A Dom for Christmas (2 page)

“You little bitch.” He stood up
and pulled on her other arm as well as gripping the hand that held the angel so
tight she’d have bruises.

Unfortunately, the wrong sort
of bruises, she thought semi-hysterically now.
 

“I spent over three months
pandering to you and your silly, old-fashioned ways. Now you won’t even look at
me. That stupid ornament has more of your attention than me?
No
way.”

He grabbed her shoulders and
shook her. Angie knew just how her rag doll had felt when Bryan Balfour had
pinched it and teased her by throwing the doll in the ai
r
.

Stuart pushed her away and she
felt herself falling. The wall was way too close and her head wouldn’t miss it.

Angie hit the wall, and the
angel almost fell out of her hands.

Almost…

****

“My Lady?”
The voice was timid, and broke
into Angie’s reverie. “My Lady, open your eyes.”

She moved her eyelids upward
slowly and winced. Her head thumped worse than the one and only time she’d been
drunk. Little—no, big—men with hammers were making horseshoes or something and
using her skull for practice. “What happened?”

The young girl who stood in
front of her in a long fr
ock
and what looked like a mobcap opened her
eyes wide. “You
doesn’t
remember?” The soft voice and
her unusual speech pattern sounded strange.
“Not at all?
Ohh
er
I
needs
to get His Lordship and the doctor.”

 
“Not yet.”
Get
who?
“Tell me.”

The girl looked worried but
bobbed her head in agreement. “Well, you hit your head, My Lady.” Now Angie
realized her voice had an old-fashioned country burr to it that she couldn’t
place. “All
acos
of some stranger trying to
co
…coerce you like.” She stumbled over her words. “We were
about to go out, the master had agreed,
acos
he were
sorting things for us going to the country
tomorrer
.
Then that monster appeared. He took a hold of you on the pavement outside. Said
you shouldn’t be here and to go with him. He grabbed you, and when you pulled
away, you slipped and bashed your head on the bottom step. Luckily Mr. Perry
saw what was going on and planted him one.”

“Pardon?”
His Lordship?
Mr. Perry?
Who is she? Where
am I?
Even though she had the headache from hell, that stupid thought made
Angie inwardly snigger. Then she really looked at the worried expression on the
face of the young girl in front of her and blinked.
Really, who is she and what the hell is she wearing?
It looked like
some sort of sack dress, low
waisted
and in
a drab
grey worsted wool. It was hideous. The sort of thing
she’d seen in photos of her gran’s hippie days.
So how can I remember gran and her
hippieness
and nothing else?
Angie mulled over what the young girl had said.

“Mr. Perry did?”
Thank you, Mr. P., whoever you are. How on
earth do I find out what’s going on without them sending for the men in white
coats to take me away?

“Yes, My Lady. He was about to
close the door behind us when that, that nasty, horrid, ruffian of a man
grabbed you. Well, you know Mr. Perry was a pugilist when he was younger, so
that villain got it in the face and the ballocks.
Begging
your pardon, My Lady.
”

I do? And what is it with this
My Lady
stuff
?

“Ah, I’ll have to thank him,”
Angie said cautiously. “Now, perhaps you should go and get His Lordship.”
Or whoever you need to get. And let me
sleep.
She closed her eyes again. It could have been a minute or a second
before she was slapped none too gently on the cheek.

“Angelina, wake up now.” The
voice demanded obedience, and she didn’t want to obey. “Do it now. Remember
what I am.”

“Bully.” She was sure of that.
“
G’way
.
Tired.
Headache.
Want to sleep.”

“My Lady, you cannot.” That was
a different voice.
Less authoritarian, more kindly, but still
with a hint of steel.
“You must open your eyes and let us see how you
are.”

If she had the energy she would
have shaken her head. Instead Angie muttered under her breath and ignored them
both.
“Bullies.
Men are tyrants.”

“Angelina, open your eyes this
minute.” It was the bully once more. “If you do not, I will throw the angel
away. And your disobedience will be added to our list.”

That penetrated through the
fuzz of the head pains.
List?
The
angel?
What angel? She opened one eye.
“Stupid bloody
thing to say.
What are you on?” Several people loomed over her and
shimmered as she tried to focus. It reminded her of a kids TV program where
different faces came and went. One formed first and stayed within her vision.
Angie winced. Even though his outline was still somewhat blurred, and his
features unclear, she could see he was tall, dark, and handsome. Strain was
clearly etched on his face. If she had the energy she would have sniggered.
Talk about stereotypical. Who was he? He reminded her of someone, but it was a
faint resemblance. A relative of…

“Angelina, listen to me.” His
stern voice broke her chain of thought, and she concentrated on him. “What do
you remember?”
Ah, the bully.

She narrowed her eyes and
looked into his dark orbs. They gave nothing away.

“You’re a bully.”

He blinked and someone else
smothered a laugh. Then he nodded.

“Just so, my
dear.
Therefore let me bully you further.
Talk to me.
Tell
me what occurred.”

“My Lord, don’t push her, she…”

“Needs to tell us what she
knows,” the bully said in an implacable tone. “How can I sort it all out
without knowing the facts? I need to avenge this attack. I’ve had to wait far
too long as it is. My wife was assaulted on our doorstep, in Grosvenor Square,
in broad daylight and nothing has been done about it. The perpetrator, the
criminal who did this, is scot-free, and my wife has been living inside herself
for all these weeks. I have to see justice is done.” For one brief second his
expression showed his despair. However, it was his words that penetrated into
Angie’s mind and made her open both eyes.

“Wife?”
She looked at her bare hands.
“Weeks?
How?”
There was no way
she’d forget her wedding, was there?

He smiled, although it didn’t
reach his eyes, which were clouded with concern, and lifted one of her hands to
his lips.
“The usual way.”

If she knew what exactly the
usual way was, it would help. As she didn’t, she changed the subject. “If you
say so, whoever you are.” She remembered something she thought she’d heard when
she was still in her fuzzy state. “Don’t just say His Lordship, or my husband
or whatever. That’s as clear as mud.”

Another person moved into her
line of blurry vision. This man was shorter, stouter, and undoubtedly older.
His cravat was neat, his suit dark, and his air of authority was as marked as
that of the man she dubbed the bully. But somehow it didn’t come across as so
personal, or so absolute. Almost as if he deferred to the other man in some
things, but not all. He didn’t look like anyone she knew, and his clothes were,
well,
weird
was the only way she could describe them.
Old-fashioned.
Even the chain across his ample chest reminded her of a picture of her
great-grandfather.

This man took hold of her
wrist. “Hush one moment.”

She hushed.

“That’s good, My Lady. I don’t
think I’ll need to cup you.
”

Cup me?
“Thank you, I think.” Vague thoughts of old-fashioned medical
remedies began to filter into her mind and she mentally shuddered. If he was
talking leeches, he’d better keep thinking there was no need. She’d only seen
them once, and that was one time too many. Did they want her to have hysterics
as well as a headache?

He patted her hand in an
avuncular fashion. “You’ll do. Now, stay in bed until I visit tomorrow. Light
food, say a thin soup perhaps, and watered wine only.”

It sounded disgusting, but
Angie kept her mouth shut. She guessed he was a doctor, and wasn’t the one she
needed to argue with. He’d leave soon, and she intended to find out what the
hell was going on. So she nodded in apparent agreement and watched the bully
shake the other man’s hand. She needed to find out who the bully was. Maybe if
she knew his name it might give her an idea what was happening, and really she
couldn’t shout out “hey you, bully,” if she wanted his attention. It might
sound about right, but it wasn’t very polite. Right now she felt as if she was
watching a soap opera in a foreign language.
One that was set
a couple of hundred years ago.

“I’ll see she does as you say.”

The bully’s voice flowed over
her, and into her, like liquid gold. Why on earth had she thought him cold and
unfeeling? This was the voice of a sensualist.
Warm, erotic,
and encompassing.

“Thank you, Doctor. Let me show
you out.”

Within a few moments the
man—her alleged husband—had shaken hands with the doctor, ushered him out of
the room, and returned to her bedside. It gave her the chance to really study
him.

She’d been correct in her
summing up of his features. He was tall, with dark hair and an aristocratic
nose. She’d read that description somewhere, she realized, and knew it fit him
perfectly. Grey eyes and dressed like… There her descriptive powers failed her.
He had on a loose shirt and very tight trousers that left little to the
imagination, the likes of which she could swear she’d never seen on a man
before. They brought back to mind her earlier thoughts, and something she’d
read in a book. If only her mind wasn’t full of jelly.

“Why am I in
a
soap
? And who are you?” She sat up and winced as the jackhammers began
pounding inside her skull again. “Why do you remind me of someone? And what the
fuck has happened?”

He pushed her back onto the
bed. She folded like a limp noodle, and to her disgust, harrumphed like a
mumpy
teenager as he stroked her cheek. The contact seared
her skin, and she’d not have been surprised to see a red mark where his finger
had been.

“You’re confused. You don’t go
in
a soap
, you apply it. You particularly like Mr.
Pears
soap.”

That rang a bell. She got a
fleeting impression of an oval, brown bar.

“I’m your husband,” he
continued, and put his hand to her forehead and frowned. “Hmm, a trifle warm.
Perhaps I’d better let you rest.”

If she was, it was all down to
the heat his touch sent rushing through her. An uncomfortable, make you squirm
and clench your thighs together to hold in your juices, heat. Angie grabbed his
hand and pulled it away from her skin. “If you leave this room without telling
me what’s going on and why you’re all dressed up like, oh I don’t know, rejects
from a fancy dress party, well you might leave, but your balls as sure won’t.”
Her voice ended on a screech that set the hairs on her arms on end.
Shit, my language would put even a navvy to
shame; it’s no wonder he’s got a face like thunder.
Why did it make her
want to kneel at his feet and beg forgiveness?

“Please.” Angie hated the
whiny, pleading note that she could discern in her voice.
“In
words of one syllable.
What’s going on? Why the big ‘let’s confuse
Angie’ session? Just tell me already and let me die in peace.”

He blanched, the
color
leeching out of him to leave him the same pale hue as
the silken sheet that covered her. “You are not going to die. Let me send
someone to call the doctor back.” He walked toward a long rope she hadn’t
noticed, that hung down from the ceiling to one side of the fireplace. The
blazing logs in the grate registered for the first time as well.

“Oh for heaven’s sake it’s an
expression, that’s all.” She might not know who he was or where she was, but
she did know that. Like remembering her mum, it was funny what thoughts and
ideas she was sure were true. “
Humor
me. Please. Give
me your
name,
tell me where I am, and what’s happened.
What’s the date? Have I missed Christmas?” Something dug into her side, and she
groped for and found a small wooden ornament. Her fingers tightened on it as
she lifted it from under the covers.
An angel with net skirts
and a paper wand.

“You wouldn’t let go of it. I
had thought it locked away safely. You were holding it when we found you.
”