When Angels Fall by Meagan McKinney Page A

watched the steam cling to the crystal panes of the conservatory. She wondered vaguely if she were about to have heat stroke.
    “And that scar—where on earth did he acquire it? It has me utterly captivated!” Arabella practically swooned.
    Now Lissa most definitely felt sick. Turning to Evvie, she took her arm for support.
    “That wicked thing. He didn’t have it before when he was a stableboy. I swear he didn’t,” Mrs. Parks insisted.
    “He acquired it in a fit of passion—as all Gothic characters do,” Adele stated assuredly.
    “My God, Evvie,” Lissa whispered, “I must get some air.” Abruptly she stood and headed for the drawing room. She knew the other ladies were taken aback by her rudeness, but she had to get to the passage. She had to go somewhere cooler, where she could walk off the wine she had drunk and gather her thoughts.
    Once in the darkened passage, however, she felt little better. She took off her shawl and leaned her bare shoulders against the cool granite stones of the wall. Her head spun abominably and she regretted every sip of wine she had taken. Forcing herself to walk, she wandered down the corridor, but every nook and cranny made her think of Ivan. She pictured him everywhere, looking at her with disapproval, his scar white and angry, jagging down what once had been a most handsome cheek.
    She backed against the wall and closed her eyes, trying desperately to get the picture out of her mind. In her state, she barely heard the opening and closing of the door down the passage and the murmurs of male voices, nor did she hear the footsteps as they approached her.
    “Lizzy! What are you doing there?”
    Her eyes flew open and she found herself face to face with Wilmott. Instinctively she clutched her shawl to her bosom.
    “I—I was freshening up and was looking for the conservatory. I suppose I got lost. What are you doing here, if I may ask?” Wilmott was standing far too close. And that gleam in his eye was not a good sign.
    “Looking for old Powerscourt. He wandered off, saying something about getting us another bottle of port and not bothering the servants. We haven’t seen him since.”
    “I’m sure he’ll return. But I think the conservatory is back this way and I suppose the ladies are wondering what has become of me, so—”
    “Old girl, why don’t you come in here and sit down a moment. You look a bit flushed.” He took her arm and opened one of the doors in the passage. She could see a tiny salon, almost like a morning room. It was a pretty room, but it contained far too many couches for her to go in there with only Wilmott.
    “No, really, I must get back to the conservatory.” She gently pulled from his grasp. Seeing the elderly man’s gaze dip to her décolletage, she tried to cover herself with her shawl.
    “You do look . . . fetching tonight, my dear.” Wilmott came closer. “But the reason you’re so flushed is that shawl. It’s far too warm in here for you to wear it. Here, let me take it.” He reached out but Lissa pulled back.
    “Oh, no! I actually feel a chill. And I must return to the conservatory—”
    “Come on, Lizzy, do as I ask. What kind of wife are you to become if you cannot obey your husband? Give me the shawl and we’ll rest in here. Come along now.” He reached for her arm but she sidestepped him. He reached again, she sidestepped again. Then he began to laugh.
    “Why, you coy minx, you’re flirting with me, aren’t you?” With that, Wilmott practically lunged at her. He grabbed the back of the shawl just as she was fleeing. She scurried away, leaving her only means of modesty in Wilmott’s grasp.
    “Come back, Lizzy old girl!” he called to her. When all she did was shoot him a withering look, he laughed all the harder, then began to chase her.
    For his age, Wilmott had a pretty good set of legs. She was amazed at his endurance as he followed her through one room after another, then back out into the passage. She did get