Chapter 7

seven

I T WAS AMAZING what an unmarried woman was allowed to do with her mother's approval.

If Angeline had been a normal person and her mother had been just like any other mamas, she wouldn't be allowed to be alone with an unmarried man.

The worst thing was that other young women would give their best pearl necklaces to have Angeline's freedom. But she was boiling. She wished her mother would have helped her search for a husband and not for a lover to be drugged.

On the other hand, the best way to convince Mr. North to leave her alone was to have a chat with him. She would be firm and honest, and he would stop pestering her. And Mama would understand Angeline didn't want to be part of criminal games.

"Don't be nervous, Angeline." Mr. North sat next to her on the Chesterfield sofa in a small sitting room quite far from the ballroom. The music couldn't be heard, which meant that if she screamed, no one would come.

"It's Miss Haywood." She inched away from him, wondering if she could jump through the window, land in the garden, and run home.

The sitting room was not on the first floor though, and she might break an ankle. "Mr. North!" She swatted his hand away from her knee. "Stop it."

"Don't be shy. Your mother must have told you what I want from you." He coiled one of her curls around his finger. "We're here merely to discuss the details. Do not fear. I'll be gentle." He snickered, that high-pitched, hiccupping snickering as pleasant as a fork scratching a porcelain plate.

She removed his hand from her hair. "What you discussed with my mother does not matter. I'm not going to spend a night with you."

"I seriously doubt you wouldn't be interested in three thousand pounds." He raised his eyebrows again.

Good Lord. She forced herself to stay calm.

"Excuse me?" She turned towards him quickly enough to wrinkle her dress. The darn neckline dropped a few inches, attracting the full attention of Mr. North's impolite gaze.

"That's the sum I offer. Three thousand pounds for the pleasure of lying with you." He brushed his fingers over the top of her breasts.

Three thousand pounds was the price of her virginity. The man thought he could buy her. She was an article on a shelf. Nothing more.

She removed his hand. "Does my mother know about your offer?"

"No. I wanted to discuss it with you as a matter of respect." He kissed her hand.

"How kind of you."

"Thank you." He wasn't fluent in sarcasm.

She slid her hand out of his. At least Mama hadn't negotiated the price.

"I'm not usually attracted to women like you," he said, caressing her knuckles.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Black hair and eyes, those huge lips that look like a wasp just stung them… I prefer women with fair hair, taller than you are, and who don't have your angular features. But you possess a certain je ne sais quoi that has its allure. Yes, I'm convinced that three thousand pounds is an appropriate sum. I would offer twice that amount if you had blonde hair."

"Would you like to inspect my teeth?"

He laughed. "You could wear a wig."

Enough. "Thank you for this speech, Mr. North, because now I'm even less interested in you than I was before, which I didn't think was possible." She rose, but the scoundrel had the audacity to grab her wrist and pull her down onto the sofa again.

"I like a chase, but you're starting to annoy me with your hostile attitude."

She shrugged her arm free. "Oh, I'm devastated. Goodbye." She stood up again, and he dragged her down.

He took her chin between his strong fingers. He could bruise her if he wanted to. "You leave when I say so. My offer is generous because I assumed you'd be cooperative." He put his greedy hand on her breast.

Anger and shock were never a good combination. Angeline acted on sheer instinct. She seized the vase behind her and poured the water in it over Mr. North's glorious strawberry-blond hair— roses, thorns, and all. He froze in shock, his mouth hanging open and drops dripping from his hair.

She shot up to her feet and strode towards the door.

Her hand was over the knob when he roared.

She pulled the door, but it didn't budge. He must have locked it after they'd entered the room. She fumbled with the key until the door opened, but he marched towards her, leaving a trail of drops.

"You aren't going to leave this room." His upper lip curled up in a snarl.

"Try me."

She rushed out of the room, trying to remember where the ballroom was. The big house was a maze of identical corridors, shiny floors, and hidden stairs, and when she'd allowed Mr. North to the parlour, she'd been too angry to pay attention.

"Angeline." His voice boomed from behind her. For a tall man with long legs, he wasn't fast. Not that she complained about that.

No sound of voices reached her. The ballroom had to be on the other side of the corridor. But any room with a solid door would do for now.

The doors she tried were all locked, and the stairs leading downstairs didn't look familiar at all. Piano music drifted from a room at the end of the corridor, and she made a dash for it for no reason other than where there was piano music, there was a pianist. Hopefully, a sympathetic pianist.

"When I catch you, I'm going to rip that pretty blue dress off you," he said.

Well, that was a further incentive for her not to be caught. She barged into the pianist's room, glad the door wasn't locked. Breathless, she stopped in the middle of a cosy sitting room where a man was playing a beautiful piece, bathed in the golden light from the chandelier. The peaceful sight and the lovely music were a stark contrast to the scene she'd escaped from.

The pianist gazed up from the keys and frowned at her. His intense hazel eyes widened in recognition, likely as hers did.

Goodness. It was Mr. Royston Alexander. For a moment, surprise made her forget about the angry scoundrel chasing her.

"Mr. Alexander," she said.

"Miss Haywood." He paused playing and stood up.

Mr. North strode into the room, fists clenched and utterly wet. "I win, Angeline. You're going to regret your abominable behaviour."

Mr. Alexander moved so fast Angeline saw only a dark blur swishing past her. He stepped between Mr. North and her, blocking her view of her chaser with his broad shoulders.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a commanding tone.

Angeline craned her neck to see past him.

Mr. North lost his cocksure expression. The wet hair didn't help give him a menacing effect. "Angeline?—"

"It's Miss Haywood," she said.

"—threw a vase full of water over me." Mr. North gestured at his soaked silk waistcoat and dripping hair.

"Miss Haywood must have had a very good reason for doing that." Mr. Alexander mirrored Mr. North's moves as he tried to get past him and reach her.

A surge of gratitude warmed her. He knew her better than she'd thought.

"I did nothing she wasn't prepared for," Mr. North said. "Now, I don't know who you are or how you know Angeline, but I must ask you to remove yourself from this room and leave me alone with her."

"I won't do such a thing." Mr. Alexander folded his arms over his chest. "Unless Miss Haywood asks me to."

"Not likely," she said.

Mr. North scoffed. "Who the hell are you?"

Mr. Alexander straightened. "I'm Lord Royston Alexander, Baron Wharton."

What? Angeline stepped around him to stare at his face. Not a single facial muscle twitched. If it was a bluff, he was doing a great job hiding it because he sounded extremely serious.

Even Mr. North looked taken aback. As a man who owned a fortune thanks to his family's trade but no title, for business alone he needed to be respectful towards a baron.

"Lord Wharton," he said, slouching his posture. "I wasn't aware of your acquaintance with Angeline."

"Miss Haywood," Mr. Alexander… no, Lord Wharton said, sounding as upset as she was.

"Miss Haywood." Mr. North held up a hand. "I had no idea Miss Haywood knew you."

"I've known His Lordship for quite a long time," she said not without pride. Served Mr. North right.

The scoundrel's eyebrows rose to his hairline as if he'd realised something obvious. "I see. You're my competitor, my lord."

Lord Wharton glanced at her. "Competitor?"

"How much did you offer?" Mr. North asked.

Lord Wharton's frown deepened. "For what?"

"For—"

"Don't." She stepped between Lord Wharton and Mr. North. "It's nothing, a misunderstanding. Mr. North will leave now." She'd rather spend a day on the chair of a dentist than let Lord Wharton know her mother had put her virginity on sale. A fake sale but still a sale.

"What misunderstanding?" Mr. North kept talking unhelpfully. "I'm paying three thousand pounds. However, after tonight's outrageous behaviour, I'll reduce my offer. How much have you offered, my lord?"

Angeline hid her face behind her hands. How she wished to fly away on a carpet like in one of those Arabian Nights stories. She was going to die out of sheer embarrassment.

Of all the rooms in the home of Lord and Lady Redvers, she had to choose the one with a man she hadn't seen in two years. The man who'd saved her life was now a baron.

"What are you talking about?" Lord Wharton shifted his gaze from Mr. North to her. Confusion was spelt on his scrunched-up face.

Mr. North nodded towards her. "Ask Miss Haywood."

"Miss Haywood." Lord Wharton stepped closer to her and dipped his head to catch her gaze.

The contact shocked him if the way his eyes became large was any sign. Also, touching his chest was like touching a slab of steel, only warmer.

"Please don't mind Mr. North. Don't listen to what he says."

"I don't understand what's happening here." Mr. North wasn't a great observer since he didn't realise Lord Wharton obviously had no intention of making an offer. "I demand Miss Haywood clarify the situation, especially after she behaved so horribly with me."

Angeline lowered her hands, having no intention of clarifying anything. "Mr. North, please leave. I wish you to leave."

Lord Wharton crossed the room with two long strides. "Miss Haywood was clear." He held the door open and shot a cold, hard glance at Mr. North. "Out. Now." It was an order given with the authority only a man of power possessed.

"The conversation isn't over." With all the outrage of someone who had been deeply wronged, Mr. North left the room.

She sagged in relief as Lord Wharton shut the door. What a mess. What an embarrassment. Perhaps she should take the risk of breaking her ankle and flee through the window.

Lord Wharton drew in a breath that strained the fabric of his waistcoat. "Miss Haywood." It sounded sweet and low.

"Mr. Alexander… I mean, Lord Wharton." She dropped a curtsy. "I didn't know you had acquired a title."

"Sod my title. What was that idiot talking about?" He stretched out an arm in the direction of the door.

"A long story. Rather boring, actually. You are a baron, my lord? Congratulations! How do you like being a lord? Exciting." Her attempt at distracting him from what Mr. North had said was pathetic.

He worked his jaw. She could almost hear his thoughts. Likely, he debated whether to press the subject or let it go.

"You may call me Royston, Miss Haywood."

"That wouldn't be appropriate." She pulled up the neckline of her gown although Lord Wharton wasn't staring at her cleavage. "How did you acquire a title, my lord?"

He glanced at the door again. Hopefully, he'd drop the subject of Mr. North's offer. "I received the title after the Theatre Royal fire. Saving the queen's grandson was enough to make me a baron."

"I didn't hear about it." Because a furious Russian grand duke had chased her mother and her out of London.

"It was in the newspapers. There was a ceremony. I wanted the fuss to be over and done. Not a lot of bruhaha. Somehow, it didn't seem right towards those people who had died in the fire. They lost their lives, and I acquired a title."

"You saved many people that night. Your courage and selflessness deserved to be acknowledged by the queen." She smoothed down her bodice. The chase had caused her muslin sleeves to wrinkle as well. She straightened her skirt too, searching for other excuses not to glance up at him. "Thank you for your help, my lord. We have many things to talk about after two years." Not necessarily tonight's events.

"Did Mr. North hurt you?" A growl reverberated in his voice.

She had no intention of telling him about Mama's scheme, their financial insecurity, the blackmailing, or about Mr. North groping her and his three thousand pounds.

"The man is confused." That, at least, was true.

"My guess is that he attacked you." The gravity in his voice promised a long conversation to come. "You threw a vase at him and escaped from him. You wouldn't have done something like that if he hadn't done something horrible to you."

"Well, yes. He tried to attack me, and I used the contents of the vase to cool down his hot temper." She chuckled nervously, hoping to lighten the heavy atmosphere between them.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Clever move. I'll have a word with him if you want, make him understand to stay away from you."

"It's all right. Do not fret, my lord." She fiddled with her hands. "Instead, pray tell me about your new life. I'm eager to hear everything."

"So am I about yours. The last time we saw each other, I wasn't kind to you. I regret having raised my voice."

"I asked you to dance, and you got rather upset." She couldn't completely remove a hint of hurt from her voice because, to this day, she didn't understand his mood change.

"I apologise, Miss Haywood." He bowed.

"Angeline, please."

"Only if you call me Royston."

"Very well, Royston. So, I'm still curious to hear everything about the past two years."

He offered her his arm. "As much as I'd love to chat with you, I believe you should return to the ballroom and to your mother lest someone come here and make assumptions. Let me escort you."

"Thank you." She took his arm, aware she hadn't fooled him. Her attempts to distract him from Mr. North hadn't worked. "You play the piano well."

He checked the corridor before stepping out of the room. "Thank you. Do you play?"

She let out a snigger that sounded disturbingly similar to Mr. North's coarse laugh. He had to be contagious. "We have a piano at home, just because Mama thinks it's fancy, but the only keys I touch are those of my house."

He flashed a lovely boyish smile.

The sounds of footsteps came from the other side of the corridor, and he dragged her behind the heavy brocade curtains covering a bay window.

She nearly tripped on her feet. "What?—"

He pressed a finger against his lips.

From the sound of the footfalls, two people were walking toward them. A couple of servants perhaps, although this hallway wasn't in the servants' quarter.

"Miss Haywood is pretty," one man said.

"She is, but have you seen the scar on her arm? I did. It's disgusting. I meant to court her, but after I saw that horrible thing, I changed my mind. I cannot imagine having to see that deformed arm every day. "

Oh, she guessed the second man was Mr. Barnes, a man she'd met during a bow practice session in Hyde Park. Her arm had been uncovered then. He'd voiced his opinion on the scar, so his words shouldn't still hurt, but they did.

Royston squeezed her hand as the footsteps faded. He waited. She stood inches from him. His slow breathing fanned on her neck.

"I think the danger has passed," she said, pretending not to notice his delicious, musky scent.

"I'm sorry you heard that," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter." She cleared her throat.

"It does." He stared at her with too much intensity.

She had to look away from him. "We didn't need to hide."

"Your reputation will be ruined if someone sees us here alone," he whispered.

Ha! If he only knew what Mama had in mind. She would be delighted to know her daughter was hiding behind a curtain with a baron.

"What happened with Mr. North is enough for one night." He moved the curtain aside and checked the corridor. "Come."

The glow from the gas lamps cast deep shadows on his harsh face, giving him the look of a hardened warrior. He hadn't asked further questions about her entanglement with Mr. North, and she was glad for that, but he must have understood the whole sad affair.

More footsteps approached. This time, it seemed that two people were in a hurry. There was a feminine chuckle, followed by a masculine growl.

"Quick." Royston led her behind yet another set of curtains.

She stifled a gasp as she bumped against him in her haste to hide. Her back touched his chest in a more intimate pose than she'd imagined. His arm coiled around her waist and inched her away from the curtain.

"Where are we going?" the woman asked. Judging by her melodious voice, she had to be young.

"Where no one can see us." That was the man. He spoke with a strong voice and had an accent, Cornish perhaps. "And where I can play the piano for you."

Another pianist.

"My mother will look for me soon," the woman said in a sophisticated lilt.

"We'll be quick. I really want to play only for you. Even when I play on stage, I think only of you."

Not simply a pianist but a performer. Not that the information was of any help to Angeline, but she needed to be distracted from Royston's warmth.

She held her breath as the couple walked closer. The footsteps and giggles stopped on the other side of the curtains. Bother. The two lovers had decided to take a breather right there and then. A few inaudible, whispered words were exchanged. Smooching and kissing sounds filled the silence. A little moan came from the woman. The curtains were shoved inwards by elbows and shoulders.

Royston pulled Angeline further back into the nook. The two lovers kept kissing and whispering to each other while inching closer to the curtains. Royston's warmth seeped into Angeline and reached her skin through the layers of fabric separating them.

The hug was lovely. Being held in a protective embrace while feeling his warm, hard body against hers had a calming effect on her heartbeat. A completely different experience from having Mr. North's clammy hands on her.

A hand slid between the curtains, and she stiffened, pressing her body against Royston further.

"Let's go," the woman said, showing more sensibility than her pianist lover. "Anyone can see us here."

Among loud kisses and chuckles, the lovers hurried away.

"Thank goodness." Angeline sagged in relief.

Royston removed his arm. "I apologise for the liberty I took in holding you."

Actually, she enjoyed the hug. "The circumstances were dire." And she hadn't minded.

"Still, I'll be more careful." He checked the corridor again before letting her out of their hiding place. "Quick now. The ballroom is close."

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the rest of their walk to the ballroom was uneventful. No secret lovers. No hiding. No more pianists. No being held by Royston.

She hadn't experienced anything that exciting since she'd won an archery competition years ago.

He paused in a quiet dark corner from where they could see the glittering ballroom. "You go first. If we meet in the ballroom, we'll pretend to have seen each other for the first time this evening. If anyone asks, we've never had that conversation with Mr. North, and you left the ballroom with a lady friend."

She clicked her heels together and gave him a military salute. "Yes, sir."

He frowned. "You aren't taking the situation seriously, Angeline. We're both risking our reputation."

"You as well? Casanovas are usually praised."

His frown deepened. "With due respect, but I don't want to be considered a rakehell who lures beautiful women to have a quick brush with them. Some find a rake admirable. I don't."

"Am I beautiful?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, go to the ballroom."

"Thank you again for your kindness." She bobbed a curtsy. "I hope to see you again in different circumstances."

"Angeline?"

"Yes?"

His smile was shy. "You are beautiful." He turned around to walk to the other side of the hallway.

She entered the ballroom, surprised by her high spirits. When she'd left it to follow Mr. North, she'd been a bundle of nerves. She couldn't have imagined she'd come back wishing to spend more time hidden behind a curtain.