Broken Angel Read online

  “Robert,” Rachel reminded herself yet again. “Robert.”

  “Yes?”

  Rachel focused sharply toward the front entry where Robert Leonard Trent, of Virginia, leaned against the doorjamb. His lips were lifted in his usual boyishly handsome smirk and hinted, again, at his impish character.

  “Mr. Trent,” Rachel greeted with a brief nod.

  “Miss Samson,” Robert returned, straightening. He tossed his gloves into his hat and then set it onto the hall table. “This morning finds you well?”

  “Quite. Thank you.”

  Upon his entrance into the sitting room, Rachel’s attention was immediately drawn to a thorough examination of his attire. A finely tailored pin-striped suit of charcoal set off his tall frame as well as his athletic physique. Rachel was now certain he stood six feet and two inches in height. In fact, his physique drew the presumption he had played quite a few sports at University. Hm… Rugby? While specifics would be impossible without conversation, she decided he most definitely had a somewhat extensive history in equestrian sports simply by the way he carried himself.

  “Would you care for some coffee?” she posed, motioning to the coffee table and a pair of overstuffed chairs near the western window. “While I haven’t yet requested it this morning, I believe I sensed the aroma a few moments ago. Oliver should be bringing it momentarily.”

  Robert’s lips twitched. “I thought I recognized that delightful scent. So, yes, I will have some coffee. Thank you.”

  Lowering himself into the chair opposite, Rachel noticed his examination of the sitting room in its entirety. The room held a writing desk at the northern window, a pair of chairs at the western window overlooking the side-garden, a piano-forte opposite, and a wing-back chair on the eastern wall near the piano-forte with a bookshelf very near. The flooring was hardwood oak, none of it hidden by rugs as was a popular custom in homes. Her mother loved the sound and sight of the wood. Rachel had always been partial to the simply furnished room as a child, due mostly to the fact it had been her mother’s favorite.

  Robert’s only reaction was a slight lifting of one eyebrow. When he focused once more on her, he smiled. “How was your first evening home?”

  Rachel, sitting in the chair across from him, calmly regarded his expressions in both countenance and eyes while cataloguing them into a more complete understanding of his person. “Quiet, for the most part. Uneventful, save that of necessary organization when one returns from abroad.”

  “Ah.” Robert gauged the room again, specifically the wingback chair with the tall bookshelf beside it, before again meeting her gaze. “And your morning?”

  One eyebrow arched at his continued pleasant tone, although it seemed slightly detached. “Somewhat more adventurous. Yourself?”

  Waving it aside, Robert simply said, “Errands and appointments,” while yet again examining the room; the piano-forte this time.

  “Mr. Trent,” she finally inquired, “something not to your liking?” If such was the case, her father would be personally affronted.

  He met her gaze yet again. “Pardon?”

  She motioned to the room’s contents. “You gauge the room rather intensely. Something amiss?”

  “No, I should say not,” he assured, and the lopsided tilt had returned to his lips. He retrieved the previously seen pipe from his inner suit-coat pocket, performing yet another perusal of the room as he bit upon it. “I….” He sent the writing desk an extended glance while absently worrying the pipe in his teeth. “While I know it will sound absurd, I feel as if there’s something… special in this room. Although ‘in’ isn’t the word. More similar to… around. An aura, or very nearly.”

  Allowing a slight smile, Rachel’s eyes wandered the room. “Yes. It does.” Then she again met his gaze. “This was my late mother’s room of choice. I spent hours at a time with her here.”

  Robert very slightly nodded as his focus shifted between Rachel and the room. “Very nice,” he approved, almost absent-minded. Then he motioned to the piano-forte while standing and moving toward it. “Do you play?”

  “Not any longer. My studies abroad did not allow time for practice.” Though Rachel wasn’t certain she regretted the loss of the ability more than having to admit that she was not proficient.

  “Too bad, too bad,” Robert said, standing over the instrument long enough to play a few chord progressions and a single-hand scale before running his hand along the top and acknowledging it to be a “Beautiful instrument.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow arched with intrigue, which she had begun to notice as a common occurrence in regards to him.

  Leaning against the piano-forte as he faced her, his unlit pipe once more between his teeth, he regarded her with yet another controlled expression of mild pleasure. Too similar to the shallow pleasantries of those in Europe and New York, it began to grate on Rachel’s nerves.

  “Did you have a pleasant morning?” he inquired.

  A question already asked and answered, the repeat caused Rachel to lose interest in any type of pursuit of witty discussion. So, she shifted her focus to the paper on the coffee table, which she retrieved and opened, and simply answered, “Yes, thank you,” in a tone she knew would welcome neither conversation nor attention.

  The heightening tension in the room was plainly felt, and she felt no compunction to ease his mind. He chose his course of behavior this morning. Why should he not reap the penalties as well as the rewards? Their conversations on the train were delightful and invigorating, and she refused to be of the mind that they couldn’t continue simply because now they knew each other’s identities. The idea was nothing short of ludicrous.

  Robert cleared his throat and adjusted his position before almost cautiously returning to the overstuffed chair across from her. Before he could speak, however, Oliver entered with their coffee tray and settled it onto the coffee table between them. Rachel, who continued to be in what she supposed could be classified as a difficult frame of mind, simply offered a calm, “Thank you, Oliver,” without lifting her gaze from the paper. She could feel Robert’s scrutiny, knowing that he more than likely did his best to identify her temperament as well as what was to be done to counteract it, and felt some mild amusement when he attempted to have a pleasant conversation with the family butler – attempting to include her, of course – as Oliver performed his duty.

  You shouldn’t receive such delight from putting others at a disadvantage, she half-heartedly scolded. Yet she was forever amazed at the different perceptions people had of the same attitude. At her extreme calm and disinterest some people reacted with nervousness and mindless chatter; others tended toward irritation and brusque conversation of subjects in which they themselves were most highly informed. Still others resorted to humorous anecdotes in order to draw out some emotional reaction. When she refrained, they would usually retreat to a person more easily controlled.

  Thus far Robert had quite often reacted differently than what she had expected. So, she found herself curious as to the possible response to this particular aspect of her character. If we’re to wed – which she intended at the present time – he should know, fully, the type of person he will be contracted to. Then he would no longer be ignorant of the possibility of their future together. Arrangements could be made.

  Rachel’s brow dipped. Arrangements, Rachel? Affairs and mistresses are certainly of a lesser value than ‘arrangements’. She very nearly scoffed.

  “And what plans do you have to keep you company while I’m safely parted to my own amusements?” Robert finally asked, and while his tone was still pleasant, there was something in its flavor that hinted at a deeper truth to the emotion.

  Curiosity pressed her to continue with the distance and detachment, so she simply offered a delicate wave of her hand before turning the page of the paper. Once more, silence descended. Rachel could continue to sense his scrutiny, and because of that kept her countenance strictly controlled. He then leaned forward to pour himself a cup of coff
ee, mildly surprising her when he did not offer to do the same for her. Amusement teased one side of her lips, but she smoothed it away without trouble while waiting for the detachment to tweak anything that might have hinted at a possible temper in him. Most often men wished to be center to a female’s attentions, and in Rachel’s experience manipulating tempers was… enjoyable.

  “You’re more than welcome to come along,” he finally proposed. Then he chuckled. “I find myself partial to your company.”

  In normal instances the flattery would have caused an internal sneer, or some such other display of strained patience. However, there could be heard an underlying hint of mischief to his tone that caused amusement and began to work past the nerve-grating from his previous pleasantness. So, she decided to offer a bit more than she had up to that point.

  “Plans have previously been made for my morning,” she answered vaguely, adding, “though I thank you for the invitation,” without lifting her eyes from the paper, nor offering more than a voice filled with calm politeness.

  “Ah,” Robert intoned after enjoying a sip of coffee. “An adventure?”

  An intriguing way of drawing me out of myself, she admitted. Still, she didn’t lift her focus. “I doubt many would categorize this particular plan as an ‘adventure’.” Robert’s focus continued to be as deep and yet non-invasive as before. The only bother she received from it was a slight rise of the hairs on the nape of her neck. It was as if his scrutiny served to unsettle her the same as her detachment unsettled him. They both played the other, which caused Rachel a subtle smirk.

  “A plan that isn’t categorized as an adventure, yet it is adventurous enough to not allow me into the knowledge of it,” Robert observed with slow deliberation. Then he set aside his coffee cup. “Intrigue and mystery abound in this conversation, Miss Samson, and I demand an accounting.”

  Yet his tone was not so firm as to be truly demanding. It reeked of a sportive air that drew her even more from her previous irritation at his shallow pleasantries. In fact, it caused Rachel to glance toward his countenance from under her lashes to gauge his persona and attempt to categorize his intent. A quick action, yes, but not only did he catch it with his brown eyes, it caused a lift of his eyebrow as well as a twitch to one side of his lips.

  Rachel, she scolded. She hadn’t been the first to show reaction in years, and yet the fact that he had caused it didn’t invite irritation.

  He motioned toward her. “That was your original intent,” he observed in feigned shock. “Now I’m tempted to forgo my remaining errands so that I can solve the riddle.”

  “ ‘Riddle’?” she repeated, fully meeting his gaze while deliberately continuing to restrain any expression of amusement. “Mr. Trent, don’t be absurd.”

  “You deny it?” Robert scoffed. “Miss Samson, such a–”

  A loud thump sounded from outside the sitting room and brought with it an immediate, thoughtful silence. Rachel only shifted her focus once more to the paper as he continued to regard her.

  He finally observed, “I do believe the activity upstairs has something to do with the mysterious adventure.”

  Turning the page of her paper was her only response.

  “Come, come, Miss Samson. Be sporting and give a reaction at least.”

  A wave of playful mischief rose within, and Rachel followed its leading. Lifting a hand to the collar of her blouse, she widened her eyes in an expression of innocence seen in others her age. “Why, Mr. Trent. I’ve no notion what could be happening upstairs.” She resumed her scrutiny of the financial pages, feigned innocence easily discarded.

  Robert stared, slack-jawed to Rachel’s satisfaction, before bursting out in an attractive and welcome sound of laughter. Rachel’s lips tilted upward.

  “You realize, of course, that I am now forced to solve the mystery myself,” he informed as he stood. He offered her his hand. “Come along, Miss Samson. You’ve begun this little intrigue, so you may as well witness the remnants.”

  Again, Rachel volunteered nothing as she finished reading the current article. She even took deliberate care with the folding of the paper before setting it onto the coffee table in front of her and accepting his help to stand. She then preceded him from the sitting room, allowing nothing on her expression save calm, due to his continued sidelong glances. Once they began their ascent to the second story, Rachel noted that the men had brought down a majority of the items for her room, leaving the hallway cluttered and choked.

  “I see by the light in your eyes that the subject of this adventure stands very close to your heart,” Robert observed. “Might I hazard a guess?”

  Rachel inclined her head, though she didn’t face him as she continued to watch the men ferrying articles of furnishing into some semblance of order.

  “You are plotting a renovation of your room,” Robert offered after a moment’s pause.

  Rachel finally sent him a sidelong, albeit slight smile. “You are correct, sir.”

  Shrugging, Robert retrieved the pipe from his inner suit-coat pocket. “It stands to reason you would wish a change from the past to the present. An acknowledgment of a change. An outward showing of who you’ve become.”

  Rachel’s slight smile vanished as she focused on him in undisguised surprise.

  He didn’t comment. He simply inquired, “Might I be of help?” while giving a return of the lopsided smile.

  Rachel blinked at him. “ ‘Help’ with the renovation of a lady’s room?”

  “Just so. Ushering aside the past can present a challenge. I will gladly help wherever I’m able.”

  She regarded him in thoughtful silence, unsure whether she should take him at his word or…. She looked back to the busyness of the men and chamber maids. What man would be interested in the remaking of a woman’s boudoir? Even Father, who seeks to control all that is beneath this roof, left it to me upon my return. How did she categorize or accept Robert’s offering? Surprisingly, she felt no chill of suspicion, but the confusion at why he would wish to help wouldn’t be ignored.

  “I see,” Robert finally said.

  Rachel once more focused on him, noting that his smile was the same as before though her silence should have caused at least a mild reaction of affront.

  “You would rather have the adventure to yourself. Very well then. I will leave you to it. Goodness knows I would likely have made an ass of myself anyway.”

  Then he gave a slight bow and wink before turning away. This time Rachel had noticed a slight darkness of regret which ushered in guilt at denying him the opportunity to participate. Certainly it was preposterous to have a stranger help in the redecoration of her room; taboo to society, in point of fact— Rachel, who forever rebelled against society’s demands, stepped after him. “Robert.”

  He halted and turned, the small smile on his lips causing her to wonder if she had indeed seen the previous expression. Even his baritone voice as he responded, “Hm?” didn’t seem at all regretful or disappointed.

  A sudden reluctance to share this personal aspect of herself battled against the constant memories of comradeship shared with him, but she forced herself to continue with the decided action. “Thank you for your offer; however, I wouldn’t want to take you from your excursion.”

  Robert’s smile changed at that, albeit slightly. It seemed to… soften. “While I appreciate the thought, this particular escape can be postponed. I would much rather offer my help where it’s needed.”

  Holding his gaze, Rachel noted that it appeared as truthful as previously remembered. A truthfulness that, to be honest, she didn’t know how to react or respond to. “Thank you.”

  He stepped closer, holding her gaze as his smile altered to one she couldn’t classify; one that made her experience a muted sense of panic as his baritone “My pleasure,” was voiced in a way that, again, made her doubt he meant the word in simple context value.

  Rachel forced herself to look away and step forward into her room, Robert following. She noticed, howe
ver, that he didn’t enter until after a moment’s hesitation at the doorway.

  Maggie appeared from the adjoining bathroom, then, approaching the pair with a smile and a bright expression of excitement. When Maggie focused on Mr. Trent, her expression changed to that of recognition and surprise. “Why, Mr. Trent!” She then sent Rachel a glance, causing Rachel a wave of intrigue. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Robert also sent Rachel a sidelong look, which had Rachel’s eyebrow arching upward, and then somewhat absently retrieved his pipe from his suit-coat pocket. “Yes, well, certain situations and acquaintances made it impossible to stay distant.”

  Maggie smiled slightly, not noticing Rachel’s more intense scrutiny of them both. “I guess that’s one way to be looking at it–” Then the excitement returned to her expression as she focused once more on Rachel. “Oh, Rachel! I think your framed poems would look wonderful on the wood paneling beneath this wallpaper.” She motioned to an open portfolio on the steamer trunk at the foot of Rachel’s bed. “I’ve been looking through them and can’t decide which I love best.”

  Robert moved his gaze from Maggie, to the portfolio, and finally to Rachel’s profile. “You write in verse?” he asked, and his tone sounded more than a little amazed.

  Stepping forward, she closed the black portfolio, shutting away all the images and memories that were paired with the writings. “Not any longer,” she informed more cool than calm. Then she turned from the trunk and made a slow perusal of the room and its furnishings. “Where should we begin?” There were so many distinct possibilities.

  Behind her there sounded a male clearing of the throat, and when Rachel and Maggie focused on the originator they noticed Robert’s ears to be a definite shade of pink. Rachel viewed his discomfort with amusement. He doesn’t seem very much at ease in a lady’s boudoir, does he? Giving great credit to his character.