Page 6
Chapter
Six
A ngelica took back her hand and smiled at Lord Whitmore.
A handsome man to be sure, but one whom she knew already wasn’t one to be trusted.
Not when it came to matters of the heart.
In the few minutes she’d come to know him, she already recognized the signs of a flirtatious, smooth-tongued man who could easily charm a lady into believing whatever flowed from his handsome mouth.
Even so, she liked him instantly, in that curious, distant way one might admire a dashing character from a novel.
His easy manner and humor left her wary, though not wholly repelled.
And if Lord Benedict had summoned him here, surely there was no animosity between the brothers.
She would welcome him politely, if not keep him firmly at arm’s length.
“I apologize for not hearing you arrive, Lord Whitmore. You found me asleep, and I’m sorry for that. Very unladylike of me.”
He grinned, and there was something behind that smile, a wicked glint that told her he wasn’t thinking anything innocent about her words. Quite the opposite, in fact. Heat crept up her face, and she averted her gaze, unsure where to look.
What an enigma these two brothers were…
“You’re forgiven, Lady Angelica. I arrived late and asked the footman not to pull anyone from their beds. I thank you for looking after my brother so well. I’m happy to have found him still breathing.”
Lord Benedict shook his head, a long-suffering look on his face, and Angelica couldn’t help but laugh softly at the marquess’s words. The man was terribly amusing, if not a little crass and forward with his language.
“As are we, my lord. I will not sugarcoat it and tell you that Lord Benedict has not been very unwell, but we’re glad he’s on the mend.
” She paused, moving to the other side of the bed, smoothing the blanket as she did out of habit.
Her fingers lingered near Benedict’s wrist, and she noticed a faint tremble there—a subtle reminder of how fragile life could be.
“I understand from Lord Benedict that when he’s recovered enough, you shall be returning to London to take part in the Season. I too will be there this year, and I’m very much looking forward to it.”
“Hmm, are you now,” he said, leaning back into his chair with an ease that suggested he owned the very air in the room. “Then I will be sure to see you and will command a dance, of course. If you’re willing to take a turn about the floor with me.”
“Of course. I shall like that very much.”
Angelica glanced at Lord Benedict, whose gaze had sharpened, his mouth tightening ever so slightly as he regarded his brother. A shiver of unease prickled along her spine, and she wondered if she’d spoken out of turn.
“And you, Lord Benedict, I hope that should you be in town, and if you do take any time to enter society, that I shall have a dance with you also. It would be nice to enjoy a waltz after all that you’ve suffered.”
He turned his head slowly, a small, soft smile spreading across his lips. “Should I attend any events and you’re also a guest, it would be my honor to dance with the lady to whom I owe so much. I shall enjoy that most ardently.”
The warmth in his eyes—a quiet, steady light—made her chest tighten in an odd, unfamiliar way.
Lord Whitmore snorted and coughed to cover the sound, but still, Angelica wondered why he found such an exchange amusing.
“Then it’s settled,” she said, smoothing her gown unnecessarily, suddenly conscious of the low neckline of her evening dress.
“We shall all rejoin in town and have our dances as promised.”
“A ménage à trois.” Lord Whitmore laughed, a wicked gleam in his eye. “How fun.”
From head to toe, heat flooded Angelica’s skin, and for several moments, she could not decide what she should do. She wasn’t a woman of the world, sheltered came to mind when she thought of her own character, but even she knew what Lord Whitmore’s words meant.
“Whitmore, remember yourself and apologize to Lady Angelica. Truly, man,” Lord Benedict chided, his voice sharper than she’d heard it before.
Yet Lord Whitmore only chuckled and shrugged. “Apologies, I’m only teasing. You must understand, Lady Angelica, that I do tend to overstep the bounds of society and mock more than I ought. I hope I have not given offense.”
A sharp pang of discomfort twisted in her chest. Of course, he had given offense, and yet she forced a polite smile.
“Well, I shall bid you both good night. Do ring the bell if you require anything from the staff. They will attend you at once.” She moved toward the door, her pulse racing.
She paused at the threshold, offering a small, formal nod.
“There is a room prepared directly across the hall for you, my lord, should you wish to sleep. I shall bid you both good night and see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Lady Angelica,” they said in unison, the contrast in their voices, one warm and steady, the other light and teasing curling through her mind.
She left the room at a pace far quicker than decorum allowed, eager to be free of the unsettling conversation. The heat in her cheeks lingered, and a strange, breathless sensation pulsed through her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure she understood what had just transpired.
Both men—no matter their intentions—were far more worldly than she. The hidden meanings behind their words left her feeling a little foolish, as though she were a child overhearing an adult conversation she was not meant to comprehend.
Especially Lord Whitmore’s words…
As she approached her room, she almost jumped out of her skin when Isabella appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, foot tapping on the worn Aubusson runner.
“Who was that who arrived? He seemed very worldly and tall, not to mention as handsome as the other chap who managed to get himself shot.”
Angelica marveled at how similar two siblings could be, even when of opposite sex. Lord Whitmore and Isabella could give each other a good set down with their tongues, sharp and direct their only language.
“That is Lord Benedict’s elder brother, Lord Whitmore. He’s come to stay and, when Lord Benedict is well enough, escort him back to London to recuperate further.” Angelica moved into her room, tugging at the pins in her hair.
Isabella followed on her heels, perching on the bed.
“I wish I could come to London this year. I hate that I have to wait until you’re married before I have my coming out.
It’ll be dreadfully boring here, with nothing to do but watch Rosalind and the duke make googly eyes at each other all the months you’ll be away. ”
“There will be a baby soon. At least you’ll be here for that. I’ll miss it, unfortunately, trying to find a husband so I can make a family of my own.”
Isabella flopped onto the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling. “I shall miss you when you’re away. Even though I’m looking forward to the baby, I wish I could be with you. I’ll be an old maid by the time my Season comes around.”
“You’re not anywhere near an old maid. And anyway, we’re all extremely lucky that we’re daughters of a duke. No matter how bad our father was, at least we’ll never be terribly unattractive to the opposite sex, no matter how old we are.”
“That is true, I suppose.” Isabella sat up, grinning. “What do you think of Lord Benedict now that he’s not unconscious? I thought him handsome. What is it that I hear he’s to become a priest?”
“Yes,” Angelica sighed. “A Catholic one, presumably, which means he’ll not marry.” And certainly not her, even though shamefully the thought had flittered through her mind a time or two while caring for him.
“How boring his life shall be. But surely, to make such a choice would not be easy. Not when he’s as handsome as he is.”
“I do not think being handsome or not has any bearing on whether a man wishes to become a Catholic priest, Isabella.” Angelica fought not to laugh, but failed.
“Well, I’m sorry for all the ladies who shall have one less handsome and kind man to choose from to marry. From what Evangeline wrote to us last year, good gentlemen are hard to find.”
“Do I need to remind you that she married after her initial wobble entering the London Season, and no doubt so will I—and so will you and all our sisters. The trick is to marry a man who is kind, one whom you love, and, with any hope, one who loves you in return.”
Isabella waggled her brows mischievously. “Do you think Lord Whitmore will ever love a woman? I could hear him speaking when you were in the room with them, and he seems quite the oddity, if not a little naughty.”
“I think naughty is his middle name…” Not that Angelica didn’t think him nice and handsome too, but when she looked at the marquess, she felt nothing more than polite curiosity.
Whereas with Lord Benedict… Well, with the younger brother, something else entirely stirred within her, a fluttering, a heat she didn’t understand and wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Especially since he had no intention of finding a wife.
Her feelings, whatever they were, would be a waste of effort and could only injure her heart if she let them grow.
“Perhaps I ought to invite Lord Whitmore for a ride about the estate tomorrow. Do you think he’d like that?” Isabella asked.
“Take a maid and a stablehand. I don’t know if I trust his lordship around anyone in a skirt.”
“You tease. He wouldn’t dare do anything scandalous.”
Angelica raised a brow. “I’m certain Lord Benedict would not, but Lord Whitmore? I wouldn’t wager on that—not one penny.”