When Angels Fall (41 page)

Antonia surprisingly seemed to approve of her answer. A smile curved her pretty lips. “When I think of Ivan I only think of one word. Do you know what that word is?”

Lissa shook her head.

“ ‘Unattainable.’ ” Antonia again knelt before her and took her hand. “Ivan was something I knew I could never have. Not forever. From the moment I first saw him, that word, ‘unattainable,’ kept coming to my mind. But with you, Lissa, it’s different.”

“How is it different?” she asked morosely. “In truth I see no difference at all.”

“Because you and Ivan were meant to be together. You looked at him at the ball and in your eyes I saw your soul crying out for him. And he wants you. His heart breaks with rage every time he sees you because you’re not his.”

“He does not want me!” Lissa abruptly turned away. Her hands went to cool her cheeks, whether warm from fever or impending tears, she wasn’t sure.

“He does want you,” Antonia said emphatically. “You’re the only thing he does want.”

“Well, he cannot have me!” she cried out. “I’m not chattel that he can use and abuse as he wishes!”

Antonia softened. “He is a difficult man, I know. But think what has made him that way, Lissa. He’s never had one thing in his life he ever wanted. He wanted to read and all he got was a woman trying desperately to relive her youth; he wanted a father and all he received was a decrepit castle and a hollow title. And now he wants you and—”

“Do my desires play no part in this?” Lissa stood unsteadily.

“You want him, I know you do.
You love him.
”

She stopped. She did love him. But even in her feverish state she knew that if she brought that love into the light of day it would destroy her. “I must go,” she said, gathering up her mantle. Her head felt unbelievably light and she could no longer tolerate the room’s heat. She had to get some air.

“Lissa, no, please stay!”

“I cannot.” She’d almost reached the door when the room began to tilt. Before she fell, she grabbed the nearest chair and eased herself down into it.

Antonia rushed to her side. “Lissa, Lissa, you’re ill.”

“No . . .”

“Let me take you to a bedchamber and get the physician.”

“And let you summon Ivan to come and torture me further? I think not!” she sobbed. She didn’t trust Antonia. The woman was too much on Ivan’s side and no matter her kindnesses, she was dangerous. She tried to rise again but found she couldn’t quite make it.

“You’re not well. You look feverish. I’ll bring you some water. Stay there!” Antonia ordered.

Lissa looked up and wiped her tears. Antonia had barely departed before she dizzily headed for the hall and the front doors. In moments she was out the door, blending into the traffic on Oxford Street.

By the time Lissa reached the Bell and Garter, darkness had fallen. The inn was gearing up for its nightly business, and even from the yard, she could hear men brawling and cheering in the common room.

With great trepidation she opened the inn’s door and discreetly entered. She was shivering and her mantle and gown were damp from the rain. She hoped her poor appearance would keep her from being noticed; still, she kept the brim of her bonnet down and clung to the far wall.

The common room was packed to the rafters. The rain had driven many inside, and the lure of the trade had brought in as many more. From the trestles, a girl with a customer squealed in laughter; from a corner men were rolling dice. The stout drinkers were three deep at the bar and Sly could hardly keep them supplied, let alone happy. She barely got to the wainscoted stair before someone had her by the waist.

“Ah, Sly! I may be ’avin’ a go yet with one o’ yer ‘ladies’! Where did ye get this little angel? Did she fall out o’ the sky?”

Startled, Lissa looked up and found herself in the arms of a brawny young man.

“No, please, I’m not what you think” was all she could say before the man began untying her bonnet. He had it off before she could stop him and soon his hands raked through the fine-spun gold of her hair.

“Ye are a rare beauty,” he admitted in a hushed voice.

“Unhand me, I say. Unhand me this instant,” she demanded, but her protest sounded weak even to her ears. She couldn’t fight this man off. Especially not now, when she couldn’t even stop shivering. She made a futile attempt
to extract his hands from her waist, but that only deepened the gleam in the gent’s warm brown eyes. She gazed around her and saw a crowd was gathering.

“ ’ow much fer this one, Sly!” the man suddenly yelled across the room.

“You’ll have to work that out with the chit herself,” Sly shouted back. “I warn you though, she’s a hoity-toity one. Thinks she’s off to be a governess in one of them fine homes on Park Lane.”

Everyone in the common room snickered. But her assailant seemed to find it particularly hilarious. His hand tightened more possessively at her waist. “Ye mean the wench don’t know it that she’s got a job just waitin’ . . . ’tween ’er legs!” The man laughed even harder.

Soon, however, his face was etched in fear. From the crowd, a tall, shadowy man had pushed his way to the front. Before Lissa could even register that she knew that mask of deadly rage, a fist went out and smashed the brawny young man’s face. His blood spattered on the wall behind him and, in terror, the man shrank back, holding his bloodied sleeve to his broken nose.

“I ought to kill you,” Ivan hissed between clenched teeth as he shoved the man to the wall.

“Wha’s it to ye? Wha’s it to ye?” the man whined, hysterical.

Sick from the sight of the blood, sicker still that Ivan had somehow found her, Lissa leaned against the wainscoting and tried to keep from fainting.

“No more, man!” All at once Sly fought his way to the front of the crowd. He pulled on Ivan’s arms like a pit bull. “Let him go, I tell you! The poor bloke did nothing! Are you a madman?”

Sly’s words somehow seemed to jolt sanity back into Ivan. As if he were aware for the first time where he was, he abruptly let the man go. Absentmindedly he looked at his blood-covered knuckles, then it seemed to dawn on
him just why he was there. With horror, Lissa watched as he stared right at her.

“Come here” was all he said to her, but it was all he needed to say. In that one utterance, passion and hatred were wed beautifully.

“No,” she answered, her eyes glittering with defiance.

He took a step toward her and she fled up the stairs. No matter that she heard his footsteps behind her, she picked up her skirts and ran down the passage. Fumbling for her key, she unlocked the door just as he was upon her. She pushed to close it just as his hand reached through and grasped the edge. With his far superior strength he was in her room in seconds.

“Get out I say! Before they come up here and drag you out!” she panted as she backed toward her bed.

Ivan laughed sarcastically. “Yes, I forget how chivalrous the men are in St. Giles-in-the-Fields.”

It was true. No one downstairs was going to stick his neck out to help her.

Behind her, she heard him close the door. The only light in her room came from the gaslights outside on the cemetery gates.

“Lissa,” she heard him say with a hard edge to his voice, “are you . . . all right?”

She closed her eyes. She knew exactly in what way he meant. “Yes,” she cursed.

“Thank God.”

“How did you find me?”

He stepped closer to her. “I put a notice in all the London newspapers. I offered a reward, and people were lined up all the way down Piccadilly to give me news of you. But finally it was a bloke named O’Hurley who led me here. He came to the town house this morning and was actually sorry to have told on you. But he said you were better off back in Nodding Knoll and that he could certainly use the thousand pounds.”

Lissa started. Ivan had offered a thousand pounds to find her? It was a huge amount of money.

“I still don’t understand how you knew I was in London,” she finally muttered.

“Harry McBain saw the Parks’s coach stopped by Violet Croft the night you left. I demanded that Arabella tell me where you went. When she finally broke down, she told me how she and her mother had helped you leave. She made quite a display of it too,” he added distastefully.

“She wants to be your wife.” She almost choked on the words.

“Is that why she made you leave Nodding Knoll?”

Angrily she spun around. “No! I was going anyway! I wasn’t going to stay and listen to those filthy rumors! And Arabella helped me! She is a dear friend!” Though she didn’t believe the latter part for a moment, defending Arabella seemed to infuriate him all the more.

He crossed the room and took her by the shoulders, shaking her. “No friend would send a young woman to London to be eaten alive!”

“Stop!” she cried out. When he did, she broke free and stumbled to the window. Feeling unsteady, she grasped the sill. Then she faced him.

She should never have done that. She stared at him in the dim gaslight of her mean little room, and she suddenly knew her weakness for him was back with all the force of a thunderbolt. Unable to stop herself, she devoured every detail of him that she had missed: his glittering eyes, his taut lips, his angry white scar. She saw that he was still in his greatcoat and that his hair was damp from the rain; it was slicked back as if his hand had agitatedly run through it many times. With sudden brutal clarity she remembered running her own hands through it, and crying out his name. That night should have been long ago, but suddenly, it seemed like only yesterday.

“Lissa, I’m taking you out of here. Get your things. We’ll discuss everything later.”

He was speaking to her, but she could hardly hear him. The pain she felt by tearing her gaze away was terrible, yet she couldn’t let him keep his hold on her. Already she felt as if she were growing mad from it. The room began to swim and she grasped the sill as if for dear life.

She felt as if she were watching from outside herself when she saw him grab her. He steadied her, then he swept one callused palm over her brow.

“My God, you’re burning with fever.”

“No,” she denied staunchly.

“My coach is outside. I’m taking you now.”

“No.” She tried to pull from him.

“Lissa,” he began angrily. Taking her chin, he forced her to look up to him. “You’re not spending another minute in this rat hole, so don’t fight me on this, you cannot win.”

“And how will you make me leave? Shall you throw me over your shoulder and carry me out like so much baggage?”

“If I must,” he answered quietly, too quietly.

Ignoring his warning, she struggled out of his embrace. She felt a giddy pleasure as she angered him further. She threw off her mantle. Her bonnet was by now long lost in the common room, so instead she removed whatever stray pins remained in her hair. She then began combing her tresses leisurely. Maddeningly.

“Lissa,” he growled, his fury peaking. “You’re going. Now.”

“My, my, Ivan the Terrible has uttered his command, so everyone, jump to obey!” She turned back to her combing. She wasn’t acting like herself. She was feeling far braver than she should have. Perhaps she truly did have some kind of fever. Certainly she burned every time she looked at him.

“Don’t make me force you, Lissa. Not while you’re ill.”

“I am not ill!” she practically shouted at him.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him pick up her sodden mantle. Purposefully he moved toward her, his face taut with anger. He would brook no disobedience now. Could she fight him? She doubted it, so she stumbled back, knocking into her bed. She lost her balance and landed on the edge of the mattress.

“Come,” he said as if he were now talking to a child. He bent down and wrapped her in the mantle.

She closed her eyes and, for the moment, gave into her exhaustion.

With her eyes closed and him so near, his scent teased her. In his damp
surtout,
he smelled like a forest right after a rain. But she smelled underscents too, scents that she couldn’t quite name. They were dark and heavy, yet they promised pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings. Just breathing in made her pulse quicken and her belly tense. Her nerves suddenly felt raw from denial.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. As if he had her well in hand, he fastened the silk frogs on her mantle. His fingers brushed her throat, and that one tiny caress shot a bolt of sensation right through her. Unwillingly, her eyes met his. As usual, he looked like the consummate conqueror.

As if sensing her mood, he rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek. Taunting her, he said, “You know, love, you must have been mad to have come to this wretched place. Whatever made you run here?”

You!
she wanted to scream; but burning with resentment and, worse, passion, she refused to answer. She tried to turn from him, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her head with both hands and demanded she look at him. When she did, he chuckled. Without remorse, she lifted her hand to slap him.

“Come now, Lissa,” he whispered nastily. He caught her hand in midair. “You ought to know by now you can’t win that way.”

“Then how can I win?” she spat at him.