Angel in Scarlet (24 page)

I curled up in a chair in my sitting room and read for a long time, and then I took a walk and came back and had a lavish tea at five—Bennett gave me cold sliced ham and turkey and wonderful buttered scones and a huge slice of almond cake with raspberry paste between the layers and a pot full of tea. I took a nap after that, slept for four hours, and then I had a hot bath and washed my hair and dried it and brushed it till it shone, and then I began to dress for our late dinner, very wary about the whole thing and, I had to confess it, considerably intrigued as well.

The petticoat was of thin creamy white silk, with half a dozen billowing skirts. Fit me like a dream, it did, and so did the gown. It was of exquisite cream white satin with very thin amethyst and pale gray stripes, the cloth rich and lustrous, and it had tight, elbow-length sleeves and a scooped neckline that was cut quite low. The tight waist was accentuated by a narrow amethyst velvet band, and the very full skirt spread out over the underskirts in shimmering folds. Jemminy, Angela, I thought, studying myself in the mirror, you look like a bloody duchess. Looked even more like one after I had put on the high heeled amethyst slippers and arranged my hair in an elegant stack of chestnut waves, leaving three ringlets dangling down in back. My face looked better without all that makeup, I decided, but I did smooth on a bit of pale pink lip rouge.

Although all the chandeliers were still burning brightly, the tables had already been shut down and the girls were leaving as I reached the top of the white marble staircase. Marie closed the door on the last of them and turned to watch me descend the stairs. The full satin skirt swayed and made a delicious rustling noise, and I held my chin high, cool and composed, feeling extremely grand and grown up. Although Marie didn't say anything, I could tell she was pleased with what she saw. I might not be a breathtaking beauty like Solonge or Janine, but I knew I looked appealing tonight, high cheekbones and all.

Marie was still wearing her customary black velvet and pearls. That surprised me.

“Aren't you going to change?” I asked.

“It isn't necessary,” she told me. “I see the dress fits nicely. Mrs. Hammond made it up to my specifications, a rush job, but she was paid a handsome fee, I can assure you. Are you ready to go up?”

“Up? We always dine in the lounge.”

“It will be much cozier in one of the rooms upstairs. I had the footmen set a table up. Bennett has prepared a wonderful meal. His own pâté. Caviar. A bottle of the best champagne.”

“Doesn't sound like much to eat. I'm awfully hungry.”

“There'll be other things as well,” she said impatiently. “Come along, Angela!”

Something was definitely afoot, and I didn't like the feel of it, didn't like it one bit, but I followed her up the stairs nevertheless, and we turned and moved down the hall. Marie opened a door at the end of it and ushered me into the grandest private room, one I'd never been inside before. It was all cream and gold and pale blue, dark blue carpet on the floor, cream walls with pale blue silk panels framed with gilt designs, more gilt on the ornate cream ceiling. It was like being inside a jewel box, I thought, admiring the small crystal chandelier that hung over the table. There was a large sofa as well, covered in sky blue velvet, and
that
gave me a turn.

“You wait here,” Marie instructed me. “Our guest will be arriving in a few minutes.”

She left the room then, closing the door behind her. By that time I was beginning to feel very jumpy, beginning to feel exactly like a goat staked to a tree to lure the tigers. I moved nervously over to the table and inspected the silver dish of caviar, the dish of creamy goose-liver pâté with truffles, the plate of thin toast, the tall green bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket of ice. The table was set for two. Two. Not three. Two exquisite china plates. Two slender crystal glasses. Two pale blue linen napkins with forks and knives and spoons laid out. I gazed at the table, and I knew, and I felt like an absolute ninny for not knowing from the first.

I was shaken to the core, and I was angry, too, angrier than I had ever been in my life. The anger blazed for a few moments, possessing me completely, and then it turned cool and hard inside me and gave me a steely strength, and that was what held the panic at bay. I could feel the panic springing to life within, a tremulous, twitchy thing, bubbling up beneath the anger, and I knew I had to keep it under control. I knew I had to stay calm and face this with shoulders squared or else I would be well and truly lost.

Well, Angela, you brought it on yourself, you did, being a complete fool and playing along and putting on your fancy new clothes and letting her bring you up here. Thought you were ever so worldly and wise, didn't you? Thought you were knowing and smart, sure, and here you've been duped like the dimmest innocent fresh from the farm. You're in for it now, and you're going to have to brazen it out. No use running away at this point.

I took one of the knives and dipped it into the pâté and spread it thickly over a slice of the thin toast. Might as well eat something. I'd probably need the strength, I thought wryly. The pâté was delicious, rich and creamy, the tiny bits of truffle giving it a marvelous flavor. Hadn't ever eaten any pâté before. Hadn't eaten caviar either. It looked quite appetizing, glistening gray-black. Might as well sample that, too. I finished the toast with pate and heaped four spoonfuls of caviar on another piece of toast, and I was eating that when the door opened and Clinton Meredith came in.

He closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, gazing at me with a half-smile curling on his lips, and I took another bite, paying him no mind.

“Good?” he inquired.

“It's all right,” I said. “A mite too fishy for my taste. The pâté is divine.”

“Oh?”

He strolled over to the table and took the knife and spread some pâté on a piece of toast and took a bite.

“You're right,” he agreed. “It is divine.”

“I suppose you're paying for this meal,” I said.

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied. “I had the caviar ordered especially for you. I'm sorry you don't care for it. It's frightfully expensive, you know.”

“Still tastes too fishy.”

“Your stepmother has talked to you?”

“As a matter of fact, she hasn't, but I think I get the general drift of things. If you've already given her money, I suggest you get a refund. You're wasting your time.”

“You're going to be difficult?” he asked.

“I'm going to be impossible,” I said.

He smiled at that, not in the least discouraged. Tonight he was wearing black pumps with silver buckles and fine white silk stockings and knee breeches and frock coat of deep navy blue brocade, the frock coat richly embroidered with delicate black silk flowers. His waistcoat was navy blue, too, and lace dripped profusely from his throat and cuffs. Handsome as a fairy-tale prince, he was, that thick blond hair glistening silver-blond in the candlelight, his smoky gray eyes full of mischievous delight as the smile played on those full pink lips.

“Am I so repulsive?” he inquired.

I spread more pâté over another piece of toast. “To me you are,” I informed him.

“Are you frightened of me?”

“Not by a long chalk.”

“Then perhaps you will at least agree to dine with me tonight and listen to what I propose.”

“Since I'm here I might as well eat,” I said, “but you're not going to say a word that could possibly interest me. My stepmother might—might have made whores out of her two daughters, but she's not going to make a whore out of me, I can assure you.”

“Relax, Angela. Here, let me help you into your chair. A glass of champagne?”

“No thank you. I want to keep all my wits about me.”

Lord Meredith smiled again and opened the bottle of champagne and poured some into his glass, and then he sat down across the table from me and lifted the glass, looking at me over the rim. The champagne sparkled, pale gold and full of tiny bubbles. I longed for a glass of it, but I didn't dare risk it. He sipped his slowly, gazing at me all the while, and then there was a rap on the door and Blake came in, pushing a small trolley laden with silver-covered dishes and another silver bucket with a second bottle of champagne nesting in ice. His face impassive, Blake removed the covers from the dishes and placed them on the table and placed the bucket on a small folding table he took from under the trolley and set up at Clinton's right. Clinton nodded with approval as the footman stepped back.

“That'll be all, Blake,” he said. “I'll summon you if we need anything else. We're not to be interrupted again.”

“I quite understand, Milord.”

He left, removing the trolley, and we were alone again and Lord Meredith was looking at me with those seductive gray eyes with heavy eyelids drooping, and I felt the power and provocation of that gaze and felt very uncomfortable and wished I hadn't agreed to stay and dine. Sheer bravura, that. Wanted to show him I wasn't afraid. At least I would get a fine meal out of it. There was a marvelous-looking aspic and thin slices of pink-orange salmon and golden-brown pheasant on a nest of wild rice and my favorite asparagus with sauce and a cake with creamy white icing and flakes of chocolate swirled on top. I heaped my plate. He poured another glass of champagne and continued to watch me as I ate.

“You've bewitched me, Angela,” he confessed. “Completely and entirely. I've never met a woman quite like you.”

“You should try this pheasant. It's wonderful. The wild rice, too.”

“I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. I haven't been able to think of anything else since I saw you five nights ago. No woman's ever had this effect on me—and I've known a lot of women. I must have you.”

“Try some aspic instead. It's very tasty.”

“I'm usually quite nonchalant about these things—I take a woman and I enjoy her and all too quickly I'm bored. I've a feeling you'd never bore me, and that's why I'm prepared to spend a fortune to have you. Will you please stop stuffing yourself and listen to me?”

“I'm not stuffing myself. I'd never do anything so inelegant. I'm eating with perfect decorum, using my knife, using my fork, taking small, polite bites. The salmon's heaven, has a wonderful flavor.”

“I had a very long talk with your stepmother, and, I must say, she drove a very shrewd bargain.”

Solonge had used those identical words over two years ago. I ate another slice of salmon and finished my pheasant. Lord Meredith poured yet another glass of champagne. He hadn't touched a bite of food.

“You'll have your own town house,” he told me. “A small one, admittedly, but quite elegant, in one of the best neighborhoods. You'll have a maid, a butler, a footman, your own carriage and horses. You'll have a monthly allowance, and I intend to smother you with presents. I'm always most generous with my women—love to see the glow in their eyes when I give them some expensive bauble.”

“I don't care for baubles, Lord Meredith.”

My voice was icy and indifferent. He frowned. I sliced a piece of cake and placed it on the small plate provided. It was lightly flavored with some kind of liqueur and was rich and buttery, the icing sheer ambrosia. I offered some to him. He shook his head, irritated now, and that pleased me. Probably never been turned down before, I thought. With his incredible good looks, with that husky, honeyed voice and that potent male allure, he had undoubtedly been fawned over by women all his adult life, and they had spoiled him rotten. Thought he could just snap his fingers and they'd tumble into his arms. Most of them probably did, I admitted.

“There's no coffee,” I said, finished with my cake.

“Forget the coffee.”

“I'd really like some. Will you summon Blake?”

“I told you to forget the coffee. We have things to discuss.”

“I'm afraid not, Lord Meredith.”

I stood up. That surprised him. He stood up, too, frowning again.

“Your stepmother and I came to terms. She insisted we put it all down on paper. Both of us signed it. I've already given her a very large sum of money. You're not leaving, Angela.”

“You intend to hold me here by force?”

“If necessary,” he said.

He moved over to the door and turned the key in the lock and then dropped the key into his waistcoat pocket. The panic I had suppressed earlier started welling up inside again, but I staunchly refused to acknowledge it. The anger came back, too, and I knew that I was never going to spend another night under this roof. My stepmother had … had
sold
me, like I was a piece of property, and I actually longed to kill her. What joy it would give me to shove her down the stairs. I must leave. I must leave tonight.

“You're trembling,” he said.

“Does that surprise you?” I asked crisply.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, and his voice was deep and throaty. “I think I'm in love with you, Angela. I've never said that to another woman. Never. I never thought I would.”

“You—you don't know what the word love means.”

“I think I do now.”

He was very convincing, he was, made you actually believe he was speaking the truth, but then he had undoubtedly had a great deal of practice. He moved over to me and placed his hands on my bare shoulders and looked deeply into my eyes and his own were tender, filled with lies, and I trembled more than ever, unable to control it. His hands were warm and soft and strong, gently massaging my flesh, and he lifted one of them up and curled it around the side of my neck and squeezed gently and parted his lips and lowered his heavy eyelids and then wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck, squeezing more, and I was not nearly as immune as I thought I was, as I wanted to be. He was a magnificent male and I was human, I was flesh and blood, and his sexual magnetism was overwhelming, loathe him though I might.