When Angels Fall (32 page)

“Why don’t you take Evvie to the Christmas tree and describe it to her, Holland?” Lissa suggested.

Holland gave her a concerned look.

She laughed. “Oh, you can’t mean to have me tailing along. I think it would be terribly difficult for the three of us to waltz.” She motioned to a velvet bench pushed along one wall. “I’ll be right there when you come back.”

“But—” Holland began.

“No one will compromise me, I assure you, dear Holland.” She tossed him a brilliant smile and quickly glided away to claim the bench.

She took great pains not to wrinkle her voluminous skirts. Then when she was finally settled, she suddenly felt forlorn. There was a great crush of people in the Hall and the music from the orchestra seemed only to draw in more, yet there seemed no one for her. The ball was turning out just as depressing as she expected, only more so, for just as she looked up, she caught the eye of Albert Rooney. He was dancing with Arabella, though neither of them seemed involved in what they were doing. Each seemed to have their attention elsewhere.

“Would my lady accept a glass of punch?”

Startled, Lissa looked to her left and found a man standing next to her. He seemed a bit young, but he had dazzling leaf-green eyes and a perfect Roman nose. He was a difficult youth to refuse.

“How kind of you,” she finally said, accepting the glass.

“Allow me to introduce myself—” the youth began, yet was never allowed to finish for another voice sounded behind him.

“Miss Alcester, it’s certainly a pleasure finding you here!” Albert suddenly cut in with his own glass of punch. He acted as if nothing had ever happened between them, though if she looked closely, there did seem to be a hardness about his eyes that she had never seen before.

“Albert” was all she could say before, unexpectedly,
another “beau” cut in. It was Harry McBain dressed in his cleanest shirt and frock coat. Even he sported a glass of punch, and she suddenly began laughing at the absurdity of her situation. And here she was thinking this ball would be dull!

She had just finished refusing Albert’s offer of a waltz when she glanced up to one of the loggias that overlooked the Hall. Ivan stood there, dressed splendidly in a black cutaway and trousers, a brilliantly white starched shirt set off by a black satin bow tie, and a sinfully expensive black satin waistcoat. He was glaring down at her, as if he dared her to have a good time at
his
ball. She was caught off guard by his intense scrutiny, then her cheeks burned with anger. He had no right to look at her like that—as if he somehow owned her, as if he had the right to claim her like chattel.

Suddenly the idea of dancing seemed irresistibly appealing. She was going to waltz off in another man’s arms, and she wildly hoped that this would infuriate Ivan to new heights. She stood and, to Albert’s surprise, accepted his arm.

Albert was a well-schooled dancer, and Lissa found herself easily led around the floor. Her skills sharpened with every step and soon she was almost enjoying herself. She looked about the room so that she could be sure Ivan saw her, yet he was no longer in the loggia and she couldn’t find him in the crowd.

Their dance was soon over and Albert led her back to her bench. Holland and Evvie were there by now, though Holland looked a bit shocked that Albert had been her waltzing partner. Lissa didn’t make much of that, however, for Harry promptly asked her for the next dance.

He led her in a crude country waltz that was more like a polka. It wasn’t the kind to make lovers jealous as Albert’s had been, yet she couldn’t help but feel flattered by the look of utter awe Harry bestowed upon her. When the dance was over, she found herself actually laughing
again, and she became even more determined to enjoy herself and forget about the pain Ivan had caused.

She waltzed for hours, it seemed. The nameless youth turned out to be a knight, Sir Gilbert, and he was also a superb dancer. If she’d actually been a debutante, she was sure she’d have wanted him to fill every space on her dance card.

She danced with Albert again, though it seemed every time she did, he became more and more somber. When the orchestra sounded the last dance before dinner, Albert had abruptly taken her arm and led her to the floor, completely without invitation. She was almost irate enough to call Holland, but he and Evvie were having such a good time waltzing that she couldn’t bear to interrupt them. Besides, she was sure she could handle Albert herself.

That was before she found herself waltzed into one of the Hall’s oriels. The nook was out of sight from the rest of the guests, for it was behind the great limestone staircase and surrounded by heavy velvet drapery. Immediately Albert stepped from her arms and closed the curtains. She was suddenly thrown into darkness; the only light was that which spilled beneath the velvet partition. In consternation, she made to open the drapery and leave, but Albert blocked her exit with his body. Unable to quit the place, she moved against the huge bay window. She was already feeling chilled. The drafty panes at her back didn’t help warm her either.

“Whatever are you doing, Albert? Are you hoping to cause a scene?”

He stepped toward her, a brilliant gleam to his eye. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Never.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her to him. She looked up at him in surprise. She didn’t know Albert could be this forceful.

“Tramore is no gentleman,” he continued. “I wouldn’t have even honored him by attending this blasted ball if it weren’t for the slim chance to see you again.”

He was holding her arms so tightly she was sure he was bruising her. With some hesitation, she tried to answer him. “It was unthinkably cruel what he did to you, Albert. But you must put it out of your mind. No one knows about it. And I promise, no one ever will.”

“He ruined my chance to marry you!”

She lowered her eyes. “You may still have the chance.” She couldn’t believe she had said that, for she didn’t love him. Yet somehow she still clung to the belief that marriage was the answer to her problems. If Albert felt so strongly about her, then perhaps they could make a good marriage. And Albert would relieve her of her debts to Ivan.

Albert turned from her, disconsolate. “No, no. He’s compromised you. I saw it. Mother would never approve.”

Anger seethed in her breast. Her last shreds of respect for this man fell from her shoulders. She turned to go, but she found his hand on her waist, holding her back.

“Don’t you touch me,” she hissed. She pulled off his fingers and made for the drapery once more.

“Lissa, stop. I must have you. And if we can’t marry, then I want to set you up, perhaps in London. Far away from Mother.”

The fury inside her exploded. She turned and vented it upon him. “I am
not
that kind of woman, you—you milktoast! Nor shall I ever be! So unhand me before I scream and fetch your mother to take you home for the night!”

“Lissa, my lovely, that’s him speaking, not you! Don’t you see? Tramore has got you in his clutches and I’m here to set you free!” Without warning, he pulled her to him and his thin, wet lips sought hers. She was overcome by revulsion, yet also by the desire to laugh. The man’s kiss was impossibly inept; his offer pitifully absurd.

Albert was a poor example of manhood, it was true, but he was still stronger than she was. She made several
struggling attempts to leave his embrace, but she was held firm by his wiry arms. His lips caught hers again and this time she shook from rage. Her hand found his face and she clawed at his cheek, but to no avail. He seemed bent on having her, no matter how she felt about it. As secluded as the oriel was, she wondered how far he would dare go.

A light shined in her eyes and she heard the drapery being opened, then closed. Behind them in the darkness, she heard Ivan’s voice. She could have sobbed in relief.

“Have you a death wish, Rooney?”

Albert’s head shot up and, in his surprise, he dropped his hold. Lissa sank to a nearby bench, panting from her struggles.

Albert stammered, but he stood his ground. “We—we want to be together, Tramore. And—and you’ve not got the power to stop us, no matter your trickery.”

“I see.” Ivan looked as if he were going to chuckle, but suddenly his fist went out and it met squarely with Albert’s jaw. Albert crumpled on the bench right next to Lissa, unconscious.

Horrified, she looked down at the poor man. “Ivan, you’ve killed him.”

Ivan grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. In the dimness of the oriel, her eyes had to strain to see his face.

“Rooney’s fine,” he answered. “Though now that you’ve given me the idea, I should probably finish him altogether by getting a footman and having him dropped in the moat.”

“Don’t even think such evil things,” she admonished in a hushed voice.

“I
think
of far worse, Lissa.”

In the tiny nook, they were so close together, her satin skirts were crushed against him. Just the sound of his voice was a painful reminder of their previous encounter in
his apartments. All at once she wanted to be away from him.

“Ivan, I must get back. Someone will wonder—”

“First you tell me, is this how you repay me?” He suddenly turned angry. “You put on your pretty frock and fall into the arms of the first man who wants to kiss you?”

“Rooney forced me in here. I didn’t want him to kiss me—” Her brow suddenly furrowed. “And repay you for what?” He was being particularly infuriating tonight.

She felt his fingers touch one of the rose satin bows on her shoulder. Her belly tightened. Suddenly she felt as if she were on a steeplechase, instead of being at a sedate ball detained by the host.

“You owe me a great deal, Lissa. More than you know,” he said pensively. His voice grew husky. “Have I told you how exquisite you are tonight,
alainn?
My God, even that gown doesn’t do you justice.”

She stiffened. At the name
alainn,
her heart constricted once more. Painfully she forced it back inside its bindings. “I must go,” she said.

“Then let’s both abandon this wretched ball.”

“I hardly think that would be proper.” She pulled back her skirts so that she could pass. Before she could, he took her arm.

“Why is it you’re so cold with me, love? Why is it I find Rooney extracting more passion out of those frigid little lips than I can? And why do I keep hearing the rumors that say you fully earned that lusty little nickname,
Lissa,
when I don’t see it at all?”

“Those rumors are lies, I tell you—all of them—” she whispered bitterly.

“I wish they weren’t. For my eyes only, at least.”

“But not for Albert’s? Or what about that delicious youth with the green eyes?” Her eyes narrowed. “He’s a knight, you know.”

He gripped her arm brutally. “As if a mere knight could compare to my station.”

“Yes, but look, his beginnings were not as humble as yours.”

She knew she had hurt him, but somehow the words had driven by themselves, spurred on by her broken heart. All that she’d ever hoped for she had laid at his feet, and though she might have deserved it, he had trampled her dreams with unnecessary relish.

“Did you know, in times past, my love, the lord of the castle could have a wench flogged to death for making such comments?” He shoved her away and she knew if the light was better, she would have seen his handsome face taut with anger.

“And, no doubt, you’d think that wasn’t enough punishment.”

“Not the
correct
punishment. Indeed, especially not for you.”

She let out a tormented laugh. “Then thank heaven for these modern times.” Her hand went to the drapery and she discreetly opened it. She shot her last comment at him. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I must return to my beaux.”

She felt his eyes upon her until the drapery fell back once more. In the light she hoped he hadn’t seen how shaken she was from their encounter, but as she left him, Albert was coming to and, furious, Ivan had turned his attention on him. The delirious man had the misfortunate to utter her name, and this enraged Ivan all over again. With a look of disgust on his face, Ivan took a holly wreath that had been hanging on the window and pulled it over Albert’s thin shoulders. Then he too left the oriel.

Lissa only wanted the evening to end, but it loomed long and interminable before her. Dinner was a grand affair and no delicacy was too costly to be served, much to the delight of the townsfolk. But Lissa found her appetite gone, and even Sir Gilbert’s witticisms couldn’t bring it back.

They sat at Ivan’s long table in the midst of a hundred strangers. Evvie and Holland sat near them, and the Bishops, but after that it seemed everyone the marquis wanted to honor at his table was from somewhere else, not Nodding Knoll. An unfamiliar black-haired woman sat on Ivan’s right, and she and Ivan seemed to get along famously. The beauty seemed all too familiar with the marquis, and though her husband was not seated two seats from her, she once even dared pat the marquis’s unblemished cheek. Watching her, Lissa could hardly get down her wine. Her stomach felt as if it were coiled into a knot and when the last cordial had been served, she wanted to fall to her knees and give thanks that the meal was finally over.