When Angels Fall (29 page)

He inhaled sharply then he tensed even further. Suddenly he seemed hell-bent on getting her out of the stables. Her feet barely touched the ground.

She tried desperately to stop. “I won’t go in until you answer me, Ivan.”

He refused.

“Tell me! Tell me what’s wrong! Is it the color of my hair you don’t like? Or is it my eyes?” Her voice trembled with pain. “Have you a fancy for someone else? Someone prettier? Tell me, what is it? Why didn’t you kiss me this afternoon?”

All at once she was pushed against another stall door. As if he were a madman set free, he grabbed her and claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss.

This was nothing like she had imagined: a kiss that was sweet, tender, and yearning. To begin with, this kiss yearned for nothing—for whatever it desired, it took with great relish. His finely molded lips took hers as if she were an experienced woman, not an innocent girl. He moved over her mouth with an appalling amount of experience and he was so demanding, she wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or overjoyed.

The only thing she was sure of was that she was shocked to her core. Her hands hung limp at her sides and her legs felt as if they would buckle at any moment. But somehow they held. She could feel him enticing her lips into giving him an entrance. Already their kiss was so deep
she could taste the whiskey on his tongue, and she was hesitant to go further. Yet he was clearly too impatient to wait for her and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, jolting her into a panic.

She released a muffled sob, but he continued, now holding her face with his two hands. She wasn’t sure what to do, but somehow she knew she wasn’t ready for this. He had seemed to know it too, for now all his warnings seemed crystal clear. But she had refused to let it go, and now she was in over her head.

“Jesus man! What are you doing?”

She felt someone pull at Ivan’s back, but the man didn’t seem strong enough to pull him off of her. After another moment of panic, he was physically thrust away from her, and she was appalled that it had taken all four of the men who were in the tack room to do it.

“God in heaven, Ivan, what are you thinking of?” she vaguely heard Scarborough say. “You’ve been here since you were ten years old—have you a penchant now to be living on the streets?”

She was too shamed to meet any of the men’s gazes. Sobbing silently into her fist, she could only look down where their lantern made a circle of gold in the strawlittered passage. Dimly she made out the frightened voice of another young groom, a lad named Willy.

“Ivan, look at her, she’s terrified—she won’t say a thing. But you won’t do that again, will you? If you promise, we won’t tell old Merriweather.”

Ivan remained brutally silent. When she dared to look at him, he was breathing hard and still in the clutches of the other stable lads. Several black locks of hair had fallen onto his forehead and he seemed furious—as if he’d been a lion feasting on his kill and had been pulled away before he could get his second bite.

Horrified, all she could do was stumble along the stall door, numb to everything but the desire to get away.

“That’s right, Miss Alcester, you go on to the house,” she heard Willy say.

She needed no urging. She grabbed up her woolen skirts and ran out of the stables toward the estate house as if her life depended upon it.

Fascination had turned into obsession.

After her midnight visit to the stables, Lissa refused to leave her room for three days, pleading a headache. She refused to eat; she refused to dress. She simply moped about her chamber in her wrapper, occasionally staring into the fire, but mostly staring out the window toward the stable yard.

Now that she’d been kissed, she didn’t know whether she loved Ivan even more or despised him. His indifference had been disproven but he had frightened her and, worse, disgraced her in front of other men. She could hardly keep from blushing every time she thought of Scarborough, Willy, and the other grooms who had watched Ivan kissing her.

This day was no different. With her hair unbound and unbrushed, and her blue satin wrapper wrinkled from so much wear, she was stating glumly into the flames of her hearth when she heard a huge commotion outside her window. Curious, she looked outside and her eyes opened wide with surprise. Coming down the tulip-lined lane was her parents’ carriage, at least a month earlier than expected.

With a great burst of excitement, she ran to her lace-covered dressing table and picked up a comb. She had hardly gotten the thing through her tangled blond hair when her maid appeared at the jib door. Sally was obvi
ously aware of the impending company, for she scurried to Lissa’s wardrobe and quickly tossed an appropriate gown on the bedstead.

She was ready in a miraculous half hour and she burst from her chambers, eager to see her parents. It had been so long! It seemed she could hardly remember what they looked like. She hurried down the wide marble staircase that led to the hall and then practically ran to the drawing room, both hands full of her skirts.

“. . . and we’ve all been quite good, Mother. Even George hasn’t been into mischief—”

With her hasty entrance, Lissa interrupted her sister. All eyes turned to her and suddenly Lissa knew something was terribly wrong. She looked first at the settee where Evvie sat stiffly next to their mother. Obviously she had been filling Rebecca in on what had happened during her absence. Lissa’s eyes slid to their mother.

Her lovely mother—the beauteous Rebecca—looked as if she hadn’t slept for days. She also looked as if she’d been crying for just as long for her eyes were red and she held a twisted hankie in one hand. But Rebecca wasn’t crying now, and when Lissa stepped toward her, obviously concerned, she brushed off her daughter’s unspoken questions with a slight shake of her head and held out her arms. Lissa ran to her.

“There’s my pretty girl!” Her mother reached up and kissed her forehead. “I was just going to ask Evvie where you’ve been. No doubt out in the stables with your pony?”

Lissa pulled back, trying to smile though it was difficult. “No, I just had to make myself presentable.”

“You’re always presentable to your mother, love.” Rebecca’s lips trembled in a melancholy smile. Lissa looked into her mother’s eyes and the sadness there was so deep and troubled, she wondered if there were even words to explain it.

Disturbed, Lissa looked behind her and found her father gulping a brandy at the mantel. There were lines in
his face she hadn’t remembered. He was usually so jolly. He loved his girls, Evvie and herself, and it was usually he who spurred on any visits to Alcester. Now he looked old and unhappy, as if all his hope were gone.

“Father?” she said in a little voice.

All at once he put down his drink. He strode across the drawing room and silently, as if he were fighting back tears, he took her in his arms and hugged her within an inch of her life.

“Father . . . what is it?” she whispered, but to no avail. As quickly as he came up to her, he released her, going back to the mantel for his drink. There he seemed more interested in his brandy than in either of his daughters whom he hadn’t seen for months.

“Shall you see George, Mother? Father?” Evvie asked from the settee. Lissa looked at her sister and saw the fear in her eyes. It was clear Evvie was as bewildered as she was.

“Oh, shall we?” Rebecca rose and took both her girls’ hands. “Is he in the nursery?”

Painfully Lissa took in their mother’s state. When Rebecca stood, no one could miss the rumpled dress and desperate edge to her manner. Unable to speak, Lissa looked to Evvie to answer.

“Probably,” Evvie said. “I’m sure Nanna was planning on bringing him down any moment, but perhaps we should seek him out instead.”

“Shall you come too, Father?” Lissa asked, finally finding her voice.

“Later, girls,” Rebecca whispered.

Lissa looked at her mother and saw the tears welling in her beautiful blue eyes. It was more than Lissa could bear, but bear it she must. Her mother squeezed her hand as if to say “be strong for me.” Lissa bit her trembling lip and the three Alcester women headed for the nursery.

Even as an infant, George had been handsome. Now that he was four, he was even more so. Rebecca seemed completely won over by her boy’s dark locks and black eyes
as he rode his gilded rocking horse, unaware of the company. When he did chance to look up, his mother took him in her arms. George seemed instinctively to like it there.

“George, what do you say to your mummy, eh, my lovekins?” Nanna prompted.

George smiled a wide cherubic grin and pointed to Lissa. “She’s my mummy!” he proclaimed.

“No, no!” Nanna said, horrified.

“Mummy!” He pointed to his sister again.

Rebecca only kissed his pink check. Then he seemed restless and she was forced to release him. Apparently he had something important waiting for him in his playroom, and he stomped away, his “nanna” obediently following.

“George—” Lissa called, ready to retrieve him.

“No, love.” Rebecca took her arm and stopped her. “That’s all for now. Besides, I’m tired. I really think I should go to my room and rest. Will you both excuse me?”

Mutely Lissa and Evvie nodded. Desolate, they watched Rebecca descend the little wooden steps that led to the children’s quarters.

Neither girl could fathom what was wrong. Evvie was sure someone had died, but Lissa quickly discounted the notion. If that were the case, then they would have been told. Whatever it was, it was something so terrible neither of their parents could even speak of it, and that was what worried Lissa the most.

The anxiety seemed to wear heavily upon Evvie. Lissa took note of how pale she was and promptly ordered her to go to her room and have some tea. She walked her sister there, ordered refreshments, and only when Evvie was lying on her daybed, wrapped in a blue alpaca lap shawl, did Lissa feel right in leaving.

She had to talk to her father.

She made her way quietly down the great marble stair. It was dusk now and through the dim hall she could
see light from beneath the drawing room doors. Just as if this day were any other day, a maid had come around and lit the gasoliers. It was small comfort, but Lissa was grateful not to find her father brooding in darkness.

“Father?” she asked, timidly entering the room.

Hearing her voice, he raised his head from his hands. He was sitting on the sofa and before him the brandy snifter sat partially full. He’d obviously not drunk much, yet somehow that fact unsettled her. It was as if his problem was so great, it couldn’t be assuaged by drink even for one evening.

“Come in, child. Close the door.” He smiled at her and she suddenly wondered when he had aged. When she had last seen him, he was jovial and handsome. Now he seemed a shell of a man; too tired to live, too broken to care. Tears welled up again in her eyes.

“Father, Evvie and I are worried. You and Mother seem so—”

“What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” he interrupted as if he’d never even heard her speak.

Her face became a mask of confusion. “I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.

“I thank the Lord you don’t, my Lissa.” He put his hands together as if in prayer.

“What’s happened?” She went up to him. “Please, tell me. I’m so frightened.”

He stood and walked to the windows. Before him lay the now-dusky patchwork of Alcester fields, rippling with yellow flax and green wheat. It was a beautiful sight, lush and full of promise, but she could see her father found no solace in it. He turned and looked away.

“Lissa, child, come tell me what your life has been like these past months.” It was obvious he didn’t want to hear about her dull little days at Alcester. He was too full of his woes to listen, but somehow she gathered her wits and haltingly began.

“Evvie has learned to jump Melody and with quite respectable equitation—at least that’s what Mr. Merriweather says.”

She paused. He had his glass again and was taking an absentminded sip. He didn’t seem to notice she’d stopped speaking.

“I’ve been using Dancing as my hack, but soon I hope to ride Syrian.”

She looked at him, her mind whirling with dark speculations. What had gone so wrong? Were they to become paupers? Had her father been told he possessed some dread disease? Had her mother lost a child? What could it be?

Her father cut short her mental hysterics when he released a small smile and said, “Your life is simple, isn’t it, Lissa? You’ve not a care in the world. I want you to remember I said this to you, child. I want you to remain carefree . . . no matter what happens.”

“What is to happen then?” she asked, almost relieved she was finally going to know.

“Tell me what else goes on in your bucolic days. Have you liked the pretty dresses I sent from London?”

She looked at her father, frustrated that he wasn’t telling her. But in his vulnerable state, she couldn’t bear to be cross with him. Gently she answered, “They’re beautiful. I adore them.”

“I knew you would!” He seemed pleased with her response, then he sank back into despair. “But I should have sent you a doll! That was thoughtless of me. I don’t know how I could have forgotten my little girl like that.”