Angel in Scarlet: A Bound and Determined Novel (18 page)

He marched up the front steps and stared into Thorton’s eyes. “I will admit nothing. And now I do believe we are due in for dinner. I was forced to send my regrets last night; I would not wish Lady Perse to think I was so rude as to be late this evening.” He began to walk past Thorton.

Thorton caught at his arm, his voice a hiss. “I do not make idle threats, Colton. You would be wise to consider the full situation.”

Colton did not turn; he merely pulled his arm free and walked in, hoping the doorman had not heard too much.

Tonight the headache had become all too real. Angela sat between Lord Peter and Mr. Wilkes—both young enough, both eligible, both of reasonable countenance—and was bored silly. No, that was not fair to either of the gentlemen. They were both perfectly pleasant. She just found every demand on her attention trying. She didn’t want to discuss common friends and which ball they had attended during the past season. She didn’t even want to hear of Mr. Wilkes’s time at Oxford and his studies of the ancient Greeks. She wanted to be alone. No, she wanted to talk to Colton. No, the last thing she wanted was to talk to Colton. If possible, she wanted to never see him again.

Which was of course difficult when he sat just down the table, talking to Mrs. Links. He was too far away for Angela to hear his conversation, but did he have to look so entertained? She was miserable and he looked as if he was having the most wonderful of times. He’d probably get up and swing into a waltz in a moment. And why did Mrs. Links think that gown was appropriate for dinner? It looked like something that belonged at Madame Rouge’s. No, not even one of Madame Rouge’s girls would have worn something so…

God, her head ached. She rubbed her temple and smiled and nodded at Mr. Wilkes.

“So you do agree that my father should let me go on an excursion to seek Troy, Miss Ripon. He has been quite unreasonable on the subject. He seems to think I should come home and concentrate on estate management. I suppose I am lucky he doesn’t want me to join the Church. He can be so traditional.”

She nodded and then blinked, trying to be sure she was not agreeing to anything that she shouldn’t. It would be dreadful to find she’d agreed to dance every dance with him or that she was meeting him in the gardens at midnight. There was only one man she wanted to meet in the gardens at midnight.

No. No. No.

She did not want to see him, much less meet with him. And definitely not in a dark garden, not someplace where they might press against each other, where she might finally kiss him, feel the stroke of his very talented tongue upon her mouth, might find herself tempted to…

No.

No.

No.

Never.

Although she probably should talk with him. She did need to understand where things stood between them—or to make sure he understood. She might have promised to be willing, but his behavior at the end of their last encounter had…Well, she didn’t have exact words, but she would not be treated in such a fashion.

She glanced down the table just as Colton threw his head back in laughter, his eyes crinkling deliciously.

No.

“I do understand about your father, Mr. Wilkes,” she said. “My mother can be quite the same. She doesn’t understand why I should do anything that is not involved in finding a husband.”

It was Mr. Wilkes’s turn to blink at her. “Well, isn’t that what you want? To find a husband?”

Deep breath in. She would not allow her head to actually explode at the dinner table.

Colton leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, and watched her dance. She moved like a feather in the wind, light, drifting. The candlelight shimmered on her curls as they waved with her movement.

He felt the urge to stride out onto the dance floor, to take her in his arms, to send away the boy who was spinning her about. He did not move.

She looked so happy and carefree, but when she stopped he’d seen the look of worry that crossed her features. All was not right in her world. It brought him back to that night months ago, the night that he’d told her bluntly that he was not interested in her.

She’d been devastated. He’d hoped never to put that look on a woman’s face. Ironically, it was the reason he’d been so blunt to begin with, the reason he’d told her as soon as his interest lagged.

Could he risk doing that again? Doing worse?

It was impossible to imagine causing that bright light harm.

What would happen if Thorton talked? Even if Colton denied it, even if Angela denied it, would they be believed? And even if they were, did it matter? Gossip spread faster than wildfire, and what man would want a wife who’d done what Angela had? Well, most of them—they just wouldn’t want one who’d done it with someone else.

So what did he owe her? She’d been clear that she was willing to assume all the risk, but…

No, it was clear what he had to do.

“We must talk.”

Angela glanced over her shoulder and met Colton’s dark gaze. “Must we?” She worked to sound nonchalant.

“You know that we must.”

“I was enjoying the dancing.”

“Were you?”

Not really.
But she was not about to admit to that. “What woman would not? The music is fast and light, the gentlemen quick on their feet. My toes have not suffered damage once this evening.” She looked away from him and back across the floor. As was the nature of a house party, the floor was not crowded, although it was clear all the local gentry had been invited to fill out the numbers.

“We need to talk,” he repeated.

“You did not feel the need to talk yesterday.” She refused to sound bitter.

“Yesterday I was overcome by what had happened.”

“I do not believe that you became
overcome
.”

“Does it matter? I was not prepared to talk then, but now I am.”

And did it matter whether she was prepared? “I do not find it convenient at this moment.”

He did not seem to hear her words. “Meet me in the garden in a few minutes.”

“In the garden, really?”

“Yes.” His voice was cool and yet commanding.

“And if I don’t?”

“Do not be the child; I know you are not. I will see you there.” He strode off across the floor.

Lord Peter approached and asked her to partner him for the country dance that was just beginning. She nodded her acceptance, but only long habit kept her feet moving in the proper patterns. Her mind was already in the garden, wondering what Colton wanted. A repeat performance? She certainly would not put it past him. And what did she want? Her body tensed at the thought of what he might do, of what he might demand of her.

No. She would tell him they were done, that he was free of her game.

Her feet sped through the motions of the dance. Her smile remained fixed. She probably even answered Lord Peter’s polite questions when the dance brought them close.

When the music ended, she refused Lord Peter’s offer to fetch her refreshment and excused herself to get a cooling breath of air.

And it would be cooling. She drew her shawl tight about her shoulders and headed to the doors to the veranda and then down the steps onto the lawn. She should have made Colton specify which garden. In a London house there was not much choice; here there were many. The rose garden? That was the most obvious. The maze? She did hope not. The thought of wandering lost was not an attractive one, and her mother would not take kindly to too long an absence. The herb garden? That was possible. The pungent smell of rosemary and thyme still lingered. The kitchen garden? That did not seem likely.

She followed a gravel path down to a small fountain where water splashed. A stand of flowers stood between the stone benches, and she sat, waiting—steeling herself for the words she must say.

He could find her. For once she would not be the one to dance to his tune.

A cold wind caused the flowers to dance and sway, and she drew the shawl even tighter. If he were not here soon, she would go in and speak to him on the morrow. She would not risk more for a game that was done. She had been a fool to think she was capable of such play.

But she had been capable. She’d played a good game so far, had surprised both Colton and herself.

In the end, though, it had not mattered.

A rustle behind her. She looked back but could see no one.

What if somebody did come? What if somebody saw them together?

Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.

It had all been so foolish.

She was no longer sure what she had ever hoped to prove. That she was desirable?

She had already proved that. He did want her, want her willingness, her obedience—her body. He just didn’t want her, didn’t want the woman she was at her core, at least not for more than a brief interlude. That was the lesson she had learned yesterday afternoon. He did not want her once desire faded.

“There you are.” His voice spoke from the darkness. “I thought you would come to the rose garden.”

She had been right. It was the most obvious. “You did not say where we should meet. I cannot read your mind.”

“Here I was thinking you could. You are very good at knowing what I want.”

“And what do you want now?” The words were out before she could hold them back. She had not meant to be flirtatious. She rose to standing, not wanting to have him loom above her.

The light from the house fell across his face, and she could see desire and need grow there. His eyes moved over her, and despite her mind’s wishes she felt her body respond, her breasts swelling, her thighs tightening, and that forbidden moisture pooling between her thighs.

He shifted, and his face again fell into darkness. “What do you think I want?”

“I know I do not wish to play this game any longer. Just be honest with me.”

“And what game is that?”

“Colton!” She knew all the frustration that she felt sounded in his name.

He took a step nearer. He paused. And then paused longer. His mouth opened and then shut. Opened again. Another step forward. “I want you to marry me.”

Time froze. It seemed the wind stopped blowing, the flowers stopped moving, even her heart quit beating—and then it grew, expanding, filling her chest. “I am sorry?” She could not possibly have heard those words.

“You heard me. I will not say them again.”

“You wish to marry me?” Her voice was little more than a strangled quiver. Hope filled her, fragile and yearning.

“Yes.”

Joy should have filled her. Her plan had succeeded. Colton wanted her. All she had to do was take a risk and it could all be hers. Instead, all she could do was repeat the question. “You wish to marry me?”

“Are you going to keep repeating like a parrot?”

If only she could find cool, calm thought. This was not at all what she had imagined, not that she had ever imagined that this was why he wished to talk with her.

Oh, she had imagined his proposal, imagined his bended knee, his look of longing—and she’d imagined both her scornful refusal and her blissful agreement. What she had not imagined was his look of strange detachment.

“Well, are you ever going to answer, or are you going to keep gathering wool until all the sheep are bald?”

She did need to answer, and yet she had no answer. “Why?” She spit out the question that was at the core.

“Why?” Now it was his turn to play the parrot. He moved closer and she could feel the warmth of his body, sheltering her from the wind.

“Yes, why do you wish to marry me?” She had to ask, no matter how little she wished to know. In truth she wanted nothing more than to press forward until they touched, until she satisfied the cravings that filled her.

“I think we would suit after all. It is that simple.” He stepped back and turned from her. The cold air struck her again, causing a slow shiver to run through her.

He did not seem to notice.

“And yet before, you felt that we would not suit,” she said.

“You have changed my mind. You have demonstrated qualities I did not think to find in a young lady.” He turned to her again, reaching out to run a finger down her cheek. This time her shiver was not from cold.

She fought against it, fought the swelling of her breasts, and fought the heat that pooled between her thighs, fought against her own desire. This was not the moment to be ruled by her body. “That I am willing to suck your cock?” Her hands rose to her mouth. She could not possibly have just said that. She might feel rising anger at how uninvolved he seemed, but surely she had not allowed such crudity to pass her lips. But she had.

He laughed. Colton actually laughed. “I would admit that does not hurt.”

“That is not enough of a reason for marriage.” Why could he not say the words she needed? One small hint of caring and she would be his.

“There are far worse reasons. And I do believe that we would muddle along well together.”

She blinked.
Muddle along well?
Her heart and soul were beginning to ache. “I did not know you could be so romantic, my lord.”

“Marriage is not romantic.”

Why had she ever wished to marry this man? Her near joy of a few moments ago was fading fast. “But it certainly does not need to be callous.”

He pulled in a deep breath. “I would say practical rather than callous.”

He would. “You still have not given me a good reason for marriage.”

“Would you have been so questioning if I had asked you when you first wished me to? I think not.”

And he was probably right. If he had asked those months ago, she would have said yes before the last word had left his mouth, but then she had fooled herself into believing they had something special between them, something that young girls dreamed of. Now she knew better. She pushed away all the longing in her body, all the longing in her heart. “That does not matter. Only this moment matters. None of us can go back in time. It may only be a matter of months, but I am not the same girl that I was then.”

“You look the same to me.”

“Then you do not look very deeply.”

“We are talking in circles. Will you marry me, Angela?”