When Angels Fall (28 page)

Their ponies, Dancing and Melody, were procured as soon as the two Alcester girls reached the first paddock. To Lissa’s disappointment, the stablemaster, Mr. Merriweather, brought the ponies to the mounting block. She looked all around for Ivan but he was nowhere in sight. Disheartened, she mounted Dancing and took up the reins with little relish. Suddenly she had no desire to ride. She watched Evvie mount, then looked around for their groom, Jack, but he wasn’t accompanying them today. She found the towering figure of her daydreams right behind her, mounted on the Alcester’s most temperamental Thoroughbred.

Suddenly the day looked bright indeed. Syrian needed exercise and Ivan, as everyone knew, was the only one who could manage him. Her eyes sparkled beneath her veiling and she gave him a worshipful glance.

“Are you ready, Lissa?” Evvie asked, obviously eager to get to the fences.

“Completely,” she answered, stealing another look at their stableboy.

“Then let’s be off!” Evvie called out, already cantering ahead. Lissa soon caught up with her and their handsome groom followed, easing his high-strung mount into a trot.

Ivan seemed in a particularly black temper this day. Some days, especially ones like this when the weather was clear and pretty, he could be coaxed into some conversation. She or Evvie would do something girlish and amusing, and a slight smile might pull at his lips. Eventually they could begin to chat with him and if they were fortunate, he would answer their questions with more than his usual one-word replies.

But today he seemed particularly distant. A chill spring wind whipped at his back and he looked cold. He never seemed to have enough clothes to wear, and today was no exception. Besides leather breeches worn smooth between the thighs from exercising all the Alcester mounts, scuffed boots, and a patched linen shirt, his only covering was a thin linsey-woolsey waistcoat, hardly enough when compared to the warm, comfortable clothes the ladies of the manor sported.

“Lissa, let’s take the east field. I found an old stone fence the last time I was there and it looked just the right height.” Evvie pulled her pony to her side and brushed a wind-blown sable lock from her cheek.

“Dancing cast a shoe last week and he’s still not going completely sound. He shouldn’t be jumped,” Ivan stated.

Lissa looked behind her and found he was obviously not inviting debate on the subject. She decided to be difficult anyway, for at least he would be forced to speak to her then.

“Dancing is fine, aren’t you, my pet?” Lissa rubbed her pony’s sleek black neck. “A few fences shouldn’t affect him too badly.”

“His leg shouldn’t be strained. He might not get into the fence right and you’ll be toppled.”

“I’ve fallen before. It’s not so terrible.” She was testing him now, but when she looked back at him she was disappointed by his expression. Nothing seemed to crack him today. He peered at her as dispassionately as if she were an unruly kitten.

“No child will break her neck while in my care.”

Hurt clouded her blue eyes and she immediately turned away. Hearing herself referred to as a child, especially by him, was beyond endurance. She was no child! And her only wish in the entire world was that he would one day wake to see that.

She urged Dancing into a canter, then into a gallop. She reached the east field long before Evvie and Ivan and she circled the violet-strewn meadow, while her face burned with anger and humiliation. She would show him. Her coming out would prove she was not the child he thought she was. She would flaunt her suitors at him and watch him writhe with jealousy.

Evvie and Ivan soon caught up with her and Evvie led the way to the fence. Melody neatly took the ancient stone wall and Evvie giggled with delight. Lissa stood by on Dancing, obedient for only the moment.

“You mustn’t call me a child any longer. I’m not one, you know. I’m sixteen now,” she told him petulantly when Evvie was cantering on the other side of the fence.

Ivan looked at her, his gaze brazenly skimming her velvet-clad figure. Annoyance and amusement warred in his dark eyes. His voice brooked no argument. “But you are a child, Miss Alcester, and for your own good, I think you had best pray to remain one for a very long time.”

She shot him a sharp glance, not sure at all how to take his remark. The only thing she was sure of was that he’d insulted her. Her cheeks colored but she sought comfort thinking again of the grand suitors she would trail before him, and how she would force him to think of her
as a woman. But again she was overcome with the terrible dread that he wouldn’t care a whit how many suitors she had. Nor how rich they were, nor how handsome. He would pass her by without a glance, and she would be left standing alone, still nursing her terrible ache for him.

With a burst of fury, she gathered Dancing’s reins and trotted away, unable to bear his loathsome company for another second. She cantered aimlessly through the field, but then she was ready for something more daring. She turned Dancing around and faced the crumbling stone wall. The horse backed nervously, but she still wanted to take the fence. She wouldn’t let Ivan dictate to her. Dancing seemed as sound as ever, and she was too agitated to spend her afternoon cantering tamely around a field.

She took the fence at a well-collected canter, sure that her mount would have no problem. But Dancing’s stride was a bit off and they took the wall short. Her pony’s hooves scraped the stones and before they could land on the other side, she was unseated. She tumbled to the ground, falling painfully on her backside, while Dancing galloped away free.

She was not hurt, except for the side of her temple where it had grazed the fence. Raising herself on her elbow, she put her hand to her head to steady it. She meant to get to her feet, but before she could even move, Ivan leapt over the fence, looking furious. She thought he’d come to help her, yet he looked as if he could have as easily killed her instead.

She cringed back, yet to her utter shock, when he reached her, he caught her up in his arms and clasped her as if he would never let her go. Bewildered by his concern, she let him hold her, delighting in his closeness and the wonderful way he smelled. But all too soon he tore himself away to look her over for any damage. Feeling only the pain of his separation, she instinctively pulled on his shirt and brought him to her once more. As he bent over her, she was sure he had never looked more beautiful. His ex
pression was as hard as stone, but in his eyes, she saw anything but indifference. She wanted to cry out her joy, but instead she reached up to him and gave him a sweet, hopelessly chaste kiss on his cheek.

When she pulled away, her hand found the place where her lips had been. But this seemed to unnerve him as nothing had before, and his dark-blue eyes blazed with something she had never seen—a fiery, restless need. As if he were trying to resist an impulse, he raised his hand slowly and caressed her scraped temple. Then he bent, as if to return her kiss, but before he could do so, his gaze shot up at Evvie who had just appeared on the other side of the fence.

Lissa met her sister’s eyes. She could see Evvie was more concerned over what she and Ivan were doing than whether she had suffered any bodily harm from her fall. At once Lissa felt Ivan lift her to her feet. He gave her a stern, assessing glance that seemed to reassure him she was all right, then he abruptly mounted Syrian and cantered off to look for her missing mount. Without a word, Evvie handed her a hankie for her scraped temple and the girls waited by the stone fence until Ivan returned.

They rode back to Alcester in silence. Ivan scowled every time Lissa dared open her mouth, and Evvie, being the youngest and most impressionable, remained mute, every now and again bestowing a shocked, awestruck look at Ivan.

By the time they reached the stables, Ivan had become so cold and distant, Lissa was beginning to wonder if she had dreamed the entire episode that had taken place at the fence. When she was to dismount, he assisted Evvie and left her to Mr. Merriweather. Then without a backward glance, he coolly led Syrian into the stables where she could see him no more.

Vexed, Lissa stood in the stable yard, trying to control her temper. Yet when Evvie’s sympathetic expression met her eye, she could take no more. She furiously gath
ered up her velvet skirts and ran back to the house, anxious to be alone.

Lissa spent the evening huddled by the fire in her chambers. Her room was grandly appointed in pink and cream, and there were tufted daybeds swathed in
moiré
d’antique
that she could curl up on and cashmere throws with which to cuddle. But that night she was too miserable to enjoy such luxuries, and she found the warmth of the hearth too reassuring to move far from it. Now out of her riding habit, she was dressed in a simple gown of blue-green wool. A pristine white linen bertha collar made her look the picture of innocence, especially with her tresses falling free down her back in a shining cascade of silver-gold curls. The frown on her face was the only thing that spoiled the effect.

How could he have tried to kiss her, then afterward ignored her? The furrow in her forehead grew deeper. Was it true what she had seen in his eyes today, or had it only been the product of her wishful thinking? She stared into the flames, trying desperately to reassure herself either that what she wanted was so or that it had all been a figment of her imagination. But try as she might, she could come to no satisfactory conclusions.

She looked behind her at her bed, draped in cream shot silk. She would never sleep tonight with all the doubt and anger swirling in her breast. She wasn’t at all sure what to do about it when her eyes spotted her pelerine tossed onto a pink satin couch.

Her gaze lowered as she pondered the scandalous idea that had just come to her. What harm could come from a quick visit to the stables? She knew it was after dark, and no doubt it
was
brazen of her to even think of venturing out at this time. But she had to know! She had to know what Ivan thought of her! And as soon as she got her
answer, she would scurry back to her safe chambers with no one being the wiser.

She rose and donned the short green cape. The little wool garment would hardly keep her warm, but all she needed was her answer and then she would be back.

When no one was about she exited through the servants’ door. The spring night air held a chill but the breeze had died, making it a bit more bearable. The stables loomed before her like a huge gabled inn. Candles shone through various windows where the help had its quarters, and she could hear men singing a bawdy tune from the tack room where the only stove in the stable was always kept fired. Suddenly nervous and shy, she stopped near the closed tack room door, unsure of what to do next. Yet the door abruptly opened and there was no turning back.

Five men were in the tack room, including the one who held the door. Lissa quickly found Ivan as he sat sharing a bottle of spirits with the man next to him. Mr. Merriweather was not among these fellows; all looked to be the younger grooms of the estate.

“Why, looky, lads, we’ve an angel in our midst!” The man at the door, a groom named Scarborough, let out a crude, deep laugh. Then all eyes turned to her as she stood not five yards from them in the darkness of the stalls. Seeing her, Ivan immediately stood.

Besotted with drink and forgetful of his place, Scarborough opened the door wide. “Come on in, my heavenly beauty. What sin have we committed that brings you out tonight?”

With frightened eyes, Lissa looked at Ivan. She was not used to drunken men and she was not at all sure how to handle them.

Scarborough pulled a flask from his jacket and held it out to her. “Would you have a snort, beautiful spirit?”

She was completely taken aback now, but this time Ivan was at her side. He gave a toss to his head, and for some reason Scarborough retreated to the tack room. Ev
eryone watched them as Ivan gripped her arm and began dragging her out of the stables.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly, still quite aware of the men in the tack room.

“Back to the house from where, after nightfall, you will never venture again.” His grip grew even tighter.

“Are you angry at me?” She dug her delicately slippered heels into the dirt of the passage and tried to slow him down. “Please don’t be angry at me. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to know about this afternoon.”

He paused, grabbing her up in his hands. “You just forget about what happened this afternoon, little girl.”

His tone angered her. She tried to pull free. “I’m not a little girl. Doesn’t today prove that? What I feel—”

“What you feel!” He tipped his dark head back and laughed. His mirth broke her heart.

“You felt something! I saw it in your eyes!”

He tensed. “It’s your imagination.” He again tried to pull her farther along the dark stalls toward the house.

“But, Ivan, I saw it.” Her voice began to quiver. “I beg of you, answer me. It is true you feel nothing for me?”

“It’s true.” He pushed her against a stall door. “It’s true.”

He was so close she could smell the liquor on his breath. It was a disturbing smell, yet not unpleasant. At the dim end of the stables, she could barely make out his features, yet she could see that his eyes glittered unnaturally. She realized he’d probably taken his share of the bottle the men had been passing around, but when he spoke, his words were sober and deliberate.

“
Alainn,
your little pranks might have been tolerated a year ago, but now they won’t be, do you understand?”

She looked at him, all her dreams dashed. He didn’t care for her at all. He was just angry that she’d interrupted his drinking. He probably had some kitchen wench he was fond of. He most likely never thought of her. She was as
close to tears as she could be without one splashing onto her cheeks.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” He shook her gently.

“Yes, I’ve heard it all.” She fixed her gaze on his patched linen shirt and asked what she had come to ask, though she dreaded the answer. “Tell me, won’t you, before we go back to the house—why don’t you think I’m pretty? What’s wrong with me that you shouldn’t like to kiss me?”