To Tempt An Angel (Book 1 Douglas series) Page 2

  “You can’t see the squalor,” Angelica said softly, “but it exists.”

  “It’s not all squalor.”

  “I agree with you, but most Londoners do not live on Park Lane,” she said.

  “A bitter cynical angel?” Robert said, turning his horse around.

  “There is much in life to cause bitterness unless one is a member of the Quality,” Angelica informed him.

  “Do you actually believe the Quality lead perfect, happy lives?” he asked.

  “None of them need to scratch like barnyard chickens for their next meal,” she answered.

  Robert couldn’t argue with that. “What is beyond the hamlet?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Saint John’s Wood.”

  Robert nudged his horse forward. Slowly, they descended Primrose Hill to the hamlet below.

  “Stop here,” Angelica said when they reached the last cottage.

  Robert halted his horse in front of a pale pink cottage trimmed in white. He dismounted and then lifted her down from the saddle.

  “Angelica, darling,” a woman’s voice called. “Thank God you’re home.”

  Though she appeared to be in her early forties, a youthful beauty still clung to the woman hurrying toward them. Auburn-haired and brown-eyed, the woman was voluptuous of figure. When she smiled to acknowledge his presence, two adorable dimples adorned her cheeks, making her appear even younger.

  “What’s the problem, Aunt Roxie?”

  “Your father is a bit under the eaves,” her aunt told her. She flicked a quick glance at Robert and added, “He drank my lavender perfume.”

  Angelica raced inside the cottage. Robert followed her through a large common room into an inner chamber where an older man lay on a cot and moaned as if in agony.

  “He’s poisoned himself,” Robert said, taking charge. “Fetch me an empty bucket and a jar of heavily salted water.”

  “What are you going to do?” Aunt Roxie asked, hurrying into the tiny bedchamber.

  “Help me get him into a sitting position,” Robert ordered, ignoring her question.

  On either side of the cot, Robert and Aunt Roxie pulled the man up until his back was against the wall. He opened his eyes, looked at Robert, and mumbled, “Magnus? Is it you, Magnus?”

  The words startled Robert. His own father was named Magnus, and some people said he looked like his father as a young man. How could this desperate alcoholic know his father?

  “Graham, he’s not Magnus,” Aunt Roxie was telling him. “He’s—” She looked at him.

  “Robert,” he supplied.

  Graham Douglas moaned and clutched his stomach. “Roxanne, it is Magnus,” the old man insisted breathlessly.

  “He is not Magnus,” Aunt Roxie replied.

  “You cannot win an argument with a drunk,” Robert told her. “I’ll answer to Magnus if it will help him.”

  “What a sweet boy,” Aunt Roxie said as Angelica returned with the salted water and empty bucket.

  Robert lifted the bottle out of her hand and put his left arm around the older man’s head in order to force his mouth open. He poured some salted water into his mouth and clamped it shut forcing him to swallow.

  Robert repeated this procedure again and again until the bottle was empty. Then he grabbed the bucket and planted it in the man’s lap.

  “What do we do now?” Angelica asked, her anxiety apparent in her voice.

  “We wait,” Robert answered, his gaze fixed on her father. He reached out to grab the back of the man’s head and force it forward until he’d vomited everything in his stomach. Then he handed the bucket to Angelica.

  “You’ll soon feel better,” he told the older man, helping him to lie down on the bed.

  “I already do. Graham Douglas patted his hand. “I knew you’d come to help me, Magnus.”

  “Graham, he is not Magnus,” Aunt Roxie repeated.

  “Roxanne, you’ve always been a good sister and remained loyal to me,” Graham Douglas said. “You were there the day I fell off the horse, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was,” Aunt Roxie answered with a nod of her head.

  “You were there the day my sweet wife died,” he rambled on.

  Aunt Roxie nodded her head again. “A sadder day I’ve never seen.”

  “And you were here today to help me in my distress.”

  Once again Aunt Roxie nodded.

  The older man’s expression changed. “Roxie, you’re a damned jinx.”

  Robert chuckled, and Angelica smiled. Aunt Roxie rolled her eyes heavenward and then sat on the edge of the bed to take her brother’s hand in hers.

  Angelica touched Robert’s hand and gestured to the outer room. He inclined his head and followed her out of the bedchamber.

  The cottage’s large common room served as both kitchen and drawing room, with a hearth on each end, one for cooking and the other for warmth. On the kitchen side of the room was a large steel cage, its door ajar. Two doors led to other bedrooms. On a table beside the settee sat a Celtic harp, a flute, and a violin with accompanying bow.

  “Thank you for saving my father’s life,” Angelica said.

  “No thanks are necessary, angel.”

  Her next words came out in a rush, as if she were confessing a crime. “My father suffers from an affliction and was desperate for alcohol.”

  “I didn’t think he was attempting suicide,” Robert assured her, and she seemed to relax. He gestured to the musical instruments, asking, “Do you play?”

  “The harp is mine,” she answered.

  “I should have known an angel would prefer the harp,” he teased her.

  “A long time ago we had an enormous harp, but we needed to sell it,” Angelica said, a wistful note in her voice. “Perhaps the harp only appeared enormous because I was a little girl.”

  “I wish I could have seen that,” Robert said, stepping closer.

  “You’ve never seen a floor harp?”

  Her question brought a smile to his lips. “I meant, I wish I could have seen you as a little girl.”

  She blushed with obvious embarrassment.

  Robert couldn’t credit what he was seeing. How many years had it been since he’d seen a sincere blush stain a woman’s cheeks?

  “Hello, hello, hello.”

  Robert stared in surprise as the owner of the voice walked into the room. Approximately three feet long and weighing fifteen pounds, a bird crossed the room toward them. Its head and back were blue, its underside gold, and its eyes green.

  “Hello, Jasper,” she greeted the bird. “I missed you.”

  Angelica scratched the bird’s head, making him trill with pleasure. Then she warned, “Don’t put your fingers near him until he knows you better. Macaws can take a finger off with one bite.

  “Say hello to Robert,” she told the bird.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Jasper,” Robert said, amused to be speaking to a bird.

  The macaw cocked his head to one side and repeated, “Hello.”

  “Good night time,” Angelica said, crossing the room to the cage. “Come.”

  “Good night,” Jasper said, walking to the cage. He stopped in front of the door, turned around, and crossed the room to Robert, saying, “Hello.”

  Angelica laughed. “Good night, Jasper.”

  This time the macaw went into the cage. Angelica shut the door and covered the cage with a blanket.

  “Good night,” the macaw called.

  “Good night.” Angelica looked at Robert and said, “I won him in a card game.”

  “Who is this Magnus your father mentioned?” Robert asked.

  “Magnus Campbell, the Duke of Inverary,” Angelica answered, and there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice.

  “Your father is acquainted with a duke?” Robert asked in surprise.

  “My brother is the Earl of Melrose,” Aunt Roxie answered, walking into the common room.

  Robert was even more surprised by that
announcement. He glanced around the common room, unable to credit the fact that an earl lived in this poverty.

  “Darling, we’ve fallen upon hard times,” Aunt Roxie explained.

  “We did not fall,” Angelica corrected her aunt. “We were pushed, and the Duke of Inverary is one of the men who pushed us.”

  “How did the duke push you into . . . your current condition?” Robert asked. “Who are the other men involved?”

  “Ours is a long story” Angelica told him, placing her winnings on the table.

  “I’m in no hurry,” Robert replied, masking his curiosity with nonchalance.

  “Another time,” Angelica said in refusal. “I’ll tell you the whole story when I have written the final page.”

  Robert cocked a dark brow at her. “Are you planning revenge, angel?”

  The door burst open suddenly, ending their conversation. Two young women hurried inside. Both appeared younger than Angelica. One had black hair and limped and the other was a redhead, yet the three sisters resembled one another.

  “Robert, may I present Samantha.” Angelica gestured to the ebony-haired girl. “And this is Victoria. Sisters, meet Robert Roy.”

  “Rob Roy?” Samantha exclaimed with a smile.

  “You must be joking,” Victoria said.

  “Mind your manners,” Aunt Roxie admonished them. “Ladies of quality do not insult guests.”

  “Ladies of quality do not run a thimblerigger’s game,” Angelica told her aunt.

  “Nor do they pick pockets,” Samantha said, emptying her pockets of coins.

  “And they do not engage in disreputable activities,” Victoria added, placing her own day’s earnings on the table. “You know, dear aunt, disreputable activities like telling people’s fortunes, calling up the dead in a seance, or selling love potions.”

  “Hush, darlings, we need the money,” Aunt Roxie replied. “I do what I can to help out.”

  Angelica gestured to Robert, saying, “Let’s walk outside.”

  Once the cottage door closed behind them, Robert asked, “Your sisters are pickpockets?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she answered.

  “And your aunt is a charlatan?”

  “Aunt Roxie is no charlatan,” Angelica told him. “She has a special gift.”

  Robert tried hard not to laugh in her face but couldn’t quite suppress his smile. “Do you actually believe in that?”

  “Yes, I do,” Angelica said. “I possess a similar, albeit undeveloped, gift. “

  “The sight of you did bewitch me,” Robert said, gifting her with his devastatingly charming smile.

  Angelica stared in the direction of Primrose Hill. “Samantha limps because one of her legs is slightly shorter than the other,” she said without looking at him. “A wealthy gentleman, one of the men who ruined my father, ran over her with his carriage. We couldn’t afford a physician to set the broken bone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Robert replied.

  “That happened a long time ago,” Angelica told him. “Victoria has a problem with letters and numbers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She can’t read properly or cipher numbers,” Angelica said, turning toward him. “Other than that the Douglases are a normal family.”

  Robert laughed. “I’ll come by tomorrow to check on your father.”

  “You want to consort with people like us?” Angelica asked.

  Robert leaned close, his face merely inches from hers, and said in a husky whisper, “I’d love to consort with you.”

  Ever so gently, Robert drew her into his embrace. His face hovered above hers for the briefest moment and then descended as he moved one hand to the back of her head to hold her immobile.

  Their lips met in a chaste kiss. When she relaxed in his arms, Robert changed the tempo of the kiss. His lips on hers became ardent and demanding; his tongue persuaded her lips to part, tasting the sweetness beyond them.

  And then it was over.

  Robert drew back and studied her expression, knowing she’d just experienced her first kiss. He traced finger down her silken cheek and rubbed his thumb across her lips.

  “May I have my watch back now?” Robert asked, gazing deeply into her disarming blue eyes.

  Angelica blushed. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You lifted the watch out of my pocket when we were attacked,” Robert told her.

  Angelica reached into her pocket and produced the watch. “It looks like real gold,” she remarked, passing it to him.

  “It is real gold.”

  “How can you—?”

  Robert planted a quick kiss on her lips and then whistled for his horse, grazing a short distance away. The horse returned to his side in an instant.

  “You certainly have trained him well,” Angelica said.

  “I have a firm hand but can be a generous master,” Robert said suggestively.

  “I will never call any man my master,” she informed him.

  “We’ll see.”

  Robert mounted and pulled on the reins to turn the horse around. Whistling a bawdy tune, he started down the road through the hamlet. He knew she was probably watching him but would not turn around to wave good night.

  Angelica Douglas was unexpectedly spectacular, a seductive angel, a rare woman of courage and loyalty. Albeit an incorrigible cheater at games of chance.

  Though her father had fallen upon hard times, she was still an aristocrat. The father’s loss of fortune served Robert’s purposes; he planned to make that magnificent angel his mistress.

  That thought made Robert smile with pleasure. He decided to go visiting in the morning before he called on Angelica. He needed to know what the Duke of Inverary had done to Graham Douglas.

  Keeping a mistress who wanted revenge against his own father could undoubtedly complicate his life. Somehow, he would atone for whatever his father had done to the man.

  Chapter 2

  People were staring at him.

  Sauntering along Park Lane to his father’s townhouse, Robert waved at Lord Wiltshire, driving by in his carriage. The older gentleman tipped his hat and shifted his gaze.

  No one of any importance ever walked anywhere, but Robert only lived two town houses away from his father’s. What was the sense in bringing out a carriage to travel less than a block?

  Robert smiled inwardly. His neighbors, including Lord Wiltshire, weren’t surprised by his walking. They had become accustomed to that oddity. What surprised them today was his attire.

  Clad in black breeches and the slightly wrinkled shirt he’d worn the previous day, Robert walked as proudly down Park Lane as an emperor in his new clothes. Missing were the requisite jacket, cravat, and hat.

  “Why are you dressed like that?”

  Robert narrowed his gaze on his father’s majordomo, a man he’d known his entire life. Apparently, he’d surmised correctly that by wearing this outfit he’d appear a common man, which was what he wanted Angelica Douglas to believe.

  “Mr. Tinker, I haven’t asked for your editorial comment about my attire,” Robert said, brushing past the man. “Where is my father?”

  “His Grace is working in his office,” Tinker answered, staring in distaste at the wrinkled lawn shirt and breeches.

  Robert turned toward the stairs. He would have gone directly to his father’s office, but a woman’s voice stopped him.

  “Wait a minute, Robert. I want to speak to you.”

  Robert turned toward the voice and watched his sister-in-law walking into the foyer. Christ, he always felt as if she was lying in wait for him. He had hoped to avoid seeing her, but that was not to be.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Tinker said, turning away. “I’ll inform His Grace that the Marquess of Slovenly has arrived.”

  Venetia Emerson Campbell, his brother’s widow, was lovely, with her chestnut hair and perfect oval face. She had a small nose and inviting lips and soft brown eyes; but shallowness, spitefulness, and greediness marred her be
auty.

  Wearing a sapphire blue riding habit that accentuated every alluring curve, Venetia walked across the foyer slowly and gracefully. Robert knew her hip-swaying gait was for his benefit. She’d been trying to trap him into marriage since their respective spouses had died.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” Venetia asked, echoing the majordomo’s words.

  “What’s wrong with my clothing?” Robert asked with an easy smile.

  “Shame on you,” Venetia scolded him gently. “The Marquess of Argyll should dress properly. I hope no one saw you.”

  “I’m incapable of living up to your standards,” Robert said.

  Venetia smiled winsomely and stepped closer. “I’d lower my standards for you,” she said, her intimate tone and the look in her eyes suggesting more than his choice of attire.

  Robert took a step back. “I wouldn’t want you to do that,” he said, forcing himself to smile. Then, “I purchased Colin a pony yesterday. Was it delivered?”

  “Yes. That was thoughtful of you,” Venetia answered. “Colin has begun to think of you as the father he never knew. What a pity that Gavin didn’t live long enough to know his own son.”

  “Accidents sometimes happen, “ Robert replied.

  He hoped she wouldn’t mention Louisa. Talking about his deceased wife brought back unpleasant memories. How Venetia could speak without emotion about her own sister’s untimely death always amazed him.

  “I’m riding with Lady Griffiths in Hyde Park,” Venetia said. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Dressed as I am, I would only embarrass you,” Robert said, refusing her invitation.

  “Changing won’t take long,” Venetia countered. “I’ll wait.”

  “I haven’t the time.”

  “Will you return later for Colin’s birthday celebration?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t consider missing my nephew’s fifth birthday,” Robert said.

  “Later we can attend the Randolphs’s ball,” Venetia said with a smile.

  “I have a previous engagement,” he told her.

  Her smile disappeared. “With that mistress of yours?”

  Robert heard the jealous tone in her voice.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I must speak with my father.” He turned to leave the foyer, but Venetia stopped him in his tracks.