Chapter 22

twenty-two

A FTER HAVING DANCED a gallop, a quadrille, and even a waltz, Royston had had enough.

He'd danced without following the music, tripped a few times, and improvised many times, but overall, he was happy because Angeline had told him she loved him, because holding Angeline in his arms and watching her smile always cheered him up.

The night couldn't be more perfect. So when Mrs. Haywood had approached him at the end of the waltz, asking him to meet her in the parlour, he'd agreed.

He doubted she wanted to make peace with him, but he'd listen to her. Perhaps now that he'd soon become a member of the House of Lords, she'd give her blessings to the marriage.

On his way to the parlour, a footman, carrying a tray, stopped next to him.

"Wine, my lord?"

"Thank you." Royston took the only glass on the tray and took a sip for courage.

The rich taste of the wine filled his mouth. There was honey, cinnamon, almonds, and something else he couldn't place. Something pungent and bitter that stung his throat.

As he paced in the parlour alone, since Angeline was busy in the ladies' room, he pondered what was the best way to offer an allowance to Mrs. Haywood.

She slipped inside and shut the door behind her. "Lord Wharton, thank you for agreeing to see me."

He bowed. "Madam."

There was a moment of silence as she studied him. He didn't know what to say. His body sizzled with nervous energy.

"I'm sorry for my outburst from the other night, Wharton. You caught me off guard with your proposal, and you must understand Angeline is the most precious thing I have."

"I understand. I would never hurt her, madam. I love Angeline." He'd never tire of saying it.

"You love her." Her features hardened.

"I really want to take care of Angeline… and of you," he said.

"Of me?" Her voice rose a notch.

"I can provide for you more than adequately. You won't have to keep your business practices. You can leave behind the unpleasantness and danger of that life forever and live a life of leisure."

Her features tightened further.

"I wouldn't let the mother of my bride risk going to prison for something I could provide," he said.

"What a generous offer."

"We're going to be family soon." He had no intention of letting her blackmail people any longer.

"I'm sure Angeline will want to see you after we talk," she said, pouring herself a glass of wine from the sideboard. "Shall we have a toast first?"

"To what are we toasting?"

"A new beginning."

"A new beginning." He took a sip, and again the sweet aroma teased his taste buds, followed by the bitter flavour.

Mrs. Haywood watched him from over the rim of her glass as she sipped. "How do you feel, Lord Wharton?"

Her face blurred. The whole room blurred, but in a pleasant, comforting way if that made sense. He wasn't panicking. He was calm, if not a little drowsy.

"I'm fine." True. He wasn't nervous or scared.

Tiredness caught him, but at the same time, he didn't have a care in the world. Somehow, he felt more optimistic and happy. If only he could stand without his head spinning.

"Come here." Mrs. Haywood led him to the Chesterfield sofa, seemingly reading his mind.

The colours of the room burst with energy and became bright. The sofa tilted. He feared nausea might catch him, but no. His stomach was all right. The sensation was like flying.

Mrs. Haywood sat next to him. "Now, I want you to follow my voice."

He smiled. What a nice, deep voice she had.

"Everything I say is what's happening now."

Of course, it made perfect sense. He trusted her. Yes, he did. She was his future mother-in-law. He was in no danger.

"You're lying here with Angeline. She's beautiful."

"Yes, she is," he slurred.

"You and she are naked. You desire her so much."

So bloody true. Everything she said was true.

Yes, Angelina lay next to him. Mrs. Haywood vanished. He hadn't noticed her leaving the room, but never mind. Angeline was here.

Her dark hair was loose over her naked shoulders and perfect breasts. He caressed her cheek, feeling her silky skin under his fingers. She smiled. Hell, her smile was devastatingly beautiful. She kissed him, and he smiled against her lips.

"What are you doing?"

That was her voice, but it sounded as if coming from a great distance, and she didn't seem happy at all.

He waved at her. Her long curls of hair floated around her, and her flimsy nightgown caressed her curves, showing everything to him. A breeze coming from somewhere caused the fabric to flutter and plaster against her lovely body. If only her tone of voice matched her ethereal beauty.

"Royston?"

She cupped his face, and for a split second, she didn't appear dressed in her nightgown but in an evening ballgown, which was pretty, but he preferred the diaphanous nightgown that showed everything.

Her hair was different as well, no longer loosened but gathered in a chignon. She looked like that night when he'd danced the mayonnaise. No, it was the lyonnaise. Who cared?

How odd. Her attire kept changing. He blinked, and there she was in all her ethereal beauty, wearing her transparent nightgown.

"Can you hear me?" Her voice sounded high-pitched and hysterical.

Bugger, her evening gown replaced the revealing nightgown again. He wouldn't know how she changed so quickly, hairstyle and all. Anyhow. She'd asked him something, but he didn't remember what.

Distant voices reached his ears. It seemed that two women were arguing about something.

"Royston. Your skin is purple." Angeline took his face again, her dark eyes large with worry. "I'll be back with a physician. Don't fear."

Fear? He wasn't scared. He'd never been better, aside from his face tingling.

But since she looked concerned, he nodded.

A thud, like the sound of a door closing, came. Then Angeline returned with her loose hair and transparent nightgown.

She stretched out next to him. Her sweet scent teased his nostrils. So delicate. She smiled although it wasn't her usual sweet smile. That smile had something wicked in it. She lowered the satin straps of her nightgown and tugged the fabric down until she was half-naked.

He stretched out a hand to caress her beautiful breasts when she vanished in a curl of steam. Gone. Poof. Like a snuffed-out candle.

"What the hell?" he said, although his tongue felt strangely heavy and thick, as if it were swollen, filling his mouth.

"There we are." A face filled his field of vision. And it was a terrifying sight. Lady Redvers stared at him. "Come, Georgiana."

"Mother, we can't. We shouldn't!"

"Right now. Stop snivelling."

Royston gazed around. The lights were still blurring and shining like beacons. His spirits were still high, but Angeline was nowhere to be found, and he'd lost some of his pleasant mood. Lady Redvers and her daughter shouldn't be here, interrupting his lovemaking with Angeline.

"Come on. This is perfect. He's drunk. What a stroke of luck." That was Lady Redvers.

Then a soft body bumped into him. A mop of brown hair came into view. Small hands pressed against his chest. It was Miss Georgiana Taylor, shivering against him. Or maybe he was shivering. He had no idea.

"Go away," he slurred. He wasn't sure she'd heard him.

"I don't care if this idiot becomes a member of the House of Lords," Lady Redvers said, "but compromising you, Georgiana, means Wharton Steel will be ours."

"What?" he slurred.

"I'm sorry," Miss Taylor said.

Either tears filled her eyes or… he wouldn't know what else. But he wanted Angeline, not this trembling lady.

"What's happening here?" someone asked.

"It's not his fault. He didn't do anything." Angeline's voice.

"What a scandal," a woman said.

"No, he didn't do anything," Angeline said.

Hell, his stomach was really upset. Cramps made him gag. A bitter taste filled his mouth, and the sensation of floating and being light disappeared.

Flames filled the room. He had to take Angeline away. The blaze would kill her. Cold sweat soaked his shirt. His body convulsed, but he felt so cold his teeth chattered, which didn't make any sense because the room was on fire.