To Tempt An Angel (Book 1 Douglas series) (21 page)

Angelica waited for them to start dancing and then said, “Thank you, Your Highness, for giving credence to my tiny fabrication.”

Prince Rudolf grinned. “What was your little white lie?”

Angelica blushed a vibrant scarlet. “I told Venetia that, while living on the Continent, I had declined your offer of marriage.”

The prince burst out laughing. “Was I heartbroken?”

“Devastated.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Prince Rudolf turned abruptly to her sister, saying, “My lady, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Obviously surprised, Samantha stared up at him. “Your Highness, I-I suffer from an old injury and limp,” she said in a soft voice.

“Are you in pain?” the prince asked, appearing concerned.

“No.”

“Then you will dance with me,” Prince Rudolf said, offering her his hand.

Angelica watched her sister look from the prince’s blue gaze to his hand. And then a miracle happened. Samantha placed her hand in the prince’s, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

“I need to visit the ladies’ resting area,” Angelica told her youngest sister.

“I want to stay here in case Alexander asks me to dance,” Victoria replied.

“Do not dance more than two times with anyone, especially an Emerson,” Angelica warned, sounding like her aunt.

Angelica left the ballroom and, after asking directions from a servant, found the ladies’ resting area. Several young matrons, on their way out, greeted her pleasantly, and then she was alone.

Sitting down, Angelica thought about her sister. That Samantha was dancing was a minor miracle, and Angelica would always be grateful to the prince. Now, if only she could teach Victoria to read and cipher numbers.

“Are you upset by the prince dancing with Samantha?” asked a familiar voice. “Or Robert dancing with me?”

“I’m not upset at all,” Angelica said, looking in the mirror at the other woman.

“My father promised that you will never be the mother of the Campbell heir,” Venetia told her. “My father always keeps his promises.”

Angelica couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stood to face the other woman. “Your father has no control over whom Robert or I marry,” Angelica informed her.

“Robert will never marry you,” Venetia said.

Angelica could not resist meeting her challenge. “He’s already proposed,” she announced and felt a surge of satisfaction when the other woman’s expression mottled with barely suppressed rage.

“You scarcely know Robert,” Venetia said, a condescending note in her voice. “Let me tell you about him. His first wife was my sister. Louisa committed suicide because he kept a mistress who was also pregnant at the time.”

Angelica felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She stepped back two paces. It couldn’t be true. Robert wasn’t the kind of man who would drive a woman to suicide, especially his own wife, carrying his first child.

“I don’t believe you,” Angelica said.

“Ask him, then,” Venetia countered, a haughty smile on her lips. “His mistress is Lucille Dubois. He sired a daughter on her.”

Chapter 12

“Daisy’s father is an important man. She couldn’t possibly pass the night in this hovel.”

The memory of Lucille Dubois’s words slammed into Angelica, and she plopped down in the chair. Lucille had been referring to Robert Campbell, the Marquess of Argyll.

Angelica looked at herself in the mirror. Surprise had paled her complexion to a ghostly white, and she willed herself not to look at her badly trembling hands.

“I’m so sorry for upsetting you,” Venetia said. Angelica looked at the other woman in the mirror. Venetia wore the most unrepentant expression she’d ever seen.

“Surely you knew that gentlemen kept mistresses,” Venetia said. “Bastards are the byproducts of those illegal unions.”

Angelica flinched at the word bastard. Daisy Dubois was a sweet child, not a bastard to be scorned by the likes of Venetia Emerson.

“Please go away,” Angelica said.

“I only wanted you—”

“I said
get out
,” Angelica snapped, and the other woman made a hasty exit.

She knew that rich gentlemen kept mistresses who bore them children. But she never imagined that Robert—

Angelica remembered the purple bruises on Daisy’s arms. What kind of father was Robert Roy Campbell? Did he approve of Lucille abusing his only child, albeit a daughter he would never acknowledge to society?

“
Beware, Venetia. She’s an Emerson and not to be trusted
.” Angelica recalled her aunt’s warning to her.

Venetia was an Emerson who would do or say anything to get what she wanted. Perhaps she had been lying in order to cause trouble between herself and Robert.

Angelica rose from the chair, pinched her cheeks to bring back her color, and left the ladies’ resting area. She would find Robert and ask him to tell her the truth.

Returning to the ballroom, Angelica noted that Victoria was dancing with Alexander Emerson and Samantha was dancing with Prince Rudolf. How many dances did that make, she wondered, noting her aunt’s disapproving expression. She wanted her sisters happy but not ruined in the eyes of society.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Robert said, materializing beside her.

Angelica flicked a worried glance at him. “How many times have they danced with those men?” she asked, her gaze on her sisters.

“I don’t know,” Robert answered. “Who’s counting?”

“Society is counting,” she told him.

 “Society be damned,” he said. “Let them enjoy themselves.”

Angelica arched a blond brow at him, saying, “Spoken like a man whose place in society is assured no matter how disreputably he behaves.”

Robert smiled, apparently deciding to ignore the censure in her voice. “I was about to follow Drinkwater and Mayhew into the gaming room and—”

“Forget the gaming room,” Angelica said. “I need to speak to you on a matter of importance. Privately.”

Robert inclined his head. “Let’s walk outside. There will be other couples in the garden to chaperone us.”

Together, Robert and Angelica left the ballroom. Following another departing couple, they wandered downstairs and then stepped outside.

Torches lit the small, rear garden for the few couples meandering about, and the sensual scent of flowers wafted through the air, setting the perfect stage for a romantic interlude. Deeply scented pansies, peonies, and that feathered enchantress love-in-a-mist, mingled with the heady perfume of lavender, sweet peas, and roses.

“What is more important than your revenge, angel?” Robert asked.

“Did your wife commit suicide?” Angelica asked baldly.

Robert’s expression became grim. “To whom have you been speaking?”

“Never mind about that,” Angelica said. “Did your late wife—?”

“Louisa is none of your business,” Robert interrupted, his anger apparent.

“I need to know.”

Robert snapped his brows together. “Why?”

Angelica couldn’t give him a reason why. She wanted him to tell her that he hadn’t left his pregnant wife to make love with another woman.

“Is Lucille Dubois your mistress?” she asked.

“Who has been whispering in your ear?” he asked again.

“
Sacred sevens
, answer the damned question,” Angelica demanded, losing her temper.

Robert stared at her for agonizingly long minutes. Finally, he told her, “Lucille Dubois is not my mistress.”

Angelica relaxed. “Has Lucille ever been your mistress?”

“Has Venetia been poisoning you against me?” he asked.

“Do
not
answer my questions with questions,” she ordered.

“I’ve heard enough.” Robert walked away but paused several yards from her, asking, “Are you returning to the ballroom?”

Angelica pasted a mulish expression on her face. “I’ll return inside after you answer my question.”

Robert walked back to her. “Lucille Dubois was my mistress several years ago,” he told her. “Is your curiosity satisfied?”

“Is Daisy your daughter?”

“Who?”

His question surprised Angelica. He seemed sincerely puzzled by the name.

“Lucille’s daughter, Daisy,” Angelica added.

Surprisingly, he appeared to relax, as if the worst of the storm had passed. His next words shocked her right down to the tips of her toes.

“The girl is my daughter, but I have nothing to do with her,” Robert admitted. “I’ve never even seen her.”

“You’ve never seen your own daughter?” Angelica gasped, stepping back a pace.

“Naturally, I accept responsibility for my indiscretions and support the child,” Robert explained.

Outrage welled up inside Angelica. Not only was the child abused by the mother but neglected by the father.

“Daisy Dubois is not an indiscretion,” Angelica told him in a choked voice. “She’s a sweet, trusting, loving child.”

Robert narrowed his black gaze on her. “How do you know Lucille’s daughter?” he asked.

Lucille’s daughter?
Angelica wondered. Why did this man distance himself from his own flesh and blood?

“Lucille Dubois is one of my aunt’s clients,” Angelica answered. “Sometimes she brought Daisy with her to our cottage.”

Robert seemed to accept that as plausible. “Now that we have settled your thoughts,” he said, visibly relaxing, “let’s return inside.”

“Nothing is settled,” Angelica told him. “Lucille abuses Daisy. The poor child has more bruises on her arms than Wilma Drinkwater has bracelets.”

Angelica watched his lips tighten into a grim white line, a sure sign of anger. Finally, she was making him understand what his neglect had wrought.

“What will you do about that?” she asked.

“I’ll send Lucille a note with my next check,” he answered.

“
Sacred sevens
, how can you condone your own daughter’s abuse?” Angelica asked, losing her temper again, her voice rising in anger. “What a poor excuse for a father you are. I wouldn’t marry you for all the king’s gold . . . not even if you were the last man in England . . .
in the whole damned world.”

Robert developed a twitch in his right cheek muscle, which promptly spread to his left cheek. “Lower your voice, “ he ordered in a harsh whisper. “Unless you want those watching couples to return inside and embroil us in a scandal? Then you would be forced to marry me.”

“I don’t give a fig about those couples or scandals,” Angelica countered, but she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Since you refuse to help, I’ll save Daisy from that unnatural woman.”

“Leave it alone, Angelica,” Robert warned.

“I don’t take orders from you,” she told him. “I am the Countess of Melrose and do whatever pleases me.”

Robert grabbed her wrist in a firm but gentle grasp, saying, “Let’s go.”

“You’re mad to think I’d go anywhere with you,” Angelica said, pulling away. “I’m going home.”

At that, Angelica whirled away. Heedless of the staring couples, she marched toward the stairs leading to the alley and emerged into Grosvenor Square proper.

“Be reasonable,” Robert said, following closely behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder, Angelica gave him a look of contempt. She quickened her pace and managed to put several yards between them.

“You are behaving badly,” Robert called in a stern voice.

Behaving badly?
Angelica thought in a fury. Was the kettle now calling the pot black? Intending to give the marquess a large piece of her mind, she stopped short, midway between the corner of the alley and the carriages parked in front of Emerson’s mansion.

At that moment, Angelica saw a man on horseback approaching from the opposite direction. As he passed the gaslight just ahead of her, she spied the pistol in his hand. He pointed it at something just behind her.

Robert!

Angelica reacted instinctively. In one swift movement, she drew her last-resort dagger and threw it at the man.

With a cry of pained surprise, the assailant fired his pistol wildly, missing his quarry, and the horse reared. The man clutched his chest, toppled backward off his mount, and lay still in the road.

Cries of alarm sounded as the coachmen left their carriages and ran toward them. Within moments, Emerson’s guests streamed out of the mansion to see what was happening.

Angelica reached the assailant at the same moment as Robert and crouched down beside him. The dagger protruded from the villain’s heart. Looking up, she saw James Armstrong and Adam St. Aubyn and said, “He’s dead.”

“What a marvelous throw,” Adam St. Aubyn said.

 “Bull’s eye,” James Armstrong added. “I didn’t know you could toss a dagger with such precision, Campbell.”

“He didn’t,” Angelica admitted. “I tossed the dagger, but I was aiming for his arm.”

“Now we can’t question him, can we?” Robert said in an angry voice.

Angelica snapped her head around and glared at him. “Is this the thanks I get for saving your miserable life?”

“Ladies do not—”

“Futter yourself,” Angelica interrupted, making Armstrong and St. Aubyn laugh. She noted the twitch had returned to Robert’s cheeks.

“I warned you to keep those bodyguards close,” Duke Magnus told his son.

“May I borrow your handkerchief, Your Grace?” Angelica asked.

Duke Magnus produced his handkerchief and handed it to her. Angelica pulled the dagger out of the man’s chest and wiped it clean on the duke’s handkerchief. She started to pass the handkerchief back to him but thought better of doing so, and tossed it down beside the body.

Looking up, Angelica noticed the shocked expressions on the faces around her. She stood then and, without a glance at Robert, walked in the direction of the carriages, where her aunt and sisters stood with the other ladies.

“Well done, Countess,” Prince Rudolf said as she passed him.

Angelica ignored him but stopped when she came abreast of Alexander Emerson. “The next time you try to kill the marquess, be certain to hire a more efficient assassin,” she said.

“I thought he was trying to kill me,” Alexander replied.

“You had nothing to do with this?” Angelica asked, staring into his eyes.