Wicked Angel (13 page)

Oh
God
, an understanding? The only understanding she could
possibly
have with Lord van der Mill was that there would
never
be an understanding between them. He looked at her expectantly, his tongue flicking nervously across his antique lips. She blinked. "Have you the time, my lord?"

Startled, he asked, "The
time?
"

"Yes, please, the time?"

His pale face pinched. He reluctantly dropped her hand and withdrew a timepiece, at which he impatiently glanced. "It is four o'clock, madam."

"I should really be more attentive! I promised my brother to help him with a—this afternoon!

Thank you again, my lord," she said, and grabbing her reticule, launched herself with all haste from the landau. "Good day!" she called, waved cheerfully, and walked as quickly as she could. Davis appeared at the door as she sprinted up the walk, and Lauren gratefully bounded up the steps and rushed through the opening before Lord van der Mill could call her back.

In the tiny foyer, she sagged against the wall as Davis peered at the landau, praying that Lord van der Mill would not mention this little episode to Ethan. She was imagining all the possible outbursts that would bring when she became aware of someone staring at her. Slowly, she turned her head; a man stepped in front of her, and Lauren shrieked.

"Magnus!"

He merely nodded, his hands clasped behind his back as he carefully regarded her.

"Count Bergen! What are you doing here?"

Magnus dropped his hand from his back and presented her with a large bouquet of roses. "For you," he said simply.

Stunned, Lauren took the flowers without even glancing at them. "But what are you doing here?"

"I have come to London on business."

"Wh
-what
business?"

Magnus frowned at Davis, standing at the door. "Is there someplace we might talk?" he asked, and with his head, motioned toward the parlor. Still gaping, Lauren watched him walk to the parlor door and pause, peeking rather timidly inside before disappearing inside. She glanced at the roses in her hand and slowly shook her head. The whole world had gone mad, utterly mad. She deposited the roses in a giant Grecian urn Davis occasionally used as a doorstop and followed Magnus into the parlor.

"Count Bergen," she said as she crossed the threshold and folded her arms across her middle, "I demand to know what you are doing in London. Not just in London, but
here
, at Russell Square."

With his finger and thumb, Magnus picked up a bear claw that had been preserved for time immemorial, the bridge of his nose wrinkling with disgust. "I am obviously here to see you," he said as he gingerly replaced the trophy. "The
Kartoffelmann
thinks of you. He has made a… shrine."

In spite of her shock, Lauren burst out laughing. "The Potato Man built a
shrine?
" Magnus glanced up from his study of a candlestick made of an old sword hilt and nodded solemnly before moving on to a rather strange painting of two fairies and a dog. "But… but how did you know I was here?"

"I had the direction to Rosewood. Frau Peterman directed me here. Helga sends her regards," he said, and produced a small, folded parchment. Lauren crossed the room to take the letter.

"Frederic has moped about since you left. He is not inclined to perform his duties," he continued.

Lauren smiled at the memory of Magnus's nervous valet. "Frederic is too finicky for you. You should send him to Paris, where he can do some meticulous fop justice."

Magnus suddenly turned, his light blue eyes riveting on her face. "He would happily perform his duties if you were at Bergenschloss. The
Kartoffelmann
would perhaps allow one of his precious potatoes to be eaten. And Helga would stop moping about."

Lauren covered her mouth with a gloved hand, stifling a burst of surprised laughter. Magnus arched a pale brow. Good God, he was serious! Yes, the whole world had gone
quite
mad. "I cannot come to Bergenschloss! I have responsibilities here!"

"Marry me and you will not want for responsibilities."

"
Marry
… ? Have you forgotten that you once wished to hang me from the castle walls?" she asked, trying desperately to contain her mirth at the absurdity of his offer.

"I have not forgotten."

"Pardon, but I should think even you might see the irony in that!" She laughed.

Magnus frowned and contemplated the tips of his fingers for a moment. He looked at her again. "I have thought about you often. You could be very happy at Bergenschloss."

She could barely contain the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "Magnus! I
cannot
marry you!"

she squeaked. He lifted one impatient brow high above the other, and her hysteria began to give way to shock.

"What is it that you think you cannot have in Bavaria? Orphans? You may tend them there if you like," he offered.

"
Orphans?
" she cried, and fought to check her rising panic. "I appreciate your offer, indeed I do. But my place is in England. I have Rosewood to think of—"

"I will provide for Rosewood."

"But the children! They need—"

"Bring them."

Stunned, Lauren gaped at him. At length, she slowly shook her head. "
No
, Magnus. I cannot marry you."

With a face of stone, he asked, "How shall I convince you?"

"How much will you offer?" Ethan asked from the door.

Startled by the intrusion, Lauren whirled around to face her uncle. "Ethan, I said mo!"

Ethan ignored her, his gaze locked on Magnus. "How much?" he asked again.

"Who are you?" Magnus inquired.

"Lord Ethan Hill, sir, her uncle. What is your offer?"

Magnus's eyes flicked the length of Ethan's massive body before casually inquiring, "How much do you want?"

Lauren jerked around to the German, her hysteria now giving way to anger. "I said no!
No!
"

As if she had not even spoken, Magnus flicked a stoic, blue-eyed gaze from her to Ethan. "What are your terms?"

With a shriek of exasperation, Lauren flung her hands in the air and marched for the door. "You may talk all day if you like, the both of you! Go ahead, but I will
not
marry you!" Ethan and Magnus both regarded her impassively, as if she had just announced she preferred fish for supper.

"Ethan, you and I had an agreement!" she cried. He shrugged. She whirled toward Magnus. "I told you in Bavaria I could not live there!" When Magnus did not respond, she pivoted and marched angrily from the room, blinded by the fear that Ethan would actually strike some bargain with him.

The two men watched her march away before turning to look at one another. Ethan picked up a decanter of brandy and two glasses. "Shall we talk?" He grinned, and motioned his guest into an overstuffed red velvet chair.

Two days later, at an afternoon reception held in honor of a war hero-turned-brilliant-parliamentarian, Lauren sighed and leaned against a colonnade. Lord and Lady Granbury's ballroom was positively filled to capacity, but she found the reception desperately boring. She would not have come at all had Ethan not demanded she allow Magnus to escort her to the event. Knowing the whole
ton
would be in attendance, he had determined that if his ridiculous attempts to settle a betrothal agreement with Magnus did not come to fruition, he would not waste the opportunity to parade her about.

Paul had come along, too, he said, "to keep an eye on things." Lauren suspected the real reason was the chance to meet Sir Robert Peel, the Home Secretary. Her brother was quite glowing in his admiration of Peel and his progressive reforms; in fact, he had disappeared into the crowd the moment they arrived, using his cane to forge a path.

She glanced at Magnus standing beside her; he winked subtly. She attempted a weak smile, but she did not feel like smiling. She did not feel like doing anything except crawling into her hideous bed with the purple and green velvet curtains and pulling the pink counterpane over her head. This was miserable; she would have cheerfully granted Rosewood to the first person to rescue her from the watchful eyes of her latest suitor.

Her
suitor
. For two whole days since appearing at Russell Square, he had suffocated her with his presence. He paid no heed to her declaration that she did not
feel
for him as she ought if she were to honestly consider marrying him. He seemed to think that the requisite feelings would come of their own accord. Lauren was not even remotely convinced of that and craved a respite from his suit, if only for a few moments. Now seemed as good a time as any, and with a devilishly charming grin, she turned and faced him. "Magnus?" she asked sweetly, "Will you excuse me? I am in need of the retiring room."

Magnus did not even blink. "Of course," he said. "I shall wait here for you." Surprised by the relative ease of that, Lauren hurried in the general direction of the retiring rooms. In her haste to escape, she collided with Lady Paddington.

"Good heavens! Countess Bergen! What a delight! Look here, Mrs. Clark! Look who I have had the good fortune to bump into!"

"Countess Bergen!" Mrs. Clark exclaimed in the exact same chirp as Lady Paddington. "Lady Pritchit said you had gone back to Bavaria!"

"No, dear, she said she
hoped
Countess Bergen had gone back to Bavaria," Lady Paddington corrected her.

"Really?" Mrs. Clark asked, surprised. "I am quite sure she said the countess had left! And I thought that it simply could not be, as I had the good fortune to encounter your uncle, Lord Hill—we were childhood friends, you knew that, did you not, my dear? And I was quite certain that he would have mentioned something as noteworthy as your departure—"

"Countess Bergen, we simply
must
contrive a gathering," Lady Paddington interrupted. "There is so much more of Bavaria I should like to know about. I know your last outing was a bit harried, what with Lady Thistlecourt and all, but we are not usually so—"

"Incorrigible!" Mrs. Clark loudly interjected.

"Incorrigible," Lady Paddington echoed as if she had thought of it.

Mrs. Clark bent her head toward Lauren and whispered loudly, "Hortense Thistlecourt could learn a thing or two of grace from
you
, Countess Bergen. You lost what, eight or nine rounds at the loo table?

Goodness, I know it was several, because I remember thinking I had never seen
anyone
lose so many hands in one outing! Was it your first experience with cards, dear? Oh, it doesn't matter. The point is that you were terribly sporting about the whole thing!"

"I have so wanted to invite you for supper, Countess. I don't mind telling you that I am simply mad to hear all about your tragic love," Lady Paddington blithely interjected. "My nephew is all agog about the prospect of meeting you but declares he hasn't had the fortune! I cannot imagine why, I said to him—Mrs. Clark says that you have attended some of the most fashionable of routs, and lord knows
he
is always in attendance. Would you?"

"Would I?" Lauren asked, completely befuddled by the two women.

"Would you be disposed to a small gathering?"

"I am most obliged, Lady Paddington, and would look forward to the privilege of knowing your nephew."

"Wonderful! I am hosting a little gathering Thursday next, at precisely eight o'clock. Now dear, you understand I do not mean the duke. I am, of course, referring to my nephew Lord David Westfall. I am afraid the duke is bit of a recluse when it comes to such gatherings. Swears he does not care for them."

"Oh my no, the duke does not care for them!" Mrs. Clark unnecessarily confirmed.

"Yes, but does that suit?" Lady Paddington breathlessly finished.

"I beg your pardon?" Lauren asked carefully.

"The day, dear, does it suit?"

At that point, she would have agreed to anything. And in truth, a supper party with the delightfully batty widows would prove a nice diversion from the constant attention of Magnus. "It suits perfectly, madam.

If you ladies will excuse me, I am in dire need of the retiring room," she said, and attempted to take her leave. But Lady Paddington had not quite finished her thoughts on the subject of the now infamous incident at the loo table.

Alex halted dead in his tracks at the first glimpse of the crowded reception room. He had come for Marlaine and her mother, but the last thing he wanted was to suffer through an inquisition, alone, unguarded, in a ballroom full of matrons and their debutante daughters while their bored husbands stood idly by. The place was positively jammed to the rafters with those he called the prowlers—elderly women in Aunt Paddy's set who roamed from drawing room to park to ballroom and back again, intent on the latest piece of gossip. And if there was no gossip, they were just as intent on inventing it.

He was pondering how on earth he might retrieve Marlaine when he noticed the woman in the lavender gown. The young woman was truly stunning; he would even say breathtaking. She had a classic profile, a luscious red mouth, and flawless, creamy skin that stretched tautly across high cheekbones. He watched as she drummed long, tapered fingers against one arm while she listened to his aunt's chatter. From his vantage point, he could admire all her feminine traits, of which, he could not help noticing, she had many.

Enjoying his leisurely perusal of her, he suddenly realized he had met her before. He was struggling to put

a name to the face when the young woman smiled.

Alex almost choked. He knew that smile; he would know
that
smile anywhere. Bloody hell, it was his angel! It flabbergasted him; she was the
last
person he would have expected to see here! He could not believe it—the beauty with eyes of cobalt blue was in town for the Season: But what was she doing
here?
Dear God, she was not in search of a husband, was she? What else could explain it? And just how in God's name did she expect to accomplish
that?
He would hardly expect her to have the requisite connections, and even if she did, she could
hardly
be recommended to a family of Quality. She lived in a run-down manor with a group of unwanted children, for Chrissakes! She chased hogs in the fields and traded pumpkins for tallow! What member of the
ton
did she hope to snare with those astonishing credentials?