Chapter Twenty-Two
Angelica was still trapped, it was true, but at least this time it was in a cage of her own choosing.
She had escaped her rooms at sunrise thanks to Cecily's whispered instructions through the keyhole. The trellis outside her bedroom window had been tolerably easy to climb, and, thankfully, Angelica had a good head for heights.
Then it was off into the forest, following Cecily's precise guidance, until she came on a small hunting lodge and discovered the key under the second flower pot on the right, just as promised.
She might have been tempted to wait for her father, if the Duke of Loxwell had not informed her that he was coming to collect her with the Duke of Redhaven in tow. Nothing could make her father's intentions clearer: she was to be Duchess of Redhaven, whether she liked it or not.
She could sympathise with her father's position. He had a responsibility to Lily, as well, and Angelica's disgrace would only damage Lily's prospects. He had never raised his daughters to hope for a loving marriage. Such things came as fortune dictated, and all the prayers and hopes in the world could not change them.
All the same, Angelica had been amazed to discover that she would endure anything – even hiding in this cobwebby, cramped little lodge in the forest – rather than enter a marriage with a husband who could not love her.
"I will be a spinster," she told herself, repeating the word again and again until it lost its fearful sound. "I will be a merry old spinster, and the favourite aunt of all Lily's children."
Thank goodness there was a shelf of books in the hunting lodge to pass the time away! Angelica leafed through the dry Shooter's Guides until she found a collection of Jacobean plays. Perhaps, one drowsy summer, Cecily and Jemima had acted out the parts of Bianca and Leantio after a day spent riding through the woods.
She became so immersed in her reading that it was not until it became difficult to see the words on the page that she realised the sun was setting. She glanced up to find that the sky outside the window was streaked with amber.
And, just as she woke from her reverie, she realised voices were approaching the cottage.
Angelica startled upright, heart pounding. She searched about for somewhere to hide. The little lodge was sparsely furnished; a narrow bed in one corner, a little stove in another.
She launched herself under the bed just as the door was kicked open behind her. She had not thought to lock it. She thought she would have more time – time to collect herself, time to form a plan that did not mean returning to her disappointed family.
She hardly dared breathe as heavy men's footsteps thudded across the floorboards.
Was Edward there? Was her father? She could not tell simply by the pounding of feet.
Someone crossed the lodge from one side to another, moving quickly. A hand reached down and lifted the sheets on the bed above her.
The shame of being found lying on a dusty floor sent a wave of heat into Angelica's face. She did not often pray, but she found herself praying now.
Let me not be found. Let them pass me by.
"No-one here, Your Grace!"
So there was a Duke in the lodge!
Despite herself, Angelica's heart leaped at the thought that it might be Edward, and tears pricked her eyes soon after. She cursed her foolishness. What manner of girl still harboured affection for a man who had so clearly expressed his distaste for her?
Angelica valued herself more highly than that. She was worth loving. She deserved passion.
And yet her heart still bled to think that Edward was nearby.
The men's footsteps retreated. The door swung closed.
Angelica did not dare move. Had she truly escaped?
Was that even what she wanted?
She almost jumped out of her skin as the bedsprings depressed above her head.
A low, mournful sigh broke the silence. "Angelica."
He spoke her name with such resonant passion that she could not help but answer.
"Edward?"
A hand reached under the bed. She grasped it.
"Here, my contrary little bride. Let me help you up."
Red-faced, Angelica scrambled out from under the bed and got to her feet. "Are we alone?"
"The others have gone ahead to search through the forest." Edward's face was unreadable, but his tone was stern. "Your father is beside himself with worry."
"I doubt it. My father knows I am capable of taking care of myself."
Edward cursed and, turning away from her, rammed a fist into the wall. "Angelica!" he growled, sending shivers racing over Angelica's body. "What devil has possessed you? You will at least do me the courtesy of taking your own behaviour seriously."
Angelica reached out a trembling hand and touched his shoulder. "I am sorry. Edward, please look at me. I am sorry."
His eyes met hers, ravaged with the worry she had caused. She had not expected him to look so devastated. It shook her to the core.
"Why did you run from me?" he asked. "I know you met with my cousin. Tell me what infamous lies he told you."
"He told me many things," said Angelica. "Things which spoke so badly of your character that I quailed to hear them – but I did not believe them, Edward. I reserved my judgement. I gave you the benefit of the doubt and resolved to wait until you had a chance to rebut his accusations – but then, he presented me with evidence written by your own hand."
"My own hand?"
She produced the letter he had written to the Earl of Lathkill, which Valentina had insisted she keep as a reminder of Edward's true nature.
Edward's expression changed from confusion to despair as he opened it. "Angelica..."
"You need not explain yourself. I was never under the impression that we were a love match."
He grasped her face in both his hands and crushed her lips with his.
Angelica forgot to breathe. She forgot to think. She forgot she had arms and legs, hands and feet. She became nothing but a pair of lips, matched perfectly with Edward's.
When he released her, she gasped for air.
"I have no apology to offer for the words on this page," said Edward. "When I wrote them, I believed them to be true."
"And now?"
"Do you truly need to ask me?"
"I am not a mind-reader," said Angelica. "And I will not risk my future on an assumption. You found the words to write this letter. I expect you to find the words to refute it."
For a moment, Edward's eyes were full of a blazing light, and she had every expectation that he was about to declare his love.
"No," he said.
"No?" At least she managed to keep the tremble from her voice. She still had some trace of dignity left.
"I cannot set myself before you while there remains any question of my good character, Angelica. You told me that Reginald Thorne laid accusations against my name. You must give me the chance to defend myself against them."
"Very willingly," she said, her chagrin lending her voice a sharper tone than she had intended. "Though I do not see how you intend to protest against the charge that you entered into an engagement solely in order to block Mr Thorne from inheriting your dukedom."
"That I will never deny. Before I came to know you, that was my only consideration in securing a bride."
"What reason have you to be so prejudiced against Mr Thorne?"
"Prejudice, you call it?" Edward let out a harsh laugh. "You do not know the man you speak of. Do any of his actions towards you speak of a fine, gentlemanly character? To take advantage of a stranger's good will, and set her heart aflame with doubts for the future her own family had lovingly planned for her –"
"My father wishes me to be a Duchess, Edward. I know he loves me, but he is blinded by your title. How else could he consider giving me to a man of your reputation? You cannot deny that the rumours about you are fearsome."
"And it was precisely those rumours Thorne preyed upon, I imagine, in feeding your fears of me."
"Don't imagine I am afraid of you!"
Edward's eyes softened. "I don't wish you to be. But you ran, Angelica. You ran."
She could not meet his gaze. "The only thing I feared was a marriage which might prove unpleasant to us both."
"And I fully intend to convince you that our marriage will be nothing of the sort. But, pray, tell me – was it only Reginald's hurt ambition that persuaded you to escape me?"
"In truth, I did not find that so great a sin," Angelica admitted. "I was certain you would have a good explanation for blocking your cousin. But Edward, there was more – a deed so grave and black-hearted that I hardly dare to speak of it. It does not seem to me that you could ever have done such a thing... and yet it ties in so perfectly with what I heard of you elsewhere. I did not know what to think when I learned of it. I still do not." Her fingers began twisting the buttons on her left glove with such nervous force that it was in danger of being torn completely off. "The fact is, Edward, that I met with Lord Oliver Barnet."
She hardly dared raise her eyes to see his reaction. When she did, she found him perfectly still, and as cold as if he'd been carved from granite.
"Go on," he said coolly.
"Lord Oliver explained to me that he had once been in love with your sister, Lady Adelaide. He showed me a letter she had written him as proof. I did not set much store by the letter – it might have been written by anyone, after all! But his story... Edward, he told me that the reason for your famous duel was because you disapproved of his affection for your sister. He told me that you maimed him for life in an attempt to destroy his chances of marrying her. And she loved him, Edward, and he loved her! Tell me it is not true."
Edward's jaw tightened, and he touched the watch in his fob pocket, stroking it with his thumb as though it were the hand of a loved one.
"He showed you a letter?" he asked. "No, I have no doubt that it was genuine. Adelaide loved him. She loved him with a passion so great that – no, I cannot speak of it."
"How am I to marry you if you will not explain this to me?" asked Angelica. "I understand that you must regret the duel. It is perfectly natural, on seeing the state poor Lord Oliver has been left in –"
"My only regret is that I left him breathing," said Edward coldly. "I spared his life once, and this is how he repays me! I should have finished the job while I had the chance."
"That would have made you the murderer they say you are."
"But it is my own sister they claim I killed," said Edward, a queer fire in his eyes. "And who is to say that I didn't? She loved Lord Oliver. My hand pulled the trigger that maimed him. This, I cannot deny. Nay. I am proud to admit it."
"I do not understand you," said Angelica, backing away despite herself. "Those are the words of a cold-hearted killer, Edward, and they suit you ill."
"You will understand in time," said Edward. She was flooded with fear at the promise in his words. She suddenly thought that she did not wish to understand any more – that she had been right to run, and if she had any sense, she had better run now.
Yet the greater half of her heart longed to take him in her arms and soothe the trouble from his brow. If she could have wiped away the past with present tenderness, she would have done it.
She was beginning to realise that she would do anything for Edward, whether time proved him right or wrong. And that thought terrified her.
It was precisely that – the immoral, reckless, headstrong love she felt for him, that she had tried to escape by running away. But he had found her.
And there was no more escaping it.
Angelica touched Edward's arm with trembling fingers. He flinched. He had not been expecting her touch.
She ran her hands up his jacket, straightening the collar, tidying the cravat. She watched him all the while her hands moved over his clothing, as hesitant and curious as a deer in the forest.
"I cannot speak of it," Edward told her.
"Then say nothing," she said. "I will wait until you are ready."
"Come back with me. Come back, and I will explain it all in time. Only say you will not run from me again."
Angelica swallowed down her misgivings. "I will not. However terrible your past is, Edward, it is your past only. I am your future."
She was already committed. She had fallen into love the way maidens drown in deep water – with a splash as it closed over her head. Whether she would survive or not was entirely in Edward's power.
And, now that she was almost, almost sure he loved her too, she minded it less with every passing moment.