Angel in Scarlet: A Bound and Determined Novel (10 page)

“Yes, Simms,” she answered, equally quiet, still keeping her eyes on the floor.

“He has asked to meet you in my office, madam. The first door past the parlor. Let me show you the way.” It was impossible to miss the sour note in his voice. Simms found them meeting in his office just as strange as she did.

“Lead on.” Did Colton really mean to do nothing but talk? She had not believed him last night, but it seemed that he might have spoken the truth.

She paused for a moment when they reached the door. It was odd, but she felt more unsure than she would have entering one of the upstairs chambers; there she understood what was wanted. Here she felt quite adrift. What was left for them to talk about? She did hope they were not going to meander the same old circles.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Do you need me to open the door, madam?” Simms asked.

“No, I will be fine.”

“And I’ll make quite sure that you are not disturbed—though no one uses my office anyway.”

“Thank you.”

She put her hand on the handle and, sucking in one more deep breath, entered.

The room was empty.

She laughed to herself. Well, Simms had not actually said Colton was here yet, had he, just that he wanted to meet her in the office.

It was a very small room, barely space for the writing desk and a chair on each side, almost more of a pantry than an actual room. It was hard to imagine two people having a long conversation in here, although maybe Colton didn’t actually mean to talk. She’d often heard of couples having encounters in pantries at parties. Maybe Colton had some sort of strange liking for little spaces.

And how would she feel about that?

Well, not much at all. It was a trifle odd, but…

Still dwelling on that, she moved to the chair behind the desk, letting her hood fall. If she chose the other one, she’d be scared of the door hitting her when Colton came in.

And then, just as she sat, he entered, shutting the door tight and sliding the bolt behind him. Maybe he really was planning something besides talk.

He glanced at her for a moment—clearly he had expected to be the one behind the desk—and then sat.

“I am glad you came,” he said.

“Are you?” The question was out before she could think to hold it back.

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh.” She had not expected that simple answer. Nor had she expected the warm look in his eyes.

“Did you have any trouble getting here?”

“No. My mother is at a musicale this evening, and I simply said I wanted to stay home and finish a book. She knows I am not musical. My brother and father are both out as well, although neither deemed it necessary to inform me of their plans.”

Colton merely smiled.

“You wanted to talk?” she asked, unwilling to face awkward silence.

“Yes, I want you to tell me more of what you want. If we are to go forward, I want to be sure that the needs of both of us are met.”

They were back to this circle, and she didn’t understand why they couldn’t have had this conversation in the park. “I want to please you.”

“No. What do you want? What do you dream of when you lie in bed at night? What are your fantasies?”

Oh, now, that was a little different. And so hard to answer. “Most recently I’ve thought of you and what we’ve done.”

“What in particular?” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the desk.

“Did you really bring me here to discuss this?”

“Yes. If we are going to do this, then I must understand what it is that makes your heart beat faster, what makes you pant, what makes your juices flow.”

“My juices flow?” She was sounding like a parrot, but even after everything it was hard to believe he meant what he seemed to.

Again he raised that brow.

He did mean that.

“Well,” she tried to begin. “I suppose thinking of you and what we have done. I think about what it was like to watch you bring yourself pleasure.”

“You enjoyed that, did you?”

Did he need her to say these things? “Embarrassment” was too mild a word for the way she was feeling. “Yes.”

“And what of showing me your breasts—did you like that too?”

“Yes. I have already told you I like that.”

“And what exactly did you like: the feeling of your skin, the sensation of your touch, knowing that I found you desirable, the knowledge that somebody else might see?”

She bowed her head. She had dreamed of that; how did he know? “I—I did think about that.”

“And did you like it?”

“In my thoughts it was exciting, but I don’t think I’d really want to have someone watch. Granderson taught me that.”

“But you like my watching?”

She swallowed. “Yes. And I like having you tell me what to do. I liked not having to worry. I liked having no responsibility beyond agreement.”

“And did you dream of being under my command again, of fulfilling my every wish?”

“Yes.” Was he going to give her another command here and now? Her eyes darted about the room.

“You look as if you are having ideas right now, ideas like the ones I am asking you about.”

She didn’t answer.

“Are you imagining what I could do to you? Do you imagine yourself bent over the desk, your skirts raised high? Your ass bare to my touch, to my eyes, to my cock?”

God, she was imagining that. She hadn’t had a good picture, but as he spoke it was all too easy to see, the images clear in her mind. Her breath grew shallow, and she pressed her thighs together.

“What else do you dream of? Have you read Byron and imagined yourself kidnapped by a corsair? Or have you imagined yourself a maid pursued by an eager lord? Or perhaps a schoolgirl with a strict tutor?”

“I—I—I…” She didn’t know what to say. Her eyes dropped to the desk. “I didn’t know enough to imagine before that night in the garden. I’d heard talk of such feelings, but until I felt them it was hard to want them, and since then I’ve been too busy remembering what we have done—although sometimes I think of your hands instead of my own upon me. And I’ve imagined touching your cock, although I am not quite sure what it feels like and what makes it hard.”

“And you never had these thoughts before? Never dreamed in such a way?”

“Sometimes I used to stare at your hands and I would think about them touching my cheek. Your fingers are so long and strong. I wanted to feel them on me.”

“Only your cheek?”

“On other places too, but I wasn’t quite sure what other places would feel like. I knew I liked it when you brushed my cheek.”

“And now?”

“I still don’t know what it will feel like when you touch me anywhere besides my face, although I do have a much better idea.”

“I imagine you do. But back to my earlier question: If we are going to do this, I need more of an idea of what excites you. Surely you must have awoken some morning with a half-remembered dream that left you all a-tingle.”

She was glad she was still looking down, not meeting his eyes. But, even as she had the thought, Colton reached out and placed a single finger under her chin, raising her face to meet his.

“Remember our discussion last night about honesty? Let me see your eyes and know what you think.” He stared at her as if seeking her innermost secrets, and perhaps he was.

This was far harder than anything he had asked of her body. “I sometimes dream of having been an English spy in France during the war. It always seemed most exciting when I heard whispers when I was younger.”

Still his eyes held hers. “Tell me more.”

“I am captured and refuse to tell my secrets, but the lieutenant is most persistent.”

“Oh.” Colton’s eyes had taken on a strange glow. “And?”

It was so hard to say these things, even when there was not much to say. “I am tied up. I have no control. The room is dark, but I know he is there. I can feel him walking about me, watching me, waiting. My whole body is tight and nervous. I know he is going to do things to me. I know he is going to try everything to make me talk. I bite my lips, determined to hold them still, but I feel…I don’t know exactly what I feel, but I know he will begin soon. I can feel my heart racing. I want to run and yet I feel so secure there in my bonds. I should be frightened, and I am, but mostly I am waiting.”

“And then?” He leaned farther across the desk, the finger on her chin tracing a light pattern.

His eyes held her, made her see the whole dream in her mind, made her want to…“And then I wake up. I do want to tell you more, but always just as the lieutenant steps from the dark, just as I know that things are about to happen, I awake. And I can feel myself caught there on the edge but unable to go farther.”

Colton’s hand dropped and he leaned back. “That will do for a start,” he said softly. “But I want you to think of any other dreams you have had.”

“Well, it is not a dream, but…”

“Yes?”

“My friend told me that there is a room here that looks like something from
The
Arabian Nights
. We read it together, which is probably why she told me at all. She would tell me nothing else, except that I should talk to Madame Rouge.”

“And you would like to see this room?”

Now her eyes did lower. “Yes.”

“You have given me much to think about—and I will keep your previous preferences in mind. I shall do nothing yet to endanger your virginity.” He rose from the desk. “Do you have a carriage waiting again?”

That was all?
She had been sure that he did intend more than talk.

A smile flickered across his lips. “Don’t worry, my angel. I will not disappoint. I just need time to decide how to proceed. Why don’t you hurry home and I will talk to Ruby about our next step.”

“How will I know when to meet you?”

“Do you ride?”

“Yes, although I am not a brilliant horsewoman.”

“But adequate?”

“Most definitely.”

“Then meet me tomorrow morning in the park again, and we can ride and talk.”

“That will not be convenient.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to explain.

“I do not have a mount in the city, and I am sure my father would not let me ride his. And even if he did, I do not have a maid who could escort me. Perhaps we could walk. Or meet by the ducks as we used to.”

“I am in the mood for a ride, and you do want to please me, don’t you?” His brows drew tight. “Let it be the day after, then, and I will send both mount and escort. Is that acceptable?”

“I suppose.” She was sure he could see her doubt: Having him loan her a mount didn’t seem as if it would cause any less comment.

“Then go.”

“But…” As she rose to standing, she realized that her body wanted far more than to go home to her lonely bed. She came around the desk and started to move toward him. Surely he could be tempted. She tried to breathe in fully, to push her breasts toward him.

“No.” He held a hand out. “You must learn some patience.” But then he leaned closer, his breath whispering about her ear. “You did like it when your dream lieutenant kept you waiting and wondering, did you not? Go home, and when you are in your bed tonight let your hands glide over your body and think just what it is that you want him to do to you—I will ask for your report. And you can be assured that I will be thinking of you and what you are doing. Now go.”

Pulling her hood up, she hurriedly opened the door and strode into the hall, only to collide with a broad male chest.

The breath rushed out of her, even as the hood she had half up fell back, leaving her gazing into the dark, brooding eyes of the Marquess of Swanston.

She stared for a single second, feeling horror fill her, although his expression changed not in the slightest. Then, yanking her hood into position, she fled into the night, hearing the clattering steps of an accompanying footman racing to catch her.

“The house party begins this Saturday? Why did you not say so?” Angela glanced at her mother with a strong sense of foreboding. She had not been happy about the party to begin with, but it had seemed far off in the future, not something that she must prepare herself for immediately. And now that Swanston had seen her face, who knew what could happen—although perhaps he had not recognized her. That was not unlikely. He had never known her as more than one in a crowd.

“I am sure I did, dear. You probably were not listening,” her mother replied, before turning to instruct the maid on what needed to be packed.

Angela was equally sure that she had been. She might not always listen as intently as possible to her mother’s ramblings, but she would not have missed something as important as the fact that they were leaving in a few days. And what of Colton? Did he know Swanston had seen her? And how could they possibly proceed if she was not going to be in Town? At least she would be seeing him tomorrow morning and would have the chance to explain the matter to him. “And how long will we be staying at Lady Perse’s? Did you tell me that?”

“Of course I did. I would never leave out such important information. A week. One perfect week in the country. And at such a lovely time of year. Perhaps the leaves will even begin to turn. I do love the country when the harvest is in and there is a sense of relaxation in the air. I remember when I was a girl; your grandfather always had the most wonderful party to celebrate all the work being done. Cook made my favorite mince pies and I would eat myself sick. It was the only time she made mince pies other than Christmas.”

If her mother started reciting the recipe, Angela would scream. Her own worries were great enough without listening to the wonders of her grandfather’s cook’s mince pies one more time. And her mother always ended with repeating the recipe, although Angela wasn’t sure she’d ever actually stepped foot in the kitchen.

“Two cups of raisins and one of currants, red ones. Cook always said that was the secret—and if she could get them, some fresh gooseberries. I don’t know how she managed so late in the year, but it always made all the difference. And strong black molasses.” Her mother smacked her lips in a most unladylike manner. “I can taste them now.”

“And why don’t you instruct our cook to make them? I’m sure she’d be happy to prepare a dish that you love so much.”

A cloud blocked the sunlight pouring in the window, and for the briefest of moments her mother’s face fell into shadow. “I don’t know that I’d like that. And, besides, it is a secret recipe. I promised not to share it when Grandfather’s cook told me.”

Angela was quite sure that the purpose of the promise had been not to share the recipe between households, not to keep it only to herself, or what was the purpose in sharing at all? Angela was convinced that even when her mother was a child it had been clear that she was not of a truly domestic bent. “Then the recipe will be lost.”

“Nonsense, Angela. I am certain that you must know it by now. I’ve told it to you a couple of times, and you do have a retentive memory.”

More like a couple of dozen times, but that seemed beside the point. “Maybe sometime I’ll try repeating it back to you, and you can tell me if I have it right.”

“What a wonderful idea. But now we must concentrate on what you should bring to Lady Perse’s. You’ll need several day dresses, a couple that are appropriate for formal dinner, and one, maybe two, ball gowns. I wonder if I should find a way to inquire whether Lady Perse will have dancing on the first and last nights or just the last—or what if she wants to dance every night? It is always so troubling when one doesn’t know. One likes to be prepared, and gowns do take so much space in the luggage, and your father is always insistent that I don’t need carts for my trunks. Men have it so much easier. Their clothing simply does not take up the same amount of space. I think your father’s whole wardrobe takes up less space than one properly packed gown, and you know I do insist on proper packing. A gown is never the same if it is squished and crunched. The wrinkles never come out properly, no matter how it is ironed or how much starch is used.”

And this too was an old tale. Next her mother would begin to discuss how many extra bonnets and slippers she could bring if she needed to bring only one gown. And Angela could only hope she did not start on bringing one’s own hair irons as opposed to borrowing those of her host.

“And we will not even talk about straw hats. A lady does need a proper straw bonnet in the country, even when summer is past. There is nothing more lovely than a young lady with russet ribbons on her bonnet as the weather turns cold. Do you have any russet ribbons? I think we got you some last year, but then everyone was wearing that shade of dark blue and I am not sure that we ever used them. I will have to ask Maggie. I do think you need some russet ribbons. And do you have a gown with russet? No, I don’t think you do. But if we added some ribbon to that forest-green one, it would look most splendid, so autumnal. And you do want to look your best. Men like a woman who makes the effort. Even a plain girl is so much prettier if one can tell that she cares.”

Angela leaned forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Why don’t you pack for me? You’ve always understood what suits me far better than I know myself. And you can add any ribbons you like.”

“I believe you are trying to get out of the task,” her mother answered with a gentle smile.

“You do know me too well. But I know that even if I do it myself with Maggie, you will simply undo it and redo it anyway. No matter what I pack, it will be what you want that ends up in my trunks.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Just don’t tell your father how many trunks I pack.”

“Won’t he see for himself?”

“Oh, he’s not coming with us. He may show up at the end of the week, but he has things to do in Town.”

Probably a few afternoons at the club with the papers and a good bottle of brandy. Maybe a visit to his tailor to order two more of the same hunting coats he’d purchased last season. “So it will be just you and me? How wonderful. Perhaps we can spend an afternoon walking through the fields together. I used to love that when I was a child, and I hear that Lady Perse’s estate is quite beautiful.”

“I am sure you won’t have time for me. There will be plenty of eligible young men wanting your attention.” Her mother stopped and turned to Angela, her face suddenly serious. “Although I do remember those walks. Do you remember how tired you would be at the end? Always wanting to be carried.”

“And then you would dare me to beat you home, and off I’d run.”

“You had such a sense of adventure. Perhaps you’ll find it again once we are in the country.”

“I think I am finding quite enough adventures in London.” And it was a good thing her mother didn’t know how true that was.

“I am not sure that’s true. You’ve been so lackluster recently, although you have seemed more yourself these last few days.” Her mother reached out and patted her cheek. “And once we get you to the country and those eligible men, I am sure that you will be back to your old shining self.”

Angela held in a sigh. After several years on the marriage mart, Angela had very little interest in eligible young men. Perhaps that was why she’d fixated on Lord Colton. It would be so wonderful to have the whole thing over and done with, so that she could move on to the next phase of life. Managing an estate and raising children might not be the most exciting life, but she rather thought it would suit her. Well, suit her as long as the man suited her as well. And wasn’t that the problem with the whole thing?

Maybe she could find one of those husbands who wanted to spend the whole year in Town while she stayed in the country. Oh, she’d enjoy coming for a week or two during the season, and he could come to the country for hunting and Christmas. A family should be together for Christmas.

And that was all assuming Swanston either hadn’t recognized her or didn’t talk. She should probably be more worried but for some reason was not. She didn’t discount the episode, but somehow she was quite sure that Swanston was one of those who would never talk about what he saw at Madame Rouge’s.

“You have the strangest look on your face, dear daughter. I do hope you are not coming down with something. It would never do to have a red nose this week. Men are not fond of dripping nostrils.”

“I am fine, Mother. I was just thinking that I’d rather enjoy actually running an estate.”

“You mean managing the house while your husband or his manager runs the estate.”

She did not bother to correct her mother. Some arguments could not be won and were therefore not worth having. And if her husband was in London while she resided in the country, then she would have to be sure she understood how to manage the lands. She wondered what Lady Perse did. The woman had been on her own for at least a decade, and from everything Angela had heard, her estates were some of the finest in the land. She almost certainly had a manager, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t keep an eye on things as well. Angela couldn’t imagine Lady Perse not knowing the details of anything she was responsible for, and that would include her estates.

And then there was Ruby. Angela wasn’t quite sure why the madame came to mind, but she obviously was busy managing her business. Yes, there was no reason that Angela couldn’t send a husband to Town while she took care of things in the country.

Well, there was what the husband wanted, of course. But that was one more thing to be managed. Her mother had often said that men didn’t really know what they wanted until they were told.

Angela wasn’t quite sure she believed that, but it was a nice way to think.

It made the whole prospect of marriage much less frightening. It was hard to imagine giving herself, body and soul, to a man, but if she was the one actually doing the managing, then it would be so much easier. And she was beginning to think the body part wasn’t so bad. It was the soul that frightened her. It hadn’t been that way when she was younger, but recovering from Colton was harder than she had imagined. If he could wound her as he had, could she ever really trust again? Perhaps that was what she was seeking in her game, not only vengeance but understanding. If she understood why she had trusted him—why she still wanted to trust him—then maybe she truly could put it all behind her.

“You’re getting that strange look again.” Her mother reached out to touch her brow. “At least you don’t feel hot. A fever would never do. We would have to cancel our visit. I think you should go to bed, and I’ll have Cook make you a nice toddy just to be sure. That will help strengthen you.”

And make her sleep the rest of the afternoon away. And then she’d be up all night. “No, I’ll be fine. Truly I will. Perhaps I should walk in the park. A little air might be precisely what I need.”

“I’ve never been sure about fresh air. It is fine for gentlemen, but we women are such fragile creatures.”

Her mother could be scatterbrained, but she was about as fragile as a plow ox—and Angela was her daughter. “I am sure it is just what I need. And that way you can pack all my trunks in peace. If I am lying abed, then you’ll wake me whenever you send the maid in for something new.”

“I suppose you are right, and packing properly is so important. Hurry along now.” Her mother waved her from the room and Angela gratefully made her escape into the cool autumn sunshine.

“What a pretty little mare!” Angela exclaimed when she returned from her walk and found the horse that had been left while she was out.

“And not a bit spirited,” the groom answered.

Angela knew that many would see this as a fault, but she was delighted that Colton had taken her at her word, had not tried to make her ride a more spirited beast. She didn’t mind riding, but she had never understood horses—or, really, animals of any kind. Kittens were cute. Hounds were useful. She had no grasp on why anyone would indulge in the new fashion of exotic pets. A monkey? No, thank you.

She supposed a bird would not be bad. She rather enjoyed their gentle chatter.

“Would you like to change and give her a ride about the yard? I understand she’s here for a few days.”

“No, I’ll wait until morning to ride. And I would think she’ll be here until Mother and I leave on Saturday. I am sure she’ll be picked up again after that.” She would have to talk to Colton and make sure that he understood the mare could only be a brief loan. Anything longer would arouse question. Even the few days might bring her father knocking on her bedroom door, wanting to know why she needed a mare. But as he’d always tried to encourage her to ride more, maybe she would be lucky and he would think that she was considering bringing one of their horses up from the country.

And it wasn’t as if Colton would possibly consider giving her the horse as a gift. He certainly understood, as well as she, that letting her borrow the sweet creature for a few days was one thing; giving her to her for more would…She snorted at the thought, and the horse snorted in return.

“Does she have a name?” she asked.

“LadyBelle, I am told. And she surely is a lady. A better-behaved little mare I’ve never seen.”

“You sound almost as if you’re trying to sell her to me.”

“Sorry, my lady. I just like seeing you show an interest in the horses.”

She supposed that made sense. “Well, I’ll be taking her out in the morning. I understand an escort should arrive early. If I am not out already, have me sent for.” The directions seemed unnecessary—what else would the groom do?—but it was better to be safe than sorry. The last thing she needed was for her father to be awakened early.

She rubbed the mare’s nose one last time and turned to head back into the house. Hopefully her mother would be done with the packing and would not have too many more questions for her.

Was she coming, Colton wondered? He should have headed over with Miss Pratcher. He smiled to himself at finding such a perfect escort. Miss Pratcher was Lady Perse’s companion and a stickler for observing propriety. She was, however, also an avid horsewoman and would be more than happy to ride ahead—although not so far ahead that she couldn’t keep an eye on them. But, then, an eye he didn’t mind. The ears were the problem. He certainly didn’t intend to partake in any illicit activity in the park during daylight. He only wanted a chance to talk with Angela and figure out what the next step for them was, assuming there was one. He’d heard about Angela’s encounter with Swanston from Simms and had to be sure that Angela had not been scared off. He smiled to himself at the thought. How had he gone from trying to frighten her off to being concerned that she would not wish to continue? At least Swanston would not talk. The man was more close-lipped about Madame Rouge’s than anyone.