Wicked Angel (45 page)

"Have you indeed?" Hannah seethed. "Pray tell, sir, why in God's name would you turn a benefactress away from this institution?" she bristled.

The young doctor reddened. "But… she is without care for her
virtue
, my lady! I should think we do not
want
her benefaction!" he blustered uncertainly.

Hannah's eyes narrowed as she angrily adjusted her bonnet. "Her
virtue
, my good man, is a generous spirit with which she donates to your very worthy cause! How dare you be so presumptuous as to deny her gift!" she said coldly, yanked the door open, and marched toward her coach.

"Your grace!" the doctor called as he raced after her. "Please, your grace! I shall accept the jam!"

It was the last thing she heard as she was helped into her coach. "Turn this buggy around, Geoff, and find a young woman clad in dark blue!" she snapped.

Dejected, Lauren numbly walked away from the infirmary. The whole of London had turned against her; she herself had not realized how terribly bad her reputation was until Dr. Metcalf had asked her to kindly remove herself from his respectable institution. Good heavens, he had refused her jam! It was hopeless,

utterly hopeless! She was the consummate
fool
for having come to London. She should have stayed at Rosewood where she belonged. She should have—

"Countess Bergen, good afternoon!"

She whirled around and saw a black coach sporting the Sutherland ducal crest coast to a stop. From its window leaned the duchess, smiling cheerfully and waving a handkerchief. Good God, what on earth was she doing? Surely his
mother
knew of her reputation? Did she not understand how this would
look
to everyone?

"Might I offer you a ride to your destination?" she called cheerfully, and motioned for a coachman on the back runner to open the door.

Lauren glanced surreptitiously around her. Several people on the street had paused to look at the duchess, some openly gaping at the ornate coach. "Thank you, your grace, but no."

The duchess's face clouded; she muttered something under her breath. Her head disappeared from the window, but appeared a scant moment later in the door. Grasping the coachman's shoulder, Lady Sutherland hauled herself to the ground and marched to stand directly in front of Lauren, a smile plastered on her face. "Please, my dear, get
in
the
coach
. I should very much
like
to drive you to your destination," she snapped through her smile.

Taken aback by her forcefulness, Lauren gulped. Acutely aware of the eyes upon them, she nodded faintly, and followed a smiling duchess to her coach. Once inside, Lady Sutherland frowned mightily.

"Why in God's name would you refuse me?"

"I… ah, I have a very good reason," Lauren stammered, mortified. "I am concerned about my…
reputation
, your grace."

The duchess rolled her eyes. "And you think that signifies? I don't give a hoot what they say about you
or
me! Now, where did you think to go on such a lovely afternoon?" she demanded.

Lauren swallowed her surprise. Where did she think to go? To beg her son to forgive her, that was where! But that was absolutely out of the question—she could not expect him to see her; dear God, the good
doctor
would not see her! "I, uh, was on my way home…"

The duchess's face lit with her smile. "Splendid! No particular destination and I know of just the place!"

Lauren did not like the sound of that at all. She liked it even less when the coach pulled into the courtyard at the Audley Street mansion. When Lady Sutherland reached for her hand, Lauren gripped the squabs in stubborn refusal. The duchess frowned. "Countess Bergen, do you not think this has gone on quite long enough? It is time you and my very obstinate son spoke to one another."

"Lady Sutherland, I understand what you are trying to do, but I do not think you understand! It is impossible!"

"All right then," the duchess said, and folded her arms across her middle. "Make me understand!

Expound if you will, Countess Bergen, on why it is so
impossible!
"

"It's rather a long story—"

"I have all day."

Lord
, why had she gotten in this coach? "He does not want to talk to me. I… I accompanied him to

the opera one night when his… Lady Marlaine… was away. Shortly after that, he ended the engagement—"

"
She
ended it," Lady Sutherland interjected, "or at least that is what we say."

Lauren blinked and looked down. "There are those who think
I
had something to do with it—"

"You certainly did, thank God, but that is none of their concern."

Lauren's head snapped up. "All right, well,
then
he came to Rosewood—my home—but I had… I had… signed a betrothal agreement, and I did not think I could break my commitment—"

"But obviously you did," the duchess said, clearly enjoying herself.

Lauren swallowed and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "Well, yes, I did, but that was
after
he left.

You see… I… I
hurt
him rather badly, I think, and he does not care to see me. And now, everyone thinks I am a…" She glanced at her lap, chewing on her lip. "A woman of ill repute," she muttered.

Lady Sutherland snorted.

Frantic, Lauren looked at the duchess. "I did something quite horrid, and even if he
were
to forgive me—and believe me, he is
not
so inclined—there is little one can do when an
infirmary
will not even take a donation of
jam
. …"

Smiling broadly, the duchess waved a hand to stop her. "If there is a man who can change the collective opinion of the
ton
about anything, it is my son. He is the nonpareil of influence in this town, and can be quite convincing when he is not being a stubborn, boorish
oaf
Haven't you heard of the extraordinary vote in the Lords allowing Catholic representation? I know Alex has been hurt, but that is bound to happen when one opens one's heart. Of course,
he
does not understand that, because he is so—"

She paused, catching herself before launching into a discussion of her son's faults, and smiled charmingly.

"He obviously loves you very much."

Lauren winced and dropped her gaze. "I think he might have once, but not any longer. I do not think he will ever forgive me."

"We will never know sitting in this coach, will we? Come along," she said, and grabbed Lauren's hand. "I do not intend to let his true love slip away, my dear," she avowed, and fairly yanked Lauren from the coach.

"Enter," Alex called at the light rap on the door of his study. He glanced up as Hannah sailed into the room, her hazel eyes blazing. "Good afternoon, Mother. Something on your mind?" he drawled.

"As a matter of fact, there is," she said, and marched to his desk. "Do you know what I saw today? I saw an otherwise compassionate doctor turn away a donation of jam to his little infirmary. Not just any jam, mind you, but a box
full
of it! And what do you think made him do that?" she demanded, her fists punching her hips.

Alex leaned back in his chair. "I am quite sure you are about to tell me."

Her flashing eyes narrowed. "He refused the donation because the woman who brought it had a rather

unpleasant reputation. Can you
imagine?
Refusing a donation because of
hearsay?
"

He could not, and he shook his head. "It would seem rather narrow-minded."

"
Narrow-minded?
It was the most
contemptible
act I have ever witnessed!" she blustered angrily.

Amused by her outrage, Alex smiled. "Would you like me to force the jam down his throat?"

"The woman was Countess Bergen! And before you insist her name not be mentioned in your presence, I will
remind
you that a memorable waltz requires the participation of at least
two!
"

Alex's good humor rushed out of him. He sliced an angry glance across his mother, and quickly turned his attention to his work, effectively dismissing her. "Thank you for that reminder, Mother. If there is nothing else—"

"Oh, but there is," she breathed. "She is suffering the disdain of this entire town, but she was not alone in her violation, and
you
are a
beast
if you allow this to continue! Dear God, you loved her enough to end your engagement, but apparently not enough to keep her from ruin!"

Alex slapped a hand hard down on the desk, scattering several papers. "That is
enough!
" he bellowed.

Hannah smiled wickedly. "Yes, I think it is," she said, and pivoting on her heel, marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Alex glared at the door. She was a foolish, meddling woman who had no business intruding in his affairs.

Did she honestly think he did not know Lauren's reputation was the direct result of his overwhelming desire for her? And just what was he supposed to do about it?
She
had turned her back on
him
, not the other way around! She had made a fool of him, and now he was supposed to come rushing to her rescue?

He started at the soft rap on the door and briefly considered locking it against another of his mother's invasions. "Enter!" he barked, and busied himself with the invoices he was reviewing. Let her rail at him if she wanted; he had work to do. He heard the rustle of her skirts as she entered and wished to high heaven she would just say whatever it was and get out. The faint scent of gardenia irritated him; she would have to wear
that
scent, of all the scents bottled on her dressing table! He dipped the quill in the inkwell.

"I am so
very
sorry."

Lauren
. His head jerked up just as his hand inadvertently sent papers flying from his desk. Dropping the quill, he clumsily stumbled to his feet, gripping the edge of his desk, speechless. God help her, but his mother would sorely regret this!

"I am so sorry, Alex. I never meant to hurt you, I swear to God I did not."

She was
sorry?
Such empty words for having drawn a depth of love he had not thought himself capable of feeling and tossing it back in his face. She walked unsteadily toward him, her dark blue eyes glistening.

"Magnus has gone back to Bavaria," she said.

He. clenched his jaw against a soaring indignation at the mere mention of that man's name.

"I cannot stop thinking about you, you know. I have… oh God, I have relived your words over and over again until I think I will go mad!"

He
had
gone mad. He had relived every moment of that morning, over and over, a thousand times over.

Their union. Her refusal. A shot of pain ripped down his spine as he remembered her lying naked in that cottage, prepared to marry that German. "I have nothing to say to you," he said hoarsely. "Get out and don't come here again." He pivoted away from her to stare blindly out the window, his body rigid.

Lauren's knees buckled; she caught the edge of the desk and stared at his broad back. It was over! God help her, it was over. She had lost him. Humiliated, she retreated, unseeing, to the door. It was foolish to have come here. It was wrong to have ever
loved
him! God, what had she been thinking when she had come to London? Why hadn't she just let it die?

Her hand closed around the brass door handle, and she slowly pulled it open.

You belong with me.

He had whispered those words to her in the cottage, and she knew in her heart that he had believed them. He had come for her. He had forsaken his duty—everything—and had come for her.

The memory suddenly made her angry. This had been impossible for them both, yet he seemed to think his pain was greater, that he was the only one who had suffered.

She glanced over her shoulder. He was still standing at the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his legs braced apart. How
dare
he? Her hurt, her anger, her frustration, all bubbled to the surface, and she suddenly shoved the door shut and whirled around to face him. The sound startled him; he jerked around, his eyes blazing. "You are a hypocrite, Alex! You said I belonged with you and I
believed
you!" she cried out in anger.

"God's blood," he cursed furiously, and quickly turned away again. "You don't belong with
anyone
Lauren! You are a selfish—"

"
Selfish?
" she gasped in disbelief, then laughed hysterically. "Of course! I am so bloody selfish, aren't I?

That is why I have
humiliated
myself in front of the whole damned
ton
just for the one chance to tell you that I love you desperately, Alex! I have loved you from the moment you appeared at Rosewood, and God help me, I shall go to my
grave
loving you!"

He half-turned, his expression livid. "Please God, spare me this little scene, madam. It is too…
pathetic
," he said acidly, and folded his arms defensively across his chest.

Damn him!
Damn him!
She marched into the middle of the room and furiously swiped at the tears on her face. "Do you hurt so much that you want only to destroy me, Alex?"

He snorted contemptuously. "Don't flatter yourself. I feel nothing for you!"

"You are a
liar!
I
know
how badly you are hurting—because I hurt
just
as badly, whether you want to believe it or not! But at least
I
am not lying to myself!"

His nostrils flared, and he unconsciously tightened his arms across his chest. "I do not lie to you
or
myself, madam. Whatever I foolishly thought I felt for you is blessedly gone! Dashed! It has been pummeled and beaten out of me until it cannot be resurrected, do you understand? Do not be a fool and delude yourself into thinking otherwise!" he shouted.

He could have knifed her in the heart and it would not have hurt so much, but she knew he was lying. She raised her chin. "Don't delude yourself! Or are you so very arrogant to believe you are the
only
one to have felt the shackles of your duty and your word?"