Beauty and the Baron

“Marvelous!” The earl applauded their convincing performance.

That was all it had been, Angela told herself, a command performance to entertain and edify a very special audience.

During the coming weeks, she must take care to remember that, and not fall under the perilous illusion that Lord Lucifer was capable of caring for her.

Or she for him.

The sensation of Angela Lacewood’s divine lips grazing the back of his fingers brought all manner of provocative, unwelcome memories whispering through Lucius. In his younger years, when his looks had made women swoon, he’d been something of a rakehell, gorging himself on a banquet of pleasures afforded by his wealth, his title and his handsome countenance.

Since the war, and the disfigurement that made women swoon for the opposite reason, he had become as devoted a celibate as he had once been a libertine. Until just now, Lucius Daventry had not realized how little he’d missed the shallow diversions of his youth.

But, his lovely, new fiancée threatened to rouse the sleeping hunger within him, damn her!

The earl held out his hands to Lucius and Angela. “I believe this calls for a toast!”

Lucius made every effort not to drop Miss Lacewood’s hand too abruptly, while battling an equally fierce inclination to kiss it again.

Toast, indeed! They could toast his peace of mind like a crumpet over the glowing coals of his rekindled lust.

“Tell Carruthers to fetch us a bottle of our best champagne from the cellar,” the earl ordered Lucius. “On second thought, have him hunt up three or four so the servants may also drink to your happiness.”

The gleam of delight in his grandfather’s eyes countered the reservations that gnawed at Lucius. Three months would pass by far too quickly. Besides, what was a gift worth without a little sacrifice?

“You don’t want to set the cook drunk, and have her burn our dinner,” he said as he set off to relay the earl’s instructions.

“Drink half a dozen toasts and we’ll never notice.” The earl beckoned Miss Lacewood toward him.

Lucius hesitated at the library door long enough to see her stoop and ask, “May I call you Grandfather from now on?”

The earl pulled her into his embrace, “My dearest girl, nothing could make me happier!”

As Lucius watched them together, a foolish, wistful ache settled deep in his belly. With dogged effort, he reinforced his flagging composure and hurried off to order the wine.

He returned to the library a few minutes later to hear his grandfather ask Miss Lacewood, “How soon shall we set the date? June is always a pleasant month for weddings.”

Set a date? A bottomless sensation engulfed Lucius, as though the library’s parquet floor had suddenly opened up beneath his feet.

Before he could stammer out something that might have exposed their ruse to the earl, as well as making himself sound a complete ass, Miss Lacewood came to his rescue.

“We dare not make plans until my aunt and uncle return from the Continent. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have accepted Lord Daventry’s proposal without their permission.”

Lucius privately applauded her quick thinking.

“Old Bulwick?” scoffed the earl, who bettered his neighbor’s age by at least two decades. “Nonsense! You’ve reached years of discretion?”

“Decidedly on the shelf,” Miss Lacewood admitted. “I don’t doubt my aunt and uncle will be delighted to see me make such a fine match, at last. However, they can be somewhat…jealous of their privileges.”

“Yes, yes,” the earl grumbled. “Since you’ll be remaining in the neighborhood, I suppose we ought not to offend your relations by wedding you off in their absence.”

Carruthers appeared just then, bearing a tray with three tall slender glasses and a bottle of champagne. With a murmur of thanks, Lucius set about uncorking and pouring the wine.

Once in possession of his glass, the earl raised it toward Miss Lacewood in a salute. “Let us drink to the most beautiful addition to the Daventry family in many a year—my dear Angela. I hope I may take the liberty of calling you by your name, since you propose to call me Grandfather.”

She nodded, lowering her gaze while a self-conscious little smile hovered on her lips.

“To Angela.” Lucius raised his glass, adding his voice to his grandfather’s. Her name sparkled on his tongue with an intoxicating sweetness that rivaled the champagne.

The earl sipped his wine and gave an approving nod.

“Anxious as I am to see you settled, perhaps a long betrothal is not a bad thing in your case. The two of you need some time to become better acquainted before you marry.”

Before Lucius could voice his agreement, the earl added, “Of course, I know why you’ve gone and gotten yourselves engaged in the first place.”

Lucius felt his jaw go slack as his fiancée sputtered her champagne.

Chapter Four

Champagne dancing its way down her throat was one of the sweetest luxuries Angela had ever enjoyed. Champagne surging back up, its innocent little bubbles scouring the back of her throat and nose, was another matter entirely!

When she heard the earl declare that he knew the true reason behind her engagement to his grandson, she could not stifle a gasp, which set her choking on her wine. Her eyes watered and she struggled to catch her breath between bouts of violent coughing.

She managed to hold on to her champagne flute long enough for a steadier hand to take it from her. A moment later she felt Lord Daventry gently tapping her on the back.

“Are you all right, Angela?” he asked. “Can I get anything for you?”

If she’d been able to reply, she might have told him it did no good posing questions to someone who was coughing too hard to speak. All the same, the warm concern of his tone eased her enough that she was able to catch her breath again. Before long, she had her coughing under control.

“Poor child!” The earl sounded flustered. “I hope you didn’t think I was implying any sinister motive to your betrothal. I only meant that I know you’ve both undertaken it to please me, in which you have heartily succeeded, I assure you.”

Angela felt doubly foolish. She should have known the earl was not referring to his doctors’ grim predictions. Now her excessive reaction to his remark might rouse his suspicions.

Fortunately, a lifetime of practice smoothing over her many blunders came to Angela’s rescue. “It had nothing to do with anything you said, my lord, truly. This was the first time I’d drunk champagne, that’s all. The bubbles tickled the back of my throat.”

“First taste of champagne?” The earl shook his head at his grandson. “And Bulwick fancies himself a gentleman?”

The hand with which Lord Daventry had been patting Angela’s back came to rest there for a moment, in what he might have meant as a comradely gesture of approval for her quick thinking.

Her reaction to his innocent touch was anything but innocent. A dark, ravenous energy stirred within her and began to rove through her flesh. Her thoughts swarmed with longsup-pressed curiosity about the mysterious rites of lovers.

To her vast relief, those immodest fancies did not blaze on her face for the gentlemen to see.

“Sip slowly, my dear, if you are not used to it,” the earl advised her in a most solicitous tone before taking a drink himself.

Lord Daventry left Angela’s side to refill her glass. His brief touch had made her hunger for more. When he returned with her champagne she made a deliberate effort to brush her fingers against his when he handed the flute to her.

Was it possible he felt something of the strange force he had excited in her? she wondered as he lifted his gaze to hers and held it for a taut, expectant instant.

The earl’s voice broke in on their fleeting private moment. “Perhaps I should be ashamed of myself for meddling in your lives.” He regarded Angela and his grandson with transparent satisfaction. “But I’m not. This modern notion of love matches is folly if you ask me. Let a young man choose his own mistress, I say, but let him be guided by his elders in the choice of a wife.”