Kitabı oku: «Regency Society Collection Part 2», sayfa 46

‘You’re always busy, Alex. You do too much.’

His eyes snapped to hers, his mouth curving into a humourless half-smile. ‘Meaning?’

‘That I—I see so little of you,’ she murmured hesitantly, desperate for him not to go, thinking wildly of some way to reach him.

‘Are you complaining?’

She became flustered, cautious. ‘No, of course not. Can’t your business transactions be taken care of here?’

‘I can only do that in London. It may have escaped your notice, Angelina, but owing to the war in both Europe and America, there is an economic crisis. If I am not in London to discuss matters at first hand with my business managers and bankers, the implications could prove disastrous. I also think it would be best if we were apart for a while.’

Angelina flinched. ‘I see.’ She stared at him as he strode around the room, picking things up and throwing them on to the bed for his valet to pack into bags, fighting to control the mistiness that suddenly affected her vision. She drew a shaking breath. ‘Alex. Are—are you leaving me?’ she asked quietly, overwhelmed with emotions and the fear that this might be so.

He stiffened, and when he turned and looked at her she could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his temper under control. ‘What in God’s name gives you that idea?’

‘I—I thought that because—we—don’t—’

‘What? Sleep together? You are quite wrong,’ he snapped. ‘I renounced my freedom for you. You belong to me as I belong to you. I do not admit defeat so easily. There will be no separation between us, no matter how much you desire it.’

‘But I don’t,’ she cried.

‘I meant what I said. I have important business commitments that need my personal attention, and I shall return to Arlington as soon as they are settled—in which time I hope you will give serious thought to what we discussed before we left London.’

‘I will. Alex, I am not doing this to hurt you. The fault is entirely mine—I accept that, and you can’t possibly blame me more that I blame myself.’

He gazed down into her pain-shadowed eyes, fighting the simultaneous impulse to shake her for her stubborn refusal to be a proper wife to him, and the stronger urge to clasp her to him, carry her to bed and lose himself in her. She was very lovely, this obstinate young woman he had married. So lovely, in fact, that he would forgive her the past three weeks and the insult she had offered him night after night with her firmly closed bedroom door, and postpone going to London if tonight she would come to him willingly.

‘I’m not blaming you.’

‘Going away won’t solve anything.’

‘For me it will.’ He strode back into his office.

‘That seems like an easy way out of a difficult situation,’ she said, following him, standing in the doorway whilst he collected the documents from the top of his desk and began thrusting them in drawers.

‘It is not easy. I have to do something to quench the fury of not being able to make love to my wife,’ Alex retaliated coldly.

He was going away because, having become hopelessly entangled in his desire, he couldn’t help himself. Every night he fought against it to go to her. He thought he was stronger, but she had bewitched him. He was obsessed by her and if he didn’t put some distance between them he was afraid of what he might do—that he would force himself on her and she would hate him for ever more, and they would set about destroying each other like mortal enemies. Emerging from his office, he stopped what he was doing and came to stand before her, his awesome presence filling the room, his face austere, his voice calm and authoritative.

‘I do not think you realise what this enforced abstinence is doing to me, Angelina. It is both unacceptable and intolerable. Like every other man, I have needs.’

‘And these needs you speak of are the kind that you go to London to satisfy? How excruciatingly naïve and stupid you must find me, Alex,’ she said scathingly

Alex’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he fixed her with a piercing stare. ‘Are you accusing me of seeking my pleasure elsewhere?’

‘What else am I to think?’

‘I agree. There are numerous beds in London with willing occupants.’

‘And when I recall your reputation as being London’s most infamous libertine, no doubt you are familiar with every one of them.’ she accused coldly, two high spots of indignation highlighting the flush on her cheeks.

‘Some of them,’ he admitted. ‘And I shall not fail to avail myself of one of them if I so wish. I feel more like a man considering holy orders than someone who has recently married. Do you expect me to live the life of a monk?’

The threatening quality of his behaviour sparked Angelina’s anger. She suddenly felt weary before this display of selfish rage on the part of her frustrated husband. How could he ignore all she had told him—her sufferings and fears, her grief? None of that interested him. The only thing he cared about was sating his lust. She had to summon all her patience to stop herself bursting out in fury.

‘My, you are feeling sorry for yourself, aren’t you, Alex?’ she said, her words heavily laden with sarcasm. ‘There are other worthier ways of finding forgetfulness for yourself than in the women who will willingly fall into your arms. You are being quite unreasonable.’

‘Don’t push me, Angelina,’ he snapped coldly, his eyes glittering like shards of ice, his tone promising terrible consequences. ‘By denying me your bed you have already reached your limit. In my present “unreasonable” mood, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to throw you on to that bed and spend the rest of the day showing you what is expected of a wife and how attentive a husband I can be. The very thought of you, the sight of you here in my room, having you close, wrenches my insides in a painful knot and begs to release the desire you have aroused in me. I have been patient long enough. I shall give you ample time to come to terms and prepare yourself for what I shall expect of you when I return.’

‘Which is?’

‘I don’t think I need to spell it out. Do not forget that you are bound by your word and I expect you to fulfil the vows you made to me in church.’

‘I intend to—’

‘So, I am to live in hope, am I?’ he cut in with bitter irony.

‘Yes, of course. But how dare you remind me of what I promised when you are considering breaking your own?’ Angelina went on recklessly, the colour heightening on her cheeks as she glared at him with bitter accusation, heedless of his mounting rage.

‘Am I not being driven to it my own wife? Are you still afraid of the prospect of lying with me?’

‘I—I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully.

‘If you would allow me, I think I could remedy that.’

He was standing so close and was looking at her so intently, that Angelina’s eyes moved involuntarily to his mouth. On impulse she backed away. ‘Don’t, Alex.’

His arms reached out and caught her, bringing her slamming against his chest. She gasped, thinking he was going to kiss her when his head lowered slightly, but he continued to look at her with a humourless smile, his warm breath fanning her lips. ‘Don’t threaten me, Angelina. It is not in my nature to rape an unprepared innocent. But you are my wife—and, by God, when I return from London you will be my wife in truth. My patience is at an end. There will be no more childishness.’

‘If you bully me, it will avail you nothing.’

‘I advise you to think very carefully if you intend continuing with this charade, because if you do you will regret it, I promise you. I will decide which course our future will take, and I do not intend spending our lives together sleeping apart. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly,’ she answered, flinching from the sharpness of his tone, hearing determination in every word.

‘Good,’ he said, releasing her as abruptly as he had taken hold of her. ‘I’m glad we understand each other.’

‘No, Alex,’ she flared, her face scorching. ‘I understand you but you do not understand me. Your own conduct where I am concerned cannot be faulted, I suppose? Has it not occurred to you that I would have found it easier to adjust to my new, awesome position as your wife if, since coming to Arlington, you had not been so ill tempered and treated me with callous indifference? You are manipulative, stubborn and extremely selfish. Let me remind you that as your wife I am equal in all things—not your possession or your chattel, to be told what I will and will not do.’

Alex gave her a long, speculative look. ‘Will you not?’

‘No,’ she snapped, throwing back her head and raising her chin mutinously. He was playing the role of a husband whose honour has been smirched a little too well. ‘And it is really too much for you to start laying down rules in this lordly fashion. If you insist on being disagreeable, I suggest you make haste and leave for London—and do not feel that you have to hurry back.’ With that she turned and walked across the room so he wouldn’t see her tears of humiliation.

Not until her hand touched the handle did his cold, ominous voice slice across the chasm that separated them. ‘Angelina!’

Despite herself she stiffened and half-turned back to him, eyeing him suspiciously as she waited for him to speak, recognising that the stern set of his face and the thin line of his lips did not suggest much tolerance. He came to stand in front of her, and when his eyes peered into hers, she could sense the menace behind them.

‘I meant what I said. I do not see why I should have to go to the inconvenience of travelling to London to avail myself of a mistress when I have a wife who shares my money and my name living under the same roof. When I return, you will not deny me. Is that understood?’

Bravely she tried to smile, hoping her voice wouldn’t break and trying to hold on to her shattered pride. He made his feelings plain in the one inimical glance. ‘What you mean is that I must learn my place. Yes, I understand you perfectly.’ Feeling her control collapsing, she went out, hot tears burning her eyes, the lump in her throat almost choking her.

Alex watched her go, tempted to go after her, but he remained motionless. Having made her understand what he expected of her when he returned from London, he was certain she would give it serious thought and obey him. The idea that he would allow her to go on as they were, living together but sleeping apart, was unthinkable.

When Alex had left for London, never had Angelina felt so bereft. Her conscience smote her and she was sick with dread that he might have returned to the arms of one of his former mistresses—and she had sent him there. She tried telling herself that he would not do that to her, but her tortured imaginings almost drove her crazy.

What had she done? Alex was the most precious thing in her life. Without him it meant nothing. Alex might not love her, but he liked her enough to want her, to want to make their marriage work. He could not be faulted. After one whole week of self-condemnation and missing him so much it was driving her to distraction, she told Pauline to pack her trunk and arrange for the carriage to take her to London.

Chapter Twelve

The streets were congested when Angelina arrived in London. During an enforced halt her attention wandered to the carriage next to her own, an open barouche, its occupant an elderly lady. She was conversing with a gentleman on horseback whom Angelina recognised as Duncan Aylard—graceful and indolent and decked out in the very height of fashion. On seeing her, he nudged his horse closer to her carriage and, true to form, proceeded to charm and flatter her before turning to the lady in the carriage and introducing them.

Lady Broadhurst, a kindly widow, was in London to attend Lord and Lady Unsworth’s party that evening and was to return to Kent tomorrow. Eager to chat, she said how pleased she was to meet Lady Anne Adams’s granddaughter and how disappointed Lady Anne had been when she had been unable to attend the wedding, due to a recent accident.

Lady Broadhurst’s words drifted off somewhere into the bright afternoon sunshine. Angelina could hear her, but her words made no sense. She felt her face drain of colour and her body felt ice cold in this dreamlike world that had come upon her so suddenly. Giving no sign of the blow Lady Broadhurst’s words had dealt her, she cleared her throat painfully and continued to make polite conversation, gleaning as much as she could about her grandmother—the woman she had always believed was dead—before moving on.

Travelling to Brook Street Angelina could feel only anger. Everything her mother and Uncle Henry had told her about her grandparents being dead had been a lie, and what hurt more than anything else was that Alex had colluded with them. He knew—had known all along—and he hadn’t told her. It was wicked and cruel, deceitful and underhanded. When the coach stopped outside the house and a footman opened the door, her rage was contained in a deadly calm.

Fully prepared for a confrontation, Angelina marched past Bramwell and made her way to Alex’s study. Not bothering to knock, she walked straight in, halting in the doorway. Having removed his jacket, her husband was seated at his desk. As she looked up his body became rigid, but then very calmly and deliberately he pushed back his chair and stood up. His jaw was set with implacable determination, and he seemed to emanate the restrained, unyielding authority Angelina had come to know and dread. But she felt no fear as he moved towards where she stood, undeterred by the deadly menace she saw in his eyes.

‘Angelina, what are you doing here?’

‘If I had any hope that you might be pleased to see me, your question has told me you are not,’ she said tightly.

‘That is beside the point. How dare you disobey me?’

Angelina glared her defiance, refusing to lower her eyes beneath that terrible silver gaze. ‘Disobey you? What are you talking about?’

‘I specifically told you to remain at Arlington until I returned—and yet, not one week after my departure, here you are. Well? I am waiting. What is it that is so important you wish to speak to me about?’

Angelina’s eyes locked on his. There was no warmth in her fine-textured skin and her eyes were like shards of frosted glass beneath the long sweep of her lashes as she spoke, enunciating each word. ‘Why was I told that my grandmother was dead?’

Stunned as much from the icy tone of her voice as the words, it took Alex a moment to react. At last he said cautiously, ‘Who told you?’

‘That is not important. It is true, I take it?’

They faced one another, the truth standing between them like an open door.

‘Yes, it’s true.’ Alex said in a calm, flat voice, leaning his hips on the edge of his desk and folding his arms across his chest, closely watching the irate young woman in front of him.

‘I knew it,’ she hissed, her anger beginning to mount. ‘Of all the treacherous, deceitful—’

‘Angelina,’ he interrupted with irritating calm. ‘Please remember that I was not the one who told you your grandmother was dead.’

‘Nevertheless, you were a party to it,’ she argued, standing her ground, determined to have the satisfaction of hearing his explanation, disappointment and betrayal spinning inside her. ‘I trusted you. I expected better from you than that.’

‘If you must know, I was against it. I have always been of the opinion that you should be told the truth, but I promised Uncle Henry that I would abide by his wishes.’

‘Why?’ she demanded, her voice shaking with angry emotion. ‘Why did you keep it from me? What is so terrible about my grandmother being alive that Uncle Henry has made you pledge not to reveal to me?’

‘You must ask Uncle Henry.’

‘I am asking you,’ she fumed. ‘You knew, Alex—and yet you let me go on believing my grandmother was dead, that I had no family of my own. How could you? How could you of all people deceive me like this? It was unspeakably cruel.’

Alex relinquished his perch and moved towards her. Despite her haughty stance and the fact that her eyes were hurling knives at him, he sensed that she was deeply hurt by what she had learned about her grandmother, and rightly so.

‘I can neither defend nor condemn Uncle Henry’s actions for keeping it from you. I agree that you should have been told, but then again, Uncle Henry had no choice but to respect your mother’s wishes.’

‘Why did my mother tell me my grandmother was dead?’ she persisted. ‘Why did she want to keep it from me? What happened to make her reject her own mother? And why did she make Uncle Henry my guardian instead of my grandmother?’

‘You ask questions that I am not at liberty to answer.’

Angelina moved to stand close to him, looking deep into his eyes as she steeled herself to ask the question that had lain dormant since Uncle Henry had made her his ward, knowing that if she disturbed it there was every possibility that it would crucify her.

‘Will you tell me something, Alex?’

‘That depends on what it is.’

‘Was Uncle Henry the reason why my mother married my father and went with him to America? Was that the reason for the rift between her and my grandparents?’

Alex’s heart wrenched at the way she was looking at him, recognising her attempt to control her fear on being told the truth. ‘I can neither confirm nor deny what you ask. That is something you must take up with Uncle Henry. What I will say is that his guilt has been torturing him. He’s been tempted to tell you about your grandmother many times—especially before the wedding, when he knew how much you wanted kin of your own to see you married. But he promised your mother he wouldn’t. He begged her to make amends and write to your grandmother, but she told him it was too late. It came as a cruel blow to your mother when your grandfather wrote and told her he was severing all ties between them, that he had no daughter. After that as far as she was concerned she had no mother, you no grandmother, and that was the way she wanted it to remain.’

‘Well, I am not my mother and I think that it’s up to me to decide whether or not I want to see my grandmother.’

Alex frowned when he saw a thoughtful, determined gleam implant itself in his wife’s eyes. He had long since learned to be wary of such a look. ‘Angelina, you are not thinking of going to see her?’ His voice held a quiet warning.

Angelina regarded her husband with disturbing calmness. ‘Yes. I have every right to see her if I want to.’

‘You are not going anywhere while you are thinking irrationally.’

‘Don’t try and stop me, Alex. Perhaps she will be more forthcoming about what really happened all those years ago,’ she flung at him bitterly.

‘To have a granddaughter turn up on her doorstep…a granddaughter whose existence she would have known nothing about until you were made the Duke of Mowbray’s ward and she saw your name splashed all over the newspapers—in all probability the shock may cause the poor woman to suffer a seizure.’

‘If she knows who I am, then why hasn’t she tried to contact me?’

To Alex at that moment, Angelina looked so unbearably beautiful, young and vulnerable, facing him so courageously in this outrageous defiance, that if the situation weren’t so serious, he would have smiled. ‘Hasn’t it entered that stubborn head of yours that she might not want to? Just as your mother chose to keep it from you that your grandmother was alive, she too may have her reasons for remaining silent. Perhaps you should respect that.’

‘But I can’t,’ Angelina cried, trying to control the wrenching anguish in her chest when she recalled Lady Broadhurst’s words—that it would have given Lady Anne such joy to see her granddaughter wed. To Angelina, this implied that her grandmother would be happy to see her granddaughter. Her face became intensely passionate in her determination. ‘I’m going to see her at once.’

Alex was adamant. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You are not going to Kent until you have spoken to Uncle Henry. Perhaps when he’s explained everything, you will understand.’

‘My grandmother will explain it all to me.’

‘Angelina, you are going nowhere.’ His voice was implacable and as cold as steel.

She stared at him with growing anger. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘No, you are not. Remember that no one but myself has the ordering of my coaches. This is my house and my servants and you are my wife. I do not choose to risk the life and limb of man or beast in some harebrained scheme of yours to go tearing off to Kent at this hour of the day. So, in case you have some crazy idea of doing just that, I shall instruct the driver to block any such move.’

Her eyes dashed fiery venom over him. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Try me.’

‘Are you forbidding me to go?’

‘Most definitely—until you have spoken to Uncle Henry.’

‘But it could be weeks before I see him.’

‘Why the hurry?’

‘My grandmother is ill and I wish to see her,’ she answered, turning towards the door.

‘Then I will write to Uncle Henry and ask him to return to London. Or, if you prefer and to save time, we could journey to Mowbray Park together.’

‘That will take too long. I shall walk to Kent if I have to,’ she flared furiously, turning back to him.

Her wilful defiance ignited a blaze of fury on her husband’s hard features. ‘Angelina! You are going nowhere. Now, let that be enough.’ Turning from her, he went back to his desk, his manner telling her the matter was closed. ‘I have been invited to an important party at Lord and Lady Unsworth’s house on the Strand tonight. Now you are here, you might as well accompany me. Who knows—you might even enjoy yourself. We mustn’t stay too late. I have an important appointment at nine o’clock in the morning.’

‘Blast you, Alex Montgomery. Go by yourself. I am in no mood for partying.’

‘Angelina!’

About to open the door, she spun round, her anger in no way diminished. ‘What?’

‘Just one thing piques my curiosity. How did you find out about your grandmother? How do you know she is ill?’

‘Lady Broadhurst told me. She is my grandmother’s neighbour.’

He looked at her with narrowed, questioning eyes. ‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with Lady Broadhurst. When did you meet?’

‘When I was on my way here. There was a snarl up in the traffic and Lord Aylard—’ She stopped…too late. A cold, sinking fear gripped her and she groaned inwardly, wishing she could cut out her tongue for mentioning Lord Aylard’s name, for it never failed to ignite Alex’s wrath. Alex advanced on her with the predatory grace of a stalking Indian. His threatening manner almost made Angelina back away, but with the door behind her she was forced to remain where she was. He loomed over her, his eyes gleaming oddly. ‘So, you have been speaking to Aylard.’ His voice was ominously quiet.

‘I happened to see him when the coach was stopped. He was speaking to Lady Broadhurst and he introduced us.’

‘I see.’ One black eyebrow went up as he bent a long, cool look at her.

Angelina watched her husband turn away as the demon jealousy that took hold of him whenever Lord Aylard’s name was mentioned in connection with his wife began to relax its grip.

‘Go to your room. Since you have no wish to accompany me tonight, I will see you in the morning.’

Not until he was alone did Alex frown and cast a puzzled glance at the closed door. He recalled the intense feeling of joy that had shot through him when he had raised his eyes and seen Angelina, hoping her reason for following him to London was because she had been missing him, only to have his hopes dashed when she had challenged him about her grandmother. But then, he mused, lounging back in his chair, when she had left Arlington she had not known about her grandmother—and so, what had brought her to London?

Angelina realised that the answer to her dilemma was staring her in the face. Unsworth! She distinctly recalled Lady Broadhurst telling her that she was to attend their party and that she was to leave for Kent in the morning. Angelina was certain the good lady could be persuaded to let her accompany her. Alex had an engagement at nine o’clock so he wouldn’t discover she was missing until she was halfway to Tonbridge.

Unfortunately, by the time she sent Pauline to inform her husband that she would go with him to the party, he had already left. He was to dine at his club with friends and go on to the party later. Angelina had no alternative but to order one of the carriages to take her. At first the driver was reluctant to comply, having been ordered by his lordship not to take his wife out of London under any circumstances, but when told she was going to join her husband, he agreed.

It was late when Angelina arrived at the house along the Strand to attend the party—a truly magnificent affair, with only the cream of London society invited. The large ballroom was filled to capacity, a festive air prevailing. Standing alone at the top of the steps leading down to the ballroom, she looked about her, seeing several familiar faces, but not that of Lady Broadhurst. Lady Unsworth came to welcome her.

‘Good evening, Lady Montgomery. How nice of you to honour us with your company. I’m so delighted you were able to attend our party after all.’

‘My husband has arrived?’

‘Just a few minutes ago.’

From where he stood conversing with a group of friends, like everyone else Alex was aware of a distraction. Absently his eyes did a quick sweep of the ballroom. He saw Lady Unsworth descending the stairs with one of her female guests, but paid scant attention, then something in the way the woman moved and the rich vibrancy of her hair brought his eyes snapping back.

‘I say, Alex,’ said Lord Asquith beside him. ‘Isn’t that your wife?’

Alex stared at Angelina, whose whole presence seemed to blaze across the ballroom at him, eliminating all else. His whole manner was calm and composed, while inside he was seething. How dare she embarrass him like this by arriving late and unescorted? But as he kept her within his sights he could not deny that, clad in the deepest pink chiffon gown with a scooped neckline, lower than any he had seen her wear before, her neck and shoulders and the soft swell of her breasts aglow, she looked sensational.

Angelina watched the tall, daunting, devastatingly handsome man, attired in an exquisitely tailored claret jacket and pristine white cravat, cut a pathway through the throng with a feeling of impending disaster.

Lady Unsworth was full of smiles as she received him with lighthearted repartee, but Alex, impatient to have Angelina to himself and take her to task, bowed his head respectfully as he excused himself.

Beneath his icy calm, such was the force of his fury that Angelina flinched. His long fingers closed on her elbow like a vice as he walked with her towards the dance floor, where the orchestra was striking up the next waltz.

‘You needn’t hold my arm so tightly, Alex. I’m not going to run away.’

‘Shut up,’ he seethed, increasing the pressure on her elbow.

When he took her in his arms his face was so close to hers that she could see the ice-cold satanic glitter in his eyes. He didn’t speak, and to Angelina his silence was both unbearable and insulting.

‘Why did you drag me out here if you can find nothing to say to me?’ she said at length.

‘I can find plenty to say. It’s knowing where to begin.’

Angelina smiled, a trace of irony on her lips. ‘Why, Alex, I never thought to see you lost for words.’

‘Does your rebelliousness know no bounds?’ he ground out, incensed, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by others. ‘What the devil are you trying to do? See how far you can provoke me?’

‘What? More than I have already, you mean?’

‘Don’t be flippant and smile, damn it,’ he said through gritted teeth when she glowered up at him. ‘We are the object of every pair of eyes in this ballroom. Rumours are already being bandied about that there is a rift between us.’

Angelina’s eyes opened wide with genuine astonishment, and she experienced a sharp pang of regret. ‘Alex, is this true? But that’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it?’

‘Well—maybe you have yourself to blame for that,’ she said quietly.

His eyes impaled hers. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have returned to London alone so soon after our marriage. That alone must have fuelled the rumours.’

‘Your own actions tonight won’t have helped matters. Was it your intention to make me a laughing stock—to embarrass and publicly humiliate me by coming to the party alone?’

‘No, Alex. I wouldn’t do that. And anyway, I didn’t think you cared a hoot for what people think of you.’

‘I don’t,’ he said, aware of the lingering and lascivious looks from raffish young bloods that Angelina was inviting by sporting an outrageous décolletage. His eyes were like shards of ice as they insolently dropped to the daring display of her creamy expanse of bosom—giving no indication how his hands ached to touch and feel that soft skin next to his own, a desire so great that it was driving him insane. ‘What I do mind is my wife making a public exhibition of herself by choosing to wear a gown that I consider indecent in its exposure. It gives me no satisfaction to see other men coveting you.’

The insult brought Angelina’s head snapping back and her eyes flying to his in anger. ‘On the contrary, Alex. I think I am very à la mode. And if the glances I am receiving from some of the other gentlemen are an indication of how I look, then I would say that you are alone in your opinion. I expose no more than any other woman here tonight and you know it,’ she flared, surprised how quickly she had overcome her own unease when she had donned the gown. ‘Just because I haven’t chosen to wear a gown so revealing before now is entirely my own affair.’