The Angel and the Aristocrat by Merry Farmer

Chapter 5

He was the very worst sort of cad imaginable. Rafe kept as quiet as possible in the shed as he and Angeline and her friends waited out the rain. When Lady Fangfoss’s carriage came to fetch them, he said as little as possible and tried to be gallant as he helped the ladies into the carriage, then kept his distance from them so as not to drip on them during the ride home.

But as soon as they were all safely back at Fangfoss Manor, Angeline chattering away happily with her friends, as if Rafe hadn’t just come within inches—a few rebellious, marginally painful inches that had distracted him through the entire wait for the carriage—of importuning her, Rafe took his leave of the ladies. Perhaps Angeline’s spirits were a little higher than usual, but the remarkable woman in no way betrayed what had happened between them. He knew that he would be utterly incapable of pretending nonchalance if he stayed anywhere in her presence, though.

He tried to stay away from her for the rest of the day, which was somewhat easy, considering most of the guests had been drenched in the rain and spent the rest of the afternoon pressing the Fangfoss manor servants to their limit as one and all demanded towels and to have their fires tended to. The result was that most people were confined to their rooms until supper. Rafe offered to escort one of the older chaperones in to supper instead of Angeline, which meant he wouldn’t be seated near her. It didn’t stop him from losing the thread of the conversations he was supposed to be involved in and staring down the table at Angeline for most of the meal, though. Unfortunately, his attentions hadn’t gone unnoticed. Though he didn’t say anything, after supper, when the gentlemen retired to their own room, O’Shea glare at Rafe as though he knew exactly what had happened in the shed. It was enough for Rafe to decide to forego socializing with his peers and to head straight up to bed.

The next day was Sunday, which, again, made it easy to keep his distance from Angeline. The entire house party went in to York to attend Sunday services at Yorkminster, then lingered for a walk around the great cathedral and the town. Rafe caught Angeline craning her neck and searching here and there for something throughout the afternoon, but even though he couldn’t guarantee she was searching for him, he stayed well out of sight all the same. He and some of the other gentlemen found themselves a cozy pub on a side street, where they knew the ladies wouldn’t find them.

Rafe wasn’t really interested in the conversation of his peers until Mr. Howard turned to him with a sudden, “And don’t think we haven’t all noticed that you already have your eye on one of the ladies.”

Rafe shook himself out of his sullen thoughts and snapped straighter. “I beg your pardon?”

Howard snorted over his beer as he went to take a sip. “I’ve never seen a man so besotted with a woman so quickly.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rafe growled.

Dorset sent him a pitying look. “Come on, man, it’s obvious. You haven’t looked at any of the parade of ladies Lady Fangfoss has provided for us other than Lady Angeline O’Shea.”

“Haven’t I?” Rafe said, flustered. He tried to remember a single one of the other ladies’ names so that he could make up a story about being interested in them. None came to mind.

“You haven’t,” Prince said, almost apologetically.

Rafe shrugged as if it didn’t matter and took a swig of his pint. “I’m certain I have,” he said in a way he hoped his peers would find absentminded.

Internally, he grimaced. He was such a love-sick fool that even men he barely knew could see it.

He determined right then and there that he would block Angeline out of his mind. He would go about his business at the house party, assessing each of the young ladies based coldly on their merits in order to do his duty and find a marchioness. He would not let sentiment and the memory of the most perfect kiss he’d ever had cloud his judgement. He would not lie awake at night, staring up at the ceiling, cock throbbing, as he imagined Angeline as she’d looked in the rain, her gown clinging to the curve of her ample breasts, the shape of her hips, the way her eyelashes clumped together with moisture, making the emerald of her eyes sparkle. He would not think of her rosy lips or how they might feel against his once more, or pressed to his neck or over his beating heart, or circled around his cock.

“Blast it,” he cursed, taking himself in hand and stroking at a punishing pace. He was a cad and a devil for thinking of Angeline in such a way, but if he didn’t give himself at least some relief, he’d only lie awake all night, his thoughts swirling straight into the gutter. He didn’t even last particularly long in his self-punishment, coming hard, then immediately falling into embarrassed worry about what the maids would think when they came to change the sheets the next day.

It was all some sort of blissful form of torture. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t keep his heart from leaping in his chest every time he saw Angeline. He couldn’t force himself to be dispassionate and not to land himself in another situation where he would just be disappointed when a lady failed to live up to expectations. Although, as they all gathered on the west lawn, where a tennis court was set up, late the next morning, as he watched Angeline laughing with her friends as they chose racquets and hit a few balls back and forth, it dawned on him that perhaps she wouldn’t let him down the way others had.

He was on the verge of giving up his struggle to maintain his dignity and authority and rushing onto the tennis court to beg Angeline to let him be her doubles partner when the Fangfoss butler approached him holding a silver salver with a letter on it.

The butler cleared his throat, then said, “My lord, a letter has just arrived for you, and it is marked ‘important’.”

Rafe’s brow went up, especially when he took the letter from the salver and saw that, indeed, it had the word “Important” scrawled on the front, along with the address, in a woman’s looping handwriting. Curious, Rafe tore into the letter.

“My dearest Rafe,” it began, immediately giving Rafe a heavy feeling in his stomach. “It seems I owe you the very deepest of apologies. I behaved foolishly and rashly in ending our engagement last month. I was caught up in sentiment that did not serve either of us, for which I apologize. I have ended my engagement to Mr. Farrow. I expect that you will greet this news with joy and relief, and it is my sincerest hope that we can continue on with our previous engagement as though nothing has happened. I should very much like to put this all behind us and go forward as we had intended. Yours, Farrah.”

Rafe gaped at the letter, astounded by Lady Farrah’s audacity. How could the woman so cavalierly assume he would want to marry her again after the way she and her family had dragged his name through the mud. He huffed as he looked the letter over again, tempted to tear it into pieces and throw it in the fountain burbling away in the corner of the garden.

“Is something the matter?” Lord Wilton asked. He had been standing close to Rafe the whole time he read the letter, and he must have seen every one of Rafe’s reactions.

Rafe humphed. “Only that the indomitable Lady Farrah Beauregard has informed me she has ended her engagement to that barrister, and that she wishes to continue on with me as though nothing had happened.”

Fangfoss was standing close enough to hear Rafe’s bitter explanation as well, possibly because Rafe had let his volume grow out of control in his incredulity. “I say, you wouldn’t throw a lady as lovely as Lady O’Shea over for that harpy you were once engaged to, would you?”

Rafe didn’t know whether to huff or laugh. Fangfoss, too, was among the legion of people who were certain he was pining for Angeline. “I have no interest in renewing my acquaintance with Lady Farrah,” he said. “But you are mistaken if you believe I have any sort of attachment to Angeline.”

He caught his slip immediately, and in spite of desperately wanting to save face in front of his peers, he flushed. Calling a woman by her given name was tantamount to pinning a badge on her chest that said “Mine.”

Wilton cleared his throat, trying not to humiliate Rafe by grinning too broadly. “You know, the O’Shea family are one of the most prominent families in the Ascendancy over in the north of Ireland. I believe her brother is an earl, which would make Lady Angeline eminently suitable for the role of Marchioness of Rothbury.”

“And, come on, man,” Fangfoss said with less grace and patience, moving close enough to elbow him in the arm. “She’s pretty, you can’t take your eyes off of her, and rumor has it that the two of you spent a great deal of unchaperoned time together in one of those sheds at the excavation site.”

Rafe’s face flushed even hotter. “Nothing happened,” he lied. “We were merely trying to stay out of the rain.”

Neither Wilton nor Fangfoss looked as though they believed him.

“Think of it this way,” Wilton went on, shifting his stance slightly. “The house party has only just begun. No one expects you to make any declarations immediately. This Lady Farrah Beauregard can send all of the letters she wants, but she isn’t here, and you aren’t going to marry her. So why not simply take a few weeks to spend time with Lady Angeline to determine whether she is the right woman for you?”

Because he didn’t want to be disappointed. Because he didn’t want to be humiliated by a woman again. Because he wasn’t sure his heart could take it if Angeline turned out to be just as fickle and false as every other woman he’d known.

Except it wasn’t every other woman, it was only Lady Farrah. And nothing about Angeline suggested anything but perfection to him. He wasn’t risking humiliation if the events of the house party never made it past the boundaries of Fangfoss Manor. And his heart had recovered from disappointment before. It could do so once again.

“Very well,” he sighed, tucking the letter from Lady Farrah into the inside pocket of his jacket, then tugging his jacket’s hem as if donning battle armor. “I shall keep company with Lady Angeline, but only as a friend. This is not a declaration of intent,” he told the other two men, then marched boldly forward to the tennis court.

“Oh, Lord Rothbury.” Angeline noticed him immediately, as if she’d secretly had her eye on him the entire time he’d been standing watching her. “I’m so glad you’re here. Clementine and I were hoping to play a game of mixed doubles, and I would be so pleased if you’d agree to be my partner.”

The way she glanced up at him, those emerald eyes of hers shining, sunlight catching in her red-blonde hair, cheeks pink with promise, made it impossible for Rafe to say no. They made it impossible for him to walk comfortably as well.

“I would be delighted, my lady,” he said with what he hoped was a chivalric bow.

“Lovely.” Angeline’s smile somehow managed to grow brighter. She grabbed Rafe’s hand—something he felt, inexplicably, in his groin—and tugged him over to the side of the court, where a selection of tennis racquets was available. “Now, choose one of these, and I’ll just have a word with Clementine about the rules of the game.” She sent him a perfectly mischievous look before scampering off to where Lady Hammond was attempting to coerce one of the quieter gentlemen who had joined the house party, a Sir Nathaniel Radcliffe, to be her partner for the game.

Rafe picked up one of the racquets and tested its grip, glancing sideways at Angeline. The little minx was up to something, he was certain. She skipped over to Lady Hammond and whispered in her ear, all while glancing back at him, eyes sparkling. Rafe couldn’t imagine what the woman was planning, and he couldn’t account for the way it made his insides feel as bouncy as the tennis ball he picked up and hit with his upturned racquet a few times. He cleared his throat and frowned, telling himself he was a fool, absolutely determined not to so much as smile. Smiling would give away his feelings in an instant, and he was so unprepared for that that it was laughable.

“All right, Lord Rothbury,” Angeline called from the court, gesturing for her to join him on the far side as Lady Hammond and Radcliffe took up positions on the near side. “We’re ready to begin.”

“I’m not certain I am,” Rafe muttered to himself as he strode to the other side of the net to join Angeline.

She volleyed the ball back and forth to Lady Hammond a few times as Rafe approached. He refused to admit that he was walking slowly so that he might see Angeline in action. She had fine form, which surprised him, as tennis wasn’t generally a sport for ladies. Then again, Lady Fangfoss appeared to be one of those who supported the latest medical findings about women’s fitness, and Angeline had attended her school.

“Would you like to serve, Lord Rothbury?” Angeline asked once the practice volley was over. She offered him the tennis ball like Eve offering Adam the apple of sin.

Rafe swallowed hard, then took it from her, as big of a fool as Adam ever was. Angeline grinned from ear to ear, then stepped back into her place and took up a competitive, ready stance.

“Love all,” Rafe said, only realizing after the fact what that must sound like. He cleared his throat, then served.

His tennis skills were subpar, but what he lacked in technique, he hoped he made up for in general athletic prowess. He kept fit as a point of pride, and chasing a ball around a court to smash it with a racquet shouldn’t have been that hard. Except that he missed his first swing when Radcliffe returned the ball to their side.

“I’ve got it,” Angeline called, hitting the ball back once he missed.

Rafe adjusted, tightening his grip on his racquet as Lady Hammond returned it the second time. It was another easy shot that he should have managed to hit, but for the second time, Angeline raced to return the ball he missed. She kept going toward the net, and when Radcliffe reached to hit the ball back, she smashed it back over the net, winning them the first point.

“Good shot,” Radcliffe panted, chasing after the ball.

“A very good shot indeed,” Rafe complimented Angeline.

Angeline sent him a modest smile as she switched sides with him. “We used to play at Twittingham Academy. I believe I was rather good.”

“Rather good” was an underestimation, as Rafe discovered in the next several minutes. Angeline was marvelous. She had no qualms about playing hard and working up a bit of a sweat. She was quick and light on her feet, winning them more than a few points as he struggled to keep up. But what astounded Rafe most of all was her seeming lack of vanity. Strands of her hair came out of the style she had it pinned in, damp patches showed up under the arms of her dress, and her shoes ended up scuffed and green, but she didn’t seem to care. In fact, those imperfections made her look more beautiful in Rafe’s eyes than any glittering debutante could.

“Are you not pleased with the progression of the game?” Angeline asked him after they won the first set and took a break to drink some of the lemonade Lady Fangfoss’s footmen brought out for them.

Rafe blinked at the comment. “I’m very pleased,” he said. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“You’re not smiling,” Angeline said. “Not even when I scored that remarkable point on serving against Mr. Radcliffe.” She winked impishly.

Rafe’s heart was in serious danger of beating right out of his chest. Angeline was sweet, she was good, and she had a devilish side to her as well. He didn’t know how he would keep his head about him and his heart safe against her.

“I wasn’t aware that smiling was a prerequisite to approval,” he said, fighting to keep as stern an expression as possible.

“Of course it is,” Angeline laughed. “And mark my words, I will make you smile if it is the last thing I ever do.”

Rafe couldn’t help himself. He shouldn’t have taken up her challenge, but in spite of every instinct to the contrary, in spite of the way he’d been burned in the past, all he wanted to do was lay his heart at Angeline’s feet. “I doubt that will happen,” he said with a dour expression. “I only smile under the rarest of circumstances.”

“Oh?” Angeline seemed energized by his comment rather than disappointed by it. “Then I shall have to work very hard indeed to create rare circumstances.” She finished her lemonade, then turned and headed back to their side of the court. The glance she sent him over her shoulder was enough to strike Rafe dead with longing.

There was no point in denying it. His friends were right, he was completely besotted with Angeline. It had happened far too quickly for his own good, and he still didn’t trust his feelings for her. But Wilton had been correct to point out that they still had an entire summer to sort things. And the way things were going, all he would want to do all summer long was bask in the loveliness that was Angeline.