Fallen Angel Read Free

the diamonds a better bargain.” Signaling the jeweler, he quickly wrote out a bank draft for the bracelet and left, ignoring the widow’s belated attempts to recover the ground she had lost.
    The hack he had hired was waiting for him, and he gave the driver instructions to take him to his house in Grosvenor Square. Settling back against the somewhat grimy squabs, he considered what should be done about the widow Lowndes.
    This was not the first time she had hinted that she wished to be his wife, nor had he ever deluded himself into thinking she would be content to remain his mistress forever, no matter how satisfying their arrangement might be to both of them.
    But at this point, the benefits of continuing the liaison still outweighed the disadvantages. If he replaced Eleanor with someone new, that new mistress—be she lady or opera dancer—would undoubtedly also try to entice him into marrying her.
    Since that was the case, it was less effort simply to allow the present arrangement to continue until the widow began to bore him in bed as much as she already did out of bed.
    Gabriel’s servants, which he had inherited with the house on Grosvenor Square, apparently shared Lady Ottillia’s opinion as to his duties as head of the Rainsford family. Upon his return from the jeweler’s, they set in motion a campaign to instill in him the proper measure of Christmas spirit, with the obvious purpose being to persuade him to fall in with his aunt’s plans.
    Taking his hat, Kirkson casually mentioned that life was enriched by traditions. “For it is traditions that separate us from the lower beasts of the field, m’lord.”
    Without bothering to inquire just what traditions Kirkson had in mind, Gabriel mounted the stairs to his room, where Fitch, his valet, was waiting to help him change for dinner. It soon became obvious that turning Gabriel out in proper style was only incidental to Fitch’s main purpose.
    Instead of being respectfully silent while Gabriel was concentrating on tying his neckcloth, the valet waxed eloquent in praise of life in the country with its opportunities for hunting and merrymaking, concluding with, “I think you must agree, m’lord, that there is nothing quite as satisfying as bringing in a Yule log and burning it in the fireplace at Sherington Close.”
    Gabriel did not agree, but he felt no obligation to enumerate the activities that he found more stimulating and satisfying than watching an oversized piece of wood burn.
    Much to his disgust, he discovered that the entire household had apparently been recruited by his aunt. On his way down to the dining room, every housemaid Gabriel passed—and there seemed to be an inordinate number of them lurking about—was humming a Christmas carol.
    To add to his irritation, no sooner was Gabriel seated in solitary splendor at the dining table than Kirkson informed him the cook wished to consult with him as soon as possible about the size of the plum pudding that would be needed for Christmas Day.
    “I believe that I have had a surfeit of Christmas cheer, Kirkson. You may inform the rest of the servants that they are to cease and desist, because I shall not change my mind.”
    All innocence, the butler protested, “But, my lord, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
    “Then I shall explain,” Gabriel said. “The next person who mentions Sherington Close or who alludes to tradition or who says or does anything that might conceivably serve to remind me that Christmas is approaching, will be turned off without a character. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Quite clear, my lord,” Kirkson said, but although his words were properly subservient, the look he gave Gabriel was not.
    With every passing day the rooms at Brooke’s were becoming more sparsely occupied. Given sufficient days, Gabriel decided the next afternoon, the club might actually become a pleasant place to spend a few hours.
    At the moment, however, there were still too many members