Angelina (37 page)

Elizabeth’s glance swept over Rosabelle in disgust and the tension she’d been holding back for years, suddenly snapped. “Thomas made a mistake when he tried to pass you off as our daughter.”

The girl’s eyes widened in shocked surprise and her mouth dropped opened.

Elizabeth patted her cheek. “Don’t worry, you can still marry George Northbridge. Neither the earl or myself will tell him you’re of peasant stock. And if you are a little soiled now, well...?” She shrugged. “The Marquis won’t mind. He’s used to trollops and is getting very fond of your maid, Ellen, I believe. However, I won’t accuse her of corrupting your morals because it was probably the other way round.” 

“Mama?” Rosabelle grabbed her sleeve, and stared at her in bewilderment. “You must be raving. Of course I am your daughter?” 

With a certain amount of distaste, Elizabeth shook off the hand. “No, I was lied to. You were a foundling Thomas took pity on. I only have one daughter, that’s Angelina. If she’s dead you’ll leave this house and never return.”

“This cannot be true,” she screamed, knowing it was when her mother picked up her skirts and walked away. She was stunned to the very core of her being. “Where will I go? How will I manage?”

Elizabeth Wrey didn’t even look back. It was as if she no longer existed.

 Stumbling a little, Rosabelle made her way to her chamber. The room was untidy, her bath water still unemptied. Ellen was asleep in a chair. Rosabelle stared down at her, knowing exactly how she’d have to manage.

 “You stupid girl,” she murmured, “Do you really think you’ll usurp me in George Northbridge’s affections?” Smiling cruelly, she reached out and took her maid by the hair. “You have two choices, Ellen,” she hissed when her maid’s eyes flew open. “You can leave the district by nightfall, or you can die!”

* * * *

“Pan’s pipes.” Angelina snuggled deeper into the warmth of Rafe’s bed as the sweet, haunting sound rose above the howl of the wind for the second time that night.

Delighting in the fact her body lay where Rafe’s had lain, she breathed in his scent and imagined what it would be like to live with him in this house, lie against his heart in this bed and bear his children. Before she drifted off to sleep, she prayed the storm would rage forever and she could stay here, marooned with the man she loved.

But the morning broke calm, and the sun shone from the heavens with an unexpected brilliance. “Dear, God,” she prayed upon waking. “If I must live a life of unhappiness to save Frey, I’ll do so. I know it’s not seemly to question your wisdom, but why can’t you think of another way to save him, when you know he’s innocent?” As an afterthought, she whispered, “If you decide to heed my prayer, please spare Rosabelle and William as well.”

The sound of a shot brought her from the bed. She rushed to the window, clad only in her chemise. The bridge was still awash. William waited on the other bank for a reply to his shot. Rafe appeared below her. He covered the ground with long, loping strides towards the river’s edge, tucking his shirt into his breeches.

Angelina threw open her window and waved to her brother. He straightened in his saddle, his shout of relief was music to her ears.

 The two men engaged in a short conversation, then with a wave of his hand, William wheeled his horse around and took off at a gallop.

Rafe came to stand beneath her window. His hair hung dark and wild about his shoulders, his eyes seemed to absorb the very sight of her. He seemed very much the man here at Ravenswood. The sight of him awoke some deeply rooted, primitive sense in her. She grinned with the pleasure of it.

“You’ll be pleased to know your horse is safe.”  

“That’s wonderful.” Realising she wore only a chemise and her hair was tumbled in disarray around her, she blushed, but she made no effort to cover herself. Her hair was sufficient. “I’m sorry you’re put to so much trouble.”

“The trouble is all in your mind.” His smile was relaxed and easy. “I’ll fetch you some hot water to wash in, then raid the hen house. We can have fresh eggs and cold ham for breakfast.” His smile became broader. “We’ll have to cater for ourselves. Can Lady Angelina cook?”

Her eyes began to sparkle. “She can, she can also trap and skin a rabbit, catch trout with her bare hands and wring the neck of a chicken.”

“In that case, there will be chicken for dinner tonight.”

Consternation replaced her smile, and Rafe laughed. “You appear somewhat disenchanted with the thought.”

“I’d prefer not to hunt for my food.” Noting the mischief in his eyes, she laughed. “Man is the hunter. You provide the chicken, I’ll cook it.”

“Then I have the easier task, there’s one hung in the larder.” 

They feasted like kings that night. There were turnips, basted with the dripping juices from the chicken, and tender young peas boiled in their pods. To follow were apples stuffed with crushed raspberries and honey. Baked in their skins, she garnished them with cheese curd.

Rafe leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look on his face. “When Ravenswood is restored I shall employ you as my cook.”

“Then you’d be obliged to eat chicken and turnips every night,” she countered.

“Because I can cook nothing else.”

“I’d want for nothing else but to feast my eyes on you for the remainder of my life,” he informed her with a smile.

She gazed at the voluminous grey gown she wore, and giggled. “Your eyes must be starving, half-blind, or both perhaps.”

“My words are sincere.” His hand slid across the space between them and covered hers. “I’ve declared myself, Angelina. If you wed another, you condemn me to a life of loneliness. None will ever replace you in my heart, and I vow to never take another for my wife.”

His words brought tears to her eyes and a poignant ache to her heart. More than anything, she wanted to accept his proposal, but she could not…
would not
barter Frey’s life for her own happiness. 

She owed it to Rafe to tell him why. Perhaps Rosabelle had been right. If she spent one night in the arms of the man she loved, she’d have a precious memory to sustain her through the barren years of her life.

Tears glittering on her lashes, she met his gently probing glance. “Our consciences would never allow us to sacrifice Frey to our own happiness.” She placed her finger gently over his lips to stop him interrupting. “I’d rather our memories of one another were happy, Rafe.”

“What are you saying, Angel?”

Eyes dark and turbulent, Rafe seemed to be having trouble with the simple truth she stated. “I’m saying I love you, Rafe.” She lowered her eyes to the strong, slim hand covering hers, not sure how to continue, but knowing she must. “I would become your wife this night in any way but in name, if it would please you.”

His hand tightened, until she was forced gazed him in protest. The protest died from the onslaught of his storm-flecked eyes and she flinched from the whiplash of his voice.

“It does not please me to have you cheapen yourself in such a manner. He flung her hand away and rose. “I’m no seducer of innocent young maids.”

Face flaming with bruised pride, Angelina responded in the only way she could think of. “Rosabelle said you became her lover when she was sixteen.” 

“Damn Rosabelle!” Rafe said coldly as he strode off towards the door. He turned to glower at her, “And damn you for believing her lies.”

“I didn’t believe her,” she said mutinously. “I struck out at you because I’m embarrassed, and you hurt my feelings. I’m perfectly aware you’re a gentleman of honour.”

“You’re perfectly aware of nothing when it comes to men.” Three strides brought him back to her again. His temper had subsided, but his eyes glinted as he reached for her. Jerked to her feet she was pulled against him. Rafe’s smile had a strange pitying quality to it. “You’re absurd if you imagine I’m not tormented by desire for you.”

This kiss was not like the others. It was a bruising force of possession. He invaded her mouth, forced it apart and used it for some devilish pleasure his tongue seemed to enjoy. The caress was an insult, and she struggled against him.

He merely pulled her closer. His mouth became a crushing implement designed to rob her of will. She couldn’t respond, couldn’t move - couldn’t even breathe. She panicked a little, a small, protesting sound strangled in her throat. Abruptly, he let her go. When she gazed at him wide-eyed, he smiled and his finger traced the outline of her mouth. His voice was a whisper of silk across her nerves. “I’ve changed my mind, you may disrobe, my Angel.”

“I...I beg your pardon?”

“Remove your gown.” Slowly, his fingers reached out to loosen the laces at her breast. His smile was strangely seductive.

“What are you doing, Rafe,” she whispered clutching the edges of the bodice

together. “Are you out of your mind?”

 Hooded eyes flicked to hers. “You offered me the use of your body, I believe.”

She clutched desperately at his hand as he moved to slip inside the bodice. “And you turned me down.” 

“I’ve had a change of heart, I haven’t debauched a maiden for some time.” He followed her when she edged back against the table. “I’m glad you come to me willingly, Angel.”

A sob tore from her throat, and her hand groped around on the table. It closed around a hard object. She waved it threateningly at him. “Stand back, or I’ll addle your brain.”

Amusement filled his eyes. “With a loaf of stale bread?”

Her eyes narrowed and she wanted to howl with fury at the sardonic amusement in his eyes. “I offered you something precious, Rafe and you choose to mock and insult me. I’ll never speak to you again.” Dropping the loaf to the table, she buried her head against his chest, and began to quietly weep.

“Yes you will, Angel.” He tipped up her chin, and the kiss he placed on her mouth was an apology of softness. Tell me you love me again, so I can carry the words in my heart.”

“I love you,” she whispered. “Forgive me for what I must do.”

He cuddled her close. “I’ll never forgive you for breaking my heart. You’re mine, Angelina, you were mine from the minute I saw you. I cannot bear the thought of life without you.”

“Yet you
must
live without me.” Her eyes came up to his, dull with despair. “Perhaps Nicholas will release me if I appeal to him. He’s not without sensibility. I’ll tell him I love you.”

Rafe kissed her again, his long, slow, tender caress demonstrating exactly what love felt like. Afterwards he said, “When will you tell him, Angel?”

“Early Friday morning before...before...” She bit down on her tongue for a moment, “Before Rosabelle and I go to see the rector about her wedding.”

She was a poor liar, he thought. The elopement coincided with Frey’s trial date. If the lad was to be found innocent, a courier would have to take the retraction to London immediately after the wedding took place. That meant Nicholas would have it on him when he went to the church. If he could be induced to part with it beforehand it would solve the problem. 

Rafe smiled. He’d need an accomplice, and James was still absent. William? He’d always been a dark horse, yet he seemed fond of Angelina. He smiled. He’d have a word with him and see what could be done.

The river dropped sufficiently for Angelina to be returned to Wrey House the next afternoon. The water was belly deep, and swift flowing, as Rafe guided his horse across. As her skirt was already covered in mud, the soaking didn’t bother her much.

Her sense of loss at leaving Ravenswood, was acute. She’d enjoyed spending time alone with Rafe and if she’d had freedom of choice, would have stayed there with him for ever.

Rafe seemed just as reluctant to take her home. Now and then she gazed up at him and he grinned. She was being made deliciously aware of the love between them. She reached out to it, drawing his spirit to hers in an empathetic contentment of soul.

Sometimes his breath stirred against her hair, sending a shiver of delight trickling down her spine. Leaning into his body, she experienced his movement against her back, the strength of his thighs against her hips and the living, breathing essence of him. Love swept through her like a warm, flowing river.

“I would like this journey to go on forever,” she whispered.

He placed a kiss against her ear. “I will make you my queen of the forest, build you a castle of clouds and place a circlet of stars about your brow. You will shine more brightly than the moonlight, and all will envy this man you made king, even though you intend to tear his heart asunder.” 

The slight catch in his voice made Angelina gaze up at him. There was a tender smile playing about his lips and his eyes were filled with love.

Her body was charged with an elixir of longing. She revelled in it, in the wild female urge to take him for her mate. Convention seemed a mockery when faced with such loving spirit nature had endowed her with. The feeling between them was nothing to be ashamed of. She closed her eyes, refusing to think otherwise. “Kiss me, Rafe,” she whispered.

His lips were like wild, sweet honey. Her own clung to them in delight, offering him the total gift of her love as she murmured his name over and over again.

How can I resist her? Rafe thought, as her magic wove a potent spell upon him.
Why
should I resist her when she owns my heart? The gentleman in him was vanquished by a healthy surge of male lust. Damn Nicholas Snelling! He’d used Frey’s life to gain control of Angelina and her fortune, but Rafe wouldn’t allow him to rob her of her innocence. That would be his.

Not a word passed between them when he slipped from the saddle and led the horse into the forest. The quiet glade he brought her to was a palace of jade light,

carpeted with soft, green moss. Spreading his cloak on the ground he drew her down beside him.

“Hush, my Angel,” he whispered when she opened her mouth to speak. He covered it with his own, sweetly, tenderly, and she melted against him in an agony of shivering anticipation.

Rafe knew he should have resisted the urge to take advantage of her innocence. In the normal course of events he’d have courted her in a most circumspect manner, keeping her intact until the night of their wedding.