Free Angel's Devil by Suzanne Enoch Page A

invited us to share his box at the opera Thursday
night. Don Giovanni. He said he wanted to become better acquainted with
us; since we're to be part of the family. It will be splendid, don't you
think?"
    "Angel,"
her father began frowning, as Pimroy pulled open the front door.
    "I mustn't
be late," she said with a smile.
    "That dog
is not going with you," her mother stated. "Oh, Mama," Angel
grumbled. "All right. Brutus, stay." The dog sighed and padded
upstairs to find the twins, as Simon entered the hall and took her hand. She
hoped there was no jam left on her finger.
    "Good
morning," she smiled, grateful that she and Lily had overheard what was
being performed at the opera. All that remained was to get word to the marquis
that they were to go.
    It was an
easier task than she expected. Shortly after they arrived at St. James Park
they were joined by Lily, Louisa and Mary, the Alcotts, and Richard Forbes and
his cousin, Sophia. As they all sat on the spread of blankets they were
approached by a rider on a magnificent black stallion.
    "Good
day," the marquis said, leaning down to shake Simon's hand as his cousin
rose to greet him. "I didn't expect to find all of you here."
    His glance at
Simon was less than pleased, and as he dismounted Angel wondered if his cousin
hadn't tricked Abbonley into joining them. He glanced about the group,
inclining his head at Lily and giving a slight nod to the Alcotts. As his gaze
found Angel, he gave a smile and stepped forward to bend over her raised hand.
"Lady Angelique," he greeted her.
    "James, do
you stay?" Simon asked, apparently sensing his cousin's misgivings at the
rather dull composition of the gathering. If not for Simon and Lily, Angel
would have been looking for a way out, herself.
    The marquis shook
his head. "I have an appoint—" Fearing he would leave before she had
a chance to speak to him, Angelique hammered her fist against the ankle of his
boot.
    "—ment
with my secretary, but I believe I have a few moments," Abbonley finished
smoothly. His limp more pronounced than it had been a moment earlier, he
seated himself beside her. "Why do you insist on bashing me, my
lady?" he murmured, accepting a glass of madeira from Mr. Forbes.
    "We need
to talk," she returned, noting that he set the glass aside without
drinking. That surprised her, for with his reputation she had expected him to
down it at one go and ask for another.
    "I'm
listening."
    "I told my parents you'd invited us to share your box at the opera
on Thursday," she continued, ignoring the others as Louisa Delon began one
of her tiresome on dits about someone or other's scandalous behavior.
    He squinted one
eye. "That was bold of me," he commented, "considering I don't
have a box—at the opera."
    She hadn't
thought of that. "But—"
    "My
grandmother does, however," he interrupted with a short grin. "I
believe I can persuade her to have us all there on Thursday." He handed
her half of his peach.
    "I hope
so," Angel muttered. "If we can't accomplish something before the
Season ends and we go our separate ways, my parents will have no reason to
change any plans at all." She grinned. "That was a grand idea you
had, to invite us to Abbonley. I suppose Simon's plan is working a bit too
well, and Papa didn't want me around you." She glanced over at Simon, who
was laughing as he refilled Lily's glass.
    The marquis
smiled, lifting his glass of madeira and eyeing the liquid before he set it
down again. "And the Season's not over yet, Lady Angelique."
     
    "All
right, Jamie, what's on your mind?"
    James selected
another card from the pile, grimaced, and discarded it. "Beg pardon?"
he queried, glancing across the table at his grandmother.
    "You heard
me. Why have you been sitting here for the past. . . " she glanced up at
the clock on her mantel, "hour, purposely losing at piquet?"
    Her grandson
raised an eyebrow. "I admit that my play has been deplorable, but I assure
you that I'm not—"
    "Point, I
win. Out with it, boy."
    The