Kitabı oku: «Regency Society Collection Part 2», sayfa 45

Chapter Eleven

After Angelina’s first ball the house in Hanover Square was deluged with callers, and there followed an intense round of social functions. Escorted to all the stylish gatherings by family members, there were regular visits to a play at the theatre at Covent Garden or Drury Lane, or the opera at the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket. Occasionally they visited the gardens at Marylebone where they drank tea, or visited the Pleasure Gardens at Ranelagh.

Like a bird set free Angelina was surprised to find herself revelling in the fun of it, and most of all she was happy because Alex was nearly always present, attentive, considerate—conspicuously so—and she knew this was to frighten off prospective suitors, which quietly amused her. His proposal was never mentioned between them, but his eyes were ever watchful, showing nothing of his frustration as he watched her suitors come and go. Aylard was the most persistent, and Alex was sure she encouraged that young coxcomb merely to put his back up.

But this period was not all fun and games—Angelina went through a great deal of deliberation and heart searching, before deciding that, for better or worse, she would become Alex’s wife. She could hardly believe how deep her feelings were running, and the joy coursing through her body melted the very core of her heart. She loved Alex. She knew that now, and that perfect certainty filled her heart and stilled any anxiety she might otherwise have had.

The feeling was so strong there was no room for anything else. Ever since their first meeting they had moved towards this end, and now there was no doubt in her heart. Nothing could change it. Nothing could touch it—neither now nor in the future. She gave him her answer to his proposal when they were walking in the garden at his house in Brook Street.

An unbearable sense of joy leaped in Alex’s heart. The yielding softness in her eyes, the gentle flush that bespoke her untainted innocence and youth, brought faint stirrings of an emotion he thought long since dead. Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his fingers, tilting her face to his and softly placing his lips on hers.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘If at times I have seemed brutal in my behaviour, it is because I found it difficult coming to terms with how I feel about you. But, Angel, what I want you to know is that I shall never force you into anything. I want you to accept me of your own free will.’

His words gave Angelina reason to hope. ‘Do you promise?’

‘I never say anything I don’t mean.’ He smiled suddenly, a warm gleam entering his eyes. ‘I think I can still see a shadow of doubt in those glorious eyes of yours, which I intend to eradicate. You have just become betrothed to me and I intend sealing the bond by kissing you senseless.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Watch me.’ He let his eyes drop once more to her lips, moist, soft, beckoning his own. ‘I am afraid, Angel, that we need to reach a better understanding before we commit ourselves at the altar. I want to make quite sure I am not bringing a frigid, unwilling bride to my bed. You have no idea what I will do to you when we have said our vows, my pet,’ he warned hoarsely. ‘I cannot look at you without wanting you.’

Lowering his head, he placed his lips on the soft curve of her cheek, moving gently, exquisitely, assaulting her defences, his eyelids lowered in anticipation of what was to come, so he did not see the fear cloud her eyes, could have no idea of the cold tremor of dread that passed through her at the mention of his bed and what he would expect of her when she was in it. Angelina told herself that he could have no idea what he was threatening, that she must trust him, and when his lips claimed her own she told herself that she would do just that.

Everyone was delighted at the way things had turned out.

‘Now, where will the happy event take place?’ asked Patience, already mentally making out the invitation list, who to include and who not to.

‘We’ll be married at St George’s Church here in Hanover Square,’ Alex stated. ‘It will be more convenient than Arlington for most of the guests, who tend to remain in town after the end of the Season anyway. We shall be wed as soon as the banns have been called for the ritual three weeks—the week after, in fact.’

‘A month? But that’s too soon,’ Patience gasped. ‘Alex, you cannot possibly mean that.’

‘I do.’

‘But—why—there’s so much to do—not to mention Angelina’s bridal gown. A guest list has to be drawn up before the wedding invitations can be sent out, and there are the menu and the flowers to be taken care of. Oh, really, Alex! It’s obvious you have never been married, otherwise you would know it is virtually impossible to arrange a wedding on a scale that befits the ward of the Duke of Mowbray in four weeks. And do not forget that we have bridesmaids to find and dresses to be made.’

‘I don’t see why that should be a problem. There are children in abundance on your husband’s side of the family to choose from. And then there are the two Asquith girls.’

‘I still think a little more time is needed,’ Patience said.

‘My dear aunt,’ Alex said, not in the slightest perturbed by his aunt’s objections. ‘You and Verity are two of the most competent and capable women I know. I have every confidence that you will be able to arrange the bridesmaids, the food and the flowers in time.’

‘But we can’t possibly.’

Alex grinned, casually propping one booted foot on the opposite knee and gently stroking the palm of Angelina’s hand with his thumb in the folds of her skirt, knowing how susceptible she was to his caress when he heard her breath catch in her throat and saw a pink hue mantle her cheeks. ‘Yes, you can. Four weeks,’ he insisted implacably, trying to maintain his straining patience and his own escalating pulse rate caused by the closeness of the adorable young woman by his side. ‘A long delay seems pointless. You must approach my secretary. He will assist you in the preparations and knows how to go about getting things done.’

‘Very well,’ Patience conceded, knowing her nephew’s mind was made up and there was no point arguing.

When the betrothal the Duke of Mowbray’s ward to the Earl of Arlington was officially announced in the Post, it was received with considerable surprise, although, since the Earl of Arlington’s attentiveness towards the American girl at all the stylish gatherings had been duly noted, word was already getting out that she had won the heart of London’s most eligible bachelor.

When Lavinia Howard was told, furious and humiliated to the core, she discreetly removed herself to the Howard ancestral home in the country.

When Angelina walked slowly down the aisle with her hand resting on the Duke of Mowbray’s arm in the candlelit church and bearing a spray of white lilies, all the radiance in the world was shining from her large amethyst eyes, which were drawn irresistibly to the man who was waiting for her at the front of the church, overwhelming in stature, his ebony hair smoothly brushed and gleaming. His plum-coloured coat, dove grey trousers hugging his long legs, matching silk waistcoat and crisp white cravat were simple but impeccably cut.

Unable to contain his desire to look upon Angelina, Alex turned. The vision of almost ethereal loveliness he beheld, her face as serene as the Madonna’s, her body slender, breakable, snatched his breath away. Something like terror moved through his heart. Dear Lord, he prayed, make me cherish and protect her all the days of my life, and give her the joy and happiness she deserves. With Nathan by his side he stepped out and took his place in front of the priest, waiting for her in watchful silence.

Angelina’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to him, clinging to him, and she met his gaze over the distance without a tremor, surprised to find she felt perfectly calm, her mind wiped clean of everything but the moment. She was unaware of all the eyes focused upon her, the many faces belonging to people of social prominence on either side of her a blur. There was a faint smile on Alex’s firm lips, and her heart warmed as if it felt his touch.

When Angelina reached him, she looked up into his piercing grey eyes, and the gentle yielding he saw in those liquid depths almost sent him to his knees. Still smiling, he took her hand, his long fingers closing firmly over hers. She responded to his smile—in that moment of complete accord, her marriage to Alex seemed right. Together, side by side, they faced the priest to speak their marriage vows, unaware of Patience and Verity dabbing away their tears of happiness and Henry looking proudly on.

When at last they were pronounced man and wife, Alex bent his head and gently kissed his bride on the lips, unable to believe this wonderful creature belonged to him at last.

The wedding breakfast was a truly opulent and impressive affair, with course after course of exquisite, mouth-watering dishes served with all the pomp and splendour expected at the Earl of Arlington’s table.

Alex leaned close to his wife, the sweet, elusive fragrance of her setting his senses alive. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked quietly.

She turned and looked at him, her face lively and bright. ‘Oh—about all this—our wedding. I never believed it possible that this could happen.’ A cloud crossed her eyes and a note of regret entered her voice. ‘My only regret is that my parents are not with us.’

Alex squeezed her hand comfortingly under the table. ‘They are not far away. I am certain that they are watching you from that mysterious place where we all go to one day.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes. Perhaps our children will produce their likeness,’ he said softly, his eyes gleaming into hers, lazy and seductive, feeling a driving surge of desire at the sultriness of her soft mouth and the liquid depths of her eyes.

Angelina stared at him, unaware that she had paled. ‘Children?’ A lump of nameless emotion constricted her throat. Alex’s casual reference to any future offspring they might produce reminded her of what would come later.

‘At least half a dozen,’ Alex replied, laughter rumbling in his chest. ‘But you have to promise me one thing.’

‘What is that?’

He stretched his arm possessively across the back of her chair without taking his eyes off her, slowly running his fingers along the back of her neck. ‘At least one of them must look like you.’

She smiled, enjoying his caress. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Later, when the orchestra struck up and began to play the first dance—a waltz—Alex proudly led his wife into the centre of the floor and took her in his arms. Gazing down into her upturned face, he whirled her around to the delight of everyone, their bodies falling gracefully into the rhythm of the music.

They were the only couple dancing, the others being content to watch and admire. The desire that leapt between the groom and his beautiful bride was like nothing they had witnessed before. They watched transfixed as Alex’s long fingers splayed across the small of his bride’s back. All the while he was looking at her, and she at him, as if there was no one else present, and everyone was bewitched by the mystery that seemed to lie behind the highly charged communication of their eyes.

The revelry at its height, few people noticed when they slipped away. Angelina was halfway up the stairs when the full impact of what was about to happen hit her. Panic engulfed her, but she managed to cling to her composure with strength and fortitude as if it were a shield with which she could protect herself from Alex.

Pauline was waiting to remove her wedding finery. The girl was noticeably quiet as she proceeded with the ritual, which Angelina welcomed. After slipping the white satin nightdress over her mistress’s head and letting it fall in a swirl about her feet, in numb silence Angelina watched as she snuffed out the candles, leaving just one burning close to the bed, its covers turned down. Pauline went out, leaving Angelina to her fate.

For what seemed an eternity she stood perfectly still, trembling with apprehension. Her eyes fixed on the connecting door, she saw a sliver of light beneath it, and a shadow passing to and fro. When at last it opened her heart slammed into her ribs. She took a step back as though to escape.

From the doorway Alex was looking at her in a way he had never looked at her before. He was implacably calm, but now he positively emanated a ruthless determination. Taking refuge inside herself seemed to Angelina the safest, most natural thing to do, and with revulsion and denial starting to heave in her chest, she felt herself shrinking back into the person she thought she would never be again.

Nothing Alex could say or do could make her climb into that bed with him, feeling as she did at that moment. Her decision made, there was a sour feel to her mouth and her throat was dry. She watched him close the door and move slowly further into the room, his robe falling open to the waist, revealing his firm, well-muscled chest covered with a mat of dark hair.

He paused, his eyes devouring her as she stood so very still close to the bed. Her nightdress gleamed, outlining the womanly shape of her: the soft swell of her breasts, her tiny waist, rounded hips and long, slender legs. In that strange pattern of candlelight she looked almost ethereal.

Suddenly he paused, and Angelina knew it must be the tortured expression and the way she was looking at him with numb paralysis that had brought him to a halt.

‘Angelina? Is anything the matter?’

‘Alex—I—I want to talk to you,’ she said, shrinking at the presumptuously possessive gaze he swept over her, her self-control teetering very close to the edge.

‘To talk is not what I have in mind,’ he gently mocked.

Swallowing nervously, she saw in his eyes a need that would not be denied. ‘Please don’t look at me like that.’ Her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

‘How am I looking at you?’ he asked cautiously. A hard line settled disquietingly between his black brows. ‘A man is entitled to look at his wife any way he chooses.’

‘Not when she doesn’t want him to,’ she whispered, her words ragged, his look prompting her to seek the protection of her robe. Thrusting her arms into the sleeves, she wrapped it around her with a protective tightness.

‘Angelina, what is this?’ Alex asked with an ominous quietness. ‘I am not a monster ready to spring at you.’ Not having expected to encounter resistance, Alex was both puzzled and annoyed by her behaviour. He sensed that all was not well with her, that the past had reasserted itself, and in the hope of finding out what it was, he made a supreme effort to overcome his impatience. ‘Why don’t you tell me what is wrong?’ he asked quietly.

Angelina turned from him and moved away from his threatening presence to stand by the window, gripping the sill. Her eyes burned and her throat ached, as if her heart was being pushed up into her mouth, but she was determined not to cry. Alex came up behind her, his fingers closing around her shoulders, feeling a shudder pass through her entire body at his touch.

‘Angelina,’ he asked gently. ‘Are you so frightened of letting me make love to you?’

Shrugging herself out of his grip as if it scorched her flesh, she moved to the centre of the room, averting her eyes.

Her silence chafed, and when Alex spoke his voice was edged with anger. ‘If you are thinking of what happened to you in Ohio, I ask you to forget it. It is in the past. You must put it behind you.’

Her eyes darted to his and flamed. ‘Is it?’ she said fiercely. ‘The ugliness of what happened is still between us. My memory is still clear. No matter how hard I try, I cannot forget.’

‘Angelina, listen to me. I don’t know what happened to you and I swore I would put no pressure on you to tell me, hoping that you would eventually. Lacerating yourself with memories will only deepen the pain, so don’t you think it would be easier and sensible to tell me your secret so its power will be less potent? The past will always be with you. It is almost impossible to forget. But you must put it behind you. I know it hurts to hear that, but you’re young and it’s the only way.’

‘But I can’t,’ she cried, ‘and nor can I speak of it.’

‘Good Lord, Angelina!’ he said, raising his voice in exasperation. ‘You behave as if you have some terminal disease.’

His eyes taunted her and Angelina felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘That’s how it feels—to me.’

Alex moved closer but she backed away.

‘Don’t come near me, Alex. I don’t want this.’ All the blood drained out of her face, leaving it ashen.

Alex’s firm jaw tensed and his fists clenched. ‘Do you mind telling me what has got in to you? His eyes were penetrating, searching, and he was no longer able to stem the question that had been uppermost in his mind ever since he had found her in the grip of her nightmare. He tried to prepare himself for the answer she might give him, dreading it with every fibre of his being. ‘Angelina, did those savages rape you?’

Looking down in abject misery, she shook her head. ‘No.’

The word was spoken so softly that Alex almost didn’t hear it, but when he saw her lips form the word relief and thankfulness tore through him. ‘Thank God,’ he murmured, exhaling long and deep.

‘But they might as well have. They have taken away my sense of worth, and I loathe myself with all the passion of my being.’

When at last she looked up it was as though a mask had dropped over her exquisite face, leaving it remote and expressionless. Her eyes were lifeless and dull, as if something inside her had died. Never before had Alex seen her like this. He was tempted to ignore what she was telling him and draw her into his arms, but a sixth sense warned him not to move too close.

‘Have you been hurt so badly that you recoil from the touch of another human being—from me?’

‘No. Please don’t think that.’ She wanted to tell him that she loved him, and that whatever he did to her she would bear the pain of it to make him happy. But it wasn’t the pain that worried her. It was something else, something dark and insidious she could not put a name to.

‘Then forgive me if I appear stupid,’ Alex ground out, trying hard to fight his feeling of inadequacy and his inability to break through the invisible barrier she had erected around herself. Raking his fingers impatiently through his hair, he began pacing up and down. When he had walked into her room he hadn’t known what to expect—but rejection? Never. Suddenly he came towards her and stopped, hands on hips, his elbows bowed outward.

‘I admit to being confused, for whenever I have kissed you you have raised no objection and returned my kisses with an ardour equal to my own.’ He fell silent, for he remembered that at those times he had been tender, gentle with her. ‘Angelina, you knew what to expect when you agreed to become my wife.’

‘Yes—I did. For some time my subconscious has been urging me to face the things I am afraid of, to question my weakness, and until the ball tonight I had every intention of being a dutiful wife. I thought I could, but—’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I don’t know. I only know the closer it came to retiring, my fear increased. It’s not you Alex. It’s me.’ She drew a long shuddering breath, drawing from an inner strength the courage she needed for what she was about to ask him. ‘Please—will you agree to wait—give me time?’

Apart from a tightening of the lines around his mouth his face was expressionless. ‘You do realise that what you ask is highly irregular?’

‘Yes.’

‘And if I refuse to do as you ask?’ His voice was dangerously quiet.

Her soft mouth trembled as she stared like an animal wounded unto death into those fiery silver eyes that rested on her. ‘Alex, I am begging you. You must. I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not. You would not force me to submit to you?’

One black brow rose as he gave her a long, cool look. ‘I find your choice of word distasteful, Angelina. When I eventually take my wife to bed, I hope she does not find it necessary to prepare herself mentally before she will let me touch her. I do not expect her to yield or surrender to my will or authority—to subject herself to me as if it is some form of punishment for wrongdoing.’

To Alex at that moment Angelina looked both beautiful and tragic. Not wishing to drive her to the precipice of hysteria, cursing silently he turned away in angry frustration. For the first time in his life he found himself confronted by a wall he could not breach. ‘Before God, Angelina, I will not force you. I want to make love to you, not fight you.’

‘All I am asking is for you to give me a little time—a delay, that is all.’

Alex moved closer, anger ripping through him when she visibly shrank from him. With a quivering finger he pointed to the bed. ‘Either you get into that bed with me now, or I shall walk through that door—and it will remain between us until you decide to come to me. But I will not allow it to remain between us for ever.’ He regarded her with a terrifying firmness. ‘The choice is yours.’

The temptation to give in, to cast herself into his arms, was so powerful to be almost irresistible. She needed him so much, his warmth, his strength. Yet fear restrained her on the very verge of yielding and it chilled her heart. Naked pain slashed across her face and she looked at him, not knowing what to say. In the end, she lowered her eyes and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ she whispered.

His fury erupted and his eyes flashed a dangerous steely silver as he made as if to go to her, but checked himself. ‘When you have the courage to become my wife in every sense, you know where I am. Out of consideration for your anxiety and fear and my ignorance as to what did happen to you in that accursed land, I will make concessions and agree to wait. But be warned. My patience is not inexhaustible. You cannot evade the issue indefinitely.’

Crossing the room in long swift strides, he opened the door, where he paused and turned back to her. ‘To keep your memories of that time in Ohio is not good. It’s like running away, and whatever you run away from will always come to find you.’

‘Is that what happened to you when you saw your father kill himself?’

‘Yes, so I do understand some of what you are going through. Has it never occurred to you that a thing feared and dreaded is better done and put behind you—that to combat a fear one must meet it head on?’

She shook her head, wanting to believe his assurances and surrender to hope. But she had lived so long with pain and grief that she was unable to do so just then.

Angelina’s suffering was so near the surface, it was plain for Alex to see. Unable to be so dismissive about what had happened to her, something moved in the region of his heart. His expression softened as he looked at her with aching gentleness. ‘I will not give up, Angelina. Whatever it was those savages did to you and your family—that made you feel inadequate as a woman—I know they did not break you. I believe the image of what happened is more vivid because you have made it so.’

‘Do you hate me?’ she whispered brokenly.

‘I hate this demon that’s consuming you. Fight it, Angelina. Beat it.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can. Let me love you. Do not forget that I have felt the way you surrender in my arms—that you return my kisses with equal passion. Whatever I set out to do I achieve, and a woman whose desire for me is as great as mine is for her will not defeat me. I want you, Angelina, and I mean to have you—but on terms that are agreeable to us both. Will you promise me to think about this seriously and accustom yourself to marriage?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘Thank you. Having no wish to bring ridicule to me or my name, I must insist that this sorry state of affairs remains between ourselves.’

‘Of course it will. I would not embarrass you by speaking of it to anyone,’ she replied. He had always said he didn’t give a damn to what people thought of him, but he did after all.

He nodded and left her then, closing the door firmly behind him. That was the moment when Angelina knew the true meaning of heartbreak.

Back in the splendour of his lonely room, intending to drown himself in drink, Alex poured himself a generous brandy and tossed the fiery liquid back, immediately pouring himself another, knowing he would get no sleep that night. With the woman—his wife—he wanted more than any other in his bed just behind the door, he intended getting well and truly foxed to stop himself thinking about her, to keep his mind from riveting upon the way she had looked today as his bride.

He paced the carpet, and with each footstep he swore violently under his breath, and each time he turned he threw a virulent look at the closed connecting door. He found it incredible that he—the future Duke of Mowbray, courted for his favour by men and women alike, a man who with cold logic could override his emotions whenever he wished, should find himself in this intolerable situation. Good Lord, this was his wedding night and his wife had denied him her bed—and what was worse, much worse, was the fact that he had allowed her to do it.

The weather was fair, the sun adding warmth to the day when Alex and Angelina returned to Arlington. Their marriage was the cause of much celebration in the surrounding districts. It was a time for gaiety and dancing, when villagers, tenant farmers and their families, servants and lords and ladies alike joined in the merrymaking. Angelina was happy to be back at Arlington, to reacquaint herself with the staff; however, it soon became obvious to them all that things weren’t as they should be between the Earl and his new wife.

Feelings between Angelina and Alex were strained and tension ran high. At first they tried being amiable to each other, but they were both guarded, and it was impossible to sustain empty pleasantries indefinitely. In public they put on a cheerful front, seeming to be loving and agreeable, but in private it was a different matter. All Angelina’s attempts to engage her husband in amicable conversation yielded nothing but cold, uninterested responses.

Alex went about his work with his usual single-minded determination and efficiency, but he had withdrawn from Angelina as if those tender, happy moments they had shared in the weeks prior to their wedding had never been. He became a stranger to her, cold and unapproachable.

After three weeks the situation became intolerable. Each avoided the other, and when they did meet, usually at dinner, Alex was so imperiously polite that Angelina wanted to hit him. The Alex she had come to know and love was no longer there in the new role he had created for himself.

One morning, after taking her early morning ride, she was returning to her suite of rooms in the east wing adjoining her husband’s when, passing his door, she halted her steps when she saw his valet and a servant carrying a large trunk out on to the landing. Slowly she moved inside, looking at them in alarm.

‘Where are you going with that? Is my husband going somewhere?’

‘Your husband, madam, is leaving for London,’ came a cold voice from behind her.

Angelina spun round with disbelieving eyes when Alex emerged from his dressing room, fastening his waistcoat. His valet and the servant made a hasty retreat on to the landing, closing the door behind them.

‘London! Oh, I see,’ she said quietly, feeling her heart almost grind to a halt when she looked at his hard, handsome face, seeing that his mercurial mood she had been living with since their marriage had taken a bewildering turn for the worse. ‘Am I to go with you?’

‘No,’ he replied, trying not to notice how ravishing and invigorated she looked after her ride, dressed in her scarlet riding clothes, her cheeks adorably pink and her eyes sparkling. Fastening a gold pin in his cravat, he strode past her without giving her so much as a glance, disappearing into his office. ‘You are to remain at Arlington,’ he said to her through the open door. ‘No doubt you will find plenty to occupy your time.’ He emerged, carrying official papers and correspondence and thrusting them into a large leather bag on the bed, his long fingers threading the straps through buckles to secure it.

Angelina stood watching him in tearful silence, hurt and disappointment tearing her in two. ‘May I ask why you have suddenly decided to go away?’

His face was unyielding and impassive, with no sign of the passionate, sensual side to his nature, and when he turned his gaze on her she felt the full blast of his contempt. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

Angelina’s cheeks burned from the cruelty of the remark, and she was swamped with guilt. In silent, helpless protest she stared into his icy, metallic eyes, feeling as if something had shattered inside her. He was dismissing her as someone he considered unworthy to be his wife. He wanted to leave her—to be rid of her. She could feel it. And why shouldn’t he, something inside her cried accusingly, when he had saddled himself with a wife who had spurned him on their wedding night? Any other man would have got rid of her before now, or forced her to comply.

‘When will you be back?’ she asked, clutching her riding crop with her gloved hands in front of her, wishing she hadn’t asked when she beheld the cold glitter of his eyes and the rigid hardness of his jaw.

Taking his jacket from a chair and thrusting his arms into the sleeves, he met her gaze directly. ‘I can’t say. I have important business matters to take care of. My stewards will see that things run smoothly at Arlington while I am away.’