Wicked Angel (40 page)

" Magnus breathed.

"My apologies. What is the word in a language he can understand, Lauren?"

Magnus suddenly lunged for Alex, grabbing for his throat. But Alex was too quick; he whirled around, neatly sidestepping him, and chuckled at Magnus's fluster. "You'll have to be a damn sight quicker than that if you want to harm me, my friend. But in England, we have other ways of settling our differences if you care to explore them."

"Here now!" Ethan called nervously, and Paul hastily limped toward the two men, shoving his cane between them. "There is no cause for that! Bergen, he has come to wish you well, nothing more! And Sutherland, your kind wishes are graciously received. But the count has only just arrived from Portsmouth; perhaps it is best if you call another time. If you don't mind…"

"Not," Alex drawled, "any more than usual." He glanced at Lauren, who was paralyzed by what was quickly unfolding in front of her. His eyes quickly flicked the length of her, then landed on her face again.

"Good day, Lauren," he said quietly. With a curt nod to Paul, he pivoted and swung onto Jupiter's back, and galloped away in a cloud of dust.

Magnus watched him go, then jerked around to face Lauren, his face mottled with rage. "What in the hell was he doing here?" he demanded angrily in German.

Lauren shrugged weakly. "As he said. To wish us well. If you will excuse me, I should give this flower to Lydia before it wilts." She fairly flew inside, just as Paul clapped Magnus on the shoulder and remarked

that it did seem a very kind thing for the duke to do.

Supper was a horrid affair for Magnus. He could not stop staring at her, watching her blue eyes dip to her plate as she pushed her peas about, one by one. Paul was unusually animated, talking incessantly about the blasted duke. And the uncle was orally spending the trust Magnus had given Rosewood as a betrothal gift. He thought the blasted meal would never end, and when it did, he stood abruptly, announcing that he would retire. To the village.

He stalked silently outside, Lauren close behind. Thankful to find that the simpleton Rupert had brought his horse around, he tossed his saddlebags on the mare's back then turned sharply to face Lauren. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, rocking gently on her feet. The light spilling from the house cast shadows on her face that made her allure even more profound. For the sake of propriety, he had chosen to stay in Pemberheath. But looking at her now, he wished he had decided to stay at Rosewood. Perhaps he might have visited her room. Perhaps he could have removed any thought of the Goddamn duke from her head.

He folded his arms across his chest, growing angrier with each passing moment. He deserved an explanation for the duke's presence, but she said nothing—absolutely
nothing
. Not only did she make no effort to soothe his ruffled feathers, she did not even attempt to send him off with a warm good-bye. And that, he realized, was not a very auspicious beginning for two people about to be married.

"You seemed preoccupied this evening, Lauren. Is there something on your mind?" he asked at last, struck by how harsh his native tongue suddenly sounded.

"Have I? I was not aware. I apologize," she said, and averted her gaze, across the lawn.

"You did not answer me. Is there something on your mind?" he asked again, silently willing her to assure him that all was well.

"Why no!" she said sweetly, still looking across the lawn.

"How long has he been here?" he asked abruptly.

Lauren stopped rocking and looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Paul and Ethan arrived yesterday," she said softly.

Magnus's hands clenched at his sides. "I am not referring to your
kin
. How long has
he
been here?" he asked angrily.

Lauren drew her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "I gather you mean the duke?"

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" he breathed, his pulse beginning to beat soundly at his temples.

"Nothing, Magnus," she said soothingly, and for a moment, he hoped. "He came to wish us well," she added gently.

He knew he should accept her explanation, but he just could not leave it alone. "We had an agreement, you and I. You promised to honor me."

She looked surprised. "I
do
honor you."

"You do not honor me when you look at him with eyes as big as moons and blush like a maid when he smiles at you!"

Lauren blinked, then slowly raised her chin. "I honor you, Magnus. I respect you. I will do so until my dying day. But there can be nothing more," she said quietly. "
That
was our agreement."

His breathing was suddenly constricted. It was their agreement, all right,
his
Goddammed agreement.

Enraged, he suddenly vaulted to the mare's back, yanking the reins hard to keep her from bolting at the sudden impact. He glared down at Lauren, his mind and heart racing. She looked at him so serenely, for a moment he wondered if he had misjudged the situation.

But he knew he had judged it perfectly well, and abruptly spurred the mare into the night. She could sleep soundly tonight, knowing that she lived up to her end of the agreement. But not him. His promise was starting to strangle him.

Lauren had every intention of apologizing. Magnus was right; she did not honor him by practically fainting over Alex's gift of a gardenia. When he had ridden away last night so furious and wounded, guilt had overcome her with a vengeance. She felt so badly about it that she had not slept well at all, and had awakened Rupert at daybreak to hitch one of the old grays to the wagon. Dressed in one of her best walking dresses, she left a note for Mrs. Peterman and started for Pemberheath to make amends.

Beginning with an apology to the man she would marry.

A dense morning fog blanketed the earth and it was impossible to discern the landscape; weather that exactly matched her mood. It seemed of late she had no idea which way was up or down. Every day was a kaleidoscope of confusion, her emotions turning and twisting in her heart and mind. She had had enough, she thought, as the gray trotted briskly along the road. She had selected her fate, had signed all necessary documents, and would honor her commitment. Magnus had been a model of patience, very kind in his own unique way, and had asked for nothing in return but that she respect him. She had promised him that much. She
owed
him that much.

She urged the old gray faster.

Horse and wagon rattled across a small bridge that marked the halfway point between Pemberheath and Rosewood. A screeching noise suddenly rent the air, coming from the wagon, and Lauren frantically drew up on the reins. Sighing impatiently, she climbed down, and hands on hips, surveyed the old conveyance. The working of the thing baffled her, other than that the four wheels were required to turn.

She walked to the horse and led her forward. The horrendous sound occurred again, and looking back, she saw the front wheels did not move.

"Oh
honestly!
" she exclaimed, marched back to the heap of old lumber, and impetuously kicked it. She immediately grabbed her foot, wincing in pain. "Damned slippers!" she muttered, and glared hatefully at the dainty emerald footwear that matched her dress. Wonderful. She could hope to walk all often feet in the flimsy things! And so exactly what was she to do now? In exasperation, she glanced at the sky. Was it her imagination, or were the clouds thickening?

It was not her imagination, she discovered a few moments later, when the first fat raindrop hit her hand.

She moaned, hastening her attempts to free the gray from the contraption. Rupert had fashioned a strange, oddly fixed sort of harness, and she could not see how to unlatch the horse in any conceivable way. The drops turned to a light rain, soaking her bonnet.

It was all suddenly more than she could bear. The rain, the old wagon,
everything
. The last two weeks had been the most turbulent of her life and her nerves were frayed to their very ends. She had no idea what to do about
anything
, let alone a horse hitched to a wagon by some homemade harness! God in heaven, was nothing
simple
anymore? She began to sob uncontrollably. Throwing her arms around the old gray, she sobbed pitifully into her neck, too tired and too confused to think of what else to do.

She shrieked when a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders and jerked her away from the horse.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked, pivoting her roughly around to face him.

Relief, exhaustion, and plain frustration with the universe devoured her, and her sobs grew more frantic.

"My God, are you hurt?" he asked, a deep frown lining his eyes as they swept her body, searching for an injury.

"It
broke!
" she wailed, and motioned helplessly toward the wheel.

Alex glanced at the thing, then the horse, and let her go. He tried to move the old gray, but the front wheels locked. He walked to the wagon and squatted, peering beneath. "Ah, there is the culprit," he muttered. He came quickly to his feet, strode to the gray and, to Lauren's amazement, easily unlatched her. Yanking on her bridle, he led her to stand under a copse of trees. Sobbing helplessly, Lauren watched him return to the wagon and pick up the contraption that harnessed the horse. With a mighty shove, he pushed the wagon backward, unlocking the front wheels, and steered it off the road. Then he strode back to her and grabbed her hand. She struggled to keep up as he dragged her with him and fairly tossed her onto Jupiter's back, quickly sweeping up behind her.

"Why did you not seek shelter? There is an abandoned cottage not one hundred yards from here," he said gruffly, pointing toward the stand of trees. Lauren glanced in the direction he indicated. The falling structure had a thatched roof, which she had not noticed through the trees and fog until this very moment.

It was a cottage she had played in as a child but had forgotten. It was the final blow to her fragile state of mind, and she sagged against him, sobs racking her body.

She had the sensation of moving, then being lifted. The moment her feet touched the ground, she stumbled toward the crumbling structure, bending low to enter. Just a single room, there was nothing inside except a few bales of hay. The floor was mud; an elaborate cobweb covered one corner, a fireplace held the remnants of some long ago fire, and the place smelled of cattle.

She wept harder.

A moment later, Alex came inside, his hand landing on the small of her back and guiding her to sit on one of the bales. As she cried, he broke apart a couple of other bales and spread the hay around to cover the mud. She watched him shed his greatcoat and shake the rain from it, then spread it across the hay he had scattered. He calmly surveyed his work before turning to Lauren. One corner of his mouth snaked upward in a lopsided grin. "Oh, my darling angel, your morning has not gotten off to a very good start, has it?"

Another surge of tears spilled; she buried her face in her hands. He straddled the bale on which she sat and cradled her head against his shoulder. "There now, it cannot be as bad as all that," he murmured soothingly. "What should make those glorious blue eyes produce such an abundance of tears? I wonder, did old Lucy step on your toe?"

How absurd! Miserable, she shook her head and felt the quiet chuckle deep in his chest. "No? Did your Uncle Ethan, then?"

It was so ridiculous, a smile tugged at the corner of her lip. "No," she muttered, sniffing.

"Hmm. Perhaps Mr. Goldthwaite presented you with a bunch of wilting daisies and proclaimed his undying admiration?"

Lauren sniffed loudly. "Hardly. He is quite impatient with me these days," she moaned.

"Then what, I wonder, should make my angel sob so?" he murmured thoughtfully against the top of her head.

"
Everything
," she cried, and pitifully clutched his lapel.

Alex slipped a finger under her chin and tilted it upward to carefully examine her face. "
Everything?
" he asked, and slowly bent to kiss the path of tears from one cheek. "That is quite a heavy burden," he murmured, and kissed the other cheek. "Much too heavy a burden for one angel." He gently kissed one eye. "Give me your burden, sweetheart," he whispered, kissing the other eye. "I would gladly bear your troubles as my own." He kissed the bridge of her nose.

His soothing words raced through her like fire. She closed her eyes, savoring each one as every good intention flew from her mind. She very much needed his comfort at the moment, desperately so.

Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the rain coming down in torrents. Not the horses neighing softly beneath the trees. Not Magnus, not Paul, not any responsibility, nor any claim to dignity. She needed him.

She felt his lips on her forehead, then her temple. "Let me bear it all, love—your fatigue at the end of the day, your hurt when the world looks ill at Leonard. Let me bear your triumphs, your defeats, your uncertainties, your fears, your happiness," he uttered softly.

Mesmerized, she opened her eyes and unconsciously lifted her hand to touch his face. He leaned into it, kissing her palm.

"I will bear your health, your humor, your penchant for notable quotations. I will bear your family, your animals, and your little enterprises. I will bear you in my heart always, and your children. I will bear everything—you will never worry, never hurt, never need anything. Just come with me. Come be with me, Lauren." His voice had grown rough; his green eyes glimmered with the depth of his emotion.

Her heart seemed to levitate in her chest, hovering on the brink of a feeling so deep she was vaguely afraid she might fall into it and drown.

He smiled. It wrapped around her heart and squeezed life into it. She instinctively threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His lips anxiously crushed hers, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth, claiming her. She was conscious of her fingers raking through his hair, grasping at any and every fiber of him. The bonnet toppled from her head, the high neck of her jacket flicked open. He deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue, inviting her into his very core.