Angel in Scarlet: A Bound and Determined Novel (2 page)

Angela’s lips parted, ready to begin, but her mind betrayed her, skipping not to Colton’s betrayal but rather to that kiss, that single wonderful kiss.

She’d stood outside the door to her parents’ parlor, only a few steps from the doors that led out to the garden. They’d just returned from the Strumbridges’ ball, and her mother had granted them a moment of privacy before Colton left. And it had been time; it had been past time. Colton smiled at her as only he could, his lips still while his dark eyes shone with enjoyment and life, those tiny lines forming at the corners. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressed his warm mouth to her chilled skin. She felt the heat of his breath, the moisture. And she wanted more. She needed more. Inching forward, she’d stared boldly at his mouth, licked her lips—and waited. His eyes had flickered down to her mouth, but he had taken no action. She’d moved her gaze back to his eyes, back to his lips, his eyes again. Her tongue darted out.

Still nothing.

She stepped forward.

Nothing.

She tilted her chin up. Another inch closer.

And then it happened. He stared at her, his eyes growing darker by the second.

He swore under his breath. She couldn’t hear the words, but his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her close, clasping her tight. And his lips, his lips were on hers, pressing so softly—and then not softly. His strong, hard body came into contact with hers; sensations she had only dreamed of filled her, far better than her wildest imagination.

And his lips. His lips.

Hot. Firm. Strong. How had she never known that lips could be strong? They moved over hers, awakening her when she hadn’t known she slept. She pressed back against him, trying to let him know all she felt, all she dreamed, trying to make him understand.

And he had; she’d been so sure of that—just as she had felt him, felt his affection, his passion, his need. Oh, the strength of that need.

Fire. Ice. More feelings than she could ever imagine. His lips pressing harder, beginning to part, the feel of his breath in her mouth, the taste of him, the…

“Miss Ripon. Miss Ripon.” Ruby’s voice filtered into her memory, forcing her back from the moment, forcing her to accept all that had come after that kiss, to accept that the kiss had been a lie.

She shook her head once, moving her thoughts away from that moment, away from that promise, pushing herself to remember the horror of the following day. And so she began, fighting to hold back emotion as she laid out her case and remembered all that had been—and had not been.

Lord Colton drew in a deep breath, the brisk air of autumn filling his lungs. God, that felt good after the stifling heat of the ballroom. He pulled a cheroot from his inner pocket—the one Anders, his valet, detested because it marred the line of his coat—walked to one of the oil lamps adorning either side of the terrace door, and opened the glass and lit it.

Turning, he walked a little way, into the first dark of the shadows, and settled, leaning against the cold stones of the low wall. He lifted the cheroot to his lips and pulled in the bitter smoke.

He should have brought out a glass of brandy as well, but his only thought had been to escape the clamor and heat of the ballroom. He leaned his head back, staring up at the stars.

Why had he even come to the blasted affair? He hated these things, hated being watched—and watching. They were always the same, the same food, the same music, the same people—the same young ladies.

Always the same young ladies. Even when they were different, they were all the same, pale and sweet, agreeing with his every suggestion, not a bit of fire or personality among them. Even when he’d thought he’d seen a flash of something special, seen the burn of flame and fire, it had vanished as if it had never been. The memory of a sweet laugh and gentle eyes came to him, eyes that were filled with kindness but also with that surprising flash of spirit. The softest lips he had ever tasted. He pushed the memory away, forced himself back to the sameness. He must remember that: Even she had been no different from all the others in the end.

And yet he was expected to find a wife somewhere in that crowd.

He couldn’t even say it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, because he had no faith the needle was even there. It was like looking for a piece of hay in a haystack.

He dropped his chin and stared at the bright light shining out through the doors. They were sheep—sweet, tender young sucklings—and he the wolf, only a wolf who had as little taste for lamb as for the toughest of mutton.

He crooked his lips at his poor attempt at humor.

Finding a wife among them seemed an impossible task, despite his mother’s promptings.

And he had tried, on several occasions; when he’d seen that hint of a spark, he’d pursued it wholeheartedly—only to again find himself gazing into the wide eyes of an innocent lamb, a lamb who’d probably faint dead away if he gave any hint of what he really wanted.

Maybe he should show his wolf’s teeth sometime; that would have them all running away bleating instead of rubbing about his ankles like kittens.

And now he was mixing his metaphors.

He was tired of it all, tired of the whole game.

A light feminine laugh echoed from inside. He turned—but, no, it was not the right laugh, not her laugh. And even if it had been, it did not matter, because she was not who he thought she was, not who he had hoped. His angel was merely one more lamb.

He should probably just leave. He’d spent the season surveying the new crop of lambs and there was nothing new about them. It was good the season was over and soon he could put away all social niceties.

He stared down at his evening slippers. Anders had outdone himself. He could see the reflection of the lighted doors as clearly as if he gazed up at them.

Perhaps he should head off to some gambling den and risk a small fortune. That might get his blood flowing again. Or perhaps he’d go to Ruby’s, where there was always a willing partner ready to supply just what he needed, just what was so lacking in the ballroom full of lambs.

A shadow moved across the reflection of his footwear.

He raised his head. His breath caught.

An angel.

A bright halo of light surrounded the shadow figure.

He swallowed.

The figure moved, stepped closer, bright flames surrounding her.

No, not flames—a gown.

A gown of deepest crimson…no, scarlet.

An angel in scarlet.

Only, only—he shook his head. No angel, merely a woman. Although he doubted there was anything mere about this woman.

She took another step. It was impossible to see her clearly, as the bright light of the dance floor left her features shrouded in darkness. It was equally impossible to miss the soft, lush curves of her figure, the rounded hips, the full breasts, the slender waist hinted at but not quite revealed.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

This time he was the one to take a step forward.

He needed to see her face, needed to know if it truly was his angel.

She turned slightly, her gown shimmering like a candle in the darkness.

“Colton?” Her face turned as she spoke, low and deep, her chin angling up, the light hitting her delicate features, highlighting the soft cheeks and plump lips. “Colton?”

He knew that voice. He knew that face.

Miss Ripon. Angela. His angel.

His groin tightened, even as he forced himself to relax.

A sweet lamb. Tender and innocent.

Not at all to his taste.

Only in that dress, she looked anything but innocent. She looked like a woman he could want, a woman he could have.

But he knew better, didn’t he…?

Angela paused, peering out into the darkness. She’d seen Colton come out. She was sure of it. But the heavy dark of the evening hid everything once one was beyond the light spilling from the house.

He had to be here. It would be the perfect place to begin her game, to begin her vengeance.

“Colton?” she called again, trying to find him without drawing attention from the house.

Her skin prickled with awareness, but still no answer.

Her hands ran restlessly down her hips, smoothing the dense silk. Ruby had assured her the dress was just what she needed to draw Colton’s attention, but she was much less certain. She rather feared she looked like a tomato. Young ladies didn’t wear red. They wore delicate pastels or sometimes floral prints. The darkest color she’d ever worn was a spring green.

Her dress was almost shocking, the crimson so deep and pure that it seemed to shimmer with color. If she’d been in her first season it might even have been scandalous. She was lucky she was a few years out, although she’d still seen quite a few of the older ladies looking at her with misgiving.

Her feet scuffed on the flagstones of the terrace. Was he hiding from her? No, Colton was not a man who hid—and certainly not from her, a silly girl, a foolish girl, a girl with dreams that had been far too big for her life. “Colton?”

“I am here,” his voice answered from the darkness, causing her to shiver.

“Oh.” Now, that was not the reply she’d planned. Her nerves must be contained.

There was no response.

“Can we talk?” Why did her voice sound so timid? She needed to be brave, to be confident.

“I don’t suppose I can stop you unless I flee into the night.”

If she’d had any doubts about her plan, his words strengthened her. He was an ass. A pure ass. She must remember that, remember all that she knew. “Are you fleeing? I can’t see.”

“No. You’re not that terrifying, Miss Ripon.” His voice was cool and slightly mocking.

Did she even stand a chance? Ruby had assured her that Colton would take one look at her in the dress and want her, but she lacked all such certainty. “Then will you come where I can see you? Please.”

There was a movement at the far end of the terrace and a figure advanced just enough that she could see his tall outline; awareness shivered through her. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell me what you want, Miss Ripon? Or are you leaving me to guess?”

Ass. Ass. Ass.
“You. I want you.” She hadn’t meant to put it quite that directly, but the words had almost spurted from her mouth. If only she were not so anxious, did not feel that everything depended on these scant few minutes.

“Well, I am here.” He did not move any farther forward, and she had to squint to make him out at all. If it were not for the voice, she would have been unsure that she’d found the right man—no, that was not true. It was Colton. She’d always been able to feel him deep in her bones, to know when he was about. Even before he’d asked her dance that first evening, she’d known who he was, known when he was in the room. Her eye had always been drawn to his broad shoulders and strong chin, to those eyes that always commanded her attention.

“Are you alone?” Why hadn’t she wondered if he was with someone? It would be far too embarrassing if he was with a lady. And why was she feeling timid again? After all that had happened she had determined never to be timid again; being timid, hiding herself, brought nothing but pain.

“Yes, Miss Ripon, I am alone. Or, at least, I was.”

This was not going the way she had planned. She considered turning and going back into the ballroom, back to the life she knew and understood. No. She would not be timid. She would not. Never again would she play the mouse. This was what she wanted, what she needed. She forced her feet to take another step forward, ran her hands down the front of her dress, feeling the lush silk pull against her breasts.

Even though she couldn’t see him clearly, she sensed the movement of his head, knew his eyes dropped to her breasts. She tugged the fabric a little more. Ruby had said that most men could not resist a flash of bosom and that Colton was no exception—and Ruby might just be right. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” She deliberately kept her voice low and quiet, forcing him to listen.

“I am not sure to what you refer.”

“You said that I had misunderstood the situation. That there was nothing between us.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“Well, I am convinced that you are wrong. There is definitely something between us. I feel it whenever I am near you.”

“Miss Ripon, I am afraid it is you who are wrong.” He disappeared again into the shadows.

Now was the time for courage. She had nothing to lose. “You see, I don’t think I am. I don’t think I would feel this way if there were nothing. And I don’t think you are as indifferent as you pretend. I’ve caught you looking at me, at my breasts and hips and lips.”

“I am a man. Men look. It means nothing.”

“I refuse to believe that.” She let her tongue slide across her lower lip, just as Ruby had told her to, pressing it out, leaving it glistening. If only she could feel seductive rather than silly.

“What you believe is irrelevant.”

“I don’t believe that either. I know that I want you and I am confident you feel the same way about me.”

“I don’t. And if you believe this conversation will somehow make me suddenly decide I have strong affection for you, you are most mistaken.”

“I wasn’t talking about affection. I believe the best word for what I meant might simply be ‘desire.’ ”

He laughed, and not in a pleasant way, not in the way he used to laugh, the laugh that had always made her heart sing. She had worked so hard for that laugh, for the pleasure of making him happy.

One last try. “I talked to Madame Rouge about you. She explained to me what you like, why you might be reluctant to pursue me.”

He stepped forward, his silhouette once again visible. “You talked to Madame Rouge?”

“Yes, I found her most delightful. And she loaned me this gown. She said it would be far more to your taste than sprigged muslin. Was she right?” She brushed her hands down the front and then gave a little twirl, causing the fabric to billow in the slight wind, the skirts rising about her.

“It is a pretty dress.”

That was rather uninspired, but at least it was the start of something remotely positive. “I am not sure the ladies inside think so—and they don’t even know the most scandalous part: I am wearing it without a corset. Madame said she thought the lines would be better without. I always thought the purpose of a corset was to correct my lines, but I must admit I rather like the feeling without. It is so freeing.” She leaned slightly forward.

She could feel his eyes follow.

Maybe this would not be so hard.

“I am still not sure that I believe you talked to Madame Rouge. Hell, I am surprised you even know the name.”

“Perhaps I am not quite what you believe. I most definitely did visit Ruby. I can describe the parlor or Madame Rouge’s house if you require.”

“Only the parlor? And what advice did Madame Rouge give you that pertains to me? I am not sure I like knowing that she talked about me.”

“Oh dear, the last thing I want is to get Madame in trouble. She was so very, very helpful.” She forced her voice lower, deeper, away from the emotional squeak that threatened.

“I must say that I am not finding it at all helpful so far. Are you going to tell me what she said?”

Angela licked her lips again, trying to form that little pout that Ruby had demonstrated. Her teeth came out, sliding over the lower lip, pressing and then slipping back behind. “She said that I must be prepared to do exactly as you say, that you like to be in charge. She told me that beyond everything I must be prepared to trust you, even when I am not sure that I want to. She kept using that word, ‘trust.’ ”

“And do you really think you are prepared for that?” It was hard to read the tone of his voice.

It was time to lie. Time to pretend. Time to be an actress, and she certainly knew he liked actresses. “I am prepared to do anything. I cannot control the feelings that overcome me when I am with you, and so I will do whatever is necessary.” It was far easier to say the words than to believe them.

“Truly anything?”

She ignored the slight ring of disbelief. Another pout. “Yes.”

“And if I want to test that?”

Ruby had warned her that this might be the case. “Test away. I will not fail. I know what I want.”
Vengeance.

“Is this a trick? Do you hope that I will lure you into some compromising position and then your mother will suddenly appear?”

“No. But I do not expect you to believe me. Tell me what I must to do to make you show a fraction of the trust I am prepared to show you.” She bit down on her lower lip and turned slightly so the light from the window spread across her face—and the tops of her breasts.