Fallen Angel (18 page)

Nor did she show the least sign of proper repentance. Gleeful was the only word to describe her expression when time after time she ruined what could have been a rubber for Gabriel, whose good luck at being dealt most
of the high cards was totally offset by his partner’s lack of skill.

Given his reputation in London, Miss Jolliffe should have been more leery of incurring his wrath, but she clearly delighted in teasing him. On two occasions he realized she had deliberately held back the winning card until the last possible moment just to let him think he had a chance to win the hand.

Oddly enough, Gabriel had no trouble controlling his temper, despite how badly he was losing, because halfway through the evening he realized that he was actually deriving enjoyment from Miss Jolliffe’s pleasure in beating him soundly.

That thought gave him a moment’s pause, since considered logically, there was no reason why he should care if she was happy or not. The only explanation, he finally decided, was that the happier he made her, the more likely she was to fall in love with him.

As obvious as that was, he could not quite convince himself that it was the sole and only reason he wanted her to have a little joy in her life. He had a niggling feeling that there was more involved than just his scheme to win her love.

Walking home later, Gabriel had a second disconcerting thought. At the whist table Miss Jolliffe had proved herself to be a thoroughly skilled tactician. Was she perhaps equally skilled in other areas? While he was endeavoring to win her love, was it possible she was playing some deep game with him?

Would he marry her, only to discover that she was not the person he had thought she was? Would she, for example, reveal herself as a shrew? A chatterbox? A bore? A spendthrift? A snob?

But then he remembered her promise never to lie to him. In his financial dealings around the world, he had always trusted to his instincts as to whether or not a man was telling him a falsehood, and so far, his instincts had seldom failed him.

Right now his instincts were insisting that Miss Jolliffe had told him the truth, not only when she had made that promise, but on all other occasions likewise. It followed, therefore, that he had nothing to worry about—at least so long as he managed to secure her as his partner for future games of whist.

Entering his own house, he discovered he could already feel a difference in the atmosphere. Exeter and the other new servants were still shabbily dressed, and the furniture still needed dusting, and doubtless the linens were still yellow. But in some indefinable way the house seemed to exude a welcome instead of the hostility he had felt ever since he had taken possession of it.

Gabriel had a small glass of brandy in the study before going up to his room, where Mackley, his new valet, helped him prepare for bed. Retiring for the night, Gabriel felt quite content with his life.

Unfortunately, just as he was about to doze off, he had a third disconcerting thought, which totally banished sleep.

Looking back, Gabriel realized that Miss Jolliffe had always seemed to be an emotionless person, calm at all times and completely lacking the capability for passion. Yet this evening she had taken such delight in besting him at cards.

Almost a sensual delight ...

He remembered the way she had peeked at him out of the corner of her eye after a particularly ingenious play—almost as if she were taunting him—daring him to ... to what?

Feeling suddenly overheated, Gabriel threw back the covers and walked over to the window and stared out into the night. But his thoughts of Miss Jolliffe followed, to plague and distract him.

He could not rid his mind of the memory of her hands, which he had never really noticed until this evening. They were slender, almost delicate, and
thinking
about them, he could not help wondering what it would feel like to have her touch him—to have those graceful hands softly caress him.

He remembered also the way the curve of her neck had seemed to beckon him. So smooth and enticing, it had positively demanded to be kissed, and the tiny wisps of hair curling innocently and seductively at the nape had not made it any easier to resist.

But standing here in the quiet darkness, it was the memory of her eyes that bothered him the most—her gray-green eyes, which had glistened with a silken delight that was not at all suitable for a properly brought-up spinster of advancing years.

Turning away from the window and beginning to pace the room, he tried to convince himself that he felt tempted by Miss Jolliffe’s charms only because it was so long since he had lain with one of his mistresses. All he needed to do was slake his lust on some convenient woman
...

But he could not even carry that thought to completion. Other women no longer had any attractions for him—he could not even call to mind the faces of his former mistresses.

The realization came to him suddenly, but he could not deny its truth. The only thing that would relax him and allow him to sleep was if Miss Jolliffe were here sharing his bed. What he wanted was to see her eyes become cloudy with desire for him—what he needed was to see her pleasure grow—to see her desire him as much as he now craved her.

How much pleasure could he derive from pleasuring her? She had teased him this evening, and now his hands began to tremble at the thought of teasing her in return—of touching her, caressing her, tormenting her until she burned for him.

Dear God, he had so readily, so easily, so carelessly dismissed her as an emotionless, passionless female of advancing years, but this evening it was as if she had opened the shutters of her soul and allowed him to see the fire that was burning inside her—a fire that was still carefully banked, for which he was intensely thankful.

After this evening he knew he had to be the one—the only one—who was allowed to explore the depth of passion within Miss Jolliffe.

He felt chilled with the realization of how easily he might never have known her. Suppose some other man had seen what lay behind her plain facade? Suppose she had married someone else before he had even returned to England?

Even worse, suppose he had not listened to her pleas in Northumberland and had driven off and left her stranded at the Crown and Thistle?

He felt ill at the thought of how easily he might have lived his entire life without her, and pulling on his dressing gown, he went down to his study and poured himself a hefty measure of brandy.

The house lay quiet, the servants apparently all sleeping soundly, but it was a long time before Gabriel gave up his vigil and again returned to his too empty bed, there to toss and turn for hours.

It seemed to Gabriel that no sooner had he shut his eyes than Mackley, his new valet, was opening the drapes to admit the feeble rays of the cold winter sun. Considering how long he had lain awake, Gabriel would have cheerfully paid out a thousand golden guineas for the chance to roll over and go back to sleep.

But being late two days in a row to pick up Miss Jolliffe was not only unthinkable, but also foolhardy. Once might be excusable, but twice would be insulting.

She would forgive him, of course, no matter how feeble his excuse. But, he realized as he dragged
himself
out of bed, now that he had discovered she was not at all the emotionless spinster he had thought her, it would be unconscionable for him to deliberately—or carelessly—hurt her feelings.

Besides which, he realized while Mackley was shaving him, he was curious to see what she would say when he gave her the little book of household instructions. As much as he wanted her to profess her love for him, he was willing to give good odds that she would not utter the same cloying, honeyed phrases that his mistresses had invariably used. Whatever Miss Jolliffe said, the words would be unexpected. That much he had learned in the few weeks he had known her.

Nevertheless, over a breakfast of beefsteak and ale, he played a game with himself, trying to reason out logically what she might say, but none of the possible responses that came to mind seemed to be in keeping with what he knew about her.

Which was odd, because looking back, he could hear quite clearly in his mind what any of his previous mistresses would have said if he had given her the little book, which had, as any of them would have recognized immediately, no intrinsic value, and which was likewise in no way romantic.

In a word, females were in his experience so totally predictable that all of them, after the briefest acquaintance, invariably became quite tedious and boring. Miss Jolliffe, on the other hand, managed in her modest and unassuming way to become more intriguing with each passing day.

She was, as always, quite punctual, likewise an uncommon trait for a female, and by the time he pulled his horses to a stop in front of her brother-in-law’s house, she was already standing on the pavement waiting for him to reach down and assist her into the carriage.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her gray-green eyes sparkled in the early morning sun—no, they did not sparkle, they glowed, like priceless antique jade, and he had to look away before he was caught in their spell.

Although she settled in her seat with outward calm, he had seen enough to know that this morning it was not at all easy for her to remain silent until they were in the park and away from the traffic.

He was not, however, going to relieve the tension that was emanating from her in waves by congratulating her on her skill at card-playing, nor, despite the fact that she had just cause to revel in her power over him, was he going to confess the sleepless hours he had spent during the night thinking about what it would be like to bed her.

In the end, his patience paid off. “Tell me,” she said as soon as he drove the carriage through the gates of Hyde Park, “did Mrs. Wiggins manage to find the proper servants for you? I was positively agog with curiosity last evening, and I could not keep from wishing we might have an opportunity to speak privately.”

He could not hold back a bark of laughter. Did she have any idea how thoroughly she had just put him in his place? His thoughts had been all on seduction, whereas hers had been on proper household management. She had, as usual, caught him completely
off guard
.

“So distracted were you,
thinking
about my servants, that you were quite unable to concentrate on the cards,” he said.

To his delight her face took on a rosy tinge. “Do not tease me, my lord. I was scarcely able to sleep a wink last night, wondering if you were all right.”

The image conjured up by her words—which he was sure she had uttered in all innocence—was so instantly arousing, that his arms involuntarily jerked on the reins, causing his horses to rear up. Gabriel quickly got them under control again, much more easily, in fact, than he was able to control his own pulse.

With outward calm, he said, “Although they are a lean and hungry lot, I believe the servants Mrs. Wiggins chose for me will serve the purpose. I could have used your help in dealing with them yesterday, however.” He had not intended to mention that, but once the words were out, there was no way he could call them back.

“My help?”

She was blushing again, he realized with delight. Yesterday he would have assumed she was embarrassed at the thought of doing something so improper as to visit a gentleman in his residence, but after an evening playing cards with her, he was no longer positive her thoughts did not occasionally stray across the line of what was proper for a lady in her circumstances.

Unfortunately, Hyde Park was not a convenient place to pursue that line of inquiry, so he described instead the interviews he’d had with the three upper servants. “In short, Miss Jolliffe,” he concluded, “I managed in the space of a few minutes to reduce each of them to tears.”

Miss Jolliffe made no comment, and looking down at her, he saw that tears were also spilling out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. Reining in his horses, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe her face, but she caught his hand in both of hers and held it to her cheek.

“You are so good,” she said. “I cannot think of any other gentleman who would have done such a noble thing.”

For a moment he was tempted to let her keep her delusions about his character, but something—perhaps her promise never to lie to him—prevented him from letting her continue to believe something that was patently false.

“What rubbish,” he said, feeling quite embarrassed. He pulled his hand abruptly away and tucked his now rather damp handkerchief back into his pocket. Signaling his horses to proceed, he said acerbically, “I was merely doing what was necessary to insure their loyalty.”

“You will pardon me, my lord, if I do not believe you,” she said, and he felt her hand on his arm.

Given a second chance to take advantage of her naivety, he again chose instead to point out to her the errors in her thinking. “You are mistaking my motives,” he said bluntly, “and seeing nobility of spirit where there is in truth only practicality. I learned years ago that well-fed and well-treated sailors do not jump ship at the first port they put in to.”

“And I suppose because of that policy, the captains of your ships never have to worry about sailing without a full complement of men?” she asked, gazing up at him with a smile in her eyes.

“Almost never,” he replied. “But before you make any further attempts to canonize me, may I point out that keeping the same crew for several voyages results in increased profits?”

“I am sure it does. And treating servants as if they are also people who have feelings does much to ensure that a household will be well run.”

“As I said, Miss Jennings, it is practicality and nothing more.” He glanced down at her and discovered she was still looking up at him with complete approval—no, it went far beyond approval. In her eyes he could almost see the reflection of a halo above his head, and under his coat his shoulders fairly itched with the wings that were trying to sprout.