The Passion of an Angel. Kasey Michaels

owed one’s legal guardian? Or should I be watching my shins, on the lookout for childish kicks, whenever my sister isn’t in the room? Not that I’m worried, mind you. I just would appreciate having the rules laid out, so that we both know where we stand.”

      Prudence unfolded her long legs and dropped her booted feet hard against the floor, tipping the chair to an upright position once more as she plunked the empty wineglass on the table, all in a single masculine, yet deceptively feminine, graceful moment.

      Leaning forward so that she ended with her elbows propped on her knees, close enough now that, just for a moment, Banning thought he could see the devil peeking out from behind her golden eyes, she said, “I really bother you, don’t I, Daventry? You can’t figure out who I am, what I am—or what I want.”

      She sat back against the wooden slats of the chair and began counting off on her fingers as she spoke. “Well, let me set your mind at rest. One: who am I? That should be obvious enough. I’m an innocent, hapless, helpless, penniless orphan, a sweet young bud doing her best to bloom in a cold, cruel, uncaring world.”

      “I could argue with you on the helpless part of that statement,” Banning said, beginning to relax once more. She was a child. A precocious, faintly amusing child. “As for being sweet, well, I won’t even bother to refute such an obvious crammer. Please, go on.”

      She nodded solemnly, her only acknowledgment that he had spoken, then went on, as if doing him a personal favor by speaking, “Two: what am I? Ah, the answer now becomes more involved, more difficult, as you perhaps have already figured out on your own, much to your chagrin. Care to count along with me this time?”

      She needs a good spanking, that’s what she needs, Banning decided, finding himself caught up in her brashness, while feeling himself fascinated with her brutal honesty, her bald admonition that she was not in the least ordinary or even acceptable.

      When he didn’t answer her facetious questions she shrugged, then held up four fingers, touching them one at a time as she spoke. “I am, my Lord Daventry, the sum total of all my parts. Part child of long-forgotten doting parents, part product of a stern and socially conscious grandmother, part victim of a half-crazed grandfather who values money and his pathetic rituals more than he does his own flesh and blood, and part sister of a devoted but frequently absent, much older brother who loved me enough to see that I’d be taken care of, but not enough to make the effort of taking care of me himself.”

      Her regal demeanor evaporated even as he watched, and all at once she looked very young, and very insecure. “And, now, lastly—what do I want? I don’t know, Daventry!” she exclaimed after a moment, grinning brightly again. “Not yet. But when I do, I’ll let you know. All right?” That said, she slapped her palms against the arms of the chair, then stood, obviously ready to leave the room.

      Stung by her honesty, and once more feeling sorry for her and the bizarre, almost unnatural life she had led, he called out toward her retreating back: “I convinced your grandfather to make me a solemn promise before we left him to wallow in his purgatives. I agreed to continue paying him the quarterly allowance I’d been sending to you, and he gave his solemn word that he would will you his fortune. You’ll be a rich orphan one day—one day soon, if Shadwell also ambles about in that toga of his in mid-winter.”

      His words stopped her just as she got to the door, and she turned to look at him intently, her hand frozen on the tarnished brass door latch.

      Compassion hastily shoved to one side and delight at his good deed forgotten, he suddenly realized the full import of what he had accomplished in his gentleman’s agreement with Shadwell MacAfee. No wonder Prudence couldn’t think of a thing to say. He had her now. She was in his debt now, just as he was bound to the promise he had made to be guardian.

      They were, finally, on an even footing. His guilt over leaving her in the country, locked away at that hellhole of a farm, and his second, worse guilt—that of coveting her, seeing her as a woman to be desired rather than a responsibility to be discharged—was no more.

      It had been just this moment replaced by the sure knowledge that he had rescued her from that hellhole, and was about to launch her into society—into, he hoped, a quick, advantageous marriage with the promise of a fortune as an added fillip to the dowry he would bestow on her.

      He had no reason to drink, to chastise himself. The scales he had been seeing in his mind, scales so recently tipped in favor of this comely ragamuffin, had just evened out, balanced by his maturity, his sense of duty, his intelligent, measured approach to what could, if he had let it, have disintegrated into a never-ending battle of wills.

      He was, at last, established as her guardian. She was, at last, firmly in the position of grateful ward.

      Though perhaps, as Prudence’s next words, dipped in vitriol and delivered in sharp, staccato jabs, those scales were still sadly out of kilter.

      “You know, Daventry,” she said, shaking her head, “just when I thought you and I had come to some sort of agreement, just when I thought I could begin to be open with you, explain myself to you, prepare you, you went and proved to me that you have no understanding at all. None. But then, that’s why my brother picked you, isn’t it? You’re just the sort of honest, responsible, upstanding, gullible gentleman who believes in the value of promises, aren’t you? And I hate you for making me feel sorry for you!”

      And with that, the enigma, the chameleon that was Angel MacAfee was gone, the door left open behind her, not because she had forgotten to close it, Banning was sure, but because he had asked her to shut it, and she wasn’t about to do anything he asked of her, required of her. Not, at least, without a fight.

      Mostly, she wasn’t going to leave his mind. Not when he could close his eyes and still see her as she roused, warm, tousled, and eminently touchable, from her bed.

      Not when the memory of the way she had walked toward him, taunting him with her eyes as she slid open the buttons of her gown, still caused his throat to grow dry, proving to him that he was not above lusting after her, even while knowing that she was too young, too innocent, too unsuitable, too alien to the image of the woman he would choose as his wife.

      Not when, even with his eyes open and his head reasonably clear, he could still see her sitting in this room, drinking and lounging with the assured nonchalance of an equal, yet never letting him forget that she was an exciting, vibrant, desirable, unconquerable creature of unending contradictions.

      Lastly, he would never forget, waking or sleeping, that she was his ward, his sworn responsibility, and therefore totally beyond his reach.

      She pitied him. Even as she teased him, deliberately tormented him, she still pitied him, as if she were the adult and he the child. Perhaps she even despised him, believing him to be simple beyond belief in having put credence into Shadwell’s assurances as to the disposition of his wealth.

      With the clear eyes of youth, she seemed to see all the vices, lies, and cynicism of the ages, making him the young one, the naive one. Still he wondered to himself why he seemed to lamentably unknowing to her when he was accustomed to believing himself a mature man of the world.

      Perhaps she’s right, Banning thought, pushing the cork back into the wine bottle. All right. It didn’t seem that farfetched. Perhaps Shadwell wasn’t going to live up to his side of their agreement. Prudence must know her grandfather better than he did, having lived with him, witnessed his crushing economies in the name of fortune firsthand.

      The man was an abomination, a miserable excuse for a human being, consumed by his eccentric rituals and a mad desire to amass wealth at the expense of his estate, his grandchildren, his own creature comforts.

      But Shadwell had promised, and Banning knew that he had given his promise in return. And that, in Prudence’s mind, had branded him as an irredeemable fool.

      What had she said to him earlier, flinging the words at him? Oh yes. He remembered now. Don’t blame me for the promises you made.

      And he had been making a plethora of promises in recent years.

      He