Page 4 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue (Wicked Widows’ League #18)

But then again, why should a gentleman as privileged as Jacob have done so? Why would those men he called friends have needed to seek their fun by making fun of his wife? She didn’t understand it.

“We can stop at the dowager’s house. Lady Barnet will not mind.

She hardly ever resides there but stays at the manor house with her son.

You can refresh yourselves at the bedchamber washstand and then rest in front of the fire with a hot drink.

Lord Barnet owns several orchards, and he always has the best apple cider.

” Lady Wyndam’s brown eyes appeared to hold only good-natured concern.

But people could hide their intentions so well. Angela sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to think badly of the lady. She wanted to like her, and the woman’s sense of play intrigued her. Yet, she found it hard not to have second thoughts about the motives of these English nobles.

“Angela said she wanted a warm spiced cider or mulled wine,” Susan said.

“Ah, well, there you are. We shall definitely stop at the dowager house for a warm drink, and then we’ll go on to the masquerade when you both feel ready.” The lady clapped her hands. “It will be splendid fun!”

“Oh, please, Angela, say yes.” Susan flashed the lady a conspiratorial grin.

“Yes, Mrs. Berry, please say yes,” Lady Wyndam’s face shone with an almost girlish excitement.

How could Angela possibly disappoint either of them? Feeling trapped in the situation, she sank into the seat.

Evan approached the two masked women. One mature, wearing a bejeweled turban, smiling as he approached.

The other, young, her deep brown hair glowing with reddish glints in the chandelier light.

What he could see of her face appeared paler than earlier, and she hugged her shoulders. Well, no wonder.

Shots were fired.

A clammy chill wound its way through Evan’s guts.

Damnation, how had things gone so far out of control?

It hadn’t been his men, and it hadn’t been Mrs. Kingston.

It had been that friend of his great-aunt’s, Lady Wyndam.

Her driver had stopped the carriage and played savior to the two young women in need.

He had planned for the fake abduction attempt to take place amid the fireworks. He was certain that everyone would be out on the terrace or lawn, watching the fiery display. Who would have come so late to such enjoyable entertainment?

Damn it all, that road should have remained empty. There shouldn’t have been any chance of saviors or guns. Still, it remained his responsibility that things had gone wrong.

If she or Mrs. Kingston had come to any harm, it would have been wholly his fault. If she had been harmed...

A sick feeling replaced the earlier sinking sensation.

If she had been harmed.

Regret filled him. And the strength of the sensation took him aback. Such a feeling could prove to be a distraction that he could not afford. He knew the importance of his mission. The danger that she might pose to British commerce.

Upon returning to Whitestone Manor, he’d found Mrs. Kingston outside, frankly sick with nerves, and he’d comforted her the best he could.

“I brought her to the masquerade, to you. I did the right thing, I hope,” she had said in a trembling voice.

He had nodded, not sure at that point if the situation could be salvaged or not.

When he’d offered her a ride home in a carriage, she’d gone near hysterical with fear of her father’s reaction to her arriving home in such a fine conveyance. How would she ever explain? He then understood her hesitancy and found a cart and driver to take her home.

“Here’s that rogue of a gentleman I told you about,” Lady Wyndam said, her brown eyes lighting with affection at the sight of him. She was one of his mother’s friends from her girlhood days, and Evan had known her his whole life.

Mrs. Berry looked up, and he flashed his most charming smile, concealing his inward turmoil. Something flickered in her eyes. Something he couldn’t identify.

Gorgeous eyes. Hazel-brown and large eyes, framed by long, thick, deep brown lashes that made their color even deeper and dramatic and made her appraisal of him seem even more intense. So intense that heat swept through him.

Not even a hint of a smile curved those full, red lips.

She kept staring at him as though judging his character and worth. Such a look made the back of his neck prickle. Such a look made her seem formidable.

And an exciting gale of fresh air.

Women did not weigh and measure him. Instead, they fawned and flirted with him, and he didn’t have to worry where he stood with them.

He stopped in front of Lady Wyndam, accepted her extended hand, and kissed it. “Lady Wyndam, what a pleasure to see you tonight.”

“I was so disappointed when Lady Barnet told me you had already left. I am so glad that you have returned.”

He stared at her, his mind scrambling for a reason for having returned. He lifted his hand to show his gray suede glove. “I forgot my gloves in the cardroom.” He flashed her a conspiratorial grin. “These are so finely made; they fit me so well, I don’t think I could ever replace them.”

The flimsiness of that whole assertion struck him only after he had said it. But at least he’d given a somewhat plausible explanation.

“I know, a good pair of gloves is a luxury that, unfortunately, money cannot always buy. Once we get an excellently made pair, it would be terrible to lose them.”

Lady Wyndam was trying hard to help him with this conversation. That much was apparent, which was all to the good. She turned towards her companion. “Mrs. Berry, I’d love to introduce the son of one of my dearest friends.”

His plan to ‘rescue’ Mrs. Berry from the false abduction and to ingratiate himself to her in that way had been ruined. Ruined by the very lady who had beckoned him over. That would have been a better, more emotionally imbued way to have made her acquaintance.

But this would do.

He was familiar with Lady Wyndam and the ladies she liked to make friends with.

Over the past few years, she’d introduced him to several, and those introductions had always led to the best of friendships for himself as well.

The ladies had been looking for uncomplicated carnal fun.

Ladies of impeccable breeding, taste, and manners, and had been unquestionably discreet.

But none of them had been the target of his professional skills as a sometime spy for the Home Office. This assignment was going to take all his skill, tact, and discernment.

With his most charming smile so frozen in place that his jaw ached, he turned to Mrs. Berry.

Her gaze pierced him with its intensity. Despite her serious expression, the perfection of her high cheekbones, her oval face with its light olive complexion, and those full red lips struck him.

Her beauty struck him like a physical blow.

His superior had said she was comely.

Comely. Really?

Perhaps they had not known just how striking she really was. It unnerved him that they had not known. What else did they not know about her? And why hadn’t they used their usual thoroughness in investigating the surface, obvious details about her?

“Mrs. Berry, this handsome rogue is Evan Hayley, the Earl of Ashington.”

What flashed in Mrs. Berry’s hazel eyes? Her features seemed to harden a fraction of a second before she smiled.

A false, forced smile.

Dear God, this was not going well.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Mrs. Berry said, in a voice that was slightly breathy, a sensual sound that heated his blood. A voice that also held just a hint of an accent.

An Italian accent.

Wasn’t her being Italian just as important as her being the widow of an American? Why hadn’t he been told that? The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Why had his superiors suddenly become lackadaisical in their reports?

What else did they not tell him about this lady?

She extended her hand. A pleasurable warmth settled low in his stomach at the positive gesture. He took her hand and bowed, lowering his head as he lifted her hand. Had he felt her tremble, ever-so-slightly? Did her hand feel cold through the silk glove?

He glanced up and caught her studying him, but her gaze revealed nothing. Women rarely caused him to feel unsure. But this one did.

Angela stared down into the most beautiful eyes she’d ever beheld on a man.

Emerald green and framed by inky black brows, just thick enough to be masculine.

A straight, fine nose and lips just full enough to be sensual but well-shaped and a strong, square jaw.

He wore a dark blue evening coat with a silk waistcoat and the shade of champagne, both tailored so expertly that they revealed the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips.

A subtle scent of cologne, citrus, and spice wafted to her, even as she sensed the vitality that emanated from him. A vitality that seemed to speak to every part of her, speaking to her of sensuality and pleasure. Her mouth went dry, and her heart hammered beneath her breast.

Oh Mamma Mia. She had never beheld such a gorgeous man.

“Would you care to dance, Mrs. Berry?”

Her legs shook, now too weak for her to stand, much less for her to dance.

At least she was seated. Oh, why did he have to be an aristocrat?

Why did she have to feel so overwhelmed by her attraction to him?

Why had this evening had to be tainted by the near attack on the road?

She swallowed against her dry mouth and throat several times before she could speak.

“Thank you, my lord, for the offer. But I fear I am too fatigued for dancing tonight.”

She glanced over the ballroom. Where had Susan disappeared to? Had her friend already snared a lover and gone to a place of seclusion with him?

“I am sorry to hear that you are so fatigued, Mrs. Berry,” he said.

She saw the skepticism in his gaze, and she hurried to explain.

“My friend and I were nearly accosted this evening on the way here. If Lady Wyndam’s carriage had not come along when it did and her driver not stopped and fired his pistol to frighten those men away, I fear we might have met a terrible end. ”

She couldn’t hold back a shudder.

Lady Wyndam laid a hand on her shoulder. “You are safe now, my dear. Thank goodness for it.”

The warmth in the dowager’s voice caused her to relax a bit. Lord Ashington cupped her hand between both of his. “I am so distressed to hear about this.”

His gaze held such sincerity and concern that she felt even more relaxed. He lifted one of his hands, then bent and pressed his lips to her hand. With more pressure this time. “If you’ll let me, I’ll make this up to you.”

It seemed such a strange thing for him to say that he would make this up to her. He certainly wasn’t responsible for what happened. She was uncertain how to reply. “I wonder if I should have ever come here.”

She wasn’t sure if she was speaking of being here at Whitestone Manor or of having come to England. But why was she being so disagreeable to this nobleman? She wasn’t sure. There was some cockiness to his manner, some glibness to his charm that rankled her.

“I’ve been visiting this estate since my boyhood,” Lord Ashington said. “And I have never heard of any such crimes in the village, much less on the road to this estate.”

“So, my friend’s cousin said as well.” Again, she couldn’t help but shudder. “Those men are still out there. Who knows what mischief they may do to another?”

“I’ve told the Earl of Barnet, and he promised to send a search party out. Those ruffians will be found before dawn, I am sure of it,” Lady Wyndam said with conviction.

“Perhaps I will go and see if I can help the search,” Lord Ashington said. He looked up at her. “May I call upon you tomorrow?”

She didn’t know what to say. Would he really want to call upon her at Susan’s parents’ farmhouse? As commoners, how would Susan’s parents feel about having such a grand visitor?

She knew already. They would assume that a nobleman was pursuing her only to engage her in an inappropriate assignation. She couldn’t do that to them.

“You may call upon us both at the Whitestone dowager’s house,” Lady Wyndam said.

Angela sagged with relief.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted this nobleman to pursue her or not. She didn’t know if his overconfident charm was an attraction or a reason to reject him as a possible lover.

But she wanted time to consider the matter.