To Tempt An Angel (Book 1 Douglas series) (3 page)

The door burst open suddenly, ending their conversation. Two young women hurried inside. Both appeared younger than Angelica. One had black hair and limped and the other was a redhead, yet the three sisters resembled one another.

“Robert, may I present Samantha.” Angelica gestured to the ebony-haired girl. “And this is Victoria. Sisters, meet Robert Roy.”

“Rob Roy?” Samantha exclaimed with a smile.

“You must be joking,” Victoria said.

“Mind your manners,” Aunt Roxie admonished them. “Ladies of quality do not insult guests.”

“Ladies of quality do not run a thimblerigger’s game,” Angelica told her aunt.

“Nor do they pick pockets,” Samantha said, emptying her pockets of coins.

“And they do not engage in disreputable activities,” Victoria added, placing her own day’s earnings on the table. “You know, dear aunt, disreputable activities like telling people’s fortunes, calling up the dead in a seance, or selling love potions.”

“Hush, darlings, we need the money,” Aunt Roxie replied. “I do what I can to help out.”

Angelica gestured to Robert, saying, “Let’s walk outside.”

Once the cottage door closed behind them, Robert asked, “Your sisters are pickpockets?”

“I’m afraid so,” she answered.

“And your aunt is a charlatan?”

“Aunt Roxie is no charlatan,” Angelica told him. “She has a special gift.”

Robert tried hard not to laugh in her face but couldn’t quite suppress his smile. “Do you actually believe in that?”

“Yes, I do,” Angelica said. “I possess a similar, albeit undeveloped, gift. “

“The sight of you did bewitch me,” Robert said, gifting her with his devastatingly charming smile.

Angelica stared in the direction of Primrose Hill.  “Samantha limps because one of her legs is slightly shorter than the other,” she said without looking at him. “A wealthy gentleman, one of the men who ruined my father, ran over her with his carriage. We couldn’t afford a physician to set the broken bone.”

“I’m sorry,” Robert replied.

“That happened a long time ago,” Angelica told him. “Victoria has a problem with letters and numbers.”

“What do you mean?”

“She can’t read properly or cipher numbers,” Angelica said, turning toward him. “Other than that the Douglases are a normal family.”

Robert laughed. “I’ll come by tomorrow to check on your father.”

“You want to consort with people like us?” Angelica asked.

Robert leaned close, his face merely inches from hers, and said in a husky whisper, “I’d love to consort with you.”

Ever so gently, Robert drew her into his embrace. His face hovered above hers for the briefest moment and then descended as he moved one hand to the back of her head to hold her immobile.

Their lips met in a chaste kiss. When she relaxed in his arms, Robert changed the tempo of the kiss.  His lips on hers became ardent and demanding; his tongue persuaded her lips to part, tasting the sweetness beyond them.

And then it was over.

Robert drew back and studied her expression, knowing she’d just experienced her first kiss. He traced finger down her silken cheek and rubbed his thumb across her lips.

“May I have my watch back now?” Robert asked, gazing deeply into her disarming blue eyes.

Angelica blushed. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“You lifted the watch out of my pocket when we were attacked,” Robert told her.

Angelica reached into her pocket and produced the watch. “It looks like real gold,” she remarked, passing it to him.

“It is real gold.”

“How can you—?”

Robert planted a quick kiss on her lips and then whistled for his horse, grazing a short distance away. The horse returned to his side in an instant.

“You certainly have trained him well,” Angelica said.

“I have a firm hand but can be a generous master,” Robert said suggestively.

“I will never call any man my master,” she informed him.

“We’ll see.”

Robert mounted and pulled on the reins to turn the horse around. Whistling a bawdy tune, he started down the road through the hamlet. He knew she was probably watching him but would not turn around to wave good night.

Angelica Douglas was unexpectedly spectacular, a seductive angel, a rare woman of courage and loyalty. Albeit an incorrigible cheater at games of chance.

Though her father had fallen upon hard times, she was still an aristocrat. The father’s loss of fortune served Robert’s purposes; he planned to make that magnificent angel his mistress.

That thought made Robert smile with pleasure. He decided to go visiting in the morning before he called on Angelica. He needed to know what the Duke of Inverary had done to Graham Douglas.

Keeping a mistress who wanted revenge against his own father could undoubtedly complicate his life. Somehow, he would atone for whatever his father had done to the man.

Chapter 2

People were staring at him.

Sauntering along Park Lane to his father’s townhouse, Robert waved at Lord Wiltshire, driving by in his carriage. The older gentleman tipped his hat and shifted his gaze.

No one of any importance ever walked anywhere, but Robert only lived two town houses away from his father’s. What was the sense in bringing out a carriage to travel less than a block?

Robert smiled inwardly. His neighbors, including Lord Wiltshire, weren’t surprised by his walking. They had become accustomed to that oddity. What surprised them today was his attire.

Clad in black breeches and the slightly wrinkled shirt he’d worn the previous day, Robert walked as proudly down Park Lane as an emperor in his new clothes. Missing were the requisite jacket, cravat, and hat.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

Robert narrowed his gaze on his father’s majordomo, a man he’d known his entire life. Apparently, he’d surmised correctly that by wearing this outfit he’d appear a common man, which was what he wanted Angelica Douglas to believe.

“Mr. Tinker, I haven’t asked for your editorial comment about my attire,” Robert said, brushing past the man. “Where is my father?”

“His Grace is working in his office,” Tinker answered, staring in distaste at the wrinkled lawn shirt and breeches.

Robert turned toward the stairs. He would have gone directly to his father’s office, but a woman’s voice stopped him.

“Wait a minute, Robert. I want to speak to you.”

Robert turned toward the voice and watched his sister-in-law walking into the foyer. Christ, he always felt as if she was lying in wait for him. He had hoped to avoid seeing her, but that was not to be.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Tinker said, turning away. “I’ll inform His Grace that the Marquess of Slovenly has arrived.”

Venetia Emerson Campbell, his brother’s widow, was lovely, with her chestnut hair and perfect oval face. She had a small nose and inviting lips and soft brown eyes; but shallowness, spitefulness, and greediness marred her beauty.

Wearing a sapphire blue riding habit that accentuated every alluring curve, Venetia walked across the foyer slowly and gracefully. Robert knew her hip-swaying gait was for his benefit. She’d been trying to trap him into marriage since their respective spouses had died.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Venetia asked, echoing the majordomo’s words.

“What’s wrong with my clothing?” Robert asked with an easy smile.

“Shame on you,” Venetia scolded him gently. “The Marquess of Argyll should dress properly. I hope no one saw you.”

“I’m incapable of living up to your standards,” Robert said.

Venetia smiled winsomely and stepped closer. “I’d lower my standards for you,” she said, her intimate tone and the look in her eyes suggesting more than his choice of attire.

Robert took a step back. “I wouldn’t want you to do that,” he said, forcing himself to smile. Then, “I purchased Colin a pony yesterday. Was it delivered?”

“Yes. That was thoughtful of you,” Venetia answered. “Colin has begun to think of you as the father he never knew. What a pity that Gavin didn’t live long enough to know his own son.”

“Accidents sometimes happen, “ Robert replied.

He hoped she wouldn’t mention Louisa. Talking about his deceased wife brought back unpleasant memories. How Venetia could speak without emotion about her own sister’s untimely death always amazed him.

“I’m riding with Lady Griffiths in Hyde Park,” Venetia said. “Would you care to join us?”

“Dressed as I am, I would only embarrass you,” Robert said, refusing her invitation.

“Changing won’t take long,” Venetia countered. “I’ll wait.”

“I haven’t the time.”

“Will you return later for Colin’s birthday celebration?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t consider missing my nephew’s fifth birthday,” Robert said.

“Later we can attend the Randolphs’s ball,” Venetia said with a smile.

“I have a previous engagement,” he told her.

Her smile disappeared. “With that mistress of yours?”

Robert heard the jealous tone in her voice.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I must speak with my father.” He turned to leave the foyer, but Venetia stopped him in his tracks.

“My sister has been dead for four years,” she called. “When will you cease mourning her passing?”

Robert stared at her for a long moment “One of us should mourn her,” he said finally, and left the foyer.

Good God, he wished his sister-in-law would leave him alone, Robert thought as he hurried up the stairs and then walked down the corridor to his father’s study. Venetia wanted him merely so she could become a duchess when his father died. She and his nephew would never want for anything. Why did Venetia feel the need to torment him with her presence? She’d been trying unsuccessfully to seduce him into marriage for years.

Without knocking on the door, Robert walked into his father’s study. He gazed for a long moment at the older man and decided that his father had aged since Gavin’s passing.

The study was a man’s room. His father sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. High windows behind the desk allowed sunlight to bathe the chamber. On one side of the room was a marble hearth and mantel, above which hung a portrait of Robert’s deceased mother.

Bookcases had been built into the walls, and above them perched portraits of every Campbell laird since the beginning of time. His father had even commissioned an artist to paint the images of ancient ancestors from descriptions only.

Robert had always loved this chamber. As a boy, he would stare at the faces of these long-dead Campbells and wonder what they would think of him. When his father passed away, the awesome responsibility of being Campbell laird and the Duke of Inverary would fall upon his shoulders. A daunting prospect for a boy.

“Come in,” the Duke of Inverary said dryly. He dropped his dark gaze to his son’s attire, and his lips quirked in a smile. “I suppose you were turning heads on Park Lane.”

Robert shrugged and sat down in a chair in front of his father’s desk. He smiled sheepishly, thinking his father had the unique talent of making him feel like a boy.

“Wool and grain prices have dropped again,” Duke Magnus said without preamble. “Someone keeps undercutting our prices.”

“Alexander Emerson still blames me for Louisa’s death,” Robert said.

“Colin will inherit if you don’t marry and sire an heir,” his father said, leaning back in his chair.  “Why would Alexander undercut his own nephew’s profits?”

Robert waved away his father’s silent offer of a drink. “Alexander’s bitterness prevents him from seeing beyond his own revenge,” he said, unconcerned. “Let him have his way for now. When he does us real damage, I’ll put an end to it. Speaking of grain, I still believe we can make a fortune by distilling Scotch whiskey for commercial sale.”

“I’m listening,” Duke Magnus said.

“No one can make a whiskey to compare with ours,” Robert continued, leaning forward in his chair. “Only in Scotland can be found spring water that rises through red granite and then passes through peat moss.”

“But is commercial distillation feasible?” his father asked.

“I have several men working on inventing a machine for continuous distillation,” Robert told him.

“Let me know if these inventors of yours come up with something,” the duke said. Then he changed the subject, asking, “Are you entering the London Golf Match this year?”

Robert relaxed back in his chair. “I wouldn’t miss the thrill of golfing down Pall Mall and St. James’s Street.”

“Ah, if only I were twenty years younger,” his father said. After a silent moment, he changed the subject again, remarking, “By the way, Charles Emerson broached the matter of a possible match between you and Venetia”

“No,” Robert said, his tone emphatic. He knew his father too well to believe this was a casual conversation.

“Louisa has been dead for four years, “ his father argued.

“Damn it! I know how long she’s been dead,” Robert snapped, his patience strained by his father’s echoing of his sister-in-law’s words. “I have lived with it every day.”

“Remember to whom you are speaking,” the duke admonished him.

“I apologize.”

“You cannot blame yourself for Louisa’s passing,” the duke said.

“Father, I do not wish to speak about this,” Robert insisted.

“You need a wife and children,” Duke Magnus pressed on.

The image of Angelica Douglas arose in Robert’s mind’s eye. Her mane of streaked blond hair, her heavenly blue eyes, her inviting lips—a seductive angel with loaded dice. 

“I need no wife or children,” Robert said gruffly, realizing in embarrassment that his father was staring at him. “Colin will be my heir.” 

“If Venetia remarries or returns to her father’s home, the Campbell heir will be controlled by others,” his father argued.

“Venetia won’t leave.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Venetia enjoys the accommodations and status of being a Campbell,” Robert said with a cynical smile. “We are one of the richest families in Britain.” Without preamble, he asked, “What do you know about the Earl of Melrose?”

“Graham Douglas?” Duke Magnus said in obvious surprise. “We were the best of friends, but I haven’t seen him in ten years. Why do you ask?”