[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You) (27 page)

Vauxhall was one of the many pleasure gardens scattered through the fashionable neighborhoods of London. Many of Adriana's former acquaintances had forsworn Vauxhall in favor of the more genteel Ranelagh, but she much preferred the former. The arches and promenade, the graceful statues and benches, the well-tended gardens themselves, all pleased her. But it was the music hall itself she most enjoyed. A high-ceilinged great hall with elegant plasterwork touched with gilt, it had, in fact, inspired Cassandra's parlor.

Under that arched roof gathered all the classes of London—a mark against it in many eyes, but a great benefit in Adriana's. It seemed to her criminal to limit music to the upper classes. One of the great beauties of life was music, and she felt it should be offered freely to all. And here, it was.

One of her gowns had been delivered earlier that afternoon, and Adriana wore it arrogantly, holding her head at a proud level as she and Tynan made their way up the promenade in the early dark, looking for Margaret. She knew eyes followed her—the deep blue velvet with its overskirt of gauze made the most of her extravagant figure, and the deeply cut bodice, even without the necklace of sapphires that had been her mother's, would have drawn attention.

In fact, she'd been appalled at the display, and had come down with a length of fine gossamer silk tucked over her shoulders and breasts. Tynan shook his head, smiling the faintest bit, and with a single, bold gesture tugged it out. "You're no blushing maiden, Riana, but a married woman in the full blossom of her beauty." His eyes had skated with dark appreciation over her flesh. "Wear it proudly. Haughtily."

As she walked down the promenade, it was not difficult to hold her head proudly, and it was Tynan who made it so. Dressed in an immaculate suit of midnight satin, the waistcoat again embroidered with the Celtic design that was so unusual, he was by far the most elegant and attractive man in the park. Women dipped their heads to gaze at him discreetly behind their fans, and young girls openly stared. Tall and lean, his eyes glittering with that hot light, he winked at one, smiled at another, caused a whole crowd of girls to giggle wildly as he passed.

And in her matching midnight dress, blond where he was dark, round where he was straight, lush where he was lean, Adriana thought they made a startlingly handsome couple.

Margaret had a box, and waved madly to them from it when they entered the building. Adriana waved back and would have gone straight to her, but Tynan held her back. "First we must be seen," he said, then leaned close as if whispering some intimacy.

"And remember how desperately in love we are."

Adriana smiled seductively up at him. "No woman here would fault me," she said sincerely. "You're the most dashingly handsome creature to have graced these walls in a decade."

His eyes glittered. "Am I, now?"

"You are." She flipped open her fan and inclined her head. "Though I suspect your conceit already informed you."

He laughed with genuine amusement, the sound ringing out as bold and robust as the man himself. Adriana caught on the sight of those big white teeth and felt a ripple of need go through her. To have those teeth on her flesh… !

Tucking her arm more closely to him, he led their promenade. "This will not be easy," he said, nodding to an acquaintance. "Hold steady."

And in a quarter turn it was plain this was much more difficult than a ride in Hyde Park, for there was no height from which to peer down at the hostile. And there was no buffer of wind and sun to protect her from the murmuring that began to rise around them, most of it inaudible, some of it less so. She heard "Malvern" and "duel" and "trial," and at last, "whore." Her face flamed, but Tynan had heard it, too, and tightened his grip.

Leaning close, he whispered, "Shall I kill him for you?"

She managed a small smile. "There's been enough of that, hasn't there?"

"Ah, perhaps." He glanced over his shoulder. "Pity. I would have enjoyed it, I think."

The incident made her remember another night, and with horror, she realized they should probably not have come. Not here. Urgently, she said, "Tynan, there is something you should—"

A man moved into their path and stopped. Adriana's heart squeezed as she recognized him—John Stead, Malvern's foppish second the day of the duel in Hyde Park. By his stance, he was more than a little drunk, and his eyes carried a feverishness Adriana found alarming. "Well if it isn't the merchant and his whore," he drawled.

To her surprise, Tynan said in a genial voice, "Stead. Have you met my wife?" Only then did Adriana see the hot color staining his cheekbones. "But I suppose you'll be jealous of my good fortune again, so you'll excuse us."

"I'll look forward to seeing your brother hang," Stead said to Adriana. There was no doubt he was very drunk, but the words struck horror through her anyway.

"Ah, but you'll not wish to vote that way," Tynan said, clapping Stead on the back. "Did I neglect to tell you the title will then be mine?"

The piggish eyes narrowed. "Is that so?" he drawled. Taking out a box of snuff, he cocked his head at Adriana. "Wasn't it here that you indulged yourself with Malvern in a box? I believe I was even here that night."

Adriana flinched, catching the quick, unguarded wound in Tynan's eyes. She looked away. "Honestly, darling," she drawled, "must we bore ourselves with this worm?"

"Certainly not." He made a move to go around.

Stead shifted slightly. "I'll take her when you're finished with her, Spenser," he said. "Times a man doesn't mind leftovers."

Adriana felt the furious tenseness go through Tynan's body, and she countered with a strength of her own while pressuring his arm, that they move away. There was an odd long moment when she was gripping his upper arm, pushing with all her strength, and he was just as steadfastly pushing back.

"Do not respond," she said to her husband fiercely as she managed to move them along, despite Tynan's resistance. "He hopes to draw you into a duel to make Julian look bad. You may kill him ten times when this is done, but not now."

Abruptly, Tynan he relaxed. The color on his cheekbones remained, hectic and dangerous, but in every other way he appeared to be the perfect, light-hearted rake. He even managed a laugh, and glanced over his shoulder, then leaned close. "Do not think this is finished, Adriana," he said. "In this moment, I could cheerfully choke the breath from your pretty neck and not even blink with remorse. Do you understand me?"

"Very well," she said, spirits plummeting.

He had no memory of the music, only a sense of taut heat and the shattered brilliance of jewels reflecting the light of candles, and a burn in his chest that would not ease, a burn made of anger and hatred and humiliation.

And desire. For Adriana burned, too, like a torch in the darkness, her skin pale and pure against velvet, her throat draped in sapphires that fell in stars over the rise of her breasts, her hair swept up but catching all the light in the box as if she wore a halo. Her back stayed straight, her chin high, and for all his fury at her, he could not help but admire that strength of will.

Until last night, he had not seen how much like Julian she was. Both of them so icy and passionate by turns, those cool eyes reflecting far too much of what lay inside the mind. Tonight, as Julian had last night, she fought despair. It hovered in a pale mist over her too-bright eyes, and he'd added to it by responding to Stead's insinuations.

He shifted as a melody was sung by a tiny woman in a tiara, her voice three times as large as she. He could not halt himself from imagining another night, and his wife entangled in passion, making love in the shadows of some box here. It was not uncommon, of course. The boxes were deep and dark, and facilitated that sort of thing.

But Adriana would not even kiss him. Her own husband.

It seemed each time he looked about, there were more eyes fixed upon him, and he imagined pity on those English faces. Pity that he'd made so poor a marriage when he had so much to gain with his wits and his riches. Pity that he was saddled, not with the Venus of the town, but a soiled—

A tiny voice,
her
voice, echoed in him—that she'd only taken a single lover, when the rakes in these halls could never count high enough to encompass all of theirs.

Not even his own.

But he was not here to challenge all the world's views, he thought. He'd made a bad match here, one that would cost him all he hoped to gain. In the bargain, he'd made himself look a fool by insisting they appear to be in love—so now he looked not only misguided but imbecilic.

And wouldn't they laugh if they knew the truth—that he did not even avail himself of that wealth of sensuality, that lushness of figure and looseness of passion!

God, he could not bear it.

Abruptly, he leaned over to whisper to Margaret, "Will you see my wife home safely? There is business that requires my attention immediately."

"Of course." Her eyes were troubled, and she patted his hand.

It was churlish of him, but he left Adriana without a word, leaving her to wonder.

To ache, a little, as he did.

In her chamber, hours later, Adriana allowed Fiona to help her undress, reverently handling the blue velvet. Then she scrubbed the cosmetics from her face and Fiona took down her hair. Adriana stared dully at her reflection and thought of the start of the evening, which had begun so promisingly. Tynan, looking so dashing, with that pride in his eyes—pride that she was his wife, pride in her beauty and her obvious sensuality…

And then those very things had caused him to turn away. She thought again, with the hollow sense of loss, of him leaving her so abruptly, his jaw tight, his eyes cold. And to her horror, tears welled up in her eyes.

She snatched the brush from Fiona. "Thank you," she said. "That will be all."

The girl lingered a moment, the worry plain in her eyes. "Miss—"

"Leave me."

She hurried out, and Adriana stared with fury at her own face, seized with an urge to scratch it, scratch her throat and cheeks and mar them irrevocably. If the scars were savage enough, she'd never worry again about the temptations of the flesh, now would she? She'd never face again the deep, thudding pain of that haughty rejection of a man who suddenly found himself soiled by her.

With a cry, she flung the tortoiseshell brush at the mirror. It crashed into the glass with a satisfying noise, and she was somehow pleased when a fragment flew out and nicked her lip. As the shards fell in a silvery heap to the dressing table, she touched her tongue to the spot and tasted blood. Bleakly, she slumped, and the terrible fury left her as suddenly as it had come.

A knock came at the door. Wearily, Adriana called, "Come in, Fiona." She stood. "You'll see I am unharmed."

But it was not Fiona. It was her husband, his neckcloth sticking out of his pocket, his wavy hair mussed, his eyes dangerously alight. Warily, she took a step back. "I did not expect you tonight," she said mildly, raising her chin.

He closed the door behind him very deliberately. A stir of fear moved in her, one that took a sudden surge as he came into the light and she saw that he'd most definitely been fighting. A red bruise marred the blade of his cheekbone, and she thought she saw another at the edge of his jaw. The sight of his wound dredged up the most peculiar wish to tend him, and she hated herself for the weakness. She laced her fingers together tightly.

"Have you ever expected me, Riana?"

She didn't know how to answer him, and did not know how to manage him in this mood. "Are you drunk?"

"Unfortunately, not as drunk as I wished. It is my failing that I cannot tolerate the stuff long enough to truly obliterate anything. I only—" He touched his face. "—end up fighting."

A dangerous brightness lit his eyes, the green glowing amid the blue like some eerie faery light. "So have you come to beat me?" she said.

Tynan blinked. "No." He looked over his shoulder at the dressing table, then lifted a hand. Adriana flinched when it came close to her face, but he only used the tip of one finger to touch her lip. "You've already done that."

It brought back the whole horrendous evening, and she turned away, shame washing through her again, along with a pain she couldn't—wouldn't—name. With her back to him, she said, "Then what do you want?"

He took her arm, not gently, and turned her around. "Look at me," he said roughly. "I'll not fade away from lack of acknowledgment, as you seem to think your past will."

She yanked away from him violently. "Leave me!"

"Not this time, Adriana." He snared her, looping an arm around her body and dragging her next to him, and in spite of her fear and anger, she felt that familiar pulse rise in her, a thrilling, rumbling excitement. She hated herself for it, that she could still want him when he'd behaved so very badly.

She put her hands against his chest, half protesting. "Tynan, you're angry. We'll talk in the morning."

"No, Riana, I am not angry." His other hand curled around her neck and he shook his head. "I'm half mad with jealousy." His thumb moved on her neck and he looked there, as if there was some message he read. "And desire." His lashes, thick black curtains, rose. "I've come for my kiss."

"Please," she whispered, shamed that it would come to this, that she would find herself so very inflamed over a man who had humiliated her only hours before. "Do not insult me this way, Tynan. I can't bear it tonight."

"Insult you? You misunderstand me," he said in a low voice, bending closer and closer, until his breath fed her own. "I mean it as the highest of all compliments, that I cannot sleep another night without tasting your lips."

If he had been violent, she might have found the will to resist, but he was not. It was not gentle either, but hungry—desperately hungry, and as rich as anything she knew. With a pounding heart, Adriana felt her will give way, and she dizzily gave herself up to the long-buried need to do just this, to open her mouth to his, to taste the richness of whiskey and caramel on his lips, to feast on the slow, restrained, but yearning way he kissed her lips, just her lips, then her tongue, and back to her mouth.