Beauty and the Baron. Deborah Hale
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you to abuse me to your hearts’ content.”
A sickening tide of shame propelled Angela out of her chair to come between Lucius Daventry and his means of escape. “Please, my lord, don’t go.”
Though she knew her next words would probably vex him, she could not fathom why. Not that it mattered, for she could not bite them back. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to torment you, truly.”
“Speak for yourself, girl.” The earl leaned farther back in his chair, resting his chin against his clasped hands. “I have been chaffing my grandson like this since he was half his present size. He’s never taken an ounce of umbrage until today, which may betray his partiality for you.”
Angela cast the earl a look of pretended severity. “I think you had better stop it before you change his opinion of me.”
She raised her eyes to Lord Daventry. “Shall we punish your grandfather by going away to talk in private?”
The corners of the baron’s firm lips raised ever so slightly. “It would serve him right, the old meddler.”
“Away with you, then.” The earl made a great show of picking up a book from the small table beside his chair. “Be warned, though, I am apt to sulk.”
He was only teasing, Angela knew, but since this was all meant to be for his benefit, she did not want the earl to miss a moment of their performance.
“In that case—” She addressed herself to Lord Daventry “—I came to tell you that I hope you did not mistake my hesitation in accepting your proposal as a sign that I meant to refuse. From what your grandfather has said, I fear you have.”
“I could scarcely blame you,” the baron replied. “My grandfather is right—it was badly done on my part and far too precipitous. I…apologize.”
“Does that mean you wish to withdraw your offer?” she asked, not entirely certain how she hoped he would answer.
Before Lord Daventry could reply, the earl spoke up. “Not unless he wishes me to hurl this book at his head.”
Perhaps the baron heard the gleeful ring in his grandfather’s voice, for his compelling green gaze searched hers, wordlessly inquiring if she could tolerate the two of them going on like this for…as long as necessary.
He had said her face was an open book. Now Angela hoped he could read her unspoken response, for suddenly she knew what answer she wanted from him.
“My offer stands, Miss Lacewood.” He held out his hand to her. “And not because I entertain any fear of my grandfather braining me with his volume of Rasselas.”
When she placed her hand in his, Lord Daventry bowed over it, grazing her fingers with his lips. The chaste gesture made Angela feel as if she were a saucer brimming with syllabub—frothy and intoxicating.
“In that case, Lord Daventry, I accept.” Before she realized what she was doing, Angela raised his hand to her lips to seal their bargain.
“Marvelous!” The earl applauded their convincing performance.
That was all it had been, Angela told herself, a command performance to entertain and edify a very special audience.
During the coming weeks, she must take care to remember that, and not fall under the perilous illusion that Lord Lucifer was capable of caring for her.
Or she for him.
The sensation of Angela Lacewood’s divine lips grazing the back of his fingers brought all manner of provocative, unwelcome memories whispering through Lucius. In his younger years, when his looks had made women swoon, he’d been something of a rakehell, gorging himself on a banquet of pleasures afforded by his wealth, his title and his handsome countenance.
Since the war, and the disfigurement that made women swoon for the opposite reason, he had become as devoted a celibate as he had once been a libertine. Until just now, Lucius Daventry had not realized how little he’d missed the shallow diversions of his youth.
But, his lovely, new fiancée threatened to rouse the sleeping hunger within him, damn her!
The earl held out his hands to Lucius and Angela. “I believe this calls for a toast!”
Lucius made every effort not to drop Miss Lacewood’s hand too abruptly, while battling an equally fierce inclination to kiss it again.
Toast, indeed! They could toast his peace of mind like a crumpet over the glowing coals of his rekindled lust.
“Tell Carruthers to fetch us a bottle of our best champagne from the cellar,” the earl ordered Lucius. “On second thought, have him hunt up three or four so the servants may also drink to your happiness.”
The gleam of delight in his grandfather’s eyes countered the reservations that gnawed at Lucius. Three months would pass by far too quickly. Besides, what was a gift worth without a little sacrifice?
“You don’t want to set the cook drunk, and have her burn our dinner,” he said as he set off to relay the earl’s instructions.
“Drink half a dozen toasts and we’ll never notice.” The earl beckoned Miss Lacewood toward him.
Lucius hesitated at the library door long enough to see her stoop and ask, “May I call you Grandfather from now on?”
The earl pulled her into his embrace, “My dearest girl, nothing could make me happier!”
As Lucius watched them together, a foolish, wistful ache settled deep in his belly. With dogged effort, he reinforced his flagging composure and hurried off to order the wine.
He returned to the library a few minutes later to hear his grandfather ask Miss Lacewood, “How soon shall we set the date? June is always a pleasant month for weddings.”
Set a date? A bottomless sensation engulfed Lucius, as though the library’s parquet floor had suddenly opened up beneath his feet.
Before he could stammer out something that might have exposed their ruse to the earl, as well as making himself sound a complete ass, Miss Lacewood came to his rescue.
“We dare not make plans until my aunt and uncle return from the Continent. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have accepted Lord Daventry’s proposal without their permission.”
Lucius privately applauded her quick thinking.
“Old Bulwick?” scoffed the earl, who bettered his neighbor’s age by at least two decades. “Nonsense! You’ve reached years of discretion?”
“Decidedly on the shelf,” Miss Lacewood admitted. “I don’t doubt my aunt and uncle will be delighted to see me make such a fine match, at last. However, they can be somewhat…jealous of their privileges.”
“Yes, yes,” the earl grumbled. “Since you’ll be remaining in the neighborhood, I suppose we ought not to offend your relations by wedding you off in their absence.”
Carruthers appeared just then, bearing a tray with three tall slender glasses and a bottle of champagne. With a murmur of thanks, Lucius set about uncorking and pouring the wine.
Once in possession of his glass, the earl raised it toward Miss Lacewood in a salute. “Let us drink to the most beautiful addition to the Daventry family in many a year—my dear Angela. I hope I may take the liberty of calling you by your name, since you propose to call me Grandfather.”
She nodded, lowering her gaze while a self-conscious little smile hovered on her lips.
“To Angela.” Lucius raised his glass, adding his voice to his grandfather’s. Her name sparkled on his tongue with an intoxicating sweetness that rivaled the champagne.
The earl sipped his wine and gave an approving nod.
“Anxious as I am to see you settled, perhaps a long betrothal is not a bad thing in your case. The two of you need some time to become better acquainted