Free Wicked Angel by Julia London Page A

of tea. "What, are you still sulking over Rupert?" he sighed, and reached for his brandy, ignoring the tea.
    "You promised me, Uncle Ethan," she reminded him sharply.
    Ethan moaned his exasperation. "He is a grown
man
, Lauren. If he wants an ale, who am I to deny him?"
    "Putting aside, for the moment, that the two of you could have been
killed
driving that old wagon in such a state, you know Rupert cannot absorb spirits like other men! It has taken him two full days to recover!"
    "Do not bother me with that now," Ethan groaned. "My gout is flaring up again."
    Lauren sighed loudly. There was no reasoning with Ethan. She supposed she should be grateful that as he so rarely left the drawing room, he was no real threat to Rupert's safety. Bless Rupert, but he thought Ethan had practically hung the moon. How his simple mind had concluded
that
was the biggest mystery of all. "Please eat your soup, Uncle. Mr. Goldthwaite gave me some herbs that should help ease your pain," she said, and bent to retrieve a discarded weekly paper.
    "Goldthwaite! I do not like him sniffing around your skirts, do you hear me? The pillows, child…"
    "Mr. Goldthwaite understands I do not return his affections," she lied, adjusting the pillows behind Ethan's back. Apparently, there was
nothing
she could say to convince Fastidious Thadeus
or
Mrs. Peterman of that. "But he is so terribly generous to us, I cannot ask him to stay away."
    "Then
I
shall do it! I cannot make a match for you with that little hummingbird constantly underfoot,"
    Ethan grumbled, and slurped from his bowl of soup. Lauren shook her head and began to walk toward the door. "Good God, what are you wearing?" he suddenly barked.
    She paused and glanced down at the pair of trousers and heavy linen shirt Paul had outgrown many years ago. "Trousers." She continued to the door.
    "Mind me, lass! There will be no man wanting to marry you in that!" he called after her. Mind him, indeed, she thought, and shut the door loudly. His constant talk of marrying her off—and it was
constant
—was beginning to wear on her. She marched to the foyer and removed a woolen coat from a peg. Everything was beginning to wear on her, she realized, as she plunged her arms into the coat.
    "Where are you off to this morning?"
    Lauren glanced over her shoulder at Paul as she pulled a woolen cap over her head. He limped into the foyer and leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "I should salvage what is left of the pumpkins," she muttered.
    "Have Rupert do that. There is no need for you to toil."
    "Thanks to Uncle Ethan's superior choice of a drinking partner, Rupert is behind in his chores. And I am in great need of a solitary task," she said sharply, reaching for gloves.
    "Is anything wrong?" Paul asked.
    Immediately regretting the unleashing of her foul disposition, Lauren smiled weakly. "Nothing that a little time alone will not cure, I assure you." She walked out the door before he could question her further.
    She had no hope time alone would cure her. It wasn't that Ethan had allowed Rupert to get so incredibly intoxicated, although she was still quite angry about that. It was just—
everything
. Everything had turned
    upside down since Mr. Christian had come to Rosewood two days ago.
    Damn it, she could not stop
thinking
about Mr. Christian.
    She dreamed about him at night, thought about him all day, and yesterday, at a distance, had even mistaken the vicar for him. That was laughable, since the vicar was nearly seventy years old. Never had anyone had such an impact on her. She had never been so much as smitten that she could recall—unless she counted Donovan Williams, who had sparked her great admiration by pulling her hair when she was eight.
    But even Donovan Williams could not possibly hold a candle to Mr. Christian, She had never met such a handsome, masculine,
kind
man. He liked poetry, he liked the children, and he did not even seem to object overmuch to Lucy. And beyond those