The Angel and the Aristocrat by Merry Farmer

Chapter 8

Angeline awoke to the sound of birds singing in the pre-dawn light, a gentle breeze blowing through the windows, rippling the curtains, and the steady rise and fall of Rafe’s bare chest as she snuggled against his side. As soon as full wakefulness brought the memory of what they’d done the night before back to her, she grinned from ear to ear and let out a contented sigh.

She’d been thoroughly wicked, just like her cousins. She’d taken her friends’ scandalous advice and been the minx she’d never dared to be. And it had been wonderful. She closed her eyes and stretched an arm over Rafe, wriggling in satisfaction as she inventoried all of the sore spots in her body. The whole thing hadn’t been as big of a surprise as it could have been, thanks to the whispers and dirty books and even a few forbidden drawings she and her friends had shared in the dormitory of Twittingham Academy. At the same time, it had been a revelation. Pictures and stories couldn’t convey how heavenly it felt to have a man’s hands on one’s body. They couldn’t describe the pulsing, swirling sensations of pleasure that having him kiss one’s breasts, lick and suckle one’s nipples, and do every manner of shattering things between one’s legs could bring. The orgasm that had thundered through her was phenomenal, and all of that happened even before the two of them had been joined as one.

Yes, if that’s what it took to secure Avery’s consent to their marriage, then she was beyond glad that she’d had the daring to do it. She would insist that they have a short engagement so that she and Rafe could explore every manner of pleasure that the marriage bed brought with it.

Those thoughts lulled Angeline into a state of pure bliss that nearly had her drifting off into sweet dreams again—or else straddling Rafe and staring down at him until he woke up and repeated every one of their wicked actions from the night before. But a thump from the hallway left her gasping and reminded her that the other half of her plan, the half that would prevent her from truly being ruined and shunned from society, was to not be caught in bed with Rafe.

With regret in her heart, she leaned in and kissed Rafe’s cheek lightly, then rolled out of bed as gently as she could, loathe to disturb him. She tiptoed across the room to where she’d left the nightgown and robe that she’d dashed through the halls wearing the night before. That had been an experience she didn’t want to repeat soon. Creeping through the halls dressed for bed in the early morning, when only servants were awake, was one thing. Attempting to steal away to Rafe’s room the night before, when most of the house party was still awake and could stumble across her at any moment, had taken years off her life. At least she’d been wise enough to change into a nightgown and robe so that she could have claimed to be looking for headache powder if anyone had stopped to ask her what she was up to.

As she straightened her nightgown around her and reached for her robe, her gaze fell on a small stack of letters sitting on the side table beside the fire. Angeline wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but that the letters seemed to be addressed in the sort of loopy, spindly hand that could only be a woman’s. Frowning, she finished donning her robe, tied the sash, then went over to see what the letters were. The one on top seemed to be the most recent, and when she opened it—Rafe wouldn’t mind, after the night they’d just spent, they would soon be married anyhow—she scanned straight to the signature. Lady Farrah Beauregard.

Angeline gasped, touching a hand to her mouth as she scanned the contents of the letter. Lady Farrah wanted Rafe back. Rather desperately, it seemed. She didn’t say so outrightly in the letter, but as far as Angeline knew, there was only one reason a woman would beg for a man to marry her, and for the marriage to happen as soon as possible.

She sat in the chair by the fire, grabbing the other letters and opening them one by one, reading the story from the beginning. Everything came clear to her within the first two letters, particularly when she combined it with the cryptic things Avery had told her in refusing to allow Rafe to marry her. It appeared as though Rafe had broken his engagement to Lady Farrah after her reputation had been ruined. Ruined in the same way that her own reputation had potentially just been ruined.

Angeline bit her lip in consternation, staring down at the pile of open letters in her lap. Had she been a complete ninny and walked into the bed of a rake who routinely debauched innocent young maids? Would Rafe refuse to marry her now, as he’d refused to marry Lady Farrah? Had she done everything for nothing?

She looked at the letters again, trying to force herself to think clearly instead of casting herself in the role of some tragic heroine of a fairy tale. In the first letter, Lady Farrah had said she’d ended her engagement to another man. Not Rafe. She said that she wanted Rafe back because that relationship was over. That didn’t mean Rafe was the one who ruined her.

“I suppose you have questions.” Rafe’s stern voice startled Angeline out of her thoughts.

She gasped, flinching enough to send the letters spilling to the floor. She slipped off the chair to gather them which, once again, resulted in her kneeling in front of him. Only, unlike the moment they’d met in the hallway downstairs, Rafe was now completely nude. Kneeling meant she was exactly at eye-level with a very interesting part of him. A few of the other naughty illustrations her friends had shared around the dormitory and giggled over rushed suddenly to her mind.

She realized she’d been staring too long at Rafe’s manly bits in front of her, remembered she had cause to be concerned about his intentions toward her, and instead of entertaining the scandalous thought that it might be interesting to try what was in those pictures, she stood and faced Rafe with a frown. “What are these all about?” she asked, holding up the letters to him.

“As I’m sure you’ve deduced,” Rafe said, taking the letters from her hand with a scolding look that somehow sent fire straight through her blood, “they are correspondence from my former fiancée. The one who was false with me, causing me to break the engagement. The one I have not replied to in any way since receiving these.”

“Oh.” Angeline said, her shoulders dropping. She wanted to trust Rafe, and mostly she did, but that tragic fairy tale heroine part of her still buzzed. “So…you still intend to marry me? Now that we’ve….” She nodded to the bed.

“Of course I do, darling,” he said, stepping into her and drawing her into his arms. “Please don’t doubt that for a moment.”

He kissed her tenderly, nibbling on her lower lip as he did. It was wonderful and reassuring, and Angeline ended up draping her arms over his shoulders and sighing in contentment. “All right, then,” she said, coming down from her toes, which she’d had to rise to so that she was tall enough for his kiss. “But you could smile when you say that.”

“And ruin your contest to see if you can provoke me into a smile?” he said with a straight face, though his eyes were dancing. “Never.” Angeline giggled, and he kissed her again before saying, “Now go. If you hurry, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast, during which we’ll pretend that nothing at all has happened. Except for when I go to speak to your brother later.”

Angeline made a sound of delight. She was about to get absolutely everything her heart desired. She felt as though she were dancing on air as she skittered out of Rafe’s room, snuck back through the hallways to the corridor where the ladies had their guestrooms, and slipped back into her room, all without being seen. She couldn’t wait to gather up her friends and tell them all about how triumphant their plan had been.

All of her joy and giddiness met a swift and crashing end the moment she made it downstairs. An unfamiliar, young woman with blonde hair and the bluest eyes Angeline had ever seen stood in the hallway, looking like a fashion plate. She was tall and slender, elegant and graceful, and at her first sight of Angeline, she turned up her nose with a derisive sneer.

“Oh,” Angeline smiled, intending to greet the woman with as much warmth as possible. “Are you new to the house party? I’m Lady Angeline O’Shea.” She started toward the woman with her hand outstretched.

“You’re Irish,” the woman said, as though pointing out Angeline was pestilential.

“I am,” Angeline said, fighting to maintain her composure. “And you are?”

“Lady Farrah Beauregard.”

Angeline’s heart dropped to her stomach.

It dropped even farther when Lady Farrah went on to say, “I’m here to fetch my fiancé, the Marquess of Rothbury.”

Angeline’s jaw dropped next, but she didn’t know what to say. Lady Farrah was every bit the sort of woman she would imagine Rafe wanting to marry. She had to work hard to remind herself that, in fact, he didn’t want to marry her.

She was saved embarrassment as Miss Julia swept down the hall with a welcoming smile and said, “Lady Farrah, I’m so pleased that you could join us.”

“I am not joining you, I am fetching my fiancé,” Lady Farrah said, tilting her nose up. “I am not fond of contrivances intended to shuffle people together like a deck of cards.”

Angeline’s throat went tight with offense on Miss Julia’s behalf. No wonder Rafe had thrown Lady Farrah over.

Except, had he? The woman was there, calling herself his fiancée and saying she’d come to fetch him. It would have been extraordinarily bold of the woman to come all the way to Yorkshire and to invade someone else’s party if she wasn’t absolutely certain her errand would be a success. Rafe could have easily lied to her when he told her he hadn’t replied to Lady Farrah. He could have assumed she wouldn’t have a way to corroborate his story.

She shook her head, attempting to clear its dismal thoughts away and to trust her heart, which didn’t think Rafe could possibly be untrue.

“Perhaps you would care to join us for breakfast?” Miss Julia went on, still trying to play the perfect hostess, though Angeline could see hints of the expression that had always come over her when her students were being particularly difficult.

“No, thank you,” Lady Farrah said. “I am feeling unwell after my journey.” She paused, glanced around her, then nodded to one of the parlors. “I will take tea in there while waiting for the marquess.”

“Lady Farrah.” As it turned out, Lady Farrah didn’t have to wait long. Rafe reached the bottom of the stairs and stared at her. Angeline didn’t like the way he took in the sight of Lady Farrah and all her elegance. She didn’t like the way his face went pink, or the way he stood stock still as Lady Farrah marched up to him.

“There you are, Rothbury,” Lady Farrah said, sweeping down the hall to him with a look that Angeline thought was decidedly relieved. “How fortunate that I don’t have to scour this third-rate country estate for you.”

Miss Julia gasped in offense.

“You always did have perfect timing,” Lady Farrah went on, reaching Rafe’s side. “Except in certain circumstances.”

Rafe merely gaped at her. “What are you doing here?” he asked after a long silence.

“I’ve come to bring you home,” Lady Farrah said. “My father has already made all the arrangements for our wedding. He’s procured a special license and everything. We are to be married tomorrow at St. Matthew’s church.”

Rafe continued to stare and blink at her for a moment. Then he did the most unforgiveable thing that Angeline could possibly imagine he could do. He smiled at Lady Farrah.

“Lady Farrah,” he began. And yes, it was a bit of a condescending tone. And no, his smile wasn’t even remotely warm or tender. But the whole thing was too much for Angeline.

Without waiting to hear the rest of the conversation, Angeline balled her fists at her sides and marched past the reunited couple and down the hall toward the breakfast room.

“Lady Angeline,” Rafe attempted to call after her.

Angeline didn’t listen. She knew she’d been a fool, she knew she’d taken a risk of astounding proportions, but she didn’t need to linger in the hall to see the full proof of it.

“Is something wrong?” Charity asked as Angeline marched into the breakfast room, went straight to the sideboard, grabbed a fork and stabbed one of the long, thick sausages as hard as she could. Charity moved quickly to her side and lowered her voice to ask, “Did things not go as planned last night?”

Only a few people were already up and in the breakfast room. Angeline took her plate to the far corner of the table, where Melanie was already seated, and plunked herself down, shaking with frustration. Charity followed and took a seat on her other side.

“Everything went exactly to plan last night,” Angeline whispered bitterly. “And then Lord Rothbury’s fiancée showed up this morning, just now.”

Melanie and Charity gaped at her.

“Hold on,” Melanie said, leaning back and blinking rapidly. “The story I heard was that Lord Rothbury broke off the engagement because Lady Farrah had another lover.”

Angeline’s eyes went wide as she stared at her friend. “And have you had this information the entire time, but failed to mention it to me?”

Melanie looked duly sheepish. “I assumed you knew, since you and Lord Rothbury have grown so close.”

Angeline deflated in her seat. “I only just found out.” And it did make sense. A few more of the pieces painted by the letters fit into place. If she were a betting woman, she would have wagered that Lady Farrah had become engaged to this other lover after he made her some sort of promise that had swayed her from Rafe. That engagement to her lover was the other one that was broken, and if she were with child, it was the other man’s, not Rafe’s. But her family was desperate to save face, what with the special license and surprise wedding. She didn’t think Rafe would consent to any of it, but that did not change the undeniable fact that, after five weeks of effort, Rafe had smiled at Lady Farrah as quick as you please. It was a small thing in the grander scheme of things, but it rankled her all the same. Or perhaps she was already rankled and Rafe’s smile simply provided an anchor point for her frustration.

It didn’t matter. Angeline’s perfect picture of the way things would happen had been torn to pieces. Her story wouldn’t unfold the way she’d imagined it would. Her moment of triumph was marred by Lady Farrah’s arrival, and Rafe would need to spend his time dealing with her instead of arguing with Avery to give him her hand in marriage.

The whole thing left a sour taste in Angeline’s mouth that stayed with her through breakfast—during which she ordered Rafe with a look when he finally entered the room to sit at the opposite end of the table and not speak to her—then through Miss Julia’s explanation of the scenes from the comedy Andria, by the ancient Roman playwright Terence, that they would be performing that evening to continue on with the theme of Rome, and even after breakfast, when the ladies—all but Olive, who was off on her own adventure—left to equip themselves for a morning of target practice on the archery range in the garden. It was a beautiful day and the sun shone brightly, but Angeline was in no mood to feel sunny.

“And you say that he actually smiled at her?” Raina asked as their group all aimed, then let their arrows fly toward the target. The moment they’d all released and the arrows from all five of them thudded into the targets—or into the ground, in Angeline’s case—little Ewan dashed out into the grass to retrieve all of the arrows. “Ewan, do be careful,” Raina called to the boy, then turned to the cluster of their friends.

“He smiled,” Angeline said, jaw hurting from clenching it so much in the last few hours.

“Just like that?” Clementine asked, shrugging. “Without all the effort or trouble you’ve put into trying to get him to do the same thing?”

“Are you certain it was a real smile?” Melanie asked. “She doesn’t look like the sort that anyone would smile at.”

They all turned en masse to where Lady Farrah was sitting, her back straight, on one of the lawn chairs Miss Julia had had a footman bring out into the garden for her. Lady Farrah still managed to look elegant, even with a sour look on her face. She looked as though she believed her perspiration smelled like roses and the rest of them should be pouring her tea and breaking her biscuits up into pieces small enough for her to eat without soiling her gloves.

“She looks to me like the sort one would smile at simply to get them to go away,” Clementine said.

Angeline let out a heavy breath. “I will concede that Rafe’s smile was one of toleration and not as genuine as it might have been.”

No sooner had she said that then Rafe stepped out through the conservatory door and onto the archery range. He searched for a moment, met Lady Farrah’s eyes, and nodded to the woman. Angeline humphed in frustration. Then Rafe turned to her and started forward with an apologetic look. Angeline tilted her chin up, turned away, and marched back to her archery station. Her friends scattered back to their stations as well, though all of them kept a keen eye on what might happen next.

“Lady Angeline, may I speak with you?” Rafe asked.

“Not now,” Angeline said. “I’m shooting things.” She pulled back on her bowstring, brought the bow up all the way—which might have been the wrong way around from how she was supposed to fire an arrow, she never had been good at archery—and let the arrow fly. To her surprise, it landed near the center of her target with a satisfying thunk. With a triumphant grin, she turned to Rafe. “Would you care to be next?” she asked.

“I’ve no wish to shoot arrows right now,” Rafe said impatiently.

“I meant as the target,” Angeline said through a clenched jaw.

Rafe let out a frustrated breath and stared at her. “Do you not remember everything I said earlier?” he asked, trying to keep his voice down and glancing past her to her friends.

“I assumed those things were all rendered moot when your fiancée arrived and you smiled at her,” Angeline said, stepping back to her quiver—which rested in a stand near her station—and took up another arrow.

To her surprise, rather than merely grumbling about her mood, Rafe said, “One thing you may not have learned about me yet, Lady Angeline, is that I do not stand for misunderstandings and the huffy moods they bring with them.” He marched over and plucked the bow out of her hands, depositing it on the table behind her, then took her hand to drag her off to the far side of the garden. “You and I are going to have a talk, and we’re going to have that talk now.”