When Angels Fall (46 page)

Vexed she paced the room. He loved her!
He loved
her!
Antonia swore he did. So could it be true? Was fate really being so kind as to grant her her only wish? If she would only say the words?

And if he didn’t tell her he loved her back? She paused, then began pacing again as the answers came to her. She would be patient. His reaction to her words was all that really mattered. That, more than anything else, would tell her he loved her. His words would come later. She just had to have faith and believe it.

“James,” she called out to the hallway where Harewood’s butler stood sentry, “have Lord and Lady Kovel left for the evening?”

“Yes, miss. Almost an hour ago.”

“Then could you please summon me one of their carriages?” She prayed she was doing the right thing.

The ride to Piccadilly was quick, despite the light rain that hampered traffic. The coach brought her right to the marquis’s door. The driver helped her from the carriage and assisted her to the front entrance. A small, tremulous smile appeared on her lips as she looked back at the man. He was waiting for her to knock. Now for the first time in her life she had hope, yet suddenly she was afraid. All she
had to do was enter the house and say three little words; now she wasn’t sure she could do it.

But she had to. Her entire future rested on having faith in what Antonia had told her. For her to hear Ivan just once whisper “I love you,” the risk would be well worth it. Without further ado, she softly pounded the brass knocker.

Biddles answered the door. Though he obviously took great pride in his implacable façade, this night, it slipped. His surprise at seeing her was obvious.

Trying desperately to smile, she said, “Hello, Biddles. May I come in?”

She wasn’t sure what her reception would be, but quickly the majordomo remembered himself. He ushered her in and took her ruby-colored cloak, now damp from the rain.

“Is he in?” she asked.

“He’s in the library, Miss Alcester.” Biddles nodded to a pair of closed doors off the entrance hall. He then gave her what almost looked to be a smile. “I’m glad you’ve come, miss. He’s been in a fine temper. Cook’s ready to take one of her knives to him if he doesn’t start eating.”

“Good heavens.” Her eyes turned to the mahogany doors.

Biddles sadly shook his head. “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen him.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Then I’ll leave you, miss. But if you need anything, anything at all, just use the bell pull.”

Taking a deep breath, Lissa walked to the closed mahogany doors. Quietly she grasped the handle and let herself into the library.

She loved the room. Even the smell delighted her. As her fingers touched the dusty tomes behind the door, she felt overwhelmed by Ivan’s presence. His library was as dark, handsome, and moody as he was.

She found him sitting in one of the club chairs, frowning and staring into the fire. His hand clenched a glass of spirits. In the dark of the library, he appeared to be the loneliest man she had ever seen. Suddenly her very soul wept for him, for the cruel circumstances that had hardened him into such a morose figure. Her eyes softened with love as she studied that dear frown. She vowed, then and there, that if it were within her power, she would erase it from his face forever.

“Lord Powerscourt,” she whispered.

His head snapped up. His gaze pierced her. “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly. “I thought tonight was Claymore’s little ball.”

“Antonia and Kovel went to it. I was not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood?” He released a cynical laugh. “What young woman is not in the mood to be fawned at until her admirers’ spittle must be wiped off their chins?”

“Has it been that bad?” A smile of her own touched her lips.

“That bad!” He snorted. “I’ve never seen such a mockery of manhood.”

“Were you never smitten then? Not even once?”

The question took him aback. He tore his gaze away from hers and stared into his near-empty glass. “I never behaved like those dandies—why, that Rankston practically trips over himself when you enter a room, and that Claymore! He stutters like a babbling fool whenever he speaks of you!”

“You’re speaking of a duke and an earl, you know. Surely they possess more dignity than that.”

“Dignity!” he scoffed. “Those two jackasses wouldn’t know how to spell the word, let alone exemplify it.”

“But you approve of Lady Antonia’s nephew, what is his name . . . ?” She furrowed her brow and made a display of trying to recall.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he stated dryly. “There are, after all, nine of them, if I recall.”

“Bother their names then. Yet you do approve of Kovel’s nephews? They behave in the most exemplary way. And are handsome and rich as well.”

Suddenly he became furious. He rose from his chair and strode over to where she stood. He slammed the heavy, book-laden door behind her and put his hands on the case on either side of her head.

“You listen to me, Lissa. None of them is right for you, do you hear? And until that right man comes along, you’d best heed my advice.”

She looked up at him, delighting in his dark, angry features. “My lord,” she whispered breathlessly, “methinks you protest too much.”

“I haven’t protested enough! I’ve left you in Antonia’s care and she, by God, is leading you astray. I hear Rankston is close to proposing—tell him no, Lissa, or I shall have to intervene.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” she asked. “The same way you got rid of Albert and Wilmott? Do you plan to buy off every suitor I have? Every eligible man in London?” Suddenly she laughed, taunting him deliberately. “Even
you
haven’t enough
money
for all of
that.
”

Violently he gripped her arms and pulled her to him. His voice cracked. “I’ll kill them then, if I have too.”

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “You won’t have to, my lord. I don’t want any of them,” she said quietly.

“You don’t want them?” His touch grew gentler.

“None of them.”

“Whom do you want then?” he asked in disbelief.

Without speaking, she stood on tiptoe and pulled his dark head down to hers. He almost flinched when she tenderly rested her own unblemished cheek upon his scarred one. She held him against her until it was almost
more than he could bear. His cold exterior cracked. He closed his eyes and his hand swept her hair.

“You, Ivan. I want you.
I love you,”
she finally whispered in his ear. She looked at him then, desperate for a sign, for even the possibility that he might one day love her too. Awe appeared in his eyes and she suddenly knew she’d found it. He seemed almost afraid of what she’d said, as if already he despaired of never hearing the words again. But his fear, like her own, did not stop him. When she pulled him to her, he kissed her as he’d never kissed her before. His mouth was hungry yet tender, and though he never said the words, his lips seemed to promise that the words would come. He held her so tightly within his arms, she felt she almost couldn’t breathe. Nonetheless, she delighted in his embrace, wanting only to be closer to him. Tonight there was no past, only a future. When he kissed her again, a tear slipped down her cheek. Her heart wanted to burst with joy.

There were no words that could express their emotions. So instead they used their hands and their lips to tell each other how they felt. Anxious to feel him next to her, she brazenly began unbuttoning his shirt while he pulled at the laces fastening the back of her dress. Soon their clothes were strewn along a path to the fireplace; scattered last among them were the lavender-tinted roses that had adorned Lissa’s hair.

When they both lay warm and naked by the hearth, Ivan pulled her on top of him and combed his fingers through her glorious hair. She looked down at his intent expression and knew she would never cease to love this man. Unable to stop herself, she touched his cheek, but this time she caressed his smooth one—the one unmarked by hatred and sin—the side of him that could love her. He looked at her then, and as if confirming what she thought, he placed a hot kiss on her palm. Then he took her mouth in a tender, soul-wrenching kiss and made love to her as if there would never be another time.

As they lay spent and exhausted in each other’s arms, Lissa put her head on Ivan’s chest. He pensively stroked the silken back and they each grew quiet, letting the stolen peace settle around them.

“Say those words to me again,” he finally whispered, breaking the silence.

“Which words?” she teased.

“Those words,” he said seriously, his eyes dark with emotion.

She studied his face as if she could not get enough of him.

“I love you,” she said. “It’s been my fate to love you. And if you left me tomorrow, I would still love you, for I cannot do otherwise.”

Her words seemed to comfort him yet at the same time make him flinch. He grew thoughtful, then enigmatically he whispered, “Never forget you said those words,
alainn.
You must never forget you said them.”

It had been hard to part from Ivan, but still, in the early hours of the morning, she had had to insist that she return to Harewood, explaining what a scandal her absence might cause the Kovels. Reluctantly he watched her dress. It took almost a half hour for her to find her widely scattered apparel, and she was still missing a garter and several gold hairpins. In the meantime, he had pulled on his pantaloons and shirt, and instructed her to wait by the fire while he fetched their cloaks. When he returned, he lovingly wrapped her in her ruby-colored cloak and together they made the short carriage ride to Harewood through the silent, misty London streets. Before he left her in Harewood’s drawing room, however, he gave her a thor
ough kissing and told her he would call on her tomorrow to discuss the “future” in fuller detail.

With the effects of his lovemaking still lingering on her, she sleepily watched him go. Then she forced herself to go up to her own little bed. But in remembering their night, her sleep was sure to be as sound and trouble-free as it had been in months. Her true love was going to marry her, she was sure of it. And though he had not yet told her he loved her, he had so desperately wanted to hear the words from her, she knew in time that she would hear them on his lips as surely as Antonia had foreseen. Releasing a soft sigh, she had stretched and dreamed of Ivan.

It was past nine in the morning when Holland arrived at the marquis’s house. This time he graciously announced himself to Biddles, who politely informed him that the marquis was still performing his toilet. Holland seemed surprised at this statement for he knew the marquis to be an early riser. Nonetheless, he thought none of it. He told Biddles to inform his master that he was leaving for Nodding Knoll on the 11
A.M.
train and that he had forgotten to take his report on the marquis’s holdings in Cardiff. Holland stated that he would await the marquis in the library, and before Biddles could protest that the hearth in there had not yet been banked, Holland had already disappeared.

In the library, Holland meant to review some other important papers in his possession concerning the marquis’s holdings, but he quickly noticed that the room had not yet been visited by the staff that morning. The leather club chairs were out of place and something was strewn across the hearth like confetti. Holland wouldn’t have made much of it, except his gaze suddenly registered what the confetti was. Rose petals, tinged lavender, were scattered everywhere. He stepped to the hearth and a piece of blue caught his eye. He bent down behind one of the club
chairs and extracted a lady’s blue satin garter from beneath the rear leg. He then gathered some of the petals and studied them. When he could come to no other conclusion, he crushed them in his fist.

Without a word, he looked up and came face to face with the marquis.

“When is the wedding to be, my lord?” he stated, an unmistakable edge to his voice.

“What are you doing here, Jones?”

“I
said,
my lord, when is the wedding?” Holland took a threatening step forward.

The marquis’s eyes narrowed. Anger made his face grow taut. “I see no reason to consult my estate manager on such a personal matter.”

“But you will consult me!” He opened his palm and showed him the crushed rose petals. “You took her right under my nose! I’ll see that wrong righted!”

“How do you know any of this? Lissa didn’t tell you —of that I’m sure.”

“She hasn’t confessed, but then she doesn’t need to now. I saw her wearing these flowers last night. They grow only at Harewood, I’m told, so there is no mistake. Lissa was here last night.” Holland took off his glasses and prepared for battle. “Now that I have my proof of your nefarious deeds, I ask you again, when are you going to marry her?”

“In good time, my man. In good time” was all the marquis would say.

Infuriated, Holland moved forward. “That’s not good enough. You’ve more than proven your desire to manipulate and humiliate Lissa. Now that your revenge is complete, it’s my turn for revenge. You will marry her and I will not tolerate procrastination!”