Angel's Devil by Suzanne Enoch Read Free Book Online Page A

fair locks are the very color of the
pollen that peppers the petals of proud primroses," Percival repeated, his
slightly nearsighted gaze on Lily.
    Angel gave her
friend an amused glance. "Lily, may I present Mr. Percival and his
brother, Mr. Arthur Alcott? Sirs, Lily Stanfred, daughter of Lord
Stanfred."
    "I'm
pleased to meet you," Lily nodded somewhat uncertainly.
    "Miss
Stanfred," Arthur acknowledged. "A pleasure."
    "I am a
poet, you know," Percival stated, raising a monocle to gaze at Lily
through one pale blue eye.
    "I could
tell immediately," Angel broke in, trying to stifle her laughter. She felt
only a little guilt in her relief that Percival had set his sights on Lily
rather than herself. Two more horsemen approached them, and the. welcoming
smile that came to her lips became even more amused as she recognized the
second rider. Perhaps tonight she would have her chance to introduce Abbonley
to his next possible intended.
    "Angel,"
Simon Talbott greeted her as he reined in. "You look lovely, as
always."
    "Lady
Angelique," James Faring echoed, giving her a speculative look when she
was unable to cover her smile.
    He was mounted
on quite possibly the most splendid stallion she had ever seen, a coal black
Arabian giant with a long mane and full, arched tail. She had forgotten that
the marquis was as well known for his taste in horseflesh as he was for his
scandalous reputation.
    "I don't
believe I've had the pleasure," the marquis said after a moment, looking
over at Lily.
    "Nor have
I," Simon murmured, and kneed his bay gelding, Admiral, forward.
"Forgive my boldness, but you must be Miss Lily Stanfred."
    Lily smiled and
placed her hand in Simon's waiting fingers. "Mr. Simon Talbott, I
presume."
    Smiling, Simon
raised her hand to his lips. "None other. How was your journey to
London?"
    "Quite
pleasant, Mr. Talbott. Thank you."
    "Simon,
please," Simon begged, and Lily nodded.
    "Thank
you, Simon."
    "Don't
mind the rest of us, Simon," the marquis said dryly.
    Simon shook himself. "Beg pardon. James, Angel's dear friend Miss
Lily Stanfred, and Mr. Percival Alcott and Mr. Arthur Alcott. Ma' am,
gentlemen, James Faring, the Marquis of Abbonley.”
    "My
lord," Percival said, twiddling his fingers in a bizarre version of a
salute.
    "I say,
Abbonley, is it true you saved Wellington's life in Belgium?" Arthur
asked, then subsided as it became apparent that he was being ignored.
    Angel looked
sideways at Abbonley to find him exchanging pleasantries with Lily, and she
scowled, displeased. Her friend was no match for the Devil. And with him wife hunting,
there was no telling what might happen.
    She was trying
to decide how to intercede when a scrap of paper blew across the grass. At the
sight of it her mare shied and reared. Used to the gray's flightiness, she
leaned forward and pulled on the reins. Before she could complete the action a
hand grabbed her bridle and hauled the mare down.       
    "Let go! I
can manage," she snapped, looking up to see the marquis close enough to
touch, his eyes on her.
    He obliged,
releasing his grip, but didn't move away. "So I see. You sit well, my
lady."
    Before she
could respond, Percival decided it time to put his two pence in. "That
mare is too unpredictable for a lady,” he noted stuffily. .
    "Lady
Angelique handles her well enough," the marquis contradicted.
    "Heaven is
not unpredictable," she argued, glaring at Percival. "She's
spirited, not a half-dead cart mule like you ride."
    "Angel,"
Simon admonished.
    The marquis
gave a shout of laughter, his eyes dancing as he met her irritated gaze. She
had already begun trying to decide how to take back what she had said, but as
she looked at the amused expression on his handsome face the notion, and her
annoyance, faded.
    "Heaven?"
he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
    Percival,
blustering at the insult to his mount, bobbed his head. "Again, highly
improper."
    "What do
you call your . . . steed?" the marquis asked.
    Percival
flushed. "Lancelot," he