Angel's Devil (18 page)

10

T
he
nasal squawk of Percival Alcott's voice-sounded distantly through the passages
as Angel and her riding companions entered the manor. From the noise, he was
highly agitated about something. "I knew that was his coach outside,"
she chuckled.

"I suppose we should go see," Lily sighed.

They found the source of the noise in the drawing room. Percival stood
defiantly in the middle of the floor, while the recipient of the dandy's
onslaught sat in one of the chairs before the fireplace, reading and ignoring
his visitor.

"Don't just sit there, Abbonley. I won't be put off," Percival
fussed. "I'll know where you have her or I'll set the law on you."

The marquised looked up. "Beg pardon?"

Percival crossed his arms. "Where is Miss Stanfred?' he demanded.

The marquis caught sight of Angel through the doorway. Hooded eyes
twinkling, he stood. "All right, Alcott, it's no use trying to get away
with it," he said dramatically, walking to the fireplace. "She's
locked in the tower. They all are."

Percival blinked, then turned bright red. "Don't try to make a fool
of me, Abbonley," he sputtered.

"That's quite all right. It's no effort at all," James responded.
        

Angel was enjoying the play, but Lily had never had much tolerance for
anyone being teased, and she freed herself from Angel's arm and walked into the
room. Angelique followed behind her.

"Ah," the marquis said, coming forward, "I see you've
escaped again."

"You must remember not to leave the key in the lock," Angel
reprimanded him, and he grinned.

"Angel," Lily admonished, and gave a look of rebuke at
 
the marquis.

Percival grabbed Lily's hand. "Oh, my dear Lily, you are all right?
I have been so worried."

Angel started to make a sarcastic retort, but as Simon and Lady
Elizabeth came into the room she changed her mind. James reseated himself, but
his dancing eyes were on Lily as she extracted her hand from Percival's. For
the first time Angel wished her friend didn't look so like a doll of fine
porcelain.

"For heaven's sake, Alcott, what did you think had happened to
her?" Simon growled, stepping between Lily and Percival.

"Who could tell, with her in the very den of the Devil?"

Percival declaimed. "I had to come to see that her parents' folly
in journeying here caused her no scandal."

"Ah," James murmured, less amused now at the mentioa of his
nickname. "You've come to lend an atmosphere of propriety to my dubious
household."

"Yes," Percival responded bravely.

"Well, it wasn't necessary," Simon snapped. "Miss Stanfred
is perfectly safe."

Angel turned to look at Simon. Despite his bluster Percival was rather
harmless, and Simon's fierceness seemed out of place. Especially when it was in
the defense of someone else. It had been difficult, these past two days, since
she had realized that her feelings for him weren't as strong as she had
thought Simon rushing to Lily's defense hardly made things any easier.
Sometimes he was simply too chivalrous.

"Simon, if you don't mind, would you show our . . . guest to a
room?" James suggested. His sharp eyes watched as Simon shrugged, glanced
at Lily, and then guided the dandy to the door. The quick look James sent Angel
was full of secrets and barely disguised passion, and she blushed and turned
toward the window before anyone else saw.

The viscountess stood there looking from one of them to the other, a
preoccupied expression on her face. Angel quickly turned around again, while
Lily smiled and stepped closer to James.

"I'm so sorry he's come," she said, putting a hand out to him
and making Angel want to do something unladylike.

"Not your fault, Miss Stanfred," James responded, smiling
back at her. "Don't trouble yourself. The more the merrier, I
suppose."

Lily sighed and smiled. "I'd best go tell Mama and Papa who's
arrived so they'll be prepared for the onslaught," she said, and with a
curtsey left the room.

"Percival Alcott?" Lady Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

James nodded. "And his brother, Arthur, is currently walking
through the garden and presumably making my flowers wither."

"Sir?" The butler's voice came from the doorway. "What is
it, Simms?" the marquis said.

"Mr. Algers is in your office, my lord. He's brought the
post." He held up a silver tray containing several letters.

"Splendid. Let's have it. This one's for you, Grandmama,” James
said, handing a letter to the viscountess. Abruptly he froze and his face
paled. He stood, dropping the other letters into his vacated chair, and stared
at the missive in his hand.

His grandmother straightened. "What is it?" When the marquis didn't
answer, she took a step closer. "James, are you all right?"

James started and looked up at her, then glanced over at Angel.
"Quite."

"Who is it from?" Elizabeth asked.

The marquis looked down at it again. "Desiree."

"Jamie . . . " the dowager viscountess began, warily watching
her grandson's face. Angel couldn't put a name to the marquis's expression, but
was glad to know she wasn't the cause of it.

"Excuse me." He strode out of the room, the letter clenched in
his fist.

Elizabeth walked over to the window. "Five years," she
muttered.

"Beg pardon?" Angel ventured.

The viscountess turned around. "I said it's been five years, and
that witch still won't pull her claws out of him." She opened her own
letter, then set it aside. "He and Geoffrey Pratt were friends, you know.
They went to school together." She sighed. "And then, on holiday in
London they attended the same ball, and met the same girl making her
debut."

"Desiree," Angel supplied, wondering why she had come to
dislike Desiree Kensington so strongly over the past few weeks.

"Yes. For the rest of the school year they fought over her. Almost
got sent down for it, once." Elizabeth shook her head. "James was
always so spirited. Very like his mother."

"What happened?"

"From the beginning Desiree played them against one another. Drove
them both half mad, and they ended up hating one another. After he graduated,
James proposed to her. From what I've been able to get out of him, she told him
that Geoffrey had already asked for her hand, and that she couldn't decide
between the two. She did point out that as Geoffrey had already inherited and
was a viscount, he was of course the one her relations favored." She shook
her head, her light green eyes full of regret. "I think everyone knows
what happened the next morning."

Angelique looked at her. "But, Desiree?"

"James's father recommended that James leave the country. He went
to France, stayed for nearly a year. Four weeks after he left, Desiree married
Lord Kensington. When James heard about that . . . " Elizabeth stopped and
cleared her throat. "When he came home, he was so different I barely
recognized him. His reputation kept growing worse and worse, and believe me, he
continued to earn it."

"He doesn't seem so terrible to me," Angel offered in a small
voice. And his touch, his kiss, had been anything but terrible.

Elizabeth looked at her. "You know," she said slowly,
"since he came back from Belgium, James has seemed more like he used to
be. The way he was before Desiree, I mean. Happier, and less angry."

"Why do you think he's changed?"

Lady Elizabeth gave a short smile and headed for the door. "Oh, I
have my suspicions."

James paced the library for a long while before he opened the letter. In
Desiree's perfect handwriting was a short note saying she realized the time had
come to explain her reasons for marrying Kensington, with the intimation that
she was certain he would understand. It closed with a request to see him, and
was signed, "Love, Desiree."

He looked at the signature for a moment, then tossed the letter into the
fire. It would be like Simon or his grandmother to try to discover what Desiree
was up to, for he had never been able to convince them that his relationship
with her was none of their bloody business. He didn't want to see her again.
There were too many other things he was trying to deal with.

He found some of those things occurring at supper that evening, and they
served to brighten his mood considerably. Percival had apparently been unaware
that children were present at Abbonley, and he was obviously having a difficult
time reconciling this with his view of the Devil. When they all repaired to the
drawing room, Alcott suggested the children be sent to bed.

At that Henry stood, drawing himself up to his full height. "I
won't have a fop telling me what to do in Lord James's house," he
declared.

"Henry!" Lady Niston admonished, and his father threw him a
stem look.

"You told me not to lie," Henry protested to his parents.
"He is a fop."

Percival pinned James with an indignant look. "This is your doing.
You've corrupted these infants."

"We're not infants!" Henry shouted.

"They're not infants," James echoed mildly.

Angelique was busily engaged embroidering another handkerchief. She
looked up at James, her eyes sparkling.

"I think he's a fop, too," Helen chimed in, coming to her
brother's aid. "And Lord James is slap up to the echo, just like Henry
says."

This time Angel's choking sounded suspiciously like laughter. James
leaned forward. "Are you all right, Lady Angelique?" he asked
solicitously.

"Yes, I'm fine," she managed, and covered her face with both
hands.

The Graham and Stanfred parents were finally able to restore order, and
exiled the children upstairs. James looked from Angelique to Simon, who was
plainly displeased with her behavior, and smiled to himself. It was about time
his cousin began to realize exactly what lay in store for him.

As he made his way up to bed much later, he was waylaid by his
grandmother. "What's gotten into you, Jamie?" she queried as he
reached the top of the stairs.

"Whatever do you mean, Grandmama?"

"It's beginning to look like a regular rout here," she stated,
linking her arm through his. "I keep wondering who's going to arrive
next."

He chuckled. "Shall we lay wagers?"

"Don't change the subject, you scalawag. What's going on?"

James looked down at her and shrugged. "I find it all rather
domestic, in a mad sort of way."

"Jamie," she warned.

He smiled. "I don't know what you want me to tell you," he
replied. "Even I must have a few scattered moments of propriety."

"But the Alcotts? You never would have tolerated them here for a
moment before .. ." She trailed off. "Before you came home," she
finished.

"Perhaps I've learned patience," he said quietly.

"Perhaps," she replied, equally softly, and reached up to
touch his cheek. "And perhaps you know their presence amuses
Angelique." She stepped into her room and shut the door behind her.

He stood looking after her for a moment. Grandmama
 
Elizabeth was right. If he had been here
alone when the Alcotts called, he would have thrown them and their baggage out
in a cold Yorkshire minute. They weren't here because they annoyed Angelique.
They were here because they made her laugh.

"Thank God you're here," Simon panted, throwing open the
library door.

"What's happened?" James asked, hoping no one else had fallen,
or had been thrown, into the lake.

"It's Percival and Henry. Alcott caught the boy riding India and
proceeded to lecture him on the proper mount for a youngster. Henry apparently
told him to go to Hades, and then pulled off Percival's hat and had India ride
over it."