Wicked Angel (18 page)

Close up, she was even prettier than she had realized, with a head of silver blond ringlets that complimented her gown of pale blue. Pastels were obviously all the rage, and she did not have, in her vast wardrobe of eight evening gowns, a single pastel.

"Countess Bergen, may I introduce Lady Whitcomb, and her daughter, Lady Marlaine?" Lady Paddington asked with great formality.

Lady Marlaine curtsied politely, and reflexively, so did Lauren. She felt completely inadequate in her dark gown as she gazed at the perfectly put together Lady Marlaine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Whitcomb," she murmured, aware that her face flushed, "and yours, Lady Marlaine."

"The pleasure is undoubtedly mine, Countess Bergen," the younger woman responded smoothly. "We have heard so much about you."

Lauren smiled as Lady Paddington tugged on her sleeve. "And here, of course, are Lord and Lady Pritchit!" Lauren offered a polite greeting for the sake of propriety, noting that the countenance of Lord Pritchit was a stark contrast to his wife's ever-reproachful look. Next to them stood a very uncomfortable Charlotte, who spoke so timidly that Lauren could barely hear her. "… and my nephew, Lord David Westfall."

Lauren smiled at the handsome young man. "It is my distinct honor to make your acquaintance, Countess Bergen," he said with an appreciative smile, and with a grand flourish, bowed over her hand.

"Of course, you know Mrs. Clark," Lady Paddington continued, and Lauren turned away from the charming Lord Westfall to greet the widow of a Royal Navy captain who never seemed to be very far from Lady Paddington's side. "And last but certainly not least, my nephews, his grace, the Duke of Sutherland, and Lord Christian."

Lauren's stomach twisted. It was
inconceivable!
He could not
possibly
be the same duke or nephew associated with Lady Paddington! Gritting her teeth, she glanced to her left.

It was not, apparently, so wholly inconceivable.

Smiling quietly, the duke was clearly enjoying her discomfiture for the third time. His brother, who bore a great resemblance to him, was grinning unabashedly. Lauren glanced demurely at the floor for a brief moment, striving to regain her composure before anyone noticed she had lost it. Naturally,
he
already

had. "Madam, it is truly a delight to meet you again," the cretin intoned.

Reluctantly, she offered her hand. His laughing eyes caught her gaze as he brought her hand to his lips—she felt herself color and silently cursed him for it. "Your grace, I was hardly expecting to see you again," she muttered.

He grinned and leaned dangerously close, quietly startling her. "No, I daresay you were not," he murmured, and then, "allow me to introduce my brother Arthur. The Countess Bergen of Bavaria."

"It is a great honor, Countess Bergen," Lord Christian said smoothly. "I have heard many compliments about you and see they were genuinely spoken."

She deliberately gave him as enchanting a smile as she could muster. He looked a little stunned; no doubt he thought she was as bold as a tavern wench, but she did not care. As long as the Duke of Swineland saw that she would gladly smile at anyone but him, she had accomplished her little goal. She flicked a smug gaze to the duke. Not only was he not in the least perturbed; his green eyes were dancing gaily.

Lady Paddington wasted no time in ushering her into a seat directly across from Lady Marlaine and her mother while she loudly commanded Dillon to bring her a sherry. Lauren smiled brightly at Lady Marlaine, her pulse racing madly as Dillon handed her a small crystal glass.

"Lady Paddington is quite beside herself. She so rarely entertains," Lady Marlaine said apologetically as the rotund woman bustled off.

"Oh?" Lauren asked innocently.

"Years ago, she delighted in entertaining. But then again, the boys were always in residence—they preferred this side of the park to Audley Street."

"The boys?" Lauren asked politely, and glanced up momentarily from her study of the brown liquid in her glass.

"The Christian brothers," Lady Whitcomb stiffly informed her. Lady Marlaine added wistfully, "and Anthony, of course."

Lauren nodded politely and looked at her sherry again. Anthony. Had she met an Anthony? "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, madam. I do not believe I have met an Anthony."

Lady Whitcomb's brown eyes widened with surprise, but her daughter kept a polite expression.

"Anthony was the former duke, Alex's brother. He was taken from us five years ago."

Alex, she called him Alex. And his brother had died, had been taken from
us
. She took a fortifying sip of the vile sherry.

"May we join you, ladies?"

She wasn't sure if it was the sherry or the deep timbre of his voice that caused the strange little shiver to run up her spine. The rogue did not want an answer; he had already settled onto the settee next to Lady Marlaine. And he was staring at her. Good God, he was
maddening
. Lauren dropped her gaze to the carpet as Lady Marlaine made polite conversation with Lord Christian about a new mare Alex had obviously given her as a gift. The Duke of Swineland interjected from time to time, but Lauren was acutely aware that he watched her—she could feel it. She, on the other hand, watched one of his polished shoes swing comfortably next to the other, and kept staring at that foot until Lord Westfall joined them. Grateful for the distraction, Lauren smiled charmingly.

Alex thought he was going to have to throw some cold water on his cousin. But then again, that blasted little angel had a way of smiling at a man that left him prepared to grovel at her feet. Damn it all, in that modest gown of midnight blue, she was the epitome of elegance; even Marlaine's renowned beauty seemed to pale in comparison. Lauren Hill or Countess Bergen, whoever she was tonight—was enchanting.

Dangerously so.

"The countess was telling me last evening that she enjoys the country," he remarked casually to David, and received a quelling frown for it from the angel. He raised his brows in feigned innocence as David quipped, "Which one?"

She turned an alluring smile to David and laughed softly. "I am from Rosewood—perhaps you have heard of it? It is near Pemberheath."

"
Rose
wood?" Lady Whitcomb coolly interjected, pronouncing the word as if it left a terrible taste in her mouth. "I have not heard of it. It is your home, then?"

"Yes," Lauren beamed. "You may think me biased, but I do believe it is the most beautiful place in the world." She proceeded to rattle off the attributes of that run-down estate as a hint of rose crept into her porcelain cheeks. No wonder he had mistaken her for an angel.

Alex realized she was telling a story about Rupert, and noticed that while Arthur and David enjoyed it immensely, Marlaine wore an oddly stoic expression. Lady Whitcomb looked horrified. "Oh no!" Lauren laughed at David's question. "Rupert is
quite
big. Nevertheless, there he was, bouncing around atop that bleating calf like an Indian rubber ball, his eyes as big as balloons! Leonard and I chased him nearly to the village and back," she said with a giggle.

"Who is Leonard?" Marlaine asked politely.

"Oh, he is my ward. I have five altogether." She said it with an unaffected smile, her pride evident.

Marlaine exchanged a look with her mother that left Alex with the distinct impression she was embarrassed for Lauren.

David, of course, was more than happy to oblige the pretty countess. "Near Pemberheath, you say? I must contrive a reason to visit," he said. Like a puppy, he eagerly responded to her attention, and began to tell a story of his own encounter with a herd of cattle, drawing laughter from the group. For reasons he could not and did not want to understand, it irritated Alex.

When supper was announced, Alex was seated at the head of the table as was due his rank, Marlaine on his right. Arthur had quite smoothly managed to seat himself next to Lauren, as had David. Throughout the first course of turtle soup, Alex furtively watched Lauren as he tried to respond to Marlaine's chatter.

God, but she had an engaging smile, especially when she laughed. And she certainly laughed freely with Arthur, he thought irritably.

He became aware of Marlaine saying his name, and dragged his eyes from Lauren to his fiancée. "My, but you seem preoccupied this evening," she whispered, smiling. When he did not respond, she blushed self-consciously. "Mother and I are attending the opera tomorrow night, and I thought that you might like to accompany us."

"The opera? I thought your mother was returning to Tarriton for the weekend," he said blandly.

Marlaine's smile faded a bit and she glanced shyly to her right. "Don't you recall? Grandmama is doing

much better now, so Mother decided to stay and assist the duchess with the wedding preparations."

"I seem to have forgotten. But I should be pleased to accompany you," he said simply, trying to listen to Lauren's conversation.

Marlaine suddenly leaned forward. "Alex? Do you think we might take a turn about the park tomorrow afternoon?"

He had no idea what prompted that, but she knew very well that he could hardly endure such trivialities.

"I am engaged tomorrow afternoon," he said flatly. Her face paled at his curt response, and she straightened slowly as a chorus of laughter rose from the other end of the table. Expressionless, Alex turned to the other guests. "Did I hear reference to a potato?" he asked, glancing at Lauren.

"Countess Bergen was just telling us that in Bavaria, the potato is so essential to the average diet, they have raised it to the level of deity!" Mrs. Clark cheerfully informed him. "What did you say, Countess Bergen?"

Lauren shrugged sheepishly. "Just that there is an old saying: '
It is better that it make you sick than you
do not eat it at all.' "
Polite laughter was heard around the table.

"And tell them about the Potato Man," Mrs. Clark prompted. Lauren blushed but politely summarized the story she had just shared by admitting there was a daft gentleman who fancied he saw people's faces in various potatoes. Lord Pritchit demanded to know exactly how that could be, and Lauren hesitantly explained more fully about the Potato Man. As she spoke, she received increasingly disapproving looks from Lady Pritchit and Lady Whitcomb. It was so typical, Alex mused. The
ton
did not countenance differences in background or culture.

But Arthur laughed appreciatively at her story. "Did you have opportunity to travel beyond Bavaria, Countess?" he asked.

"Not often, but I had the good fortune to travel to Paris. I think it one of my favorite places. What is your favorite place, Mrs. Clark?" she asked, artfully turning the conversation from herself.

Interrupted from her diligent work on a turbot filet, Mrs. Clark looked up from her plate and blustered,

"Oh my! I suppose it is London! Paddy and I went to Paris once, but we did not care for it. Too foreign or something."

"
Plus je vis d'etrangers, plus j'aimai ma patrie
," Arthur quipped. Lauren laughed gaily.

"What? What did he say?" Mrs. Clark demanded.

"It's from a French play, Mrs. Clark. Let me think, loosely translated… '
the more foreigners I
saw, the more I loved my homeland,' "
Lauren offered.

She spoke French
and
German? The woman's surprises were never-ending. Alex hid his amazement behind a mouthful offish as Mrs. Clark frowned at Arthur. "Well, I suppose that's
exactly
what I thought!" she exclaimed to polite laughter.

"Normandy is particularly lovely in the fall," Marlaine interjected. "We plan to travel there after the wedding." An awkward silence fell over the room, save Aunt Paddy's slurp of her wine.

"Do you travel, Lord Christian?" Lauren asked after a moment.

"I've taken the grand tour, of course, but unlike my roving brother, I have spent most of my life in

England. I, for one, prefer British soil to all other," he said, to which Lord Whitcomb offered a hearty

"here, here."

Impulsively, Lauren recited: "
I traveled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea. Nor England!

Did I know till then what love I bore to thee!' "
She grinned. But the other guests, momentarily taken aback by her recitation, grew quiet.

"Wordsworth," Alex said quietly from the end of the table.

Lady Pritchit sniffed disdainfully and stabbed her fish. "They
do
teach poetry in the girls' schools, your grace! My Charlotte also knows poetry. Recite something, Charlotte," she hastily bid her daughter. Charlotte's face mottled with terror.

"Oh, that is hardly necessary," Lady Paddington said, attempting to intervene.

"But she is quite poetic! Go on, dear, recite something!" Lady Pritchit said a little more forcefully. Clearly mortified, poor Charlotte clumsily attempted to recite a passage from
The Canterbury Tales
with the magnanimous help of everyone at the table, who called out what pieces they could recall Alex stole a glimpse at Lauren as the others butchered the work. She glanced shyly at him with what he would have sworn was a faint smile of gratitude. Inexplicably, his chest tightened, and he hastily turned his attention to Charlotte.

After dinner, the women retired to the drawing room, leaving the men behind to enjoy their cigars. Lady Paddington began to tell a rather convoluted story about the hiring of a housemaid, during which Mrs.

Clark frequently clarified what she thought were the salient points. Lauren was simply too confused to listen to their prattle. In all her twenty-four years, she had never been so affected by the mere
presence
of a person, but Alex Christian was able to turn her inside out. She could
feel
him in a room, aware that his eyes were constantly on her, whether she was looking at him or not. Worse yet, she was keenly aware of his lovely fiancée, and she had heard enough tonight to know that theirs would be the wedding of the decade. The very thought made her queasy.

Dear God, this was slowly becoming the longest supper party she had ever attended, longer even than the one where Herr Mietersohn, sitting next to her husband, Helmut, tried to grope her under the table while a Frenchman delivered an excruciatingly boring monologue about the revolution. In broken German mixed with French, no less.