Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(59)

Thorton pursed his lips and drew back his shoulders. “Do not insult me when you are the one in the wrong. I needed to be sure of what I saw. It was possible that Miss Ripon was the one seducing you, in which case I needed to be sure so I could warn my friends and all of society. It would not do for any to marry her without knowing the truth of her character.”

“And do you believe you know the truth of her character? I am getting a good idea of the quality of your character, Thorton.”

Thorton took a step forward. “And I yours. You claim the lady was willing, and yet you act affronted that she should have been the seductress. I take it, then, you mean to marry her?”

—

Her eyes were red. Angela peered into the mirror and then held the cool, damp cloth to them again, wishing the swelling would subside. She’d arrived at the house flustered and mussed and had barely made it to her room without being seen. Even after her best efforts, her hair looked—well, her hair looked as if she’d been doing exactly what she had been doing. She began to pull the pins out of it. She’d tell her maid she’d had a headache and had let down her hair, trying to ease the pain.

And her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and those much-too-red eyes? She could say she’d gone for air, hoping that would help with the headache. That was not unreasonable and would cover if any had noticed her absence from her room. That would explain the flush, but what of the lips and the eyes that had all too obviously been crying?

A bee sting.

She’d once seen a girl swell up dreadfully after being stung. Could she pretend such a malady? It would certainly explain the tears—although perhaps she could blame them on the pain in her head.

Were her lips really that bad?

She picked up her silver brush and began to run it through her hair, yanking at the tangles. Once her hair was smooth, she slipped out of her dress, hanging it over the back of a chair. She wished to never see it, and its memories, again. She walked to the bed in her chemise and corset and sat, wishing she could have the day to do over.

And just when she’d been truly giving up her plans for vengeance, been ready to admit there might be something more between Colton and herself. Blast. Blast. Blast.

Did she know him at all?

A scratch at the door and her maid entered, carrying a fresh pitcher of warm water. “It’s time to dress for dinner. What…You look like you’ve been fighting with a bag full of cats, miss.”

Her own descriptions would not have been so colorful, but it was hard to deny the truth. “I am sorry, Maggie. My head is pounding and I am most afraid I’ve been pulling at my hair.”

“You should have rung for me. I could have brought you a nice cup of willow tea. Nothing helps like a cup of willow tea.”

“I kept hoping if I could sleep it would pass away. I did not want to trouble you. I am sure Mother had you busy with the gowns for this evening.”

“Nonsense. Your health comes first, and you know your mother would agree. Do you have a fever? You do appear most awfully flushed.” Maggie walked over and touched her brow. “No, a trifle cold and clammy perhaps.” She picked up the damp rag. “Although this might explain that.”

“I was trying to ease the pain.”

“Lie down again and I’ll fetch some cooler water—and some tea.” Maggie turned and hurried out the door.

Angela slipped between the covers of the bed, glad that Maggie had not noticed how neat it was. A single glance and it would have been clear that Angela had not yet lain down.

A light tap and her mother entered. “Maggie says you are not well.”

“Perhaps I had a trifle too much sun.”

“You are red. I wish you would be more careful with wearing your bonnet. No gentleman wants a red-cheeked girl with freckles.”

“You are right, Mother.” Angela laid her head against the pillows. “Perhaps the color will have faded by tomorrow.”

“One can hope. You are not falling back into the doldrums, are you? I had just begun to believe you had recaptured your former spirit.” Her mother came and patted her cheek. “Now, will you come down for dinner or should I send for a tray?”

That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. She knew that several gentlemen had arrived during the afternoon and had thought her mother would compel her to the meal. “I must admit that it sounds like heaven to keep my head upon the pillow.”

Her mother tightened her lips, but not with annoyance. “I do worry about you, Angela. You have such a tendency to take things too far, to do too much. You will need a strong man to keep you in check.”

“So you will not mind if I miss dinner?” she asked, ignoring the last of her mother’s words, which hit all too close to the thorn that pierced her heart.

“Of course I will mind, but it is better that you rest and feel well.” Her mother gave a gentle smile. “Besides, you don’t want the gentlemen to see you when you are not at your best.”

“Yes, that would be a disaster.”

Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “Yes, quite horrific.”

“I promise to be better on the morrow.”

One last pat and a soft stroke. “I am sure you will be—and I will try not to leave you too long with Lord Thorton again. His stimulating conversation must have overtaxed you.”

She would have smiled if she were not pretending to be so ill; it was not all pretense, though. Whenever thoughts of the afternoon entered her mind, she did feel the most awful pain, although perhaps nearer to her heart than her head. She kept trying to tell herself that Colton had acted so badly because he had once again decided to do what he thought was right instead of what he wished—only this time it did not ring true. “Thank you, Mother.”