Page 2 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
“Yes, let’s go now,” she urged, her mouth drying at her daring. She had only done one truly daring thing in her life, which had been to run away with Jacob to America. And that had been such a slowly unfolding disaster that it had put her off such careless disregard thereafter. She had become a paragon of conscientiousness.
But she’d also become dull. That would end tonight. Another shiver of delight raced along her spine. She hugged herself and grinned.
Susan returned her grin. “Race you to the bottom of the hill!” Watching her friend lift her skirts above her ankles and then sprint down the hill, Angela gasped. What unladylike behavior for a country farmer’s daughter. She laughed and lifted her skirts and ran. But for the past few years, she’d spent more time behind a desk and working over account books or overseeing the warehouses than riding horses or running. A sharp stitch slowed her down, and Susan ran ahead of her.
“Susan!” she cried, spinning to scan the sea of villagers around her. Amid the blur of faces and the subdued colors of homespun clothes, she spied the bouncing yellow feathers on Susan’s jaunty puce hat.
Angela hurried after her. Angela’s breath hitched as she struggled to keep Susan in sight amid the estate's crowded grounds.
Finally, she came close enough to grasp her friend’s arm. “Susan, Susan,” she gasped between gulps of air.
The other woman stopped, then whirled to face her.
Something in those blue eyes, something harsh, foreign to what she knew of her friend, caused a chill to race over her scalp. She let go and took a step back.
A little voice inside told her to leave. To run. Not back to the quaint, tiny attic room she occupied at Susan’s parents’ farmhouse. No, she wanted to find a post chaise, flee to London, and book a passage back to Boston.
“Goodness, Angela, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The sudden warmth in her friend’s eyes couldn’t thaw the chill in her blood.
She had been looking forward to this evening for weeks. Why was she seeing all these ominous signs in her friend? Was she looking for a reason to be anxious because she was afraid to take this bold step towards putting some fun and adventure into her life?
To cover her unease, she forced a laugh. “I thought we came here to enjoy ourselves, yes?”
“Yes, of course.”
Was there an uncharacteristic hardness in her friend’s voice? It was just her imagination, surely. Another chill settled over her, lingering this time.
Susan’s smile couldn’t warm her. Spiced cider wouldn’t be out of place at the moment. She shook herself inwardly and took a deep breath. “So, why are you in such a hurry? At thispace, we’ll be too tired to dance, and so soaked in sweat, so a gentleman would not want to be near us.”
A sharp hiss sounded, then an explosion. She startled and looked up. The brilliant color exploded in the dark blue velvet evening sky. She exclaimed with joy, her voice joining the chorus of gasps all around her. A resounding boom shook the ground and her body.
It was so thrilling that she forgot her sense of apprehension. Even at this distance, she loved the energy radiating from the crowd, and again, she let herself be carried away by the excitement of the evening.
Oh, she was glad she had come here tonight!
For several long moments, she became transfixed by the fireworks.
“Angela.”
She turned back to her friend. Susan kept her face tilted towards the sky. Light from the fireworks cast an amber glow upon her skin as she tittered softly. “You’re so trusting, Angela. It is one of your most endearing qualities.”
An unwanted memory crept around the corners of her mind. She tried to push it back, but it leaped forward vividly. Her late husband, Jacob’s youthful face, his brown eyes flashing with amusement, his broad grin.“You’re so gullible, Angie,” he said.
Just the barest edge of meanness had entered his regard as yet another of his base, cruel jests dawned on her, and his friends had snickered. Shame had burned through her, followed by deep hurt. Jerking her attention back to the present, she noticed a touch of nausea and another chill settling over her. She placed a hand over her tightened belly.
They hadn’t eaten for hours and had walked here from Susan’s parents’ house to the estate grounds. Maybe that was why she felt shaky and nervous. They had come here to do something exceedingly daring and perhaps foolhardy, sneaking into a masquerade ball without invitations. Would she ever have done something like this before? No, never.
Stepping outside the bounds of propriety could open one to risk. Now, Susan was behaving oddly. Was it so wise to be here tonight? She knew Susan would never hurt her as Jacob had. But she couldn’t shake the uncanny sense that something was wrong. Forcing a small laugh, she said, “I think I could use a hot drink. Spiced cider or mulled wine.”
She longed for the fiery burn of cinnamon, cloves, and alcohol on her tongue.
Susan turned to her. “You’ve gone white. Are you feeling well?” “I just want a hot drink.” She allowed an edge to sound in her tone.
The other woman moved closer and again linked her arm with hers. “That’s a grand idea, my American friend. Maybe we could even find some rum.”
“Rum would be lovely.” A little wave of homesickness made her close her eyes, and the image of her father-in-law came to her. She could feel the strength of his hard-boned hands closing over hers, his deep voice telling her everything would be fine. He was the only man she had ever called ‘Papa.’
It had been nearly a year since she’d lost him.
