Devall's Angel (21 page)

* * * *

Barbara, Lady Trotter, was appalled at Andrew’s story.

“Nonsense,” she scoffed when he announced that Sylvia would join her that afternoon. “Your sister is innocent. I will move to Clifford Street immediately.”

“What about Lord Trotter?”

“He will not arrive for at least a fortnight as James is suffering another bout of fever,” she explained, mentioning her oldest son. Had she not promised to assist Sylvia, she would have stayed at home herself, for she was barely six weeks out of childbed.

She ordered her trunks sent to Lord Forley’s residence and accompanied him home.

* * * *

“You may have performed the good deed of the century,” said Sylvia that night, laughing.

“What?” Angela met her eyes in the mirror – Sylvia’s maid was still readying her for bed. They had attended different events that evening.

“Miss Gumply. You know what a harridan she has become.”

“Don’t we all!” Miss Gumply’s acidic criticisms had driven away scores of potential suitors. For all she was an antidote, her extravagant dowry should at least have attracted the fortune hunters, but few could abide her tongue. The more her popularity waned, the more she found to criticize. “She has been on a downward spiral for weeks.”

“Not any more. Given the current fashion, her willingness to pillory you has attracted an admiring audience, begging your pardon.”

“I am immune to reminders.”

“And you’ve doubtless noticed Lord Heatherton’s impersonations.”

“Were I not personally involved, I could laugh myself silly at some of them. Who can blame people for being so entertained?”

“Well, he has recently noticed Miss Gumply’s antics. All the approval has encouraged her to inject humor into her tales, making them an admirable complement to his pantomimes. They have begun working together.”

“My God!”

“They may well make a match of it. They slipped into the garden for quite half a set tonight. You know, she’s not really an antidote when she smiles.”

She laughed. “Will wonders never cease?”

“There is another story making the rounds,” Sylvia continued. “It seems Garwood has need of a new secretary.”

“Was he abandoned for an employer of higher consequence?”

“No, the fellow apparently made a fortune and can now pursue life as a gentleman. His own breeding is good.”

Angela remained silent. So Garwood had unjustly accused Lord Renford as well. It was his own secretary who had absconded with his papers.

But that was of no consequence. The rumors were even worse now that Lady Forley had eloped. No one believed that a mother would abandon an innocent daughter.

Chapter Twelve

“We need more support if we are to rescue your reputation,” said Barbara at breakfast. A round of calls the previous afternoon had demonstrated the extent of the problem. Society was in a feeding frenzy, with Angela as the main course. “Who believes you so far?”

“Lord Ashton,” said Andrew.

“And Lady Ashton,” put in Sylvia.

“Major Caldwell has recruited several of his friends,” reported Angela.

“I had not heard that he was in town,” Barbara said in delight. “He is a strong champion.”

“For the moment. He will return to Spain any day now. And some people interpret my sudden attraction to so many officers as proof of immorality.”

Everyone sighed.

“Hart is writing letters,” said Sylvia. “And Lord Shelford has taken Hart’s support to heart.”

“If Hart came to town, it would be even better.”

“He can’t leave Cassie alone,” said Andrew.

“If he didn’t hover, she would feel better,” declared Barbara firmly.

“Only his insistence is keeping her from a full schedule in town,” Angela reminded her.

Barbara frowned, but accepted it. “I can’t ask him to lend a hand then. My own friends will help, of course. And Trotter’s. We must go on the attack and make people question these stories. Most are too ridiculous to be credible.”

“Credibility is not the issue. It is fashionable to vilify me,” said Angela gloomily.

“Then we must make it fashionable to vilify Atwater. His estate is only a few miles from ours. Unsavory rumors have abounded for years. I cannot understand why they never reach town.”

“Atwater has the most powerful gossips in his pocket, and they will never admit that they misjudged him.”

The truth of that was revealed again and again over the following days. Even Barbara’s friends taunted her for believing Angela, most attributing her credulity to her recent childbed. Lady Debenham was one of those.

“Do not let the sensibility arising from your confinement lead you into exaggeration,” she chided her. “Lord Atwater is the most gentle and caring man of my acquaintance. I can understand his horror. He loved that girl with all his heart. Discovering that she is a grasping harpy with the morals of an alley cat was crushing.”

“I am not exaggerating,” swore Lady Trotter. “His stories are blatant lies uttered in retaliation because she refused his suit. I know her well, for we grew up on neighboring estates. And I know Atwater, for his land runs with my husband’s. This campaign is typical of his behavior at home. A groundskeeper who informed him that tulips do not bloom in August was discharged with no reference, and a neighbor fell victim to this same sort of character assassination when he refused to redirect a stream onto Atwater’s estate.”

“I’m sure you are misinformed about the cause of both incidents,” said Lady Debenham firmly. “And I can understand your loyalty. After all, your sister will soon wed Lord Forley. But you needn’t fear that the connection will harm you. Every family has its black sheep. As soon as she admits that society is closed to her, all will be well.”

Major Caldwell was likewise stymied. “I have never seen the tabbies this ferocious,” he admitted during supper at that evening’s ball.

“Nor I,” agreed Ashton. “I was sure that reason would have prevailed by now.”

“No one wishes to admit making a mistake,” said Angela with a sigh. “Not the mistake of misjudging me,” she added as Lady Ashton raised a brow. “I am too little known to matter. But they have long assigned every virtue to Atwater. Accepting that his tales are lies concedes that his charm has blinded them for years. Do you honestly believe that puffed-up dowagers like Lady Beatrice and Lady Horseley can admit to poor judgment? They may believe the worst of others, but not when it calls their own intelligence into question.”

“You sound as though you have given up.” Jack sounded troubled.

“In part. Even those who might believe me cannot speak out without jeopardizing their own reputations. You’ve no idea how much I admire your courage on that score,” she added. “I have no intention of quitting the fight, but my hope of success is fading fast.”

“Things may yet change,” said Jack. “A friend is interviewing Atwater’s neighbors and should find evidence that society cannot ignore.”

“Thank him,” Angela murmured, knowing he referred to Blackthorn. But she doubted that anything would help. The efforts of the dozen people fighting for her were merely a drop in the bucket of public opinion. A well-worded question might raise doubts about the details of the latest story, but the central lie was too firmly entrenched.

She sought a moment’s reprieve from the cuts and snide remarks three sets later. There was no point visiting the retiring room, for in that isolated place, society’s matrons abandoned all manners and attacked without mercy. Her last appearance had earned her two slaps. So she waited until attention shifted to Lord Heatherton, then slipped into the garden for a breath of fresh air.

The night was warm, filled with the perfume of roses. For the first time in days, she managed to empty her mind as she moved away from the terrace. Peace descended. Music drifted from the ballroom, muted by distance. Wandering among the roses relieved some of her stress. But no matter how restful it was, she knew she must return. She was heading back when a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and spun her around.

“Let go of me,” she demanded coldly, glaring at a paunchy, middle-aged gentleman.

“I need a little kiss,” he slurred, wine strong on his breath. He pulled her closer.

“No!” Shoving against his chest, she twisted her face away. “Leave me alone.”

“What’s the matter?” he demanded. “You’ve entertained every other gentleman in town. Why not me?” Steely arms imprisoned her. Kicking him made no difference.

“Help!” she screamed. “Will no one help me?” His wet mouth smothered her cries, his teeth cutting cruelly into her lip. Had she really been reduced to this? Blackness threatened even as she clawed ineffectively at her attacker.

Suddenly she was free, falling helplessly to the ground. The landing knifed pain through one hip, snapping her mind out of its fog. The crack of skin on bone exploded into the night. A flurry of blows ended with a dull thud.

“He won’t bother you again,” murmured Blackthorn, helping her gently to her feet. His breathing was slightly faster than usual, but he was otherwise unscathed.

She pressed her face against his shoulder, fighting back tears. One hand softly stroked her back while he murmured into her ear. His spicy scent offered comfort, recalling that other time he had soothed her pain. Terror drained away.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, pulling away at last.

“I arrived just as you slipped out the door. That was a foolish thing to do.”

“So it would seem, but I could not stand it another minute and needed time to pull myself together. The retiring room is worse than the ballroom, so I came out here to be alone for a moment. I thought no one had seen me.”

“Didn’t you consider that others might have already been outside?”

“My mistake. Thank you for a timely intervention.”

“It was nothing. I wish I could do more, but any direct support would ruin you.”

“Yet another reason you should redeem your reputation.” She hadn’t brought the subject up in days, being too immersed in her own problems.

“And how am I to do that? You’ve seen how difficult it is to debunk even blatant lies. How does one surmount tales that are at least partially true?”

She started to respond, but he placed a finger over her lips.

“No arguing tonight,” he said softly. Waltz music floated from the ballroom. She hadn’t realized that he still supported her until he swung her into a gentle dance in the corner of the garden. Everything was proper, even the distance he maintained between them, but the movement wove a spell that affected her as never before. Her heart pounded in time with the music. Lightheadedness weakened her knees as magic filled the air.

Devall was stunned. He had not intended to waltz with her. He had not even intended to speak with her. His sole reason for slipping in without an invitation was to pass along information that Jack could disseminate to the gossips. Or so he had thought. He was unwilling to admit how often he sought Angela out just to talk. Even in the earliest days when he had followed her about merely to glare at her for being like every other greedy miss, his underlying motive had been to see her – unadmitted at the time.

He rapidly suppressed the image.

They could never be friends. Given his lurid reputation, he had no right to pursue an acquaintance with an innocent lady. And he certainly should not be keeping her here in the dark or leading her into a provocative dance that fed temptation. How long had it been since he had danced with a lady? How long since he had touched even the fingertips of a respectable female?

Without volition, his arms tightened. Stepping further off the path, he caressed her lips with his own. Shock at the contact shot through him – and her. Her mouth opened as she leaned into him, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing against his body.

Sweet. God, she was sweet. Soft; warm; comforting. The kiss deepened, shooting heat and desire along every nerve. Her fingers glided into his hair, sending new shocks tumbling through his mind. Closer. He needed more. He needed…

His desperate hands tried to merge two bodies into one, seeking the intimacy that had eluded him all his life. Had he ever known anyone with whom he could share his thoughts?

He groaned.

What are you doing?
Do you want to ruin her in truth?
Even as his loins tightened, threatening to explode, he eased away from her, tasting the blood from her cut lip.

Damn!
Shame washed over him. He was little better than her attacker, forcing himself on her when she was in too much shock to think clearly. How could he risk destroying the only good thing in his life? She could hardly have missed his reaction. He had probably confirmed every rumor she had heard about him.

“Forgive me. That was an impertinence you did not need,” he said huskily.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. “There is nothing to forgive.” But confusion filled her face.

“You had better return to the house,” he urged, leading her to a door around the corner, anxious to escape before he kissed her again. “This is the library. Once you are recovered, you can slip down the hall and enter the ballroom as though you had been in the retiring room.”

“Thank you again. For everything.”

Her look sent new heat into his loins, but he ignored it. This was hardly the time to consider the evening’s events.

“You are a true friend,” she added.

“In that case, you may as well call me Devall.”

She raised her brows.

“Appropriate, isn’t it? My father must have been prescient.”

“I doubt it, Devall.” She smiled. “I am Angela.”

“Very appropriate, which society will soon acknowledge. After all, they haven’t ostracized you.”

“No.” Her smile faded into a frown. “I almost wish they had. If I disappeared, the tale would soon die. But they are not ready to drop so delectable a scandal, so they still invite me. My presence assures a squeeze, for everyone gathers round to display disdain. It is this week’s fashion.”

“Dear Lord! I’ve been out of town and had no idea it was that bad. The worst I ever experienced was being a nonentity attached to a title. For years the only invitations I received were from those on society’s fringe who wished to bag a marquess for their guest list, but who would have died of apoplexy had I dared speak to their daughters.”