Angel Of Windword Read online

  Nicholas had idled the hours away by reading from a huge collection of books in the library and had also enjoyed conversing with Tante Mattie and the brothers at different intervals during the day. After dinner, and after a good cigar and a glass of port, he had decided a whiff of French country air would do him good before retiring to his room.

  This is when he had seen them.

  Now, after having watched Angelique with her lover in the moonlight, Nicholas knew everything he had dreaded about her had been the honest truth. Everything except for the “homely spinster” part. Instead, Angelique Beauvisage was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. The insolent little brat. He fumed inwardly, as he recalled her mockery of him. Still furious with the girl for her strident disparagement, he was even more incensed with himself for his powerful and undeniable attraction to her.

  When he had first set eyes on Angelique in the courtyard, Nicholas had been so taken by the young woman’s loveliness, he had not noticed her lover. Instantly recognizing her as the girl on the horse, his heart had raced with excitement. Angelique was indeed the enchanting vision who had captivated him in the morning. His fiancée was not a homely maiden. Instead, his father had pledged him to a flaming and intoxicating beauty.

  He had known many women in his day, but never before had he seen anyone as exquisite as Angelique. It was dark, but the light of the moon had shone on her face and Nicholas had been able to inspect her every feature. He had noticed the long, silky, golden hair that reflected the moonlight, and although the exact color of her eyes had eluded him, he noticed they were large and slightly slanted, making her appear almost catlike. Her lips were lush and full, made for kissing. Nicholas had desperately wanted to kiss her—to possess every inch of her! Hell, at that moment, he might have considered marrying the chit just to bed her. Her face belonged to an angel, but that body—that body was devilishly sensual. His heart had pounded hard against his chest when he had gazed at her voluptuous figure. He had felt as if this woman had been made for him and only for him. Wanting to take her in his arms and make certain she was real, he had almost rushed to her. Then reality had struck with a vengeance and his “enchanting vision” had begun to spurt insults directed at him.

  The moment he saw the Frenchman and heard what they were scheming, Nicholas was more enraged than he had ever been in his entire life. For the second time in his twenty-eight years, a woman had succeeded in making him feel the fool. He had sworn to himself—never again — and here he had been drooling like an imbecile. It had never occurred to him that the little brat would not want to marry him. He had interrupted his life, boarded a ship and come to France to honor his part of the contract. Well, maybe he had not been prepared to marry the mademoiselle, but at the very least, he had been prepared to find a better solution. While she—she was apparently going to elope with another at his expense! The little idiot was actually planning to marry the eager simpleton who, at this very moment, probably still whispered words of love in her ear.

  “Why, the overbearing young pup still looks wet behind the ears,” Nicholas mumbled furiously under his breath. With arms crossed behind his head, he stared up at the high-beamed ceiling and began to plot his course of action. Restless, he turned to lie on his side. No one, not even his father, was going to force him to marry that scheming, plotting woman … no matter how beautiful she was. “Damn her,” he uttered aloud. Hell would have to freeze over before he would take that insolent girl as his wife.

  “Damn her,” he reiterated angrily, as one more time her mocking words infiltrated his eardrums and grated on his nerves. He could still hear her lusty laughter at his expense. Then, to his dismay, he realized that by refusing to marry her, he was playing right into her hands. “Bloody hell!” he fumed, thinking that she would be forever grateful to him. By refusing to marry her, he was paving the way for her to marry that blubbering French boy. Nicholas turned on his stomach and punched his pillow hard against the mattress. He should be happy. Mademoiselle Beauvisage would marry her Frenchman and obtain her inheritance. The family fortunes would merge and his father’s investment would be secured. Isn’t this what he had come to France to achieve? Bloody hell, he should be jumping for joy.

  A spineless libertine, she called him. Of all the bloody nerve! He would never allow the wanton flirt and her infatuated fool to make a donkey’s ass of him. Tomorrow morning, he would simply inform Madame Montclair and the pompous Mademoiselle Angelique that the wedding was off, that Angelique was not to his liking. Casting away the lofty chit, he would return to England. The “old, stuffy, English viscount” who made her “shiver with disgust” would never bother her again.

  According to her father’s will, the girl must marry with Victoria’s approval in order to inherit. Elopement was out of the question. If she were to insist on eloping with the Frenchman, then Angelique Beauvisage could live out her days rotting in deprivation in New Orleans for all he cared.

  Nicholas shifted positions to face the ceiling and had a most wicked thought. Maybe it would serve the mademoiselle right to elope with the lout and go penniless to America. He envisioned the lovers quarreling about expenses and working their fingers to the bone. “They’ll starve. How sweet.”

  Smiling at the thought of Angelique in a state of poverty and misfortune, Nicholas finally drifted slowly into sleep.

  * * * *

  “Bonne nuit, Henri.”

  “Bonne nuit, Gellie. You shall remain in my dreams. Soon, we shall not have to say goodbye. Soon, we will be together all night.”

  “Hush, Henri, they’ll hear us. You must go,” Angelique whispered, glancing over both shoulders to make certain they were not being watched. Not allowing Henri to detain her any longer, she disentangled herself from his embrace, blew him a kiss, and went inside the château.

  It was late, and to Angelique’s relief, she saw no one about. Still dressed in her riding habit, Angelique pirouetted on her toe and waltzed about the hallway until, out of breath, she found herself standing before the stately portrait of Madame Montclair.

  The painting depicted a stunning Victoria in the prime of her life, dressed in a dark green velvet gown with her two young sons by her side. Angelique, thinking that she had ultimately outfoxed Victoria, smiled at the portrait with smug satisfaction. Then, feigning reverence, she curtsied in front of it and scoffed, “And, you, my dear stepmother, thought you had the upper hand. That will teach you not to trifle with Angelique Beauvisage.”

  Angelique continued down the hallway, gazing at the busts of Roman emperors placed between each window she passed. Chuckling half-heartedly, she recalled how, as a child, she had personally given each bust a fitting name. Then with an abrupt sense of loss, she stared at all the other beautiful sculptures, tapestries and paintings about her, sighing woefully at having to relinquish all this to the horrid woman in the portrait.

  Although the idea of eloping to America with Henri heightened her sense of adventure, and she found their rash and reckless undertaking to be romantic, Angelique could not forget that she was being forced to leave Château Beauvisage. She had no other recourse but to sneak out in the middle of the night, get on a ship, travel across the Atlantic and say her vows before strangers in an unknown land. And though this was preferable to marriage with the viscount, it still irked her. Either way, she was being coerced out of her home and out of her inheritance.

  Angelique decided to check on Tante Mattie before retiring to her room. Longing to put Tante Mattie’s mind at ease, she wanted to tell her aunt of the elopement, but Henri had strictly forbidden her to do so. No one was to know of their plans for fear of sabotage. Once in America, they would send for Tante Mattie. But until then, Angelique was to keep her mouth shut. She knocked softly at her aunt’s door and upon hearing the elderly woman’s invitation to enter, proceeded to go inside.

  Tante Mattie looked up from her book and squinted at Angelique through her pince-nez, which had slipped down to the tip of her nose. “Angelique, at last! It
is you,” exclaimed Tante Mattie as she quickly tossed the book aside and tried to stand from the bed. With nightcap drooping over one eye, Tante Mattie fought with her cotton nightgown, which had caught between the bedpost and the edge of the mattress. “He is here,” she declared, pulling vigorously at the stubborn garment.

  “Tantie, wait. You’ll tear it,” Angelique said, giggling. “Let me help you.”

  “Never mind this old thing,” said Tante Mattie as she finally succeeded in freeing herself. “Victoria is beside herself. I even sent the stable boy to the Bertrand estate to search for you and—oh, never mind. He is here—he has come!”

  Angelique smiled. “Who is here, Tantie? Who has come?”

  “Why, your Lord Kent, that is who!”

  Chapter Three

  At dawn, after a sleepless night, Angelique saddled Champagne and rode off to inform Henri of the viscount’s arrival.

  Upon arriving at the Bertrand estate, she threw pebbles at Henri’s window pane.

  “Gellie, is that you? I’ll be down in a minute,” he said, rubbing his eyes as he peered at her from above.

  A few minutes later, Henri came out to meet her.

  “You look awful. What is it?”

  “Oh, Henri, I had to come and tell you,” Angelique cried. “He’s here.”

  “Who’s here, chérie?”

  “Kent! The viscount arrived last night. Say something, Henri!”

  Henri looked as if he had been slapped.

  “Damn her, Gellie,” he uttered, shaking his head. “Victoria certainly didn’t leave anything to fate. We had intended to be halfway across the ocean or settled in America long before he set foot in France.”

  Angelique began to pace. “My stepmother must have had this planned for quite a while and only informed me of it just recently, making sure we wouldn’t have the time or resources to do anything about it. Henri, what are we going to do?”

  “I swear to you, Gellie, your stepmother will not get away with this.”

  “I haven’t been able to think of anything else since Tante Mattie told me of his arrival last night. He has come to marry me, Henri!”

  Henri rubbed his chin. “Just when is the wedding supposed to take place?”

  “The end of May—exactly the time we are supposed to sail for America.”

  “Have you seen him, chérie?” Henri asked absently.

  “No, not yet. I simply shall tell him to go away … today!”

  Henri grabbed her suddenly. “You’ll do no such thing,” he stated flatly. “You and your intended must have a courtship and must get to know one another.”

  Angelique pulled back to stare at Henri. “Have you gone mad? He is not my intended and as for a courtship …”

  “Hush, Gellie. I shall tell you exactly what you need to do,” he said calmly. “We shall go on with our plans as before.”

  “But how? Have you not heard one word I’ve said?”

  “It makes no difference that he is here,” Henri explained matter-of-factly. “We shall go on as if he had not arrived. You simply pretend that you want to marry him and that you are in complete agreement with Victoria about your future.”

  “Pretend to want him? No! I will not go along with this farce. Do you know what you are asking me to do? It is loathsome. I’ve heard enough,” Angelique said, turning around and heading for her horse.

  “Wait!” Henri leaned forward and seized her by the arm, coercing her gently as he took her to a nearby bench and sat beside her. “Gellie, I do not like this any more than you, but your stepmother has left us no other choice. Please listen to me.”

  “No!” Angelique protested. She shut her eyes and put her hands to her ears. “I won’t listen. I do not want to be courted by him. I will not use the viscount for our own gain. I cannot bear to pretend to want his attention.”

  “Why not, Gellie? He is using you. He wants you for your inheritance. What is the difference? Look at me, chérie. We will be on our way to America in a month’s time and you will never have to see this Englishman again. If you do not pretend to be the dutiful fiancée, Victoria will get suspicious and she will have you married to him before you can bat an eye.”

  Angelique’s pulse raced with fear. Although her conscience shouted out against the ruse she was about to become a part of, at that precise moment she knew she would do anything in her power, deceitful or not, to avoid becoming the Englishman’s wife.

  Henri hugged her tightly. “I will not be able to see you for a while. We mustn’t be seen together.”

  “Henri, I cannot do this without you. This is madness. I won’t be able to fool anyone … especially Kent.”

  “Gellie, you must be extremely cunning. You cannot let your guard down … not even with Tante Mattie.”

  “My aunt is the last person I would confide in. I’m afraid she’s now hopelessly infatuated with the Englishman. I wish she would keep him for herself.”

  Henri continued smoothly, “Gellie, you must spend every waking moment with Lord Kent, and you must be strong for me. In exactly a month, on the eve of your supposed wedding to Kent, I shall come for you, and we shall escape to America. You will not have to go through with the ceremony and will never have to see the gentleman again. Just think, Gellie. Can you picture the look on Victoria’s face when you leave the future Earl of Windword standing at the altar?”

  “It is not amusing, Henri. This next month is going to be agony.”

  Angelique mounted her horse and took the reins. Dreading the task she now faced, she waved goodbye to Henri but did not look back. She did not want him to see her anguish. The glorious scenery was lost on her as thoughts continued to plague her. She was officially engaged to two men. Her situation was so absurd, it was almost laughable.

  An ominous sense of doom lurked within her as Angelique rode back to the château. She knew that she could no longer escape the inevitable—meeting the future Earl of Windword for the very first time.

  * * * *

  Warm rays of sunlight seeped into the room as Nicholas opened the balcony doors and stepped out to greet the day. Paying no heed to his state of undress, he stared at the idyllic scenery before him. This morning, he would see her face to face. Their eyes would meet at close range. He would not have to hide behind shrubbery and watch her from afar. He would inspect the girl up close as if he were about to choose a new thoroughbred for his stables. And this glorious, most splendid of mornings, he would show Angelique Beauvisage exactly what he thought of her.

  Nicholas went back inside the room. Every nerve, every muscle, every inch of him ached to go downstairs and inform his fiancée that he would not marry her. He would take one look at her and decline to become her husband. As simple as that. No explanation, no grounds or justification. He would unceremoniously dump the mademoiselle, much like his crew dumped rubbish into shark-infested waters.

  Buttoning his shirt, he smiled, thinking the sharks would do well to keep their distance from this most tempting but scheming creature. He pulled up his riding breeches, mimicking the young Frenchman’s endearment, “Oh how I’m going to enjoy this, ma petite Gellie.”

  A half hour later, Nicholas entered the breakfast room and was disappointed to find Madame Montclair and her two sons enjoying their petit déjeuner. As usual, Angelique was nowhere in sight.

  “Where is she?” Nicholas asked, allowing his irritation to show.

  Victoria looked up from her plate. “Bonjour, Lord Kent. I trust you slept well. Please join us.” She motioned him to sit in the empty chair beside her. “I hope you have a liking for café au lait. If not, I suppose our kitchen could conjure up something else for you.” Her nose coiled up and her features took on a shoat-like appearance as she added haughtily, “Something English, perhaps?”

  “Café au lait is fine,” answered Nicholas as he sat beside her.

  “Try our croissants, or would you rather the strawberry crêpes? How about some eggs and toast, or ham?”

  “Everything,” Nicholas r
eplied, thinking that the food would not be the only French delicacy downed that morning. “Tell me, madame, where is Angelique?” he asked, staring at the door, waiting for the chit to appear at any given moment.

  Victoria’s eyelids fluttered shut and her mouth drooped distastefully. “I’m afraid she’s not here, m’lord.”