Beauty and the Baron. Deborah Hale
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was how it felt to kiss a woman.
Unless this one was somehow different from all the others.
The aftertaste of champagne he imbibed from her had the most delicate bouquet, with heightened sweetness and sparkle. His head began to spin as though he’d guzzled an entire bottle. He finally parted from her as reluctantly as a drunkard from his favorite bottle.
His kiss had the effect he’d hoped in temporarily robbing Angela of speech. Lucius had not anticipated that it might have a similar effect upon him.
Meanwhile, the earl continued to sit with his back to them, sipping his champagne and turning a deaf ear to whatever minor liberties the newly betrothed couple might be taking.
“D-did it ever occur to you,” Lucius asked, when he had finally regained command of his vocal organs, “that I might prefer to keep my engagement a private matter?”
Though he addressed his grandfather, Lucius shot Angela a look that he hoped would penetrate her tipsy haze and the dumbstruck outrage of his sudden kiss.
The more public their engagement, the more difficult it would be to break when the time came. Not that Lucius cared much on his own account, but the scandal might ruin Angela’s chances of contracting a proper marriage later on.
Why did the prospect of her wedding someone else bring such a sour taste to his mouth?
“Privacy is one thing, my dear boy,” replied the earl, “but this smacks of something furtive. Surely you don’t wish to encourage any ridiculous tattle that you’re ashamed of this connection?”
“Of course not!”
Lucius stalked over to the side table where the champagne bottle rested. He needed another drink. He also needed to put some distance between himself and Angela, lest the urge to kiss her again should overpower him.
“I doubt anyone will think such a thing simply because you fail to host a ball. It’s well-known I’ve retired from society.”
The earl gazed heavenward. “That has fueled enough unsavory gossip to tarnish our family name for a generation. I, for one, am anxious to lay such malicious talk to rest. A lavish celebration of your betrothal to a sweet, beautiful young lady like Angela should go a long way to rehabilitate your reputation.”
For such a frail old stick, his grandfather had a will of iron, Lucius mused with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. The earl would not be balked. He would keep answering every objection Lucius threw up, raising the matter tomorrow and the next day and the next until he wore his grandson down.
It didn’t help that his grandfather had recruited an ally in Angela Lacewood. From halfway across the large room, her wistful, coaxing gaze found Lucius with the power and precision of a well-aimed artillery barrage.
Surely she didn’t believe he would be ashamed to wed a beauty like her?
Lucius bolted another drink of champagne. He had one last scrap of ammunition. Though it was of a powerful calibre, particularly against Angela’s soft heart, pride made him shrink from deploying it.
“Do either of you understand what you’re asking of me? To spend an evening under the glare of chandeliers?”
The looks on both their faces told him he need not mention the glare of so many curious stares.
“Apologies, my boy,” the earl murmured. “I hadn’t considered that.”
His grandfather looked so disappointed Lucius rather wished he’d held his tongue. As Angela had been about to say before he’d stopped her with his kiss, the whole point of their sham engagement was to make the earl’s last months happy. Compared with what he’d already undertaken in that cause, what was one little ball?
“I know!” cried Angela. “What if we don’t hold it indoors under all those bright lights?”
Once again she approached him with unsteady steps. Was she not afraid he might kiss her again?
“Helmhurst has some of the most charming grounds in the country. Why don’t we hold the ball outside, under the stars?” As the soft shine of starlight shimmered in her eyes, Lucius knew he was lost.
“By Jove!” The earl clapped his hands like a child delighted with a new plaything. “What a clever idea, my dear!”
“That champagne has put lots of clever ideas in my head.” Angela held Lucius in her gaze. “Could we not make this outdoor ball a masquerade, as well?”
A masquerade? What could he say to that? His appearance might not draw a single curious glance among a throng of masked guests.
“If you are both so resolved upon it—” Lucius looked from his grandfather to Angela “—I suppose I have no choice but to surrender. A ball you want, then a ball you shall have. So novel and magnificent a ball it will give the ton something pleasant to gossip about for a change.”
“Do you mean it?” Angela looked ready to throw her arms around him, but at the last moment she curbed her tipsy elation in favor of grasping his hand instead. “Thank you!”
Lucius almost succeeded in convincing himself that he approved of her tardy display of discretion.
Was it the champagne making her throw caution to the winds? Angela wondered in a curiously detached sort of way as she clung to Lucius Daventry’s hand. Or was it the unsettling effect his presence continued to work upon her?
So much about his stance and manner demanded she keep her distance. Yet, some contrary force, of which he seemed unaware, called to her. As potent as it was puzzling, that force left her with no choice but to respond.
If his lordship had intended the swift, heart-stopping kiss he’d thrust upon her to punish her for opposing him, or frighten her into being more compliant in future, he had made a grave miscalculation. From the moment he’d left her clinging to the mantelpiece to keep from melting to the floor, she’d begun to wonder how she might provoke him into another one.
When he’d executed a sudden about-face, agreeing to host a ball for her, Angela had wanted very much to kiss him.
But she couldn’t, no matter how much champagne she had in her belly. For many years she had made the mistake of trying to give affection where it was not wanted. Bitter experience had cured her of that tendency.
“I knew you’d come around, my boy.” The earl could not have sounded better pleased if his grandson had agreed to the ball straightaway.
Lord Daventry extracted his hand from Angela’s eager grip. “If there’s one lesson I learned under General Wellington, it’s to know when I’m outgunned.”
“Don’t sulk,” said the earl. “You’ll have a splendid time. We all will.”
Before Lord Daventry could phrase a pithy reply, a familiar, discreet knock sounded on the library door and the earl bid his valet to enter.
“The household wishes to thank milords for the champagne and to extend our compliments to Lord Daventry and Miss Lacewood on the happy news of their engagement.” The only sign that Carruthers had partaken of the celebratory refreshment was a rather glassy stare. “Also, milords, Cook begs to inquire whether Miss Lacewood will be staying to dinner.”
“Indeed she will.” Belatedly the earl cast a glance at Angela. “You will, won’t you, my dear? We can discuss the guest list for this ball of ours.”
A wave of dismay broke over Angela as she exchanged fond smiles with her dearest friend. Nothing would induce her to shadow his remaining time with the knowledge of how brief it would be. But the champagne had loosened her tongue and eroded her natural discretion.
She had better not stay to risk a blunder from which Lord Daventry might not be able to rescue her.
“I wish I could.” She shook her head. “But I promised Tibby I’d be home for supper. She’ll worry if I don’t get back soon.”