarious schemes…and the matchmaking mamas, too, of course.’ Ross grinned. ‘You are become an eligible bachelor at last.’