Mary Balogh - The Secret Mistress

“Lure Lord Windrow into my lair and flirt with him?” Miss Goddard asked.

“Oh, not flirt,” Angeline said. “But appear to be … trapped in his company. Appear … oh, not unsafe exactly, but uncomfortable and a little anxious. Lord Heyward will then rush to your rescue as he did at the garden party, and he will realize, if he is not already realizing it, that the only way to keep you permanently safe is to marry you. And his family will see how he cares for you, and … Well.”

Miss Goddard looked gravely at her until a smile grew deep down in her eyes. It never arrived full-blown in the rest of her face, but it was definitely there.

“Lady Angeline,” she said softly. She tipped her head to one side. “Oh, Lady Angeline.”

And absurdly Angeline wanted to cry. Fortunately she did not do so.

“Will you?” she asked.

Miss Goddard nodded slowly.

“I will,” she said.

Experiencing contradictory feelings was nothing new to Angeline. She could feel pride and triumph over any of her brothers’ mad exploits at the same moment as she felt that every nerve in her body was vibrating with terror at what might have happened and fury that they would subject themselves so foolishly to such danger. But nothing compared with what she felt now.

Elation, yes, certainly.

And such a terrible despair that she bit her upper lip hard enough to draw blood.

EDWARD HAD FALLEN asleep late and woken up early. It was not a great combination, leaving him tired as it did. However, he had used the early morning hours to think a few things through and to make a few decisions, and he found himself facing the new day in a better frame of mind than he had been in yesterday.

For one thing he had made up his mind that he was going to forget about his antagonism toward Windrow. The man had behaved badly on the road to London, it was true, and Edward could not regret that he had called him to account for it. He would do the same if it happened again. But the man was no monster of depravity. He was something of a rake, that was all. At that inn he had mistaken Lady Angeline, not for a maid—there was really no way he could have done that since she had looked nothing like a servant—but for a woman traveler of careless enough behavior that perhaps she was also of loose morals. The bright, bold color of her dress had probably contributed to the impression. If she had taken him up on his offer of a shared meal and a shared chair, he doubtless would have pushed his advantage and tumbled her somewhere upstairs before going on his way.

But she would have had to be willing. He would not have forced her. Rakes were not necessarily rapists. They were very rarely so, in fact. They had no need to be. There were always enough willing women to give them satisfaction for a price—or sometimes even for no price but their own gratification.

When Windrow had realized his mistake, he had gone on his way after a careless apology and the suggestion of a threat to Edward in order to save face, all of which had appeared to amuse him. He would doubtless have enjoyed a bout of fisticuffs if his challenge had been accepted. He would certainly have enjoyed a tumble upstairs. But since neither had been forthcoming, he had probably forgotten the incident within the first few miles of his journey, as well as the two persons involved—until he encountered them again at the Tresham ball. Then he had chosen to behave with a certain impudent amusement at the colossal nature of the error he had made.

He had chosen to beg a set of dances from both Lady Angeline and Eunice. He had done the same thing at the Hicks ball. He had taken Eunice boating on the river at the Loverall garden party and would probably have taken Lady Angeline out too if he had not intervened and driven her away.

It was not admirable behavior. Neither was it dangerous. It had all been very public and very harmless.

And here he was a guest at a house party with Lady Angeline’s family, including his friend Tresham. His hostess was Lady Angeline’s chaperon. All the guests were highly respectable people. They even included a clergyman. Windrow had been invited because he was Lady Palmer’s neighbor and was in almost every way perfectly respectable.

It was true that he liked to flirt with Lady Angeline. But who did not? She seemed to attract men like moths to a flame. And it was true that Eunice appeared to have taken to heart what he had told her about Windrow and had, bless her heart, done all in her power to divert his attentions onto herself. He was not worried about Eunice. Windrow would have no lascivious intentions toward her. She was far too intelligent and sensible for his tastes. And though spending time with him must be tedious indeed for her, she was quite capable of extricating herself from his company whenever she wished.

Anyway, Edward was happy that she had been invited to this house party. He had feared a few times in the course of the Season that life must be rather dull for her. Dullness had not been an issue in the quiet, scholarly setting of Cambridge. In London it was more so. Lady Sanford did not take her to many ton entertainments, and even when she did, she made no effort to seek out young company for her. Although she seemed fond of Eunice, she did tend to treat her more like a companion than a young niece in need of friends and at least some form of amusement.

Edward made another decision during the early morning hours, as he lay on his back in bed, his hands laced behind his head. He was going to relax and let the house party unfold as it would. That meant ignoring Windrow, or at least ignoring him as a possible danger to Lady Angeline Dudley. It also meant making no deliberate effort to avoid Lady Angeline herself. For a whole month, if he was honest with himself, he had been irritated over the fact that he thought of her far more often than he thought of any of the six young ladies he had been halfheartedly courting. He had been irritated over the fact that he both disliked and disapproved of her and yet … did not.

His feelings toward other people were not usually ambivalent. With her they were. He needed to sort them out if he was ever to have any peace of mind again.

His family wanted him to resume courting her. So did Eunice. Eunice had even told him a month ago, the day after Lady Angeline refused his marriage offer, that he ought to consider the refusal merely the first act of a drama, that he should write the rest of the play.

Very well, then. Oh, he would not actively court her. But he would not avoid her either. He would let events unfold as they would. If he was fortunate, events would conspire to keep them apart. Though that, of course, would do nothing to help him sort out his feelings.

But Lord, he thought just before he got up to face the day, both Eunice and his female family members were about as wrong as they could possibly be. He and Lady Angeline Dudley were about as suited to each other as day is to night.

It was a poor comparison, of course. For night and day were two sides of the same coin. One could not exist without the other. They were the perfect balance of opposites, the perfect harmony of nature taking its course.

Night and day worked perfectly together, in fact.

Damnation!

ANGELINE’S CHANCE CAME that same afternoon.

A number of the guests went out walking, since the sun was shining down from an unusually cloudless sky and all were agreed that the good weather was not to be missed despite a breeze that was brisk at times.

It was not a formal walk. Rosalie had explained the day before that she had deliberately refrained from trying to organize every minute of her guests’ stay. Most of them needed a rest from the hectic pace of the London scene, and at Hallings they must relax and amuse themselves in any way they wished, even if that merely meant nothing more strenuous than reading or chatting or dozing in the drawing room or conservatory.

Although they all started out more or less together, then, smaller groups of them went off in different directions soon afterward. The dowager countess confessed herself quite content to stroll in the formal garden and leave the more strenuous walking to the younger people. Mr. Briden commended her good sense and asked if he might join her. Tresham and Cousin Belinda turned determinedly east as soon as they were on the terrace when the rest of the group was already drifting west. Cousin Leonard and the Countess of Heyward bent their heads together in private conversation and walked across a wide lawn in no particular direction at all and at a speed that did a fair imitation of a tortoise. Mr. and Mrs. Lynd strode off arm in arm in the direction of a largish lake at the foot of a long, sloping lawn, taking the Reverend Martin with them. Viscount Overmyer and his wife were going into the village to look at the church, which had stained-glass windows worth looking at.

The Misses Briden were in a group that included Ferdinand, Sir Webster Jordan, the Earl of Heyward, and Lord Windrow. Angeline and Miss Goddard were also a part of it, and a chattering, merry, noisy group it was too. It also appeared to have the lake as its destination, though no one had actually said that was where they were going and no one seemed in any hurry to get there. Angeline might have enjoyed herself enormously if it had not been for her plan. But this was the perfect opportunity to put it into effect, though she had no clear idea of how exactly it was to be done. It must be done, though. They were already halfway through the first full day of their stay.