The Solemn Bell(51)

Peter Lawton continued to massage her thigh. His fingertips toyed with the lace edge of her underdrawers. When he dared to venture further, Angelica refused to open her legs for him. She clamped her knees shut, squeezing his creeping fingers. He pressed as far as he could without attracting suspicion, but when she continued to refuse his caress, the man reached between her inner thighs and pinched her.

Angelica yelped, and accidentally overturned her wineglass. With everyone’s attention on the spill, Mr. Lawton laughingly withdrew his hand. The tender place where he’d hurt her throbbed. She’d have a bruise—how would she ever explain that to Captain Neill?

The table was in an uproar. The servants rushed to mop up her graceless blunder. Everyone talked over one another, yet only Captain Neill’s voice cut through the clamor.

“My God, Angelica, are you all right?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s just a spill. Don’t worry about that.” He stood to help her out of her seat. “But…are you all right?”

She clung to him. Her cheeks burned red, and her thigh stung. She wanted to get out of that room before anyone saw her cry, but she couldn’t find her way alone. “Please, take me upstairs.”

Captain Neill escorted her from the dining room. When she was out of earshot of the others, Angelica burst into tears.

“Oh, come now,” he said, holding her as she sobbed. He petted her hair and rocked her like one would treat a child with a skinned knee. He could never, ever know what that dreadful Mr. Lawton had done to her.

“Brody, I’m so humiliated!”

“Everyone upsets their wine glass. I’ve done it. It’s not the end of the world.”

She shook her head against his jacket-front. “No. They’ll assume that because I’m blind, I am clumsy, or that I cannot comport myself at table.”

“You’ve had a very trying few days. Why don’t you have a lie down? I’ll wake you for tea.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

He sighed. “Angelica, I can’t stay in your room with you. It won’t look right.”

“Then take me somewhere where it will look right,” she said. “The library, or…or…”

Captain Neill guided her into the library, and helped her down onto the sofa—the same sofa they’d copulated on the night before. Angelica flushed, swearing she could still feel the press of him against her lips, the rough way he’d fisted her hair, and called out her name as she worked him toward release.

She never felt shame for the things she’d done with him, or even with her previous lover. She’d been game. She’d been safe. She’d been free to give and take, and enjoy herself in whatever way felt best. What Mr. Lawton had done frightened her. Angelica felt guilty of the purpling bruise between her thighs. She was going to have to hide it like a dirty little secret, when she had not done anything wrong.

Captain Neill wrapped her in an Afghan rug, and tucked her back into the pillows. He took a seat in an armchair nearby, idly turning the pages of some magazine. His breathing was relaxed and even. She took refuge in the mundaneness of the moment. She was safe—for now.

“Read to me,” she said.

He laughed huskily. “Nimrod’s Hunting Experiences: Memoirs of Masters of Hounds, Notices of the Crack Riders and Characteristics of the Hunting Counties of England…”

“Nevermind,” Angelica said, laughing. “That doesn’t sound at all interesting.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He got up and crossed the floor. She could hear him thumbing through the shelves. After a moment, he returned to his seat. “How about this one? A Cup of Tea, by Katherine Mansfield. Seems like something a woman your age would enjoy.”

“Alright. Go on.”

He cleared his throat and started the story, “Rosemary Fell was not exactly beautiful…”

Captain Neill’s strong, soothing voice reminded of her of when she was a child, and Father would read to her. Her understanding of the world was limited—still limited, truthfully—but she’d enjoyed the words, the cadence, and the rhythm of language. Now, she enjoyed the easy, unhurried way Captain Neill read.

It was a nice way to pass the time from luncheon until tea, when she would have to face Peter Lawton and the Neill family once again.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX





Angelica sat on a blanket spread out on the grass. The sun was warm on her face, and everything smelled fresh and green. No one mentioned her episode from earlier in the day—it was as if it never happened. Not even Mary Rose bit on that one. Perhaps Captain Neill had told them all to leave her be. To them, it was only a spilled glass of wine and a little chaos. To Angelica, it was something slightly more sinister.

The sound of Mr. Lawton’s voice, as he cavalierly ate smoked salmon sandwiches and flirted with both Cynthia Cartwright and Mary Rose, grated on her nerves. Once, when he’d addressed a question to her, she flinched at her name on his lips. Thankfully, Captain Neill didn’t notice her discomfort. He sat beside her on the blanket, letting their shoulders touch, and their hands occasionally brush like two shy lovers at a church picnic.

It was chaste, and sweet, and—in some small way—helped to wash the bad taste of luncheon out of her mouth. Captain Neill was a good man, and, beneath his corroded exterior, he had a pure heart. Moments when he laughed with her, or brushed a wild lock of hair from her cheek, letting his fingertips linger on her pinkening skin, made her forget there was cruelty, war, and addiction in the world. Troubles seemed a million miles away. Surely, not even a villain like Peter Lawton could ruin the day.