SEDUCTION in Regency Society August 2014

DECEPTION in Regency Society September 2014

PROPOSALS in Regency Society October 2014

PRIDE in Regency Society November 2014

MISCHIEF in Regency Society December 2014

INNOCENCE in Regency Society January 2015

ENCHANTED in Regency Society February 2015

HEIRESS in Regency Society March 2015

PREJUDICE in Regency Society April 2015

FORBIDDEN in Regency Society May 2015

TEMPTATION in Regency Society June 2015

REVENGE in Regency Society July 2015

HELEN DICKSON was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

Heiress in

Regency

Society

The Defiant Debutante
From Governess to Society Bride
Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

The Defiant Debutante

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

From Governess to Society Bride

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

The Defiant Debutante

Chapter One

London, May 1812

Birds were stirring in the trees and dew was still on the grass as dawn began to spread its watery grey light over the deserted park. Two men shrouded in long black cloaks rode towards the seclusion of a group of trees and dismounted.

Cursing at his own folly, Alexander Montgomery, the seventh Earl of Arlington and taller of the two, glanced irritably at Sir Nathan Beresford. The two men were as close as friends could be, and as different as night and day. Nathan, with his ash-blond hair and blue eyes, was well liked, good natured and easygoing, and he lacked the aura of authority and power that seemed to surround Alex. Nathan was to act as Alex’s second, when the other party deigned to arrive for the duel.

Three inches over six feet tall, Alex was a man diverse and complex, and could be utterly ruthless when the need arose. There was a hard set to his firm jaw, and his wide, well-shaped mouth was held in a stern line. His face was clean shaven and one of arrogant handsomeness, dark brows slashed his forehead and his hair was thick and ebony black. In the midst of so much darkness his eyes were dove grey, striking and piercing. Hidden deep in them was a cynicism, watchful, mocking, as though he found the world a dubious place to be.

He possessed a haughty reserve that was not inviting and set him apart from others in society. There was an aggressive confidence and strength of purpose in his features, and he had an air of a man who succeeds in all he sets out to achieve. From the arrogant lift of his dark head and casual stance, he was a man with many shades to his nature, a man with a sense of his own infallibility.

‘You’ve tied yourself into some knots in your time, Alex, but this is by far the tightest,’ Nathan remarked, tethering his horse to a branch and scanning the park for the arrival of Alex’s opponent. ‘I only hope you can extricate yourself from this mess with some modicum of honour.’

‘I agree. It’s a damned unfortunate business, Nathan, and I bear the entire weight of this incident on my own conscience.’

‘Surely Amelia Fairhurst must shoulder some of the blame.’

‘The responsibility is all mine,’ Alex replied curtly, dismissing Nathan’s well-meaning attempt to absolve him. ‘But if ever I am stupid enough to fall prey to another pretty face, remind me to scrutinise her credentials for hidden husbands.’

‘Knowing how assiduous you are to detail, I am surprised you didn’t vet her more carefully.’

‘I must have taken leave of my senses,’ Alex replied, contemplating the irony of the situation. Here he was, one of the most eligible bachelors in England, and yet he had made the fatal mistake of taking to bed a married woman. His stupidity galled him, and he cursed himself for being a dim-witted fool.

Nathan cast him an arch look. ‘The delectable Amelia Fairhurst must be quite something for you to have overlooked the fact that she has an aging husband tucked conveniently out of the way in Yorkshire.’

Alex’s firm lips curved in a slight smile when he remembered the stunningly vivacious brunette, who had taken no persuading to jump into his bed. ‘She’s certainly an interesting, unconventional female.’

Nathan chuckled, giving his friend a conspiratorial wink. ‘And I seem to recall you saying on more than one occasion that unconventional women are always more exciting between the sheets.’

‘Exactly,’ Alex replied with a wry grin. ‘Providing one doesn’t happen to be married to one.’

His words were flippant, but Nathan heard an edge to his voice. Alex was a self-proclaimed single man. Past experiences had forged him into a hardened cynic, and he discarded all women as being dispensable and irrelevant. Age and experience had taught him that women couldn’t be trusted, and the first lady to show him this had been his own mother. Her affairs had been notorious and had hurt him badly. They had also been the reason why his father had sought oblivion in alcohol before blowing out his brains. Alex’s mother, the beautiful and immoral Margaret Montgomery, had married her Spanish lover soon after and had gone to live in Spain. Whether she lived or had died Alex neither knew nor cared.

‘Thank God Fairhurst is in his dotage. With any luck his eyesight will be impaired and his brain addled. I am merely one in a long line of Amelia’s lovers. Why the devil he’s singled me out is quite beyond me.’

‘Maybe it’s because you’re the only one he knows about.’

‘I doubt it. But whatever the reason, remind me not to stray from Caroline from now on. She’s more than enough to satisfy my needs.’

Alex was always careful to choose a mistress whose company he enjoyed. She had to be intelligent and sophisticated, who would not mistake lovemaking and desire with love, and, moreover, she had to be a woman who made no demands and expected no promises.

For these reasons she would be kept in the lap of luxury. She could expect a smart town house, a beautiful carriage and horses, servants, gowns, furs and jewels that would be the envy of every other woman.

‘Does Caroline know about your affair with Amelia?’

‘Yes, but she understands not to ask for an explanation. However, I must admit that I’ve been unfair to her.’

Nathan quirked a brow, his blue eyes twinkling with light mockery. ‘What’s this? Are you becoming sentimental?’

‘I am never sentimental,’ Alex snapped. ‘But for the life of me I can’t understand why someone as stunning as Amelia married old Fairhurst in the first place. It’s disgraceful that so much beauty is wasted on such a pathetic old man.’

Nathan regarded his friend with mild cynicism. ‘Yes, you can. You know the type of woman she is. She’s a scheming fortune-hunter who likes to drink the finest champagne and wear the most expensive jewels. She openly and shamelessly admits she married Fairhurst for his title and wealth and flaunts it with aplomb.’

‘So she does, but you must admit she is more pleasing than those simpering young misses, who swoon at the merest hint of a stolen kiss, their mamas hovering over them like hawks, ready to latch on to me if I show any sign of compromising their precious daughters.’

Alex was aware that he was a fantastic matrimonial prize—top of the list of every ambitious matchmaking mama, whom he treated with amused condescension. They were women whose only ambition in life was to form an alliance with the powerful and illustrious Montgomery family. His ancestors on his mother’s side had been rewarded for their loyalty to the crown through the ages with estates and riches enough to make him one of the wealthiest men in England.

Alex’s attitude to the female sex was highly critical, his opinion low, but his own popularity among them was high. He was unattached, unattainable, and he would stay that way.

‘Perhaps if you were to give marriage some serious thought it might put a stop to the hunt.’

Alex threw Nathan a look that would have stopped a race-horse in its tracks. ‘When I want some of your logic, Nathan,’ he retorted tersely, ‘I’ll ask for it.’

‘Nevertheless, it would solve the problem,’ Nathan went on imperturbably, ignoring Alex’s black look. Nathan was one of the few people who could argue with him and escape unscathed.

‘Marriage and love are for fools,’ Alex stated caustically.

‘I never mentioned love. Besides, where you are concerned, since when has love anything to do with marriage or anything else for that matter?’ Nathan proclaimed.

‘You’re right. I despise the romantic ideal of love. I’ve seen enough of it in the past to know of its destructive effects. Desire I understand. It’s a more honest emotion. Passion and desire are easily appeased—fleeting—and easily doused.’

‘It’s a good thing we’re not all as cynical as you are,’ Nathan chuckled. ‘Not every woman is as ambitious and devious as you seem to think they are. I am fortunate to be married to one, don’t forget.’

That was true. Twelve months ago Nathan had found wedded bliss with the lovely Verity Fortesque, a woman with whom even Alex had been unable to find fault. Alex and Verity were cousins, Verity being the only daughter of his Aunt Patience, Uncle Henry’s younger sister. Patience’s husband had died after just a few short yet happy years of marriage. She had never remarried and still lived in the house they had shared at Richmond.

‘Verity is a sweet thing, I grant you. But she is the exception. However, unlike you, I do not find marriage a desirable institution.’

Nathan shot him an exasperated look. ‘I agree it can be heaven or hell. Thankfully I chose my wife wisely. Our marriage will be long lasting, based on caring—and love. And you may scoff at that all you like.’

Alex looked at his friend, suddenly serious. ‘I’m not scoffing, Nathan. In a way I envy you.’

‘You do?’

Alex nodded and looked away.

‘You know, Alex, you Montgomerys have become thin on the ground; if you want to continue the line, you really should give some thought to producing an heir. You don’t have to marry for love—but I suspect that one day you will fall prey to what you consider to be a debilitating emotion, and it will come as the greatest shock in your life.’

Alex favoured him with a look of absolute disdain, but Nathan ignored it. ‘I don’t think so,’ he answered coldly, his tone suggesting that the subject was closed. But as he turned away he frowned, his thoughts reverting to the matter of an heir. Nathan was right. He was heir to his uncle, the Duke of Mowbray, and Alex knew how anxious his uncle was for him to marry. If he didn’t produce a legitimate heir, the title would become extinct. It troubled him more than anyone realised, and he knew he couldn’t go on ignoring the issue.

He had stayed a bachelor far longer than most of his contemporaries, and the truth of it was that he was beginning to tire of courtesans and mistresses, and all the jealousies and petty tantrums they brought with them. This latest affair with Amelia Fairhurst had made him see that he was susceptible to women of a certain type, and a wave of disgust swept over him. There had to be an easier way of satisfying his physical needs. Perhaps Nathan was right and a marriage of convenience was the answer after all. In fact, it might have much to offer, and, further, the ideal woman was waiting in the wings.

Lavinia Howard was the eldest daughter of Lord Howard of Springfield Hall in Kent. She was eminently suitable and available. He would dwell on the prospect and invite her—along with a party of friends—to Arlington, his estate in Hertfordshire. If he offered for her, marriage would be a comfortable arrangement that would suit them both. A union between two civilised people who knew what to expect from each other might be just what he needed. He could still enjoy pleasant intrigues, providing he had a compliant wife.

Cursing softly under his breath, impatiently he moved away and began pacing to and fro. ‘Fairhurst’s late. Where the devil is the man?’ Annoyed, Alex thought of the impending duel with distaste. He hoped Fairhurst would achieve satisfaction by merely wounding him—or preferably missing him completely. Alex would fire into the air, and, in so doing, would be admitting his guilt—then the affair would be ended. This was how duels were usually settled between gentlemen. If a death should occur, it would draw the attention of the law, and neither of them wanted that.

‘Tell me, Alex. Does your uncle know that Fairhurst has challenged you to a duel?’

Alex’s mouth narrowed into a thin line of annoyance. ‘No. At this very moment my uncle is en route to America.’

‘Really?’ Nathan expressed profound surprise. ‘I say! That’s a bit sudden—and reckless, considering the present situation. It’s highly probably that America will declare war on us very soon.’

Alex knew this to be true and his irritation about the situation had increased considerably. ‘I know it’s only a matter of time before the situation ignites. His decision to go was all rather sudden. He has a cousin, Lydia Hamilton, in Boston who is dying. Her husband is dead and she’s fallen on hard times. It appears she has appealed to my uncle to make her daughter his ward. The girl is a minor and Lydia wants him to bring her to England and offer her a home.’

‘And you’re not pleased, I can see that,’ Nathan stated.

‘No. When I returned to London from Arlington and read his note, my first impulse was to take the next ship and go after him to bring him back.’

‘Thank God common sense prevailed. Do you think your uncle will bring the girl back with him?’

‘Uncle Henry is far too sensible to do anything irrational, but from what I recall, his feelings for Lydia were far stronger than just cousinly fondness. Their mothers were sisters, and Henry and Lydia created a scandal that embroiled both families at the time. I believe she is the reason why my uncle never married. I don’t know the gist of it, but what I do know makes me decidedly reluctant and uneasy about admitting that woman’s daughter into our lives.’

‘Why did she go to America?’

‘Against her father’s wishes, Lydia married an adventurer by the name of Richard Hamilton with undue haste and went with him to Boston. I believe they went west and settled in Ohio. Apparently, her father was outraged and cut her off without a penny. As far as I am aware, nothing has been heard of her since—until my uncle received a letter from her three weeks ago.’

‘And no doubt you’re afraid he’ll be taken in.’

‘Yes. He is not a man who shirks his responsibilities, and he obviously thinks of his cousin’s daughter as just that, otherwise he would not have gone tearing halfway across the world without discussing the matter with me first. But why go at all? He could have written or sent someone to escort the girl to England.’

‘It occurs to me that this grand gesture might be your uncle’s way of telling Lydia Hamilton that where she is concerned his feelings are no different to what they were all those years ago.’

It was a possibility that Alex refused to dwell upon.

‘Alex, your uncle may have a soft heart, but, contrary to what you believe, he is no fool.’

‘You’re right. But to saddle himself with a ward at his time of life could be disastrous.’

Nathan arched a sceptical brow. ‘For whom? Him or you?’

Alex shot him an icy glance. ‘All right, damn you. Me,’ he answered curtly.

Nathan grinned, arching a brow at his grim-faced friend. ‘It needn’t be. I think it’s rather touching. But is there no one in America who can look after the girl?’

‘Apparently not. My uncle is Lydia Hamilton’s next of kin, and I suspect she will take advantage of that. It’s years since he last saw her and I’m afraid she might turn out to be a scheming opportunist.’

‘Never having met the woman, don’t you think you do her an injustice? Come, Alex. I doubt her daughter will bring any real changes to your life,’ Nathan argued.

Alex’s eyes were full of distaste when he looked at Nathan. ‘I hope you’re right. But a girl from the wilds of America will have no social skills and find it hard to adjust to the kind of world we inhabit. If so she’ll be nothing but a damned nuisance and an embarrassment.’

‘Good Lord, Alex! What are you expecting? An ill-bred barbarian? A girl who is half-savage, with brown skin and feathers in her hair?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Why not? She could be anything. We know absolutely nothing about her.’

‘Nevertheless, having met several colonists both on my travels and here in London, on the whole they are extremely civilised, pleasant people.’

‘Several of my acquaintances are Americans, Nathan, so I would be grateful if you did not lecture me on their attributes,’ Alex replied drily. ‘If my uncle brings the girl to England, he will have legal control over her until she is twenty-one.’

‘Are you afraid that she’ll be a drain on your resources?’

‘No. We can afford it,’ Alex bit out.

‘Not only will you have to feed her, but you will be faced with the enormous expense of clothing her and introducing her to society.’

‘I don’t need reminding.’ His eyes like dagger thrusts, Alex glared with deadly menace at the amusement Nathan was unable to conceal in his eyes. ‘Damn it, Nathan! I do believe you’re enjoying my predicament,’ he flared in exasperation.

Blithely ignoring his friend’s ill humour, Nathan grinned good-naturedly. ‘No, not really. I merely find it odd that a girl you have never met, a girl you know nothing about, is capable of rousing so much ire in you. It appears to me that you have already made up your mind not to like her, and have no intention of being charitable or accommodating.’

Alex’s eyes impaled Nathan like sharp flints. ‘I cannot be accused of being either uncharitable or unaccommodating in this instance. And contrary to what you may think, I have formed no opinion of her whatsoever.’

‘I am glad to hear it. You may be pleasantly surprised. Why, she might be a pretty young thing with a sweet disposition and excellent manners.’

‘Let us hope so—for all our sakes,’ Alex drawled, scanning the park for Lord Fairhurst, his annoyance increasing by the minute the longer he was kept waiting.

‘Nevertheless, try to imagine how she might feel,’ Nathan persisted. ‘Her mother is dying, you say, and she has no relatives in America. Maybe she doesn’t want to come to England. My fear is that when she is faced with your formidable manner—a daunting prospect for any girl—it will alienate her from the start. Has it not entered that arrogant, stubborn head of yours that you might like her, Alex? And, if so, will it wound your pride to admit it?’

‘Even for an arrogant, stubborn male like me it is not beyond the realms of possibility,’ Alex conceded with sarcasm. ‘I am protective of my uncle; as you are aware, he does not always enjoy the best of health. He is renowned for his generosity and I am naturally concerned that he is not taken advantage of.’

‘Yes, I can understand that. How old is the girl?’

‘I really have no idea, but it is my intention to marry her off to the first prospective suitor.’

Nathan watched an inexplicable smile trace its way across the other man’s face. ‘In which case, you do realise that you will have to provide a somewhat generous dowry?’

Alex regarded Nathan in casual, speculative silence, one dark brow lifted in amused mockery. ‘If she turns out to be a wilful hoyden with outrageous manners,’ he said drily, ‘it will be worth it to get her off our hands.’

Alex had been trained to discipline as soon as he had drawn breath. Already the American girl had caused a rift in his routine—a disturbance that had brought a feeling of unease which had begun to trouble him. It was like a pebble breaking the calm surface of a pond. Once thrown there was nothing to prevent the ripple widening in ever-increasing circles.

The quiet of the park was interrupted. Hearing the measured thud of horses’ hooves on the soft turf and the creaking of wheels, they turned to see a closed carriage bearing down on them. It came to a halt and they saw it had only one occupant, a man in middle age. He climbed out and calmly told an astonished Alex that Lord Fairhurst had died suddenly of a seizure during the night.

When Angelina and her mother, Lydia, had left Ohio, never in her life had Angelina known such grief. It broke her heart to think that as well as her father, all the people she had known in the settlement were dead, that whole families had been wiped out by the Shawnee.

Will Casper had accompanied them to Boston. He was a loner, a man of few words, who helped Angelina’s father on the land when needed. Will had become a good and loyal friend to them over the years. He had found a doctor to tend to Lydia after she was badly wounded in the Shawnee attack, but he could give them little hope that she would live beyond the next few weeks.

With a horse and wagon, a few meagre possessions and a rifle, they had faced east, pushing themselves hard on well-worn trails. The months of trekking through Pennsylvania and across the mountains were a harsh and emotional time for Angelina, during which she was veiled in a curtain of shock. Her pain defied release. It hid itself in a hollow place inside her heart, beyond the reach of understanding.

Will silently watched her battle to be brave and grown up. He showed her she wasn’t alone, and together they made it to the state of Massachusetts, making their home in a shack on the outskirts of Boston. The land round about was wild, and fast-flowing water cut its way through a steep rocky gorge beside the shack, moving north to the Charles River.

The night of the massacre and her own treatment at the hands of the Shawnee had scorched its memory on Angelina’s soul. Even now, two years later, she felt defiled and beyond redemption. The terrible, haunting nightmares had pursued her all the way back east. At first they happened every night, but now they were less frequent. But no matter how much time passed, she could not swallow her feeling of outrage and pretend the incident had never happened. She would never be able to come to terms with it, never be able to speak of it. Her terrible secret would remain a burden she would never be able to put into more manageable proportions.

Angelina galloped so hard towards Henry Montgomery that he half-expected a troop of Amazons to materialise from the trees in her wake. Riding the forest pathways on a pony as energetic as herself, she was reckless, like an Indian, and as refreshing as a cool, invigorating wind. With long bouncing braids sticking out from beneath a battered old beaver hat with an eagle’s feather stuck in its brim, she pulled her lathered pony to an abrupt halt in front of him, unconcerned by the clouds of dust that the restless animal sent into the air with its hooves, which covered his fine clothes.

Dressed in a worn brown jerkin, ill-fitting deerskin trousers and dull brown boots that no amount of rubbing would bring a shine to, Angelina levelled a steady dark gaze at the tall, silver-haired man. Silently they took stock of each other. She was guarded, wary, looking at him with a wordless resentment.

Henry Montgomery possessed a commanding presence. He had the poise and regal bearing of a man who has lived a thoroughly privileged life. With Angelina he aroused a curious inspection. He looked cool and contained in his immaculate charcoal grey suit and pristine white stock. He was the sort of gentleman her mother had told her about—his rather austere mien and noble bearing out of place here in the backwoods of New England.

Despite the unease and resentment his unexpected arrival caused her, knowing how much her mother was looking forward to meeting him, she had primed herself to be gracious.

‘You’re the Englishman,’ she stated without preamble, her pronunciation clear and distinct. Taking note of this, Henry smiled inwardly. He would have expected nothing less from Lydia’s daughter. Swinging her leg over her pony she jumped down like an Indian—lithe, supple and long limbed.

Henry inclined his silver head with amusement and quite without resentment on being confronted by the bold and forthright manner of the girl, who positively oozed energy and vitality. Somehow it came as no surprise to see the butt of a rifle sticking out of a saddle pouch on the side of her pony.

She held out a slim hand. ‘It is most kind of you to come all this way.’

Taking her hand in both of his, Henry held it, gazing with complete absorption into the darkest eyes he had ever seen. Set in a face burnt golden by the sun, they slanted slightly and were fringed with sooty black lashes. Her cheekbones were high, her nose pert, and an attractive little cleft dented her delicately rounded chin. Dainty and fine though her features were, her face could possibly pass for a boy’s, and with a baggy shirt and jerkin concealing her adolescent breasts, the same could be said of her body. But the mouth was much too soft and pink, too delicate, to belong to a boy. There was something inexpressibly dainty about her, which aroused vague feelings of chivalry.

‘I am Henry Montgomery—the Duke of Mowbray. And you are Lydia’s daughter.’ The likeness almost cut his heart in two.

‘My name is Angelina Hamilton,’ she replied, withdrawing her hand, completely unfazed by the stranger’s grand title and fancy clothes. ‘You’ve come a long way.’

If Angelina did but know it, Henry would walk through hell fire and promise to live in eternal damnation if Lydia asked him to. Even though he was fifty-five and a veteran of hundreds of dispassionate affairs, this girl’s mother was the only woman to have captivated his heart. He had loved her as much as it was possible to love another human being, but, because their parents had considered their relationship to be incestuous, he’d had to resign himself to letting her go. Yet, despite the distance, their hearts were still entwined, and neither separation nor time had lessened the pain or their love for each other.

‘I came in response to your mother’s letter.’

‘I know.’

Her eyes were questioning and direct, and her voice was steady, but there was something in it of a frustrated, frightened child.

‘How is she? In her letter she mentioned that she was ill—that she was wounded when Indians attacked your home.’

‘My mother is dying, sir.’

Carefully Henry schooled his features as he took note of the pain showing naked on Angelina’s young face upturned to his. A hint of tears brightened her translucent eyes, which were like windows laying bare the suffering and many hardships of her young life.

‘I’m so very sorry, my dear. How dreadful this must be for you.’

‘Mother knows she’s dying, but she set her mind on not doing so until she heard from you. She didn’t know if you would come in person. She didn’t expect you to. She thought that perhaps you would write in response to her letter.’

‘We used to be very close, your mother and I, before she married your father and came to live in America.’ He averted his eyes when Angelina gave him a curious, questioning look. ‘Come—walk with me back to the hotel. Mr Phipps, the proprietor, has kindly offered me the use of his buggy. You can take me to her.’

Mr Phipps was a man who liked to talk. All Henry had had to do was sit back and listen when he made it known that he was here to see Mrs Hamilton and her daughter, Angelina.

‘Real nice is Miss Angelina,’ Mr Phipps had told him. ‘Shame about her ma an’pa, though—what the Indians did an’ all. After the attack an’ when she’d buried her pa, she brought her ma back here an’ bought the old McKay place down by the gorge. It was a wreck of a place so it didn’t cost much.’

‘Did Angelina see what happened?’ Henry had asked him.

‘She saw all right—more than is right for a child to see. Done killed the Indian who killed her pa, she did. Stabbed him right through the heart, accordin’ to Will.’

Unable to comprehend what Angelina must have suffered during the Indian attack, Henry’s expression remained unchanged as he absorbed this shocking piece of information. ‘Will?’

‘Will Casper. He was out west at the time an’ came back east with her and her ma. Been right good to them, too. Don’t know what they’d ’ave done without him.’

‘How do they manage?’

‘Miss Angelina spends all her time huntin’ an fishin’ an’ lookin’ after her ma, while Will does all the work about the place—when he’s not off trappin’ beaver. They ’aven’t much—but what they do ’ave they make the best of.’

Moving towards the door through which the Englishman had disappeared, Angelina stopped on the threshold, suddenly feeling like an outsider in her own home. Knowing her mother wanted to be alone with him, she would go no further, but before the bedroom door closed she saw the Englishman bend and pick her mother’s limp hand up off the patchwork quilt and place it to his lips. At the same time her mother raised her free hand and gently placed it on his silver head, as if bestowing a title on the Duke of Mowbray. It was a scene that would remain indelibly printed on her mind for all time.

When he emerged from Lydia’s room after what seemed like an eternity, Henry passed through the house to the veranda, welcoming the cool air after the heat of the sick room. Night had fallen and a languid breeze stirred the trees. The air carried a heavy fragrance of jasmine, wood smoke and cedar wood.

Henry had been taken aback at first to see how ill Lydia was, and he knew she wasn’t long for this world. As fragile as a plucked wildflower, she lay still and as white as death against the pillows. But when he’d gazed once more into those glorious dark eyes, he had seen that the years had not quenched their glow.

Lydia had been his grande passion, the woman he had been prepared to relinquish his title and his family to marry. She had been part of his flesh and his spirit, and a large part of him had died when she left him. Without warning and without his knowledge she had married Richard Hamilton, sacrificing herself for his own sake, and gone to America. In a brooding silence he was conscious of the girl standing silently behind him, waiting for him to speak, her dog, Mr Boone, at her feet.

Henry turned and looked at her. The soft, silvery moonlight washed over her, touching the delicate, pensive features of her face. He saw the questioning black eyes in cheeks pale with apprehension, and it was only then, upon meeting that dark, misty gaze, that he realised the enormity of the responsibility Lydia had placed in his hands.

‘You know why your mother wrote to me, Angelina,’ Henry said, sitting in one of two battered old wicker chairs. ‘You also know that I am her cousin and closest kin. It is most unfortunate that on your late father’s side there are no close relatives. It is your mother’s wish that I take charge of you, and take you back with me to England. Would you like that?’

Angelina’s reaction to say no was instinctive, but, realising that this gentleman had travelled a long way to help her mother and herself, she could not be so discourteous. It wasn’t that she disliked the Englishman, but the question of being forced into something she had no control over that troubled her. Independence had become a part of everyday life, and she had no wish to renounce that.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I have promised your mother that before we leave America I will legally make you my ward. When she is gone, as your next of kin your responsibility rests entirely with me.’

‘Are you really my only living relative?’

Henry frowned. It was one question he had anticipated, and since he now knew what Lydia had told Angelina about her grandparents—that they were dead and nothing more—he was capable of answering. He would rather not, because it meant having to lie. However, he didn’t see how it could be evaded if he was to abide by his promise to Lydia.

‘Your grandparents on your mother’s side were killed in a carriage accident some years ago,’ he told her in a gentle, straightforward voice, praying she would never discover the truth.

‘My grandparents never wrote to her, and she would never speak of them. Do you know why?’

He nodded, silently cursing Jonathan Adams, Lydia’s father. Anne, his wife and Henry’s own aunt, had been a gentle woman, who had lived in awe of her husband, and had been unable to stand against him when he had coldly cut Lydia out of their lives.

‘When your mother married your father and left England, Angelina, it was against your grandfather’s wishes. He was a hard, unforgiving man and meant to punish her for disobeying him. He cut off all connection with her—and insisted that your grandmother did the same. You mother never forgave them.’

How true this was, Henry thought sadly. Lydia’s lack of forgiveness was no temporary state of affairs. With great intensity she had insisted that there must be no connection between Angelina and her grandmother. Not wishing to distress her further, Henry had promised he would abide by her wishes.

Angelina sat on the top step of the veranda with her back propped against a wooden rail. ‘Won’t someone like me be a burden to you in England—a financial one?’

Henry was mildly amused at her words so innocently and frankly spoken. ‘I can well afford it. It will be a pleasure. And you are far too lovely and independent to be a burden. You will learn to be a fine lady,’ he told her, wanting to tell her not to change, that she was just perfect the way she was. But, if she was to live in the social world he inhabited, regretfully it was necessary.

‘How should I address you? For me to call you “my Lord” every time I speak to you is too formal and quite ridiculous.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. Uncle Henry will be appropriate.’

She considered this for a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes. Uncle Henry it is then.’

Angelina’s new uncle had a warmth of manner that made her feel as if she had known him a long time. His physical impression might be one of age, yet his twinkling eyes and willing smile were the epitome of eternal youth. Over the distance they smiled at each other, comfortable together, sharing a moment of accord on the veranda that seemed to bind them together.

‘It is obvious to me that your education seems to have been taken care of, so we’ll have no trouble in that quarter,’ Henry remarked at length. ‘Your pronunciation of the English language is excellent.’

‘Thank you. I am also conversant in French, Latin and some Greek, too,’ Angelina confessed proudly. ‘Despite the everyday hardships of living in Ohio, my mother saw to that.’

Henry’s admiration for her was growing all the time.

‘Do you have a wife?’ Angelina asked suddenly, with the natural curiosity of a child.

‘No,’ he answered, startled by the abruptness of her question, but not offended by it. ‘I never found a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with—except, perhaps, one,’ he said softly, his eyes clouding with memory, wondering how Angelina would feel if she knew that her beloved father had been accepted by her mother as a hasty second best.

‘But isn’t it the custom for gentlemen of your standing to marry to beget an heir?’

‘I had no intention of adhering to custom by chaining myself to any woman I might only have a passing fancy for, in order to beget an heir. Besides, I have a perfectly acceptable heir in my nephew, Alex—my brother’s son.’

Angelina’s eyes became alert. ‘Alex?’

‘Alexander Henry Frederick Montgomery, the seventh Earl of Arlington and Lord Montgomery—which are just two of his titles. His friends call him Alex.’

Angelina’s eyes widened in awe. ‘Gracious me! What an awesome responsibility it must be to have so many names. Doesn’t he feel weighted down by so many titles?’

‘Not in the least. He was born to them and learned to accept and ignore them from an early age. One day he will become the sixth Duke of Mowbray—following my demise, you understand. His title as the seventh Earl of Arlington he inherited from his mother’s family. The sixth earl died several years ago, and as the estate is unentailed he left it directly to Alex—with provision made for his mother, who was an only child. He made representations to the King that Alex be given the title of seventh Earl on his demise. You’ll meet him when we get to England. He is the only son of my brother, who died when Alex was fifteen. Alex is now twenty-eight—and I swear that young man is the reason for my hair turning white,’ he chuckled softly.

‘Is he married?’

‘Despite being one of the most eligible bachelors in England, I’ve all but despaired of ever seeing him suitably married.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with him?’

‘Nothing. He hasn’t got two heads or anything like that.’ Henry chuckled aloud. ‘It is his unequivocal wish to remain a bachelor and childless. I cannot hide the fact that he’s an exacting man, who insists on the highest standards from all those he employs. However, he can be quite charming, when it suits him.’

‘What does he do?’ Angelina asked, already in awe of Alex Montgomery.

‘Alex handles all my business and financial affairs—as well as his own. He has a brilliant mind and a head for figures that shames me. He drives himself hard, demanding too much of himself—and others. Ever since he took over he’s increased all my holdings considerably. Now I’m in my dotage I’m perfectly content to sit back and let him handle everything. Oh, he consults me now and then, but business is not my forte.’

‘And do you trust him?’

‘Implicitly. Besides, my dear…’he chuckled softly, his grey eyes twinkling merrily ‘…if I didn’t, I wouldn’t dare tell him so.’

Angelina frowned. He sounds quite formidable. He’s bound to resent me. How do you think he’ll react?’

Henry grinned. ‘He’ll be outraged when he finds out I have made myself your guardian—but he’ll soon get used to having you around. Besides, there’s not a lot he can do about it.’ He relaxed, regarding her warmly. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll soon get used to Alex.’

Just two days after Henry Montgomery had come to Boston, Lydia slipped quietly away in her sleep.

Angelina’s heart was heavy with sadness, but she didn’t give in to her grief. Her mother had suffered greatly, and now she was at peace. Henry gave no outward sign to Angelina of his own private emotions, but his face was lined, his eyes dull with a deep sorrow.

It was difficult for Will to stand on the bustling quayside and watch Angelina board the ship. Her leaving would leave a huge hole in his heart.

Feeling quite forlorn, a hard lump of tears formed in Angelina’s throat as she looked into Will’s rheumy eyes. He looked lost and torn and old. Although it broke her heart to do so, she had decided to leave Mr Boone behind, in the hope that he would help console Will and that it would ease their parting. Will had carved her a wonderful likeness of Mr Boone out of ebony. It was packed in her trunk and she would cherish it always.

‘Goodbye, Will. I’ll never forget you, you know that. I promise I’ll write and let you know what it’s like in England.’

‘You go and make your ma proud,’ Will said, his voice hoarse with emotion, wondering where she would send her letters to when he had disappeared into the backwoods of North America. ‘You’re going to do all those things she talked about. You’ll dazzle all those English gents—you see if you don’t. Remember it’s what your ma wanted. She told you that.’

‘I do remember, Will, and I’ll never forget. Ever.’

Will’s eyes met those of Henry Montgomery in mutual concern. Unbeknown to Angelina, Will had told the Englishman what had happened to her on the night of the Shawnee massacre, and how he had rescued her. He hoped that, in knowing, the English duke would have a deeper understanding of his ward.

Henry had listened to all Will had said with a sense of horror. Will had told him that there was still something about that night Angelina refused to speak of. It was like an inner wound that was bleeding. The secret lurked in her gaze. Was it the shock of the massacre and her father’s death that caused it—or something else? Whatever it was might be eased when she reached England. A new country, a new home—a new life.

Chapter Two

The sky was overcast as the carriage ventured north towards Mayfair. Angelina devoured the sights and sounds of what her mother had told her was the most exciting city in the world. On reaching Brook Street she gaped in awe when the door of one of the impressive houses was opened by a servant meticulously garbed in white wig, mulberry coat edged in gold and white breeches. His face was impassive as he stepped aside to let them enter.

‘Welcome to Brook Street,’ Henry said, smiling as he watched his ward’s reaction.

Angelina was completely overwhelmed by the beauty and wealth of the house. Standing in the centre of the white marble floor she looked dazedly about her, wondering if she had not been brought to some royal palace by mistake. She wasn’t to know that compared to Mowbray Park, Henry’s home in Sussex, this house on Brook Street was considered to be of moderate proportions. Craning her neck and looking upward, she was almost dazzled by the huge chandelier suspended from the ceiling, dripping with hundreds of tiny crystal pieces.

A superior-looking man with a dignified bearing and dressed all in black stepped forward. ‘Welcome back, your Grace. You are expected. I trust you had a pleasant crossing from America.’

‘Yes, thank you, Bramwell. Is my nephew at home?’

The butler replied, ‘No, your Grace. He’s out of town for a few days, staying with Sir Nathan and his wife in Surrey.’

‘I see.’ Henry smiled at Angelina, who looked visibly relieved by the reprieve. ‘Perhaps you would like to see your room and freshen up before dinner, my dear. Show Miss Hamilton to her room, will you, Bramwell.’

‘Certainly, your Grace. The green room has been prepared. I’m certain it will meet with Miss Hamilton’s approval. It’s quiet and overlooks the garden,’ he told Angelina, before leading her up the elegant staircase.

Entering a large room on the first floor, Angelina blinked at the extravagance and unaccustomed luxury. The walls were lined with mirrors and pictures depicting placid rural scenes, and the bed hangings were in the same pale green brocade embroidered with ivory silk as the windows.

‘Oh, what a lovely room,’ she gasped.

‘I thought you’d like it.’ Bramwell directed his gaze towards the dressing room when a fresh-faced young maid emerged, her arms full of linen. ‘This is Miss Bates, Miss Hamilton. She has been appointed your personal maid.’

When Bramwell had departed Angelina smiled warmly at her maid, who bobbed a curtsy. Two or three years older than Angelina, she was quite pretty, small and rather plump, with the majority of her dark brown hair concealed beneath a modest white cap.

‘I’ve never had a personal maid before,’ Angelina confessed. ‘What does it mean?’ She saw surprise register on Miss Bates’s face, which was replaced by an indulgent little smile. No doubt she had decided that, as she was from America, her new mistress’s ignorance could be excused, that perhaps people over there weren’t as civilised or refined as they were in England.

‘Why—I see to all your personal needs—take care of your clothes—everything, really,’ she explained cheerfully.

‘Well, it seems you will have to teach me—and I have much to learn. Where I come from, unless you are very rich, one doesn’t have personal maids.’

Miss Bates seemed to be lost for words at this candid admission. ‘I’m sure you’ll soon get used to having me do things for you.’

‘Perhaps, but I simply refuse to call you Miss Bates. What is your Christian name?’

‘Pauline, miss.’

‘Then since we are to spend a good deal of time together, I shall address you as Pauline,’ she said, as two footmen entered with her trunk.

The following afternoon while her uncle was resting, and feeling hemmed in and restless at having to remain indoors because of the rain that continued to pour down, Angelina wandered through the house. Her uneducated eye was unable to place a value on the things she saw, but she was able to appreciate and admire the quality of the beautifully furnished rooms.

The library, with its highly polished floor and vividly coloured oriental carpets, was like an Aladdin’s cave—a treasure trove of precious leatherbound tomes. It was a room which, to Angelina, encapsulated every culture and civilisation of the universe, where bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, broken only by a huge white marble fireplace and long windows. Happily she browsed along the shelves, looking for a book to suit her mood, eventually finding just what she was looking for.

Unaccustomed to being indoors for such a long period, she placed her books on the desk and went to the window, leaning her shoulder against the window frame, gazing in a somewhat disconsolate manner at the garden, glad to see it had stopped raining and envying the gardener pottering about among the flower beds. Unable to resist the temptation to join him, but not wishing to dirty her dainty slippers, she dashed to her room and donned an old pair of stout boots she had brought with her.

She entered the garden by the long French windows in the library, and spent half an hour chatting to the gardener and helping him debud some of the sodden roses—which Jarvis thought highly irregular considering who she was. Then the rain came down again and the wind rose with a vengeance, so she made a dash for the house. On entering the library she was unable to prevent the sudden gust that sent some loose papers blowing off the desk all over the place and a tiny figurine from crashing to the floor.

‘You stupid, reckless little fool. Do you have to enter the house like a bloody whirlwind?’ a voice thundered.

Angelina’s face was a frozen mask. In her struggle to keep the door from blowing off its hinges, she hadn’t seen the man sitting at the desk with damp, unruly locks of raven black hair tumbling wildly over his head. Scraping his chair back, he stood up and strode towards her, his face livid.

Like an animal on the defensive, Angelina’s eyes narrowed and flashed. ‘You are just about the rudest man I have ever come across and you have a foul mouth for such a well-bred gentleman—I assume you are Lord Montgomery.’

‘Precisely, and I know who you are—Miss Hamilton.’ He seemed to lose control of his expression momentarily as his gaze passed over her, from the top of her shining head to her boots, where it froze.

Angelina followed his gaze and saw her mud-caked boots dirtying the parquet flooring. Soil clung to the front of her skirt, resisting all her efforts to brush it away. Despairing, she groaned inwardly with frustration. For two days dressed like a lady, she had waited for the master of the house to appear, and what good had it done her? Having no intention of apologising for the way she looked, ignoring the irate nobleman, she bent down and eased off her boots, placing them by the door. She then further astounded his lordship by going down on her knees and beginning to pick up the pieces of the broken figurine.

‘Leave it,’ he snapped. ‘The servants will clean it up.’

‘I made the mess so I will do it. I don’t wish to put anyone to any trouble.’

‘I said leave it. The servants are here for your convenience as well as mine.’ When she took no notice he reached out and grasped her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh. There was a loud crack as Angelina slapped his hand away. Momentarily startled, he drew back. ‘Why—you hot-headed little savage,’ he barked. ‘What the hell are you trying to do?’

His scowl bore into her as Angelina rubbed her smarting hand. ‘That will teach you not to touch me,’ she snapped, hotly irate. ‘It’s your own fault. Keep your hands to yourself in future.’

Alex’s lean cheeks flexed tensely and his grey eyes narrowed. ‘Do you have any idea how exasperating you are?’ he gritted. ‘And do you have to appear looking like a labourer?’

‘I’m not afraid of hard work,’ she snapped testily.

‘I imagine you’re not, but you will find that here you will do things differently.’

The pieces gathered up, Angelina got to her stockinged feet and placed them on the desk. ‘I’m sorry I broke it,’ she said, unaware of the streak of mud on her cheek as she faced him squarely, two fiercely indomitable wills meeting head on and each refusing to step aside to allow the other to pass. His face was as cold and hard as the stone from which his fine house was built. ‘I didn’t mean to. I suppose it was valuable.’

‘Priceless.’

‘If I had some money of my own I would offer to pay for it, but I don’t.’ Angelina recognised authority when she saw it. Everything about this illustrious lord bespoke power, control and command. The hard set of his darkly handsome face did not suggest much tolerance or forgiveness. ‘No doubt you have already made up your mind where to bury me?’

‘Not yet. But I dare say I will.’ His voice was of a rich, deep timbre. He watched as she flexed her arm. ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘You hurt my arm,’ she said crossly, her dark eyes narrowing and accusing.

‘I apologise for that—if you will apologise for appearing like a field hand.’ He waited, his grey eyes penetrating.

‘I suppose so,’ was all Angelina was prepared to relent.

Dressed in snug-fitting, calf-coloured trousers tucked into highly polished tan boots, and a fine white lawn shirt open at the throat, his body well honed and muscular, Angelina could see there was something purposeful and inaccessible about Alex Montgomery, and those grey eyes, which penetrated her own, were as cold and hard as newly forged steel. There was no warmth in them, no humour to soften those granite features.

She sensed his amazement that she had the effrontery to face him as an equal. Clearly this wasn’t what he’d expected—and certainly not what she’d intended. She knew better than to be rude to a man in his own house, but after suffering the indignity of being spoken to so rudely and manhandled, she had mentally drawn the battle lines and moved her guns into position. They looked at each other hard, suspicion and mistrust on both sides.

His expression became suddenly thoughtful and he inspected her upturned face as if something puzzled him.

‘Do you always subject people to such close scrutiny when you meet them for the first time?’ she asked directly. ‘I am not used to being looked at like that and find it extremely disagreeable. Is there something wrong with my face that makes you examine it so thoroughly?’

‘When I look at you I think unaccountably of fairies and imps and things, and have half a mind to demand whether you have bewitched Uncle Henry and my servants—according to my uncle, every one of them seems to be under your spell.’

‘I will not argue the point, but I assure you, Lord Montgomery, that it is not my intention to disrupt your household.’

With a look that betrayed a mild degree of surprise, he nodded. ‘Thank you. I respect your frankness.’ Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked to the window, standing with his back to her while he gazed out. His body was tense, his shoulders squared. ‘I hope the servants are looking after you,’ he said at length.

Angelina was uncomfortable, but she was relieved to hear civility in his tone. ‘Yes—thank you,’ she replied, imitating his politeness. ‘Everyone is being very kind.’

‘And you like the house?’

‘Very much. But then, who wouldn’t?’ she said, warm in her admiration. ‘Have you spoken to Uncle Henry since you arrived home?’

He turned and looked at her. ‘Briefly.’

‘And did he tell you anything about me?’

Alex nodded. ‘He told me that when your mother died he did the Christian thing by making you his ward and giving you a home. He assures me you are a charming, delightful and remarkably intelligent young woman who, for the short time he has known you, has made him extremely happy. In short, you are an absolute treasure.’

Angelina was stung by the irony of his words. ‘But you don’t believe him.’

‘Not if the past few minutes are anything to go by. I am more astute than my uncle. I prefer to reserve judgment.’

Lifting her chin proudly, Angelina met his gaze, not with defiance but a quiet resolve. ‘You don’t want me here, do you, Lord Montgomery?’

‘I love and hold my uncle in the highest esteem, Miss Hamilton. I may not be happy about what he did, but whether I like it or not you are here now and a member of this family. As such, that is how you will be treated and how you will behave.’

‘I realise that my presence in your house is an inconvenience, but taking everything into account, you must see that I have been more inconvenienced than you.’

‘In which case, since we have no choice in the matter, the obvious solution is that we should both try to make the best of things and be cordial to each other. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes. I have no wish to upset Uncle Henry,’ she said.

Absently she tucked a stray lock of silky hair behind her ear that had dared escape her tight braid. The unconscious gesture caused Alex to study her properly for the first time, and he was amazed by what he saw. Her hair was the colour of rich mahogany with highlights of red and gold, making him think of harvest corn, chestnuts and autumn fires. Parted at the center, it was drawn back and woven together in one long thick braid that reached her waist. Accustomed to seeing women with neatly arranged curls and ringlets, he found this style unusual, but strangely attractive on this young woman. He had the absurd desire to reach out and set her hair free and let it spill about her shoulders, convinced it would glow with the glorious vibrancy of autumn leaves.

Her eyes, surrounded by thick, curling sooty lashes, were captivating. At first they looked so dark to be almost black, but on closer inspection they were seen to be not black at all, but the colour of two glorious purple velvet-soft pansies. Her skin was flushed with warmth like that of a ripe peach, and she had an enigmatic mouth, ripe and full of wonderful promise. The daffodil-yellow gown she wore revealed a female form that was faultless, slim and strong, with long legs and curves in all the right places. With angular cheekbones her face was alluring, interesting, and overall there was an innocence and vulnerability about her that would put a practised seducer like him beyond the realm of her experience.

‘You are not at all what I expected.’

‘What did you expect?’ she retorted sharply. ‘A creature from the wilds who is half-savage, with brown skin and feathers in her hair?’

Alex smiled tightly. Nathan had said something along those lines. ‘Heaven forbid! I certainly didn’t expect to find someone with an interest in fine literature.’

‘Education has reached America, you know. We are civilised.’

‘Looking as you do just now, Miss Hamilton, I would say you have some way to go before you reach that status,’ he said with an ironic curl of his lips. ‘However, it’s apparent to me that you are extremely clever.’

Angelina’s eyes narrowed. She could feel her ire returning. ‘Something tells me that it is not my interest in fine literature that you speak of,’ she said, her smile deliberately cold and ungracious. ‘It is plain to me that you are displeased about something

Alex crossed to his desk and perched his hip on the edge, crossing his arms with a casualness that aggravated Angelina’s temper still further. His imperturbable gaze studied her stormy eyes. ‘Miss Hamilton, when I read my uncle’s letter informing me he had gone to America, everything about you displeased me at the time,’ he told her firmly.

Angelina’s temper flared at this open affront. ‘I thought it might. And I sense your displeasure has increased since. Is it so very strange for people to look after relatives who find themselves destitute?’

‘It is, when the parties concerned live on opposite sides of the world and there has been no contact between them for some time. I find it strange that after all these years, when not a word or a letter has passed between them, your mother should suddenly write to my uncle and beg him to make you his ward.’

‘You’re mistaken, Lord Montgomery,’ Angelina answered, stung to the quick by his remark about her mother. ‘My mother never begged for anything in her life. She wrote to Uncle Henry because he was her next of kin and she had no one else to turn to.’

Alex knew this not to be the case, but, having been warned by his uncle of the need for secrecy relating to this young woman’s grandmother, he respected the request for silence.

‘If you must know, I opposed it,’ Angelina went on. ‘I had no wish to leave America, but it was my mother’s wish.’

‘A woman with colossal aspirations where her daughter is concerned,’ Alex said coldly. ‘Do not think me ignorant of your situation in Boston, Miss Hamilton, and that your mother sent you to my uncle as a poor relation, seeking to save you from poverty.’

Alex caught the flare of anger his words about her mother brought to her face, but he also saw something that resembled pain and hurt in the depths of her eyes. For a split second her young face looked defenceless and exposed, and already he was beginning to regret his unjustifiable and unpardonable attack.

His cutting remark directed at her mother erupted inside Angelina like a volcano and she longed to lash out at him. Feeling the nightmare of the Indian attack closing around her again, she could see her mother’s face as she lay on the ground after the knife had ripped into her, digging deep, and the rich, proud colour of her blood as it had poured from her wound to be soaked up by the dry earth.

‘You cold-hearted, overbearing, arrogant beast. How dare you? You insult my mother, and I will not allow anyone to besmirch her memory. She was the kindest, gentlest of women ever to draw breath, but that is something a man as conceited and disgustingly rude as yourself would never understand.’ Furiously she turned and marched to the door, her fists clenched by her sides.

For a split second a flicker of amused respect replaced Alex’s anger as he gazed after the young American girl. ‘Have you nothing else to say?’

She turned and glowered at him, feeling tears prick the backs of her eyes. Furiously she blinked them away. If she broke down and cried, he would have the mastery over her. She would not grant him that. ‘Not to you. Might I suggest that in future you mind your own business and I will mind mine.’

Alex’s black brows snapped together and his eyes narrowed, but his voice was carefully controlled when he spoke. ‘You may suggest anything you like, but since you have raised the matter, you ought to know that I have full control over all my uncle’s affairs.’

His words were insulting and their meaning cut Angelina like a knife. ‘His business affairs, not his personal affairs,’ Angelina corrected acidly. She should have withered beneath his icy glare, but she was too enraged to be intimidated by him. ‘I should tell you that I have a streak to my nature that fiercely rebels against being ordered what to do.’

‘I have a formidable temper myself,’ he told her with icy calm.

‘I do not come under the category of property, Lord Montgomery, and I am not asking you for anything. In the eyes of the law Uncle Henry is my legal guardian, and if you wish to challenge that then you are free to do so.’

‘I have no intention of doing any such thing.’ His words were like a whiplash, his eyes glacial. ‘My uncle has taken you in and does not need to justify his actions to me or anyone else. What matters is that you are in this house under his guardianship and a member of this family, and because I care a great deal for his happiness, I will do nothing about it. But in time I suspect you will show your true colours without any help from me—so I advise you to take care, unless you want to be shipped back to America, lock, stock and barrel.’

Angelina glared at him, two bright spots of colour burning on her cheeks. She refused to look away, but there was little she could say in her defence. This man had already made up his mind about her, and anything she might say would be futile. He was convinced she was a clever, scheming opportunist out to rid his uncle of his last shilling, and nothing she said was going to change his mind.

‘Have you nothing to say for yourself?’

‘What’s the point? There is no argument against a closed mind. You made up your mind about me before I set foot on English soil.’

Alex contemplated her with a half-smile. ‘It may surprise you to learn that before I met you I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt.’

‘And now?’

‘That still applies. You accuse me of making up my mind about you before I met you. I accuse you of doing likewise. You also summed up your opinion of me,’ Alex stated. ‘From the moment you entered this house, no doubt you have listened to gossip from below stairs, but whatever you have heard, forget it. You don’t know me.’

Angelina could not look away from him—in fact, unconsciously her feet took her slowly back to where he still perched on the edge of the desk, her rebellious eyes holding his. She stood close, her face on a level with his, her skirts brushing his tan boots.

‘You’re wrong. I may only have been in your presence a few minutes,’ she countered, ‘but I have made a very accurate assessment of your character.’

‘Do you normally form an opinion of a person after so short a time?’ he asked, trying to ignore the delectable attributes that stood just within his easy reach. Instantly, his whole body began to hum an ardent, familiar song that clashed with what he should be feeling.

‘In your case it was not difficult,’ she provided. ‘You are rude, overbearing and dictatorial, and you have the manners of a barbarian.’

Alex arched his brows, faint amusement and a stirring of respect in the icy depths of his eyes. ‘That bad?’

‘Worse. You are cold and heartless and I cannot abide your superior male attitude—your insufferable arrogance and conceit.’

He looked at her with condescending amusement that in time she would come to detest. ‘And you, madam, with a tongue on you that would put a viper to shame, can hardly be called a paragon of perfection.’

‘Go to hell,’ she blazed, which was most uncharacteristic of her. But at that moment she was sorely tempted to fling more than abuse at Alex Montgomery and inflict physical damage. No doubt this infuriating man was already telling himself that she was showing her ‘true colours’. She cast a look of pure loathing at him, noting that her words had brought a satisfied smile to his arrogant mouth.

His dark brows rose and he gave her a lofty, superior look. ‘I shall, but I shall go in my own way and in my own good time.’

‘It cannot be too soon for me.’

Afraid that she was going to crack completely and make a fool of herself, Angelina raised her chin and turned. With all the dignity she could muster she picked up her boots and left the room, her slender hips swaying graciously. She didn’t see the admiring light in Alex’s eyes, or the indefinable smile lurking at the corner of his lips as he observed her less than dignified progress through the hall, for as she stormed towards the stairs she almost knocked over an elderly manservant who was carrying a silver platter.

The poor man halted in his progress and turned and watched her go halfway up the stairs, wondering what could have happened to wipe away her sweet expression and replace it with one of black thunder. His answer came when he glanced through the open door into the library and saw Lord Montgomery still perched on the edge of the desk. Shaking his head, he chuckled. His lordship was home, which explained everything.

Alex couldn’t think of anyone, male or female, who would have stood up to him the way Angelina had just done, verbally attack him and walk away as regal as any queen. The girl had spirit, a fiery spirit that challenged him. Her arrogance was tantamount to disrespect, yet in spite of himself he admired her style. Nor was she afraid of him. That was the intriguing part about her.

He allowed himself to remember her face, an alluring face, captivating and expressive, he decided. Her chin was small and round, with an adorable, tiny little cleft in the centre. But it was her eyes he remembered most—enormous, liquid bright—the kind of eyes a man wanted to see looking up at him when he was about to make love.

Idly he picked up the books she had selected to read and left behind. On opening them he stared, so taken aback that he almost laughed out loud. Alex had a familiarity with the ways of the female sex, but nothing had prepared him for this.

Ornithology! Horses!

When all the women of his acquaintance read romantic poetry and cheap, insipid novelettes that had a deleterious effect on their impressionable minds, Angelina Hamilton preferred reading about birds and horses. He chuckled, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. The girl was a phenomenon.

Setting his jaw, with purposeful strides he left the library and climbed the stairs to her room, rapping sharply on the door. Angelina opened it herself, glowering when she saw who it was.

‘Well? What do you want?’ she snapped, fully prepared for another angry confrontation. ‘Have you come to tell me that the war is over and I’ve won?’

‘No. In view of my former rudeness, I’ve come to make amends,’ he told her, standing in the doorway in a misleading, indolent manner.

Angelina eyed him warily. ‘Have you? You seem unsure.’

Alex raised his eyebrows quizzically. Without being invited to do so he stepped past her, as bold as may be, his eyes settling like a winter chill on her terrified maid. ‘Leave us.’

Pauline looked nervously at Angelina, who nodded. ‘It’s all right, Pauline. I don’t think Lord Montgomery intends to ravish me,’ she said, her voice dripping sarcasm, ‘since the only emotion I seem to rouse in him is a desire to strangle me. Not wishing to be hanged for my murder, I think we can safely assume he will keep his hands to himself.’

Alex’s face was set in an almost smiling challenge. ‘Don’t be so certain. I am sorely tempted. I could break you in half like a twig if I so wished and to hell with the consequences.’

‘Lord Montgomery,’ Angelina retorted sharply, dark eyes locking on grey ones, ‘if you plan another battle, you can leave right this minute.’

‘Nothing so dramatic—merely a mild skirmish.’

Pauline gaped, amazed at her mistress’s courage. No one ever spoke to Lord Montgomery in that tone. Bobbing a hurried curtsy she scuttled out.

‘Well?’ said Angelina, feeling strangely threatened now the closed door separated her from Pauline.

‘You left your books,’ he said, holding them out to her.

Disarmed, she was completely taken aback. ‘Oh! Thank you,’ Taking them from him, she placed them on a chair. ‘Why did you dismiss Pauline?’

‘I do not like my conversations being listened to by servants.’

‘And are we going to have a conversation, Lord Montgomery? Do you mean to tell me that you sought me out in my room for a reason other than to bring me the books I selected from the library—which I could have collected myself?’

‘Miss Hamilton, in common agreement, can we not strive to portray ourselves as being both gracious and mannerly for our uncle’s sake?’

‘A truce, you mean?’

‘Something like that.’

At first she seemed to consider his offer, but then her expression changed and she was on the defensive. ‘No. There will be no concessions. In the first place, I don’t like you.’

Alex arched his eyebrows at her frank admission. ‘And the second?’

‘Until I have an apology from you.’

‘An apology? What are you talking about?’ he asked with infuriating calm.

‘You insulted and degraded my mother. I cannot let it pass. If I were a man, I’d demand satisfaction and call you out. Believe me, I’m sorely tempted to do that anyway, but since your demise would cause Uncle Henry extreme distress, I suppose I shall just have to make do with an apology.’

Alex looked at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. The chit truly was incredible. ‘You? Shoot me?’

‘Yes. And I never miss my target.’

‘Then, faced with determination such as this, you leave me with little choice. Very well. I apologise. It was wrong of me to say what I did.’

Angelina was astonished. She hadn’t expected it would be that easy to extricate an apology from him. ‘You apologise?’

‘Of course. And consider yourself fortunate. Apologies don’t come easily to me.’

‘I gathered that.’

‘You accept it, then?’

‘Providing it isn’t lukewarm and you mean it, I will,’ Angelina replied stonily.

‘Thank you.’

‘Now you may leave,’ she told him firmly, her smile deliberately cold and ungracious.

Alex calmly ignored her and looked about him for a moment, his eyes caught by Will’s skilful carving of Mr Boone, which Angelina had placed on a table beside the bed. Every night since leaving Boston it was the last thing she looked at, and as she closed her eyes and went to sleep it made her feel less wretched and alone. With genuine interest Alex moved towards it, looking at it with admiration and the eye of a connoisseur.

‘This is a fine, interesting piece of craftsmanship—lovingly carved. Yours, I presume?’ he asked, looking at her.

‘Of course it’s mine,’ she snapped, annoyed because he showed no inclination to leave. ‘I haven’t stolen it, if that’s what you mean.’

‘That was not what I meant. I was asking you if the dog was yours—a pet, perhaps.’

Angelina felt foolish for having misunderstood his meaning. ‘Yes. A very dear friend of mine carved his likeness. He carves animals and birds and sells them to make a living—along with his beaver pelts,’ she explained, captivated by Lord Montgomery’s strong, lean fingers as they caressed the wooden object. ‘He presented me with it before I left Boston.’

‘Do you miss him?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend.’

‘Why—yes. Very much.’

‘What was the name of your friend?’

‘Will. Will Casper.’

‘And your dog?’

‘Mr Boone.’

A lazy smile spread over his face, which seemed softer now. ‘So named after Daniel Boone, the intrepid pioneer.’

Angelina was pleasantly surprised to learn that he knew something of America’s history. ‘Yes. You’ve heard of him.’

Alex nodded. ‘I’m a businessman. I make a point of keeping abreast of world news. It proves advantageous where investments are concerned. And did your dog live up to his namesake?’

‘Does. He’s a brave little thing with a heart as big as a lion.’

‘Is?’ Alex’s eyebrows snapped together as a sudden, decidedly unpleasant thought occurred to him. ‘You are not going to tell me you brought him with you—that the animal is here, in this house?’

Alex looked so horrified at the prospect of Mr Boone capering through his stately rooms that Angelina’s composure slipped a notch closer to laughter. She bit her lower lip to still the trembling as she caught his eyes. ‘You needn’t glower in that ferocious fashion, my lord. You will be relieved when I tell you that I left him in Boston with Will.’

His relief was evident. ‘Thank the Lord for that. The last thing I need right now is a dog disrupting the routine of things.’

Angelina made a pretence of looking offended. ‘I will have you know that Mr Boone is extremely well behaved and never disgraces himself. Have you an aversion to dogs, Lord Montgomery?’

‘I keep several of my own at Arlington. But they are used for hunting and well disciplined by their handlers. They are also kept outside in kennels where they belong.’

‘Yes, I expect they are,’ Angelina replied, with a cheeky impudence that Alex found utterly exhilarating. The ghost of a smile flickered across his face as his eyes locked on to hers in silent, amused communication, and he was quite entranced by the idea of sharing her humour.

He walked towards the fire where he stood, hands behind his back, staring down at the glowing heat. ‘How long did you live in Boston?’

‘About two years. We left Ohio when the Shawnee raided our settlement. They—they killed everyone—including my father,’ she told him softly, ‘and wounding my mother.’

Alex moved closer, looking down into the sensitive face before him, but, unable to meet his gaze, she lowered her head.

‘And you?’ he asked, placing a finger gently under her chin and tipping her face up to his, his eyes searching, probing, seeing something flicker in those dark, appealing depths: a secret grief, perhaps.

‘As you can see, I was more fortunate. I am alive and I’m grateful.’

Alex saw her eyes register an anguish and horror he couldn’t begin to comprehend, and observed the gallant struggle she made to bring herself under control.

There was silence, inhabited by the living presence of the fire. In spite of herself Angelina found her eyes captured and held by Lord Montgomery’s silver gaze. Then, aware of Lord Montgomery’s finger still poised beneath her chin, she suddenly recollected herself and recoiled with an instinctive fear that he might get too close.

‘Lord Montgomery,’ she said, her voice tight, ‘I have known you long enough to realise that you didn’t consider your manner towards me earlier as warranting an apology. Will you please come to the point and tell me the real reason for coming to my room? I am not so dim-witted as to believe it was your interest in my dog or my life before coming to England. I may have accepted your apology, but it doesn’t change anything, does it? You still don’t approve of me and think I’m out to hurt your uncle in some way.’

His eyes became as hard as granite. ‘Contrary to what you may think, I sought you out because I could see that some form of atonement for my earlier behaviour was in order. However, since you are determined to harp on about it, I will remind you I am concerned about Uncle Henry’s happiness and well being. As you will know, having spent the past few weeks in his company, he does not always enjoy the best of health.’

‘That I do know, having seen how he is often plagued with rheumatic pains.’

‘Correct. So naturally I was concerned when I returned to London after an absence of several weeks in the country and discovered he’d taken off for America without discussing the matter with me first.’

‘I cannot for the life of me see why he should. Your uncle is of an age to act without your permission.’

As he rested his hands on his hips and looking down into her stormy eyes, Alex’s own were so cold that Angelina was sure they could annihilate a man.

‘My uncle is the finest, most generous man I have ever known, Miss Hamilton. What my opinions are concerning you has no bearing on the case, but because he and your mother were once close, and, as you correctly pointed out earlier, he is your next of kin, he will take his responsibilities where you are concerned seriously. If you hurt him in any way, I will personally make your life hell. Do you understand me?’

The look that passed between them crackled with hidden fire. Just for a moment Alex saw something savage and raw stir in the depths of Angelina’s eyes, before they blazed with outrage.

‘Perfectly,’ she replied. With her fists clenched and her chin raised, she faced Alex like a raging hurricane, while he took a step back before the onslaught of her fury. ‘Allow me to tell you a little about my background, Lord Montgomery. In Boston I was living with my mother in a two-roomed shack. Everything I owned I sold to pay for the doctor and her medicine. We had no money and the food we ate I provided. I do all manner of things a young lady ought not to do. I shoot, I fish, and I skin and gut whatever I kill. I dare say the properly reared young ladies of your acquaintance would be horrified and fall into a swoon at such behaviour and liken me to the savage you obviously think I am. I may seem gauche to you and lacking in social graces, but I am not ashamed of the way we lived.

‘When your uncle came to Boston he was courtesy and kindness itself—and I give you my word that I shall not abuse his kindness. When my mother died it was a great comfort to me having him there. In the short time we have been together I have come to love him dearly and would sooner end my life than cause him pain. Despite what you believe, I haven’t asked him for anything and I do not expect anything. I am simply grateful for a roof over my head wherever that happens to be. For this and his support at a time when I had nothing, I owe him much—much more than I can repay. Your uncle knows this and now you know it too, so if it’s not a problem for him it needn’t be a problem for you.’

Alex stared at the proud, tempestuous young woman in silent, icy composure. Her words reverberated round the room, ricocheting off the walls and hitting him with all the brutal impact of a battering ram, but it failed to pierce the armour of his wrath and not a flicker of emotion registered on his impassive features.

‘That, Miss Hamilton, was quite an outburst. Have you finished?’

Pausing to take an infuriated breath, Angelina finally said, ‘Far from it. You may have been born with blue blood in your veins and all the advantages that come with it, but you have a lot to learn. It isn’t where a person comes from that matters. It’s what a person is that counts. You are being vindictive without just cause, but if you want to carry on hating me then please do so. It does not matter one jot to me.’

Their minds and their eyes clashed in a battle of wills.

‘I do not hate you.’

‘No? Well, I hate you,’ she told him, glaring at him wrathfully.

‘I know you do,’ he replied quietly. Not only had he heard, but also he sensed it. Cool and remote, Alex studied her for a moment, as though trying to discern something, and then crossed towards the door and went out.

Angelina stood looking blindly at the closed door for a long time, her heart palpitating with a raging fury. A whole array of confusing emotions washed over her—anger, humiliation, and a piercing, agonizing loneliness she had not felt since she was fifteen years old in Ohio.

Chapter Three

Henry and Alex were partaking of a glass of wine while they waited for Angelina to join them. Whenever Henry looked at his nephew, he was overwhelmed with pride.

At best, Alex was a fiercely private man, guarded and solitary, accountable to no one. At worst, he was a man with a wide streak of ruthlessness and an iron control that was almost chilling. To those who knew him he was clever, with an almost mystical ability to see what motivated others. To his business partners it was a gift beyond value, because it provided insight into the guarded ambitions of his adversaries. He could be cold, calculating and unemotional, which was how his rivals saw him.

‘Angelina’s a lovely young thing, don’t you agree, Alex?’

Alex’s look darkened. ‘Lovely? She’s certainly out of the ordinary. The girl’s a hoyden. Good Lord, Uncle, what can you be thinking of? I’ve never seen you so taken with anyone as you are with this American girl.’

‘You’re quite right, but then I’ve never had a ward before, and so far I’m thoroughly enjoying the experience. Angelina’s a delight. She’s a thoroughly charming and engaging young woman with a remarkable intelligence. In the short time I’ve known her, I vow she’s lopped ten years off my life.’

Alex’s reply was a sardonic lift of his dark brows. ‘You may find her charming, Uncle, but it is not the kind that passes for charm in the ladies of my acquaintance. Miss Hamilton’s charm is more sinister and elusive than that. It is the kind that weaves spells and puts curses on people.’

An inexplicable smile traced its way across Henry’s face. ‘If that be the case, then take care she doesn’t put a spell on you, dear boy.’

‘I’m immune,’ Alex said, bestowing the kind of lazy smile on his uncle that turned female hearts to water. ‘Whatever she is, you’re going to have your hands full.’

‘Try and be more understanding towards her, Alex. Until she marries I am committed to her—and, as you know, I am not a man to shirk my duty. I’ve told you everything that I know of what happened to her in America—and the reasons why her grandmother’s existence must be kept from her, so you will bear with her, won’t you? I know how difficult you can be.’

Alex gave him a narrow look, deflecting his uncle’s question by answering it with another. ‘Did you tell her about me—listing all my transgressions?’

Henry chuckled, encouraged by his nephew’s lack of argument. ‘I did. I considered it wise to have her well prepared in every aspect of what her life would be like in England.’

‘And?’

‘When I told her I had all but despaired of seeing you suitably married, she asked me—with all the candid innocence of her youth—what was wrong with you.’

‘Really.’ Alex gave his uncle a mildly sardonic look. ‘Evidently she regarded me as being way past the age of eligibility for marriage at twenty-eight.’

‘No. I think she probably thought you were some fire-breathing monster with two horns and a tail. And when I told her you dealt with practically all my business affairs—’

‘Let me guess,’ Alex interrupted drolly. ‘Did she by any chance ask if you trusted me?’

‘She did.’

‘I see,’ he said drily, swearing that he’d not be bested by the dark-eyed witch.

‘So you will try to curb your temper when you are together and be gentle with her, won’t you?’ Henry asked, casting his nephew an anxious look of appeal.

Alex hesitated for an endless moment and then nodded, a reluctant smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. ‘Since I have no intention of laying a finger on her or being in her company for longer than I have to, I assure you, Uncle, that she will be perfectly safe from me. However, I feel I should warn you that I have already had a run-in with your ward; if that encounter is anything to go by, I cannot promise to be charm and graciousness personified where she is concerned. We may very well need a referee to keep us from murdering each other—which is where you will come in.’

Angelina swept into the dining room, intending to make a determined effort to be pleasant and agreeable to Lord Montgomery for Uncle Henry’s sake. A chandelier suspended above the table filled the room with flickering light, reflecting on the large, ornate silver pieces set on the mahogany sideboard, next to where the two gentlemen stood drinking wine.

Breaking off his discussion with Alex, Henry placed his glass on the sideboard and came to meet her, his eyes twinkling in admiration. ‘You look lovely, Angelina,’ he said, taking her hand and drawing her towards his nephew. ‘Alex tells me the two of you have already met.’

‘Yes—and as you can see, Uncle…’ she smiled with a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes ‘…I have survived the encounter without coming to grief.’

Henry lifted a brow to Angelina in a silent salute and smiled.

Angelina met Lord Montgomery’s sardonically mocking gaze. With his eyes as intense as a hunting falcon’s locked on hers, he moved forward, bowing his head with a studied degree of politeness, which to Angelina was a masterpiece of gracious arrogance.

Alex looked down at the tempestuous young woman in her lilac gown. Her face, which arrested and compelled his eyes, was both delicate and vibrant, and her large amethyst eyes still stormy.

‘Miss Hamilton was looking for something to read,’ Alex told his uncle without taking his eyes from hers.

‘Then I hope you found something to your liking, Angelina.’

‘How could I not? There were so many interesting books to choose from. I had absolutely no idea that so much knowledge could exist in one place.’

‘Alex must take the credit for that.’

‘Yes, I thought he might,’ she replied ironically.

Handing Angelina a glass of wine, Alex’s lips curled with a hint of a smile. ‘Miss Hamilton selected two illustrated editions—one on birds and the other on horses. Perhaps you prefer looking at pictures to reading, Miss Hamilton.’

Angelina’s eyes narrowed when she took his meaning and bristled at the intended slight. ‘I don’t just look at the pictures, Lord Montgomery. Contrary to what you might think, I am not illiterate.’

Henry chuckled. ‘Don’t underestimate Angelina’s intelligence, Alex. She reads anything you care to name and is conversant in French, Greek and Latin.’

‘Perhaps if I had chosen Voltaire or Socrates you would have been more impressed. Usually I read for enlightenment, for knowledge, but yesterday I fancied something light. I cannot see why you should pour scorn on my choice of reading. It just so happens that I like birds and horses.’

‘You speak French and Greek?’ Alex asked incredulously, with surprise and doubt.

‘You seem surprised,’ said Angelina.

‘I confess that I am. There are few ladies of my acquaintance who are familiar with the classics—and I am hard pressed to think of any one of them who is conversant in any language other than their own native English, and perhaps a smattering of French.’

Now it was Angelina’s turn to be surprised. ‘Then I can only assume that your experience with the female sex is somewhat limited, Lord Montgomery.’

A gleam of suppressed laughter lit Alex’s eyes, and Angelina could only assume, correctly, that her remark about his inexperience with women had not been taken in the way she had intended.

‘Angelina also plays an excellent game of chess,’ Henry championed, giving Angelina a conspiratorial wink to remind her of all those times they had played together on board ship, when she had more often than not finished the victor. ‘She can swim like a fish, outshoot most men, and handle a horse better than any female I’ve ever seen.’

Alex arched a sleek black brow in mock amusement when his gaze met Angelina’s. ‘I’m impressed! And to add to all these admirable attributes the cut and thrust of her tongue is sharper and deadlier than any rapier,’ he drawled.

‘I’m glad you’ve noticed,’ Angelina replied with an impudent smile and a delicate lift to her brows, taking a sip of her wine.

Alex lost the battle to suppress his smile. The girl had spirit, he had to give her that. ‘As you can see, Uncle, Miss Hamilton’s opinion of me is far from favourable. Earlier she accused me of being rude, overbearing, dictatorial—and she told me that I have the manners of a barbarian.’

‘And I fear I have to agree with her.’

‘Really, Uncle! Where’s your loyalty?’ Alex demanded with mock severity.

‘Forgive me, Alex. But that’s a difficult dilemma.’

‘I can’t see why it should be.’

‘I find my loyalties torn asunder. You see, they lie with you both. You are both family. Angelina is my ward—my cousin’s daughter—and you are my nephew. Surely you can understand the pressure I am under.’

‘Lord Montgomery is the other half of your family, Uncle Henry. Not mine,’ Angelina pointed out forcefully.

‘Noted for our obstinacy,’ retorted Alex.

‘Much good may it do you, my lord. I am no less obstinate, I assure you.’ The smile Angelina turned on Henry was full of sweetness. ‘It’s a pity one can’t be more selective with one’s family as one can be with one’s friends, don’t you think?’

‘I couldn’t agree more, my dear. But I am going to ask you both to lower your swords as a favour to me—at least until after dinner so that we can do justice to Mrs Price’s excellent cooking. It wouldn’t do for all three of us to end up with indigestion, now, would it? However, I grant Alex can be a touch overbearing at times, Angelina.’

Angelina raised a sceptical brow, tempted to say that Lord Montgomery was a complete and total ass, but instead she said, ‘Only a touch, Uncle Henry?’

‘Well, perhaps a little more than a touch.’

Angelina caught Lord Montgomery’s silver gaze that seemed to slice the air between them, warning her not to overstep the mark. She met his gaze calmly, with a defiant lift of her chin. ‘And Lord Montgomery has no need of a sword, Uncle. He can accomplish as much with his eyes as he can with the point of a sword. I swear he could slay a man at twenty paces.’

‘And you, my dear, have the unique distinction of putting his back up.’

Henry smiled indulgently and pulled out a chair for her at the table. Alex would sit opposite her and he would sit at the end—to act as referee if they were to continue sparring with each other. The air crackled and sparked between his nephew and his ward, and their looks and conversation were like daggers being hurled back and forth. It was better than he could have hoped for.

‘But you must forgive Alex,’ he continued. ‘The ladies of his acquaintance are usually more languishing. He can be quite charming.’

Angelina favoured Lord Montgomery with a look of pure mockery as he took his seat across from her. ‘Is that so?’

‘Most ladies do find me charming and pleasant—and some actually enjoy my company.’

‘And no doubt live to regret it,’ she bit back.

With a mixture of languor and self-assurance, Alex started to relax and lounged back in his chair, absently fingering the stem of his wineglass as his gaze swept over her in an appraising, contemplative way.

His instinct detected untapped depths of passion in the alluring young woman across from him that sent silent signals instantly recognisable to a lusty, hot-blooded male like himself. The impact of these signals brought a smouldering glow to his eyes. So much innocence excited him, made him imagine those pleasures and sensations Miss Hamilton could never have experienced being aroused by him. The lazy, dazzling smile he bestowed on her transformed his face.

Angelina found herself staring at him, momentarily captivated by it, unaware of the lascivious thoughts that had induced it. It was the most wonderful smile she had ever seen and full of provocative charm. Oh, yes, she thought, feeling her heart do a little somersault, when he smiled like that and spoke in a soft-as-honey voice and looked at a woman from under those drooping lids, he could make a feral cat lie down and purr.

Angelina found hot colour washing her cheeks under his close scrutiny and she hated herself for that betrayal. Alex saw it and smiled infuriatingly. His strategy had worked. Little Angelina Hamilton was just like all the rest of her sex when it came to the matter of seduction. It would not be too difficult a task demolishing her pride and cold resentment and have her melting with desire in his arms, and the idea of conquering her appealed to his sardonic sense of humour—if that was what he had a mind to do, for he must remember that, for him, she was untouchable, being his uncle’s ward.

‘I’m sorry. Do I unsettle you, Miss Hamilton?’ he asked with a slight lift to his sleek eyebrows.

‘You don’t unsettle me in the least.’

‘Come now, you’re blushing,’ he taunted gently, being well schooled in the way women’s minds worked.

‘I am not.’ Her unease was growing by the second, but she tried not to show it, attempting to maintain a façade of uninterest and indifference.

‘Yes, you are. Your cheeks are as pink as those roses,’ he said, indicating the lovely bowl of deep blush-coloured roses on the table between them.

‘Good gracious.’ Angelina laughed. ‘If that’s the kind of melodramatic rubbish you engage in with the ladies of your acquaintance, I’m surprised they don’t vomit.’

‘I assure you they don’t.’

‘No—well—perhaps if they’re all vacuous peahens unable to see further than your impeccable credentials, they wouldn’t, would they?’

Alex was so astounded by her reply that he almost threw back his head and burst out laughing. ‘No,’ he replied his smile widening. ‘They wouldn’t dare. Now,’ he said when a footman came in carrying platters of food, ‘shall we accede to our uncle’s request by lowering our weapons and agree to a truce while we eat?’

‘Very well—but only while we eat,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve never tasted such wonderful food as Mrs Price turns out and have no intention of letting you spoil it. However,’ she murmured, looking at him from beneath the thick fringe of her lashes, ‘my sword may be sheathed, Lord Montgomery, but please remember that it is still there and every bit as sharp and lethal.’

Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘I do not doubt that for one moment,’ he replied—and, he thought with wry amusement, it will make the play between us all the more exciting.

Angelina bestowed a smile on him that was utterly devastating, and she was certain she glimpsed approval lurking in those inscrutable silver eyes.

A footman under the stern eye of Bramwell served the delicious meal. Angelina did full justice to the food and tried not to feel intimidated by Lord Montgomery when his eyes settled on her now and then, his lids hooded like those of a hawk. Just the cold pupils peered out from his closed face, but throughout the meal she could feel him tugging at her from across the table. It really was most unsettling.

From his vantage point at the head of the table Henry was more observant about what was passing between the two of them than either of them realised. He carefully noted the absorbed way Alex watched Angelina as she ate, recognising something in his expression that he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he was utterly delighted and encouraged by it.

‘You had a large complement of post while you were away, Uncle,’ Alex commented while they waited for dessert to be served, tearing his gaze away from the tantalising creature sitting opposite. ‘Was there anything of importance?’

‘No, just the usual—most of it from Mowbray Park. Oh, and I’ve received a letter from Robert Boothroyd—Sir Robert is a very close friend of mine, Angelina, who resides in Cornwall,’ he explained. ‘As you know, Alex, I had planned to visit him before I went to America, but on receiving Lydia’s letter it had to be postponed.’

Alex sensed his hesitation and threw him a questioning look. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Robert has not been at all well. It’s his heart, I’m afraid. He doesn’t enjoy good health at the best of times, but this latest setback is causing both him and his family considerable concern. He has asked if I will go to Cornwall as soon as I am able—but of course I shall write and tell him it’s impossible for me to leave London at this time. I couldn’t possibly leave Angelina when she’s only just arrived in England.’

‘She could go and stay with Nathan and Verity at Hanover Square—when Verity returns from Surrey, that is. Failing that, she could go and stay with Aunt Patience at Richmond,’ Alex suggested. ‘Which she should do, anyway. It’s most improper for her to be living alone in a house with two unmarried gentlemen.’

‘Yes, I have considered that, but both Verity and Patience lead a hectic social life and Angelina would inevitably become drawn in. I would like to give her time to adjust—to settle into her new life gradually. I consider it too soon for her to go out into society just yet.’

Henry was not at all in agreement with Alex’s solution, for he had no intention of removing Angelina from his nephew’s immediate sphere. Before Lydia had died, he had promised her he would make the best possible match for her daughter, and he had known immediately who that would be. Angelina and Alex had much in common, both being wilful and spirited. Tragedy had touched them both at fifteen years old, and it was his hope that together they might find solace.

However, anyone listening to his ward and his nephew in verbal combat would say they were too much alike to ever come to a complete and harmonious understanding of one another. But Henry thought otherwise and was determined to bring them together. To achieve this it was important they spend some time alone away from London, and he had contrived for them to do just that.

‘Of course,’ he went on casually, taking a sip of his wine and deliberately avoiding his nephew’s eyes and looking down at his dish as he began spooning his dessert, ‘I suppose she could accompany you when you go to Arlington next week. And the country air will do her good.’

Alex’s arm froze midway between his dish and his mouth as he was about to eat his strawberry soufflé. He stared at Henry as if he’d taken leave of his senses, returning the spoon to the dish with a resounding clatter. ‘You are not seriously suggesting—’

‘I couldn’t possibly,’ Angelina objected in growing alarm, appalled at what her uncle suggested.

‘What in God’s name would I do with Miss Hamilton at Arlington? Really, Uncle, it’s quite impossible.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘I do. It’s out of the question. Besides, it would be most improper for her to stay with me without a chaperon.’

Angelina glared at him. ‘Don’t worry, Lord Montgomery. The prospect is as distasteful to me as it is to you.’ Looking with concern at Henry’s downcast face, she hated being the reason that prevented him visiting his sick friend. ‘But, Uncle Henry, of course you must go to Cornwall. Perhaps I could accompany you?’ she asked hopefully, finding the prospect of being alone with his nephew absolutely horrifying.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ Henry replied with a smile, reaching out and patting her hand in a fond gesture. ‘But I won’t hear of it.’

Alex was suddenly contrite, knowing how fond his uncle was of Robert Boothroyd. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle. Of course you must go. Miss Hamilton will accompany me to Arlington. To still the gossip, I shall ask Aunt Patience to come and stay. With her and a house full of servants, that should be more than ample to uphold the proprieties.’

‘To protect me, you mean,’ Angelina couldn’t help retorting.

Having suddenly lost his appetite, Alex threw his napkin on to the table. He scowled darkly across the table at her and their eyes met and held, irresistible force colliding with immovable object. ‘Let me assure you that you do not need protecting from me,’ he said with scathing contempt. ‘By nature I am not a violent man, but if you inconvenience me in any way or disobey me, you may have good reason to seek protection from me. Is that understood?’

Angelina merely glowered at him.

Henry seemed to be torn two ways, but in the end he gave in to their persuasion to go to Cornwall—a little too easily, Alex thought, giving his uncle a narrow, suspicious look. Henry would join them both at Arlington at a later date. ‘And don’t worry, Angelina,’ he said when he saw the worried look in her eyes. ‘You will like Arlington—and, if you find Alex’s presence irksome, the house is so large that you can go for weeks at a time without bumping into one another.’

‘That sounds appealing,’ she responded, throwing Lord Montgomery a glance like a poison dart. ‘And after your visit to Cornwall, are we to return to London?’

‘Yes. It is important that we return to prepare for the Season in April. You will have to master all manner of accomplishments so we must allow ourselves enough time. I shall employ a tutor to instruct you in social protocol, conduct, polite conversation and that sort of thing. You must also have dancing lessons and arrangements will have to be made for a complete wardrobe—a responsibility I shall be more than happy to place in my dear sister’s capable hands. We must see that you are well prepared when you make your curtsy. I am convinced you will be a tremendous success and will be inundated with suitors. Eventually you will make a perfect match.’

Angelina felt a terrible, unexplained dread mounting inside her. The whole idea of the Season terrified her. ‘Uncle Henry, I know you think that what you are doing is in my best interests—and please don’t think I’m not grateful because I am. I—I do so want to be worthy of you, to make you proud of me, but…’

‘But what, my dear?’

‘It’s just that I have no interest in being paraded in front of society merely to acquire a suitable husband. Besides, I cannot see the point of going to all that bother and expense when I have no intention of marrying.’

Stunned into silence, both men looked at her.

‘If it’s all the same to you, I’m quite happy as I am. I don’t want to be married. I’m never going to get married.’

Henry was troubled by the intensity of her statement. It was said with deep conviction, and more than a little pain. Recalling what Will had told him about rescuing her from the Shawnee, he wondered what had happened to her that she refused to speak of. Whatever it was, she hid it well, and he was certain it had something to do with her decision not to marry.

‘Don’t be alarmed, Angelina,’ he said gently. ‘It is not my intention to make you do anything you have an aversion to. You need time to adjust to things. Perhaps, after a few weeks spent at Arlington, you will come to see everything in a different light.’

‘No, Uncle Henry, I won’t,’ she told him with a quiet firmness.

‘I do not believe you realise the seriousness of what you are refusing,’ Alex commented, listening with a great deal of interest to what was being said.

Angelina looked across at him calmly. ‘What are you saying?’

‘The point I am trying to make is that, as the ward of the Duke of Mowbray, when you fail to make an appearance when the Season starts people will want to know why. You will leave yourself wide open to a great deal of gossip and speculation.’

‘I have little interest in what people think.’

‘No, but my uncle has. There is more to this than you seem to be concerned about. There are standards to be upheld. Of course you must marry some time.’

‘No. I meant what I said.’

‘I applaud your honesty. Have you no desire for a family of your own—children? Is that not an incentive to marry?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Then what is it you want from life?’ he asked, his steady gaze locking on to hers.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, the sheer desperation and pain of the look she gave him making Alex forget all his hostility towards her. He was made uneasy by it. Something reached out and touched him in half-forgotten obscure places.

‘It would seem, Alex,’ said Henry, sensing the distress signals coming from Angelina and rallying to her rescue, ‘that someone else is of the same opinion as yourself regarding the honourable institution of marriage.’

‘On the contrary, Uncle. I’ve decided to marry after all.’

Henry looked at his nephew sharply, surprise registering in his eyes, and more than a pang of disappointment settling on his heart. ‘Really? Now that is a surprise. You have been busy while I’ve been in America.’

‘I imagine you are pleased that I have decided to marry and provide you with the heir you are constantly plaguing me about.’

‘That depends on the lady you intend to marry. Who is she?’

‘Lavinia Howard.’

‘Lord Howard’s eldest daughter?’

‘Yes,’ Alex replied, watching his uncle closely.

Henry nodded slowly as he digested the information. ‘I see. Well, she is eminently suitable, I grant you, and her father has been hankering after a match between the two of you for long enough. She is a fine young woman of excellent character. Have you spoken to her father?’

‘Nothing has been decided. I’m giving a small weekend house party at Arlington in two weeks’ time and I have invited her along with her parents and a party of friends. If I am still of the same mind, I will speak to Lord Howard then.’

‘His daughter will certainly preside over Arlington with grace and poise and has been trained to manage the demanding responsibilities of such a large house. However, it is evident to me that you are thinking with your head and not your heart, Alex. I see you are considering marriage to Miss Howard with the same kind of dispassion and practised precision you employ when dealing with your business transactions.’

Alex shrugged. ‘Did you expect anything else? I am no more sentimental about marriage than anyone else. It’s a contract like any other. Besides, considering my success in that area, the odds for our marriage being successful are highly favourable.’

‘I think “excruciatingly boring” would be a more appropriate term to use. In this you are ill advised, Alex. Marriage is not a business transaction.’

Angelina met Lord Montgomery’s gaze, amazed by his indifference to such an important matter. ‘You are not in love with Miss Howard?’

Henry chuckled softly. ‘Alex cast a blight on love a long time ago, my dear.’

‘Why, those are my sentiments entirely, Lord Montgomery.’

‘I’m glad we are agreed on one thing at least,’ Alex responded.

For a moment they regarded one another in silence, finding it strange that they were in accord over something that to everyone else was the most important thing in their lives.

‘Maybe we are. But I do feel that where something as important as marriage is concerned, then it is essential that the two people concerned love each other.’

Alex suddenly smiled. ‘In my opinion, that is sentimental nonsense. Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my forthcoming nuptials, Miss Hamilton?’

‘No. You said yourself that as yet nothing has been decided. When it has and Miss Howard accepts your proposal of marriage, I feel the only sentiment I shall be able to offer will be my commiserations.’

The following morning Henry’s widowed sister, Lady Patience Fortesque, arrived at Brook Street. She was eager to see her brother after his journey to America, and to meet his ward. Two years his junior, Patience resembled Henry in many ways. There was a fragile quality about her and she radiated a kindness and gentility that was immediately endearing to anyone who met her, but when she pleased she could be awe-inspiring.

Patience politely restrained herself from saying anything until Henry had finished telling her all about what had happened in America. The secret fears of what Angelina might have suffered at the hands of the Shawnee he kept to himself.

When he had completed his tale, he looked across at his sister who was calmly assessing what he had told her. ‘Well, Patience? Am I a sentimental old fool? Was I behaving like a lovesick youth when I went tearing across the Atlantic the moment I received Lydia’s letter? Should I have ignored it after all these years?’

‘No, Henry,’ Patience replied with gentle understanding. ‘Lydia meant a great deal to you, I know that. Is Angelina aware how deeply you felt about her mother?’

‘If you mean does she know I was in love with her, then the answer is no. Angelina is a remarkable young woman, Patience. When I first saw her and how proud she was, how resilient and brave after all she had been through, she stirred all my protective instincts. I find her such joy to be with. She is a rare jewel and with just a little polish she will outshine most of her sex. Lydia taught her well.’

‘I am concerned about the matter of Angelina’s grandmother. I know that since the death of her husband Lady Anne never comes to town. But there is the possibility that she will find out about her granddaughter coming to England when she makes her curtsy next year. It could be a major problem if she decides to see her.’

‘I know, but we will deal with that if it arises.’

‘What about Alex?’

The name seemed to hang in the air a moment before Henry replied. ‘Ah—Alex!’

‘Oh, dear! I take it from the tone of your voice that he does not welcome the intrusion of this American girl into his life.’

Henry chuckled. ‘You’ve hit the nail right on the head. Battle lines were drawn and the artillery positioned the minute they set eyes on each other. Already they’ve had their first skirmish. Angelina refuses to be subdued and is unimpressed by both Alex and his title. At present I do not want her to go out into society—and nor does she wish to. She refuses to consider a Season, but I’m hoping that she can be persuaded. I feel some time spent in the country will be beneficial to her until she’s had time to settle down—which is why I would like you to accompany her to Arlington.’

‘Arlington? But why not to Mowbray Park?’

‘Because I am to leave for Cornwall early next week to visit my good friend Robert Boothroyd. Besides,’ he murmured, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, which did not go unnoticed by his sister, ‘Alex is to go to Arlington in a few days to check on the renovations he’s having done to the house.’

Patience studied her brother carefully. ‘Henry, are you matchmaking by any chance? If so, you must think very carefully and proceed with the utmost caution. Alex will not take kindly to your meddling.’

‘Meddling?’ Henry arched his brows in mock offence. ‘I have no intention of meddling in anything. There is nothing I want more than for the two of them to wed,’ he told her, taking her into his confidence. He needed his sister’s unquestioning co-operation and willingness to comply with anything he suggested if he was to bring Alex and Angelina together.

Chapter Four

‘Come here, my dear, and let me look at you,’ said Patience with a gracious smile when Angelina entered. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’

Angelina moved towards her and found herself enfolded in a sweet smelling embrace. ‘I am happy to meet you, Lady Fortesque. Uncle Henry has told me so much about you that I feel I know you already.’

Patience stood back and smiled, approving of what she saw. Her features were delicate and pretty like Lydia’s, but there was something untamed and quite unique about this lovely young woman.

‘Your mother and I were close, Angelina. I was so distressed to hear of her death—and your father’s, my dear. Come and sit by me, and please call me Aunt Patience. We are related, after all.’

At that moment the door opened and Alex strode in. He was dressed in riding clothes, his crop still clasped in his hand. Angelina noticed how fiercely elegant he was in his immaculate coat and polished brown boots, and the way his breeches fit his thighs like his coat fit the breadth of his shoulders, without a wrinkle—and, if they were inclined to do so, they wouldn’t dare on so formidable an owner.

Closing the door and advancing into the room with ground-devouring strides, his cool gaze swept over the three occupants, pausing a little longer on Angelina before moving on to his aunt.

‘Why, Alex, how lovely to see you,’ said Patience, her face shining with adoration as she looked up at her handsome nephew.

Bending his tall frame, Alex lightly kissed her offered cheek, and as his head passed close to Angelina she caught the spicy aroma of his cologne mingled with leather and horses. As he was about to stand up straight he turned his head and looked at her, his eyes on a level with her own and no more than a foot away. Finding herself in such close proximity to him brought an indignant flush to her cheeks, which Alex observed and brought a slight smile to his lips, his silver eyes gleaming with knowing amusement.

Her contempt met him face to face until he straightened, looking down at her from his daunting height, seeing turbulent animosity burning in her dark eyes. She looked serene and almost coy, and yet he had the feeling that it was a charade, and that the environment forced upon her was too restricting for her ebullient nature. She made him feel alert and alive, and curiously stimulated.

‘I really should scold you,’ Patience went on, her eyes following her nephew as he strolled towards the fireplace, where he took up an infuriatingly arrogant stance beside Henry’s chair, resting an arm on the marble mantelpiece and crossing one booted foot casually over the other, looking every inch the master of the house. ‘You did promise to visit me at Richmond while Henry was away.’

‘Forgive me, Aunt. I had pressing matters to take care of.’

‘So I understand,’ Patience replied with a note of reproof, having heard all about his affair with Amelia Fairhurst. ‘I had hoped that with all your years of experience you would have learned to conduct your affairs with a little more discretion, Alex.’

‘The pressing matters I spoke of were purely business, Aunt. And if you are referring to my friendship with Lady Amelia Fairhurst, I assure you it was nothing more than a harmless flirtation and was blown out of all proportion. I did not think you paid any attention to gossip.’

‘I don’t, as a rule, and I’m certainly not going to become embroiled in your personal life. Next you will be telling me that you took pity on her and were trying to console her in her marital unhappiness. But what may seem amusing and harmless to you, dear boy, others may find offensive and insulting—which was the case with Lady Fairhurst’s husband by all accounts, when he demanded satisfaction and challenged you to a duel.’

Chagrin and irritation flickered across Alex’s face. ‘And no doubt you heard that the old fool died of an apoplexy the night before. Amelia Fairhurst is a proficient flirt. You should know by now not to worry about my reputation, Aunt. You must know that most of what you hear is nothing but gossip and wishful exaggeration.’

‘Are you telling us that you have been unfairly maligned, Lord Montgomery?’ Angelina asked, gazing at him with an amazingly innocent smile on her lips, and an insolent light in her eyes. ‘That what people say about you dishonouring every woman who is foolish enough to fall for your golden tongue is not true?’

Content to sit back and listen to the interchange in an amused silence, Henry met his sister’s smiling, conspiratorial gaze, each admiring Angelina’s courage for daring to speak out, while Alex favoured her with an icy stare that was meant to put her firmly in her place. But she merely held his gaze with open defiance, which told him that her proud nature knew nothing of compliance or submission.

‘Not entirely,’ he replied tersely, his jaw rigid. ‘I see you have met our colonial cousin, Aunt.’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling at Angelina and taking her hand in an affectionate clasp. ‘I came just as soon as I received Henry’s note telling me he had arrived back in London with Angelina.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Is she all you expected her to be?’

‘Yes, she is. Angelina is very much dear Lydia’s daughter.’

‘Tell me, Uncle Henry—was your nephew obnoxious as a boy, too?’ Angelina asked boldly.

Her question earned her a broad smile of admiration from Henry. ‘Why—I do believe he was.’

She frowned, feigning sympathy. ‘How distressing for you all.’

‘So distressing that both Uncle Henry and Aunt Patience have complained bitterly over the years and threatened to disown me,’ Alex retaliated calmly, ‘but as you see, Miss Hamilton, as a family we have a way of sticking together.’

Angelina sensed there was a hidden message for her in his words, which she prudently ignored. Looking at Patience, she smiled shyly. ‘I can see Lord Montgomery’s affairs both concern and embarrass you, Aunt Patience—so you must be relieved to know that he is considering marriage.’

‘So Henry was telling me just before you came in. Is this true, Alex?’

‘That is so, Aunt,’ he replied, tapping his boot with his riding crop, sorely tempted to use it on the softest part of the chit’s anatomy. ‘I am considering it.’

‘Lavinia Howard?’

‘That is the young lady I have in mind.’

‘A sensible choice. The title and position she will acquire if she marries you will delight her family—especially her mother,’ she said with a faint trace of irony, ‘for she has long been desiring a match between you. However, I’m glad to know you are thinking of settling down at last, Alex.’

‘Thank you, Aunt,’ he replied drily. His smile was sardonic. ‘I shall endeavour to do my duty and produce an heir.’

‘Nevertheless, it will hardly be a love match,’ retorted his aunt with a note of disapproval in her tone.

‘No, but I have a high regard for Lavinia.’

‘Poor Miss Howard,’ murmured Angelina. ‘I doubt she knows what a cold and cruel fate awaits her if she takes you for a husband.’

Alex looked at her coldly. ‘There are very few men who love their wives, Miss Hamilton.’

‘Or women who love their husbands, it would seem. If Miss Howard will not be hurt by your indifference, she must be very unhappy or very cold.’

‘She is neither,’ Alex countered.

‘Henry tells me you are to give a small weekend party at Arlington to which she is invited,’ Patience put in quickly in an attempt to relieve the situation. ‘I shall look forward to meeting her again. In the meantime, I am so looking forward to getting to know Angelina better—which is why I shall be staying here until it is time for us to leave for Arlington next week.’

‘You are?’ Alex asked with some surprise.

‘Of course. Angelina cannot remain in this house with you and Henry alone. Her reputation would be beyond recall if it gets out.’

‘Then the obvious solution to that is for you to take her to Richmond. The park is lovely at this time of year. I’m sure the air will be more conducive to Miss Hamilton’s health and temper than it is here in town.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my health or my temper that a distance away from you would not cure, my lord,’ Angelina countered.

The bright silver eyes considered Angelina without a hint of expression, then with slow deliberation. Had it not been for the coldness that came into them, his reply might have passed as a flippant remark. ‘Then I shall have to take that into consideration and adjust my affairs accordingly to assist you in your cure, Miss Hamilton.’

Patience looked from Angelina to Alex crossly. ‘Good heavens! What is this nonsense? Why so formal? You must address one another by your given names if you are to get on.’

Both Angelina and Alex disagreed. Formal address conveyed neither affection nor intimacy, which suited them both.

‘Come, now, what do you say?’ Patience persisted.

Unwillingly, Alex conceded. ‘Very well, Aunt.’

‘Thank you. Now, in answer to your question, I did consider taking Angelina to Richmond, until Henry told me he is to visit Lord Boothroyd in Cornwall shortly. He has been away so long that I would like to spend some time with him before he goes. Besides, I would like to take Angelina shopping before we leave for Arlington. The clothes Henry had you fitted out with in Boston were adequate for the voyage, my dear, but I shall see you have some more day dresses for Arlington. When we return to London my dressmaker will fit you out for a whole new wardrobe. However, I shall ask her to call before we leave for Arlington and take your measurements so she can make a start.’

Alarm bells began ringing in Angelina’s head and she could see the excited gleam of future arrangements in the older woman’s eyes. ‘Oh! But I—I explained to Uncle Henry that I—’

‘Have no wish to be introduced into society.’ Patience smiled. ‘I know. Henry told me,’ she said, glancing meaningfully at her brother. ‘Tell me, have you not considered having a Season just for the fun of it, Angelina?’

Angelina’s expression became grave. ‘It’s a long time since I did anything for the fun of it, Aunt Patience.’

‘Launching a young woman into society is a serious and expensive business, Aunt,’ Alex stated sternly. ‘I dare say it can be “fun”, but one must not forget that all that time and effort is taken for the sole purpose of procuring a husband.’

Angelina glared at him. ‘I know that, which is precisely why I told you yesterday that it would be a waste of both time and money.’

‘Well—whether you have a Season or not is immaterial, my dear,’ said Patience lightly, attempting to defuse a situation that threatened to become explosive. ‘As the ward of the Duke of Mowbray you cannot hide yourself away indefinitely. It is imperative that you have a fashionable wardrobe.’

‘To pass her off in society, Aunt, she will need more than a fashionable wardrobe to be accepted,’ Alex said curtly. ‘She will also need instruction on manners and breeding, which, in my opinion, will take some considerable time.’

Patience studied her nephew’s stony countenance with something akin to surprise. ‘I disagree. Henry and I intend to employ a tutor to instruct her on all she needs to know. She is highly intelligent and cultured—which is more than can be said of some of the vain henwits who are turned out year after year for the Season, so it will take no time at all. What do you think, Angelina?’

Angelina knew Lord Montgomery was jeering at her, but refused to let him see how much the intended rudeness of his remark had hurt her. Glancing up at him, something in his look challenged her spirit and increased her courage in a surge of dislike. She managed to force her lips into a smile.

‘I think that is an excellent idea, Aunt Patience. Perhaps your nephew would care to sit in on my lessons. Unfortunately, it may take him a good while longer since he has more to learn than I. He is a man of high birth but low manners.’

Alex’s eyes narrowed and took on a most humorous glint, which Angelina took pains to ignore. She suddenly smiled radiantly, her soft lips parting to reveal her small, sparkling white teeth that dazzled her adversary. ‘If you have an aversion to joining me at my lessons, you could take them by yourself,’ she generously suggested, her expression serious but her dark eyes dancing with intended mischief, ‘if you can find the time between your many amorous affairs and business commitments.’

Alex stared at her, caught somewhere between fury, astonishment and admiration for her defiant courage. It was the first time he had seen her really smile and the effect was startling. It started in her eyes, warming them, before drifting to her generous lips, stretching them, parting them, her teeth small, perfect and white. In danger of becoming entrapped by his baser instincts, he straightened abruptly from his stance by the fireplace and walked forward, ignoring Angelina as he glanced from his aunt to his uncle, who was enjoying himself immensely.

‘Excuse me. I must go and change. I must also leave before I relinquish my carefully held temper and do something to your ward that will embarrass you both—something I would not regret, I might add,’ he snapped, clenching his crop between both his hands and leaving Angelina in no doubt what he would like to do with it.

When he reached the door he turned and looked back at Angelina, fixing her with a hard stare. ‘If there is anything I can do to make your stay in this house more pleasant, please don’t ask. I should hate to show discourtesy by refusing. But if you want to win my approval, you are going to have to change your attitude and make yourself more agreeable to me. That should be your first concern.’

Angelina’s ire at his condescending superiority was almost more than she could contain, but she gazed at him with a cool hauteur that belied her agitation and managed to speak calmly. ‘Why on earth should I want your approval? And as for my attitude, no one else finds it a problem. Perhaps it is your own attitude that is at fault.’

Alex glared at her before turning to leave. ‘I’ll see you all at dinner.’

‘Of course, my lord,’ Angelina quipped.

He swung round in the open doorway, his face glacial. ‘My name is Alex. We agreed to dispense with formalities.’

‘No. You did,’ she replied, turning her head away, having told him she did not want the intimacy of addressing him by his given name.

When the door had closed behind him she relaxed, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Looking from Henry to Patience, who were watching her calmly, not in the least put out by the heated interchange between her and their nephew, a little impish smile tugged at her lips. ‘Oh, dear. I don’t think your nephew likes me very much, does he?’

For most of the journey to Arlington, Angelina stared out of the window, uncomfortable beneath Lord Montgomery’s watchful gaze. He sat across from her next to a sleeping Patience, with his long legs stretched out in the luxurious conveyance, studying her imperturbably.

He had discarded his coat and his pristine white shirt and neckcloth contrasted sharply with his black hair and dark countenance. His body, a perfect harmony of form and strength, was like a work of Grecian art and most unsettling to Angelina’s virgin heart. To rid herself of his studied gaze she closed her eyes, but even then the vision persisted and she could see and feel those piercing eyes boring holes into her. Unable to endure his scrutiny a moment longer, she snapped her eyes open and locked them on his.

‘Well? Have you had an edifying look?’ she demanded irately.

Quite unexpectedly he smiled, a white, buccaneer smile, and his eyes danced with devilish humour. ‘You don’t have to look so angry to find yourself the object of my attention. As a matter of fact I was admiring you.’

Unaccustomed as she was to any kind of compliment from him, the unfamiliar warmth in his tone brought heat creeping into her cheeks. In fact, she decided that she liked this softer side she was seeing even less than the one she was accustomed to. This other Alex Montgomery was beyond her sphere and she didn’t know how to deal with him.

‘If you think to use flattery as a new tactic to subdue me, it won’t work.’

‘I was merely thinking that when you aren’t scowling you really are quite pretty.’

‘And how many women have you said that to?’ Angelina asked, raising her nose to a lofty elevation.

‘Several. And it’s always the truth.’

‘Oh dear,’ Patience said, fighting a sneeze, which brought her back to awareness. ‘I do hope the two of you aren’t going to argue again. If so, kindly wait until we reach Arlington. I don’t think my nerves will stand it.’

Angelina was concerned about Patience, who had been suffering a chill for the past twenty-four hours. Unfortunately it seemed to be getting worse. Her eyes were bright and feverish, her nose streaming.

‘I’m sorry, Aunt, we didn’t mean to wake you. As soon as we reach the house you must go straight to bed. Lord Montgomery will send for the doctor.’ Leaning forward, she tucked the rug over her aunt’s knees.

Wiping her streaming eyes Patience looked too poorly to argue. ‘I shall not be sorry to get to bed. I do hope I am in my old room, Alex, and away from the noise of the workmen.’

Reaching out, Alex gently touched his aunt’s cheek with long caressing fingers, causing Angelina to stare in astonishment at the smiling, tender expression on his face, which was not in keeping with the man she knew.

‘You are,’ he said in reply to his aunt’s question. ‘As yet work hasn’t started on the west wing. And Angelina is right. You must go to bed the instant we arrive.’

‘Where have you put Angelina?’

‘I hope you have accorded me the same consideration and I’m away from the noise too,’ Angelina retorted quickly.

‘The carpenters and masons do not work around the clock. They go home at night, so you will not be disturbed—unless you are in the habit of sleeping through the day,’ Alex said with a hint of sarcasm.

Angelina threw him a wrathful look, but refrained from answering when Patience gave way to another fit of sneezing.

Nothing had prepared Angelina for the exquisite splendour that was Arlington Hall in the heart of the Hertfordshire countryside. She saw it from a distance sitting like a grand old lady on the crest of a hill, timeless and brooding, its elegant beauty expressing power and pride.

‘Oh, my,’ she breathed, with a growing sense of unreality. Her mother had told her about the grand houses the English nobility lived in, but never had she envisaged anything as lovely as this. Arlington Hall was certainly not a house of modest proportions. ‘Why—it’s beautiful. Is it very old?’

Alex smiled at the dazed expression of disbelief on her face, well satisfied with her reaction. ‘I’m afraid it is,’ he replied, folding his arms across his chest, preferring to watch a myriad of expressions on Angelina’s face rather than the approaching house. ‘Built during Queen Elizabeth’s reign about two hundred and fifty years ago, the main structure survives relatively unaltered.’

‘It must have taken years to build.’

‘Actually, it rose at amazing speed.’

‘And all those windows,’ she murmured, watching as the evening sun caught the three stories of huge windows, lighting them up like a wall of flame, contrasting beautifully with the green and yellow tints and fiery shades of the finest, early autumn foliage.

‘People were enthusiastic for enormous windows in those days. Glass was very expensive, so it became a status symbol. People used it in large quantities to show how rich they were.’

Angelina looked at Alex with large eyes, her animosity forgotten for the moment. ‘Your ancestors must have been very rich.’

‘They were. The first Earl of Arlington was a powerful politician and a trusted adviser of Queen Elizabeth.’

‘And did Queen Elizabeth ever come to Arlington?’

‘Frequently. She liked living at her subjects’ expense. I’m having considerable alterations and improvements made just now—woodwork has to be renewed, rooms redecorated, and I’m having the modern convenience of running water installed. It’s being done in stages and at the moment it’s the east wing that’s being renovated. Needless to say there’s an army of workmen tramping all over the place so you’ll just have to bear with it.’

‘Is Uncle Henry’s house anything like Arlington Hall?’

‘No. Mowbray Park was built at a later time and is quite different. It was designed on a much larger scale and is very grand. But you’ll see it for yourself before too long.’

‘And will you inherit Mowbray Park one day?’

‘Yes.’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Then—who will live at Arlington?’ It was a simple question, one she regretted asking when she saw his jaw tense and his eyes cloud over. ‘Will you sell it? After all, you can’t very well live here and at Mowbray Park.’

Alex hesitated, and for a moment Angelina thought she saw pain in his eyes. ‘No, I don’t suppose I can,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I will never sell Arlington. If I marry, I will pass it on to my heirs.’

Angelina shook her head and sighed with sympathy for their mutual plight. ‘So you don’t have any family either—apart from Aunt Patience and Uncle Henry. You say your mother’s ancestors built Arlington Hall. Does she still live here?’ she asked, recalling Uncle Henry telling her that Lord Montgomery’s father was dead. Immediately she sensed his withdrawal. It was as if a veil had come over his features. Her eyes saw the changing expression on his face, a look that at once seemed to warn her not to pry and to shut her out.

Again Alex hesitated. When he replied to her question his tone was harsher than he intended. ‘I would prefer it if you did not mention my mother to me, Angelina. I cannot imagine that she would interest you.’

‘I—I just wondered—’

‘Then don’t,’ he said coldly. ‘My parents are both dead.’

There was so much finality and suppressed anger and bitterness in his voice that she refrained from asking any further questions.

The four bay mounts pulling the crested coach at last danced to a stop in front of the house and Alex got out, gallantly extending his hand to help his aunt and Angelina. Just for a moment Angelina’s fingers touched his, and she felt as if the warm grasp of his hand scorched her own. The two following coaches carrying staff and baggage drew to a halt.

Scarlet-and-gold-liveried footmen appeared out of the house and descended on the coaches to strip them of the mountain of baggage. In a hurry to be inside the house, Patience went ahead of them. Alex turned to Angelina.

‘Welcome to Arlington Hall.’

Side by side they climbed the steps and entered the house.

At a glance Angelina became aware of the rich trappings of the interior, the sumptuous carpets and wainscoted panelled walls and great beams crossing the ceiling. An ornately carved oak staircase opposite the entrance cantilevered up to the floors above. The butler, Jenkins, a lean dignified man with dark brown hair and rather austere features, stood aside as they entered, keeping a keen eye on the footmen to remind them of their duties as their eyes kept straying with frank approval to the young woman who stood beside the Earl. Angelina turned when Patience patted her arm.

‘Forgive me, Angelina, but I really must go to my room. Mrs Morrisey, who is the housekeeper at Arlington Hall, will show you to your room,’ she said, looking quite distressed and turning to a middle-aged woman who came towards them with a rustle of stiff black skirts. ‘Go and settle in and refresh yourself before dinner.’

‘Angelina, wait,’ Alex commanded brusquely when she was about to follow Mrs Morrisey across the hall to the stairs.

Angelina’s spine stiffened and she turned to him. Taking her arm he drew her aside. Gazing up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes, she met his piercing eyes. Inwardly she shivered, seeing something ruthless in that controlled, hard silver gaze. She stood perfectly still and tense, waiting for him to speak.

‘I will see you at dinner?’

‘If you don’t mind, I think I will eat with Aunt Patience in her room,’ she replied stiffly, averting her eyes.

‘I do mind,’ he told her quietly. ‘Your opinion of me matters not at all, but I refuse to have the servants see my guest has an aversion to me. I would appreciate it if you would try to practise a little courtesy while you are in my house. Is that too much to ask of you?’

Angelina heaved a heavy sigh. It would be difficult to do as he asked, but she saw no reason why they should not at least be cordial to one another. ‘No, of course not,’ she conceded.

‘Thank you. Dinner is at half past seven.’

Abruptly he turned and strode away, leaving Angelina to follow Mrs Morrisey up the stairs. The opulence and elegance of the blue and white room into which she was shown took her breath away.

‘Oh, what a lovely room,’ she enthused with delight.

‘Lord Montgomery instructed me to have this particular one prepared for you because it offers such a splendid view of the garden. It also faces south and has an abundant supply of sunshine—especially during the summer months.’

‘How considerate of Lord Montgomery,’ Angelina replied, strangely touched to discover he had spared the time to think of her comfort.

Later, she joined Lord Montgomery in a small candlelit dining room off the main hall. Presenting a pleasing appearance, having donned one of the gowns Patience had purchased for her in London—a violet silk which complemented her figure and her eyes—she managed to maintain an outward show of calm, despite the tumult raging inside her.

Lord Montgomery was standing by the sideboard, pouring red wine into two glasses. Angelina was struck by his stern profile outlined against the golden glow of the candles. She saw a kind of beauty in it, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was totally out of keeping with her opinion of him. He turned when she entered and moved towards her, his narrow gaze sweeping over her with approval.

‘I hope I’m not late. I went to look in on Aunt Patience.’

‘How is she?’ Alex handed her a glass of wine. Having lost all desire to quarrel with her tonight, he was relieved to hear she sounded more calm than aggressive.

‘Sleeping—but she really does look quite poorly.’

‘Then you will be relieved to know the doctor has seen her and has left some medication that should help relieve her discomfort. Is your room to your liking?’ he asked, pulling out her chair at the damask-covered table decorated with orchids.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Angelina replied, slipping into it and taking a sip of wine, hoping the meal would be over quickly so she could escape.

‘I’m glad you decided to join me for dinner,’ Alex said, seating himself across from her. ‘I hoped you would.’

‘I could hardly ignore a royal command, could I?’ Angelina replied, unable to resist taking a gentle stab at him, the impish curve to her lips softening the tartness of her reply.

His glance darted across the table. ‘It was not a royal command.’

‘No? That’s how it sounded.’

Reining in his mounting irritation, Alex stirred impatiently. ‘Angelina, don’t be aggressive,’ he told her quietly. ‘I am in no mood for a quarrel.’

Angelina laughed shortly, a mischievous light twinkling in her eyes. ‘Why, what kind of miracle is this! To what do we owe it?’ When he shot her an annoying look she sighed in capitulation, though in the light of his previous animosity towards her during their brief acquaintance, she remained suspicious of this softening to his attitude. ‘No. Neither am I,’ she answered, smiling at an aloof-looking footman who was standing to attention like a soldier close to a large dresser containing platters of food.

‘Good. Now that is settled, perhaps we can enjoy our dinner in peace.’

‘I shall endeavour to do so.’

‘As long as you don’t upset my cook by not eating. Mrs Hall is very efficient—and, being a woman, she is extremely temperamental and takes it as a personal criticism if anyone refuses to eat.’

‘What! Even you?’ Her eyes sparked with laughter.

‘Even me.’ He smiled in response, spreading a napkin over his knees.

It was a simple, lovely meal, excellently cooked and served by the aloof footman who came and went. Alex talked amiably about Arlington Hall and the surrounding countryside, giving Angelina a brief insight of the people who lived and worked in and around the village of Arlington, just one mile from the hall.

‘Do you often go to London?’ she asked, wondering how he could bear to leave such a lovely place for the hurly-burly of London.

‘I have to take my seat in the House of Lords occasionally—more so at this present time with Europe in a state of turmoil and the war with the United States.’ A faint smile touched his lips when he observed Angelina’s expression of bewilderment, and realised that, coming from America, she would know very little about English politics.

‘You are a politician?’

‘No—at least not in the professional sense. It is simply that I, and all peers of the realm, have been trained to regard it as our right and duty to participate in governing the country. We enter Parliament as we do university and gentlemen’s clubs—such as White’s or Brooks’s.’

Angelina was impressed. ‘It all sounds very grand to me. And what do you debate in the House of Lords?’

‘The issues at this time are many and varied—and of an extremely serious nature. Fortunately we have managed to stand against Napoleon, despite his attempts to throttle our trade. The present economic crisis is foremost in the debates, and the textile trade, which is getting worse. Following two bad harvests, there is general unrest in this country—especially in the north and the Midlands. And on top of all this comes the need to pay out gold to support the war in Portugal and Spain and our naval battle with America.’

‘Dear me. What a muddle it all is. I wonder at you having time to leave London and come to Arlington.’

‘I’m not required to spend all my time in the House of Lords, and much of my business can be taken care of here.’ He went on to explain the basics of British politics and the English Court, telling her that King George III had lapsed into incurable madness and his son, the Prince of Wales, had been made Regent the previous year. ‘There are times when I have to go to Carlton House and other haunts of the Prince Regent and the beau monde. But I must point out that political exigencies take me there, rather than personal tastes.’

‘Uncle Henry told me that George III and his Queen set a standard of decorum and domestic virtue, but that their court was a very dull place to be—much different to that of their son.’

Alex smiled broadly. ‘Uncle Henry was right. As soon as the old King was struck down with madness and fastened into his strait-waistcoat, the Prince of Wales took to wearing corsets and the ladies to shedding their petticoats. There are those who say the country is falling into a decline in moral standards—if not the onset of national decadence.’

‘I was of the opinion that the English aristocracy has always been a profligate lot, who has indulged in loose living and has never ceased to do what it likes and cares only for its own whims. Why—I know you enjoy a certain reputation yourself, my lord,’ she said softly, glancing across at him obliquely.

Alex looked at her sharply. ‘Correction,’ he defended curtly. ‘I may have acquired a certain reputation, but I did not look for it and certainly do not enjoy it.’

Angelina shrugged, swallowing a juicy baby carrot. ‘Whatever the case, it is no secret that you are something of a womaniser and that you keep a mistress—a notorious beauty by all accounts.’

Alex’s gaze narrowed and slid to her seemingly innocent face. ‘Really,’ he said drily. ‘You are well informed, Angelina. Did Uncle Henry tell you that too?’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘Of course not. Uncle Henry is too much of a gentleman to indulge in tittle-tattle. But I do have ears—and servants talk. What’s she like?’ Angelina asked, popping another baby carrot into her mouth whilst lowering her eyes to hide their mischievous intent, secretly delighting in his discomfort.

Alex’s jaw tensed and a flash of annoyance darkened his eyes. ‘Who?’

Calmly Angelina met his gaze. ‘Your mistress.’ As he arrogantly raised one brow a dangerous glitter entered his eyes, which warned her that his temper was not far from surfacing.

‘She’s very sweet, as a matter of fact,’ he drawled.

‘Then instead of marrying Miss Howard, why not marry your mistress?’

‘Gentlemen do not marry their mistresses, Angelina.’

‘Why—I cannot for the life of me see why not. If a man considers a woman suitable to take to his bed, why not marry her?’

Alex’s grey eyes observed her with ill-concealed displeasure from beneath dark brows. ‘I think we will drop this particular subject. It is pointless and leading nowhere.’

Restraining the urge to giggle, Angelina shrugged flippantly. ‘As you like.’

When he turned the conversation back round to his home, she listened with a good deal of interest, and mostly in silence when she realised just how much Arlington and its people meant to him. It brought to mind her own home and all she had left behind. Memory clouded her eyes and Alex seemed to sense her despondency.

‘Tell me, are you homesick for America?’ he asked suddenly, correctly guessing the cause of her dejected attitude.

Angelina raised her eyes and looked at him sharply. His question was unexpected. ‘Very much,’ she admitted, unsure whether she wanted his sympathy, but comforted by it nevertheless.

‘And you miss Mr Boone and your friend Will, I suppose.’

‘Yes, I do miss Will. He was a part of my life for a long time.’

‘And now? What do you think he is doing?’

‘Trapping beaver somewhere among the Great Lakes of North America, I suppose,’ she murmured, unable to conceal the yearning she still felt for her homeland.

‘What made your father go out west?’

‘He was bitten by the bug that bit everyone else. The lure of the west changed him and eventually he became hungry to see it for himself.’

‘He wasn’t the only man lured by the Promised Land.’

‘It was a dream shared by many. Thousands of men all seeking a better life, a different life, to raise their children—all the time pushing further west in a valiant attempt to tame the land and carve themselves a niche. Hundreds perished in the migration, becoming victims of the elements or at the hands of the many tribes of hostile Indians.’

‘And your mother? Did the lure of the west attract her also?’

‘No, not really. She tried telling my father that homesteading was best left to those who know how to work the land, but Father was determined to go west.’

‘And how did your father fare as a farmer?’

‘Being unskilled in agriculture, he did not fare well. The weather became his mortal enemy—and then there were the Indian raids, when livestock would disappear overnight. Lack of money was a constant problem. The prosperity he’d dreamed of always eluded him. He possessed a grim determination to survive despite the odds stacked against him—but in the end he was defeated,’ she finished quietly. ‘The Shawnee saw to that.’

‘Uncle Henry told me he was killed in an Indian raid, and that your mother was wounded,’ Alex said gently.

The light in Angelina’s eyes hardened. She seemed to withdraw into herself and her body tensed. ‘Yes. Will looked after me and took me back to Boston with my mother—but I hate to remember. On the night of the raid I believe I faced the worst that could happen to me,’ she whispered.

Having some comprehension and understanding of how desperate her plight must have been at that time, his own unhappy days as a child and the dreadful visions of his father’s final moments returned to him vividly. Alex looked at her for a long moment, his eyes soft and filled with compassion. Whatever it was that had happened to her, she still saw her ghosts—just as he did. His voice when he spoke was kind, kinder than Angelina had ever heard him use in addressing her.

‘Then we won’t speak of it again. But if you truly believe you have faced the worst that can happen to you, nothing can really be that bad again.’

Angelina raised her pain-filled eyes to his, wanting so much to believe him. ‘Do you really think so?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’

The footman returned to serve them with a lemon pudding and they continued to eat in silence until he left them alone once more. Alex watched Angelina’s unconscious grace as she ate. She looked so prim in her violet gown. Apart from her face and slender hands not an inch of flesh was exposed, and not a single hair escaped that severe plait.

In the soft light her face was like a cameo, all hollows and shadows. There was a purity about her, something so endearingly young and innocent that reminded him of a sparrow. He tried to envisage what she would look like if the little sparrow changed her plumage and became a swan, and the image that took shape in his mind was pleasing. Feeling compelled and at liberty to look his fill, he felt his heart contract, not having grasped the full reality of her beauty until that moment. She must have sensed his perusal because she suddenly raised her eyes, hot, embarrassed colour staining her cheeks as he met her gaze with a querying, uplifted brow.

‘I would be obliged if you would please stop looking at me in that way. Your critical eye pares and inspects me as if I was a body on a dissecting slab.’

‘Does it?’ Alex murmured absently, continuing to look at her, at the soft fullness of her mouth and glorious eyes.

Her flush deepened. ‘I have imperfections enough without you looking for more. Please stop it,’ she demanded quietly. ‘You are being rude.’

‘Am I?’ he said, his attention momentarily diverted from her fascinating face.

‘Yes. And if you persist I shall be forced to leave the table.’

Her words brought a slow, teasing smile to his lips and his strongly marked brows were slightly raised, his eyes suddenly glowing with humour. ‘I apologise. You cannot leave before you’ve finished your dinner. But I cannot help looking at you when you are sitting directly in my sights.’

Hot faced and perplexed, Angelina almost retorted that she was not a rabbit in the sights of his gun, but she halted herself in time. She had never known a man to be so provoking. She was suddenly shy of him. There was something in his eyes tonight that made her feel it was impossible to look at him. There was also something in his voice that brought so many new and conflicting themes in her heart and mind that she did not know how to speak to him.

The effect was a combination of fright and excitement and she must put an end to it. She was in danger of becoming hypnotised by that silken voice and those mesmerising grey eyes; the fact that he knew it, that he was deliberately using his charm to dismantle her determination to stand against him, infuriated her. As soon as she had finished her dessert she stood up.

‘Please excuse me,’ she said stiffly, making a display of folding her napkin in order to avoid his eyes. ‘I want to look in on Aunt Patience before I go to bed.’

‘Of course,’ Alex replied, rising and slowly walking round the table to stand beside her. ‘Would you like some coffee before you leave? Or perhaps you would like to stay a while longer and play a game of cards—or chess, maybe? Uncle Henry did say you play a pretty mean game.’

Meeting his gaze, Angelina felt her flesh grow warm. His nearness and the look in his eyes, which had grown darker and was far too bold to allow even a small measure of comfort, washed away any feeling of confidence. The impact of his closeness and potent masculine virility was making her feel altogether too vulnerable.

‘No—thank you. Perhaps another night.’

‘As you wish.’ Alex’s voice was as soft as silk. There were the uncertainties of innocence about her, telling him that the sudden panic in her eyes was not in the least feigned. He accompanied her to the door, opening it for her. ‘I hope you sleep well. I must warn you that the old timbers creak and groan, so don’t be alarmed if you hear anything untoward during the night. Tomorrow I will ask Mrs Morrisey to show you the house.’

Angelina felt a sudden quiver run through her as she slipped away from him, a sudden quickening within as if something came to life, something that had been asleep before. She went up the stairs in awed bewilderment, feeling his eyes burning holes into her back as she went.

Chapter Five

During her first few days at Arlington, Angelina contrived to keep out of Alex’s way as much as possible. She became a familiar and welcome sight at the stables. From Trimble, the head groom, she learned that horses were Lord Montgomery’s abiding passion. Possessing some prime horseflesh, he was immensely proud of his large stable. He was also an expert horseman, who adored his gun dogs and was passionately interested in every kind of field sport.

Arlington Hall was a complex maze of rooms and arched passageways leading into each other. A billiard room and a music salon led off from the long gallery, and the smaller rooms had been made into private sitting and dining rooms and libraries, ornate with Italian marble and Venetian glass chandeliers.

Around mid-morning she invariably found herself in the domestic quarters to partake of a cup of Mrs Hall’s delicious chocolate. Her charm and friendly, open manner had precipitated the admiration and devotion of the entire army of servants.

Angelina had never seen so much food in her life as the amount that existed in Mrs Hall’s kitchen. ‘Are all the animals eaten at the Hall reared on the estate, Mrs Hall?’

‘Why, yes—at least most of them. As you will have noticed, Lord Montgomery likes good, plain food when he’s at Arlington—none of your fancy French cooking smothered with rich sauces and the like, which he says he gets more than enough of when he’s in town. He prefers a roast or a game pie any day of the week.’

‘What? Rabbit and partridge?’

‘Aye, that’s right—although it’s a while since I made a rabbit pie. I have to wait until the gamekeepers bring me some, you see. The woods round here abound with all kind of game. I dare say it’s the same where you come from.’

‘Oh, yes. Although shooting isn’t a pastime as it is here in England. It’s a way of life and often the only means of survival.’ Suddenly Angelina was struck by an idea and her lips stretched in a wide smile. ‘I shall get something to fill your pie, Mrs Hall,’ she said, leaving the kitchen with a jaunty stride.

Mrs Hall smiled indulgently after her and did not take her seriously, but she would have been astounded if she could have seen Angelina fifteen minutes later, striding towards the woods with her rifle.

Alex was returning home after visiting Mr Cathcart, one of his tenant farmers, who was concerned about the large band of gypsies encamped on his land and the recent outbreak of serious poaching in the area. Many a rabbit or a pheasant found its way into a family’s pot, but the offence was more serious when deer were killed on a large scale, the ill-gotten gains sold further afield.

Alex was riding across open country when he heard the report of a gun. Frowning, he reined in his horse sharply and looked in the direction of the woods. Recalling Mr Cathcart’s grievance and determined to get to the bottom of it, he whipped Lancer, his horse, into a burst of speed and set off in the direction of the shot.

In the process of reloading her rifle in the hope of bagging another rabbit, Angelina paused, distracted by the thundering approach of horse’s hooves. Horse and rider emerged out of the trees and came towards her, and, much in the manner she associated with him, Lord Montgomery swung off his still-prancing, powerful black horse. With long, purposeful strides he swooped down on her like Satan in his entire frightening wrath. Angelina beheld a countenance of such black, terrifying menace that she trembled, fear coiling in the pit of her stomach. Never had she encountered such cold, purposeful rage. He took in the dead rabbit on the ground, and, with a look of cold revulsion, his eyes raked over her, riveting on the rifle in her hands.

‘What the devil are you doing?’ he demanded. ‘If you don’t mind, I will take that.’ He held out his hand for the rifle, but Angelina had no intention of parting with her precious possession. Once it had been her only means of protection against hostile predators—both human and animal—when she had made the long trek from Ohio to Boston, and also the means of supplying her and her mother with many a tasty dinner.

‘Mind! But of course I mind,’ she retorted, losing control of her temper. Recklessly and without thinking what she was actually doing, taking a step back she levelled it at Alex’s chest.

Alex’s face darkened even more. ‘Give it to me,’ he said in that infuriatingly same awful voice.

Undismayed Angelina glared at him without removing her hand on the well-worn grip.

‘Angelina, I repeat, give it to me.’

‘No, I won’t,’ she said, trying to ignore the fury her defiance ignited in his features.

‘You little hell cat,’ he said quietly, watching her closely. Almost gently he warned, ‘Before you consider pulling the trigger, pause to consider if killing me is worth hanging for.’

Angelina didn’t flinch. ‘I actually think it would be worth it,’ she hissed, but, seeming to realise the absurdity of her action, she slowly lowered the gun.

‘I’ll break that rifle over your backside if you so much as raise it again.’

Highly incensed by his threat, a feral light gleamed in the depths of Angelina’s eyes. She was like a kitten showing its claws to a full-grown panther. ‘You lay one finger on me,’ she ground out in a low husky voice, ‘and I’ll scratch your eyes out. I swear I will.’

In the face of this dire threat Alex moved towards her and leaned forward deliberately until grey eyes stared into amethyst from little more than a foot apart. His eyes grew hard and flintlike, yet when it came his voice was soft and slow. ‘You dare me?’ Seeing flagging courage and alarm flare in those dark orbs close to his own, reaching out he plucked the rifle from Angelina’s grasp before she knew what he was about. ‘I have never been an abuser of women,’ he said, speaking carefully and distinctly, ‘but if you tempt me enough, I might change my mind. I become very unreasonable when I’m angry.’

Stepping back, he scrutinised the lightweight rifle, with its fine engraved patch box and ripple-grained stock. He recognized it as a Kentucky flintlock rifle, one of the most popular small firearms of the American frontier. It was also ideal for hunting and, Alex thought with annoyance, for use against marauding Indians and irate lords. ‘Yours, is it?’

Rather than let him see she was afraid and refusing to be humbled, she raised her chin and assumed an air of remote indifference. ‘Yes.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me.’ Before Angelina could protest he quickly unfastened the cowhorn powder flask from her waist, which, he would see when he looked at it at greater length later, was attractively engraved with designs of maps and ships. He looked down at the rabbit on the ground and then back at her. The blood he saw on her hands repelled him. ‘What a bloodthirsty little wench you are,’ he said in a savage underbreath. ‘I imagine there are other things you enjoy as much as killing rabbits—like cock fighting and badger baiting,’ he accused with scathing sarcasm.

‘I don’t,’ she responded angrily, smarting beneath his hard gaze. He was looking at her like some irritating but harmless insect he wanted to crush beneath the heel of his expensive, glossy black boots. ‘They are cruel sports. Such useless bloodletting utterly repels me. It’s a different matter to kill in order to eat.’

‘I do realise that things are different in America—’

‘Good. Then you must realise that you hunt to kill.’

‘And you are not squeamish?’

‘I was taught not to be. It was a necessary part of my life.’

‘Do you realise I could have you arrested for threatening me at gunpoint—and have you hanged for poaching with a firearm on my land?’

‘Poaching? What do you mean? Considering I was going to take the rabbit to Mrs Hall to put in a pie for your dinner, my lord, I don’t understand what it is you’re complaining about.’

Alex stared at her, anger emanating from every pore. With deliberate cruelty he carefully enunciated each vicious word. ‘I don’t want you killing rabbits for me, or anything else for that matter. If it were not for the fact that you are a foreigner and can plead ignorance, it would be necessary to reprimand you very severely.’ Turning to his horse, he fastened her rifle and powder flask to the saddle. ‘Come, walk with me back to the house.’ When Angelina made a move to do just that he looked down at the rabbit and then at her. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Now you’ve killed the wretched animal you might as well bring it with you.’

He frowned when Angelina bent to pick it up and suddenly produced a thin-bladed knife from the top of her boot. His silver eyes glittered and his mouth curled up at the corners, those sleek black brows snapping together. ‘Don’t you dare attempt to gut or skin it,’ he hissed, his voice icy and vibrating with anger.

‘Why? What will you do?’ she taunted, glowering at him.

He met the angry daggers that came hurtling at him from that glower. ‘I’m liable to choke you to death with my bare hands. We have servants to do that.’ He paused, holding out his hand palm up. ‘I’ll take that too.’

Tempted to inflict the same treatment on him as she would have inflicted on the rabbit, reluctantly Angelina handed him the knife. To her consternation and fury, all of a sudden she felt infuriatingly close to tears. ‘I can always get another.’

‘I forbid it,’ he snapped.

‘My skinning technique is excellent.’

‘I don’t doubt that for one moment—which is why I’ve confiscated your knife.’ He examined the weapon. ‘A nasty weapon for a young woman. I’d rather see it locked away than one day find it stuck in my back.’

‘If I wanted to dispose of you I would not stab you in the back. I would find some other means.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’d poison your food.’

‘Would you indeed? In that case I shall have to be very careful what I eat when you’re around. Now come along. You’d best take the rabbit to Mrs Hall.’ Turning his back, he took the horse’s bridle and walked away.

Angelina was absolutely furious when she saw he had an infuriatingly smug and supremely confident expression on his face, as if he had won that particular round. In fact, she was so incensed that she was tempted to fly after him to do physical violence. Casting her eyes down at the rabbit and picking it up by its hind legs, through a silvery blur of angry tears she glared at his back as he set off through the trees. ‘Wait,’ she called out. Alex turned and looked back at her. Clamping her mouth shut, she stalked towards him, thrusting the rabbit into his hands and feeling a tremendous surge of satisfaction when blood spattered his light grey riding breeches and marked his immaculate black coat and kid gloves.

‘What an arrogant, conceited beast you are, Alex Montgomery,’ she spat, so angry that she didn’t notice that she’d addressed him by his Christian name. ‘You take the rabbit to Mrs Hall—and I hope that when you eat it it chokes you. I’m going for a walk.’

Brushing past him, she marched back down the path to the edge of the wood, and Alex won a private battle not to smile at her retreating, indignant figure.

After returning Lancer to the stables and handing the rabbit to one of the stable lads, instructing him to take it to Mrs Hall with Miss Hamilton’s compliments, Alex returned to the house and locked Angelina’s crude weapons in a cabinet in the gun room. Then, after changing his blood-spattered clothes, he went into his office and tried immersing himself in his work, but his concentration wavered and he found his eyes constantly straying to the windows, looking for Angelina’s slender form returning to the house.

When his fury had finally diminished to a safe level after an hour or more, and there was still no sign of her, making sure she had not slipped into the house by a back entrance, he went to look for her.

He was thoughtful when he walked in the direction Angelina had taken when she’d left him. He could hardly believe that she had gone out into the woods to shoot rabbits, or that she had aimed the rifle at him, but with that wilful, fiery temperament of hers, he imagined she did do things spontaneously. Only Angelina would have done such a thing and then dared to confront him so magnificently.

A reluctant smile touched his lips when he remembered her standing valiantly against him. She had looked so heartbreakingly young, with those mutinous dark eyes flashing fire and the dead rabbit at her feet, seeing nothing wrong in what she’d done—and, to be fair to her, she could not be blamed. Obviously no one had told her it was a crime to shoot rabbits in England.

She had told him she’d killed the animal for him, and to his surprise he found himself chuckling. She was truly amazing. Of all the women in the world, not one of them would have offered him such a simple, primitive gift, and he had spoiled it for her. He had seen the hurt in her eyes, and it had wrung his heart. If he hadn’t been so damned furious he would have given her the applause she deserved for the clean and accurate shot that had killed the rabbit outright.

He had long considered her the most infuriatingly exasperating woman he had ever met, believing her to be a scheming little opportunist, driven by nothing but her own ambition. It seemed he was wrong about her—very wrong—and he bore the heavy load of self-recrimination for the accusations he had heaped on her. His loyalty to his uncle had clouded his judgement, and it had been wrong of him to condemn her out of hand.

Angelina was sitting beside a brook, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. Her hurt and humiliating sickness had not lessened.

‘I can see,’ drawled a deep, amused voice, ‘that with an expression like that on your face you must be thinking of me.’

Angelina’s head swung round in surprise. Her eyes and brain recognised his presence, but her emotions were bemused by anger and damaged pride and were slow to follow. Alex had crept up on her with the stealth of an Indian, and was idly leaning against a large oak, his arms folded across his chest watching her. Angry at the intrusion, she let her scowl deepen.

‘You’re right. I was.’

‘Don’t tell me. You are plotting some new way to antagonise me or how best to murder me.’

‘Yes. And with as much pain as possible. Why don’t you go away and leave me alone? I don’t want you anywhere near me. You are loathsome and I hate you.’

Unperturbed by her anger, Alex relinquished his stance by the tree and moved slowly towards her, an infuriating smile on his handsome mouth, his black hair curling attractively over his head and into his nape. ‘Come now, you don’t mean that.’

‘Yes, I do. I never say anything I don’t mean.’ She glanced up at him towering over her, clutching her knees tighter. There was an uncompromising authority and arrogance in his bold look and set of his jaw that she didn’t like. ‘I told you to go away. Are you deaf?’

‘No, and neither am I blind,’ he answered, preoccupied with her cross little face and rosy mouth.

She looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Only that you are lovely to look at—even when you are scowling.’ He gazed down into her stormy eyes and proudly beautiful face. ‘When I returned to the house I got to thinking about your unusual behaviour this afternoon.’

‘Really? And what was your conclusion?’ she scoffed, trying hard to ignore his compliment about her looks—if that’s what it was, which she very much doubted.

‘That you are hell bent on self-destruction or you are testing me.’

‘It was neither.’

‘No?’ he replied in mock horror. ‘Then this is more serious than I thought and needs further investigation.’

Lowering himself on to the grassy bank, he stretched out beside her. Bending his arm and propping his head on his hand, he lazily admired her profile as she continued to watch the water.

‘Please go away. I know you dislike me as much as I dislike you.’

‘You are mistaken. I don’t dislike you,’ he countered softly. Reaching out, he took the end of her plait in his fingers and began gently twisting it round his hand, idly contemplating its thickness, its softness.

‘You don’t? Then I can only assume that your opinion of me must be worse than I thought. You see, I always believe in first impressions, and your desire to offend me at the beginning of our acquaintance did nothing to endear you to me. So let us not pretend. In future we will strive to keep out of each other’s way as much as possible.’

‘We will?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, feeling the gentle tug on her hair. She turned slightly, and, seeing him twining her plait round his fingers, it dawned on her that he was far more interested in her at that moment than anything else. Considering what had happened between them earlier, she thought he seemed infuriatingly and disgustingly at ease. Casting him a sidelong glare, she yanked the plait out of his grasp. ‘Please don’t do that. Kindly leave my hair alone.’

Alex grinned leisurely as his perusal swept her face, watching as the crisp breeze flirted with tendrils of her hair, which had escaped their cruel confinement around her face. ‘You have beautiful hair. It should not be restrained in a plait. You really ought to wear it loose.’

‘I prefer to wear it like this,’ she snapped, trying to ignore his virile body stretched beside her on the grass and the lean, hard muscles of his thighs flexing beneath the tight-fitting buckskin breeches that clung to him like a second skin.

Alex sighed. ‘How can I defend myself when faced with so much determination and hostility?’

‘You can’t, so don’t try. I’m sorry about what I did this afternoon,’ she said, feeling the need to explain her actions to him.

‘What—for threatening to shoot me or killing the rabbit?’

‘Both—but I wouldn’t have—shot you, I mean. Killing the rabbit was stupid, I realise that now, but—you see, I knew nothing about your laws governing poaching. Where I come from it is so very different. It’s not because we are uncivilised, it’s because some of us have to hunt to survive.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you?’

Alex nodded, his expression serious as he listened to her.

‘That’s how I was raised, you see—how it was for me and my mother when we left Ohio and returned to Massachusetts, and I can see nothing wrong with it. All I knew was hunting rabbits and wild turkeys and following fox. It was necessary. I make no apologies for that. However, I apologise if I offended you. When Mrs Hall told me your gamekeepers had not brought her any rabbits for some time, I thought I would oblige. Had I been told it was a criminal act to shoot rabbits, I would not have done it. Do you believe me?’

‘Yes,’ Alex replied, struggling to repress a smile, wanting to reach out and touch her fine-boned profile, tilted obstinately to betray her mutinous thoughts.

‘And do you promise not to destroy my rifle? It once belonged to a frontiersman and Will gave it to me, you see.’

‘I won’t destroy it. I promise,’ he answered, having some idea just how much that rifle meant to her. ‘When I returned to the house I put it in the gunroom along with the rest. That is where it will remain. You may look at it whenever you wish, providing that’s all you do—look.’

‘Thank you. That rifle and I have travelled many miles together—and it saved my life on more than one occasion on the journey over the mountains. Without it the wolves or black bears would have made a meal out of me in no time.’

Alex stared at her, astounded. ‘You shot bears and wolves?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, quite matter of fact, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. ‘I had to. It was either them or me.’

‘Good Lord!’ Alex felt a stirring of admiration. He could not help but wonder at the grit of this young woman. She was truly remarkable. He had known no other like her, and the disturbing fact was that she seemed capable of disrupting his entire life, no matter what character she portrayed.

‘So you can see why I’ve grown rather fond of it.’ She glanced sideways at him. ‘I suppose that, knowing all this about me, I’ve sunk even lower in your opinion.’

‘Not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. There isn’t a man I know who would have the courage to go out and shoot a wild bear,’ he replied, without a hint of mockery.

Angelina looked at him fully, probing the translucent depths of those clear grey eyes. ‘I expect you would.’

‘If I were confronted by one and I had a gun in my hand, yes, I would.’

She sighed. ‘But it’s not the sort of thing women do over here. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

Alex smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Your secret is quite safe with me.’

‘I can see I shall just have to try harder at being a lady.’

He grinned. ‘You’ll make it. Have you finished?’

She nodded.

‘Then will you allow me to have my say?’

‘If you must. But it will make no difference to how I feel.’

‘And how do you feel, Angelina?’ he asked softly.

‘I will tell you.’ She met his gaze coolly. ‘I don’t want anything from you. I don’t belong here. I never will. I want to go home, back to America—but I can’t go home. My mother saw to that when she made Uncle Henry my guardian.’

‘You are right. Accept it. Your former life is over—permanently. And as much as you are against it, as the ward of the Duke of Mowbray you must face the fact that you will have to make your début into society.’

‘I don’t want a Season,’ she cried explosively. ‘I will not have you browbeating me into it.’

Her dark eyes sparkled with anger, and Alex thought what a waste it would be for her to hide herself away, but then, better that than having to endure half the hot young bloods in London targeting her. He decided not to pursue that subject for the time being. ‘What is it that has made you feel you don’t belong here?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just feel it.’

‘I thought you liked Arlington.’

‘I do—but—but I would like to return to London,’ she said suddenly.

Alex took a deep breath. ‘No.’

‘Why not? After what happened between us earlier, I’d have thought you would be glad to see the back of me.’

‘Uncle Henry gave you into my care and authority. Until he returns from Cornwall this is where you will remain. Besides, there is no one in London to take care of you.’ When she continued to glare at him mutinously his face hardened. ‘And, of course, you know I’ll come after you if you spirit yourself away,’ he told her, knowing she was capable of anything, even running away.

Scrambling to her feet in a huff, Angelina was tempted to call him names that would have set his ears on fire, but, realising it would serve no purpose, she refrained from doing so. ‘Do you have contempt for women in general, or just me? Is it cruelty that makes you so obnoxious towards me, or are you naturally so?’

‘I don’t mean to be obnoxious and nor do I hold you in contempt,’ he countered, getting to his feet. ‘A moment ago I asked you to let me have my say. Please oblige me by doing so.’

‘Very well,’ she said primly.

‘First of all, I apologise for any offence I caused you when we first met in London. My affection and loyalty to my uncle clouded my judgement and it was wrong of me to upset you. Please forgive me,’ he said with disconcerting sincerity. ‘I was rude and boorish in my behaviour towards you and now I heartily beg your pardon.’

Angelina was astonished. She stared into those clear eyes, searching for mockery, the veiled contempt, but found neither. ‘You were rude and insulting,’ she agreed.

‘I know. I also know you would not have flouted the law so blatantly had you known it is a criminal offence to go around shooting rabbits—or any other animal unlucky enough to find itself within your sights, for that matter. I should have realised you had not been told and not reacted so furiously. I do not ask you to like me, Angelina, I only beg you to grant me some of your time so that I might present my case. In so doing I am sure you will reverse your opinion of me.’

‘I won’t,’ she said adamantly.

‘Nevertheless, it would be poor spirited of you to deny me that.’

Angelina stared at him, her eyes wide with astonishment. To be responsible for an offence, punished for it, to feel shame and bitter remorse and then be forgiven and absolved, was a succession of events beyond her experience. Rendered almost speechless by his apology and change of attitude, she welcomed it and yet she was suspicious, wondering why he was suddenly bent on charming her. She found him easier to deal with when they were engaged in open warfare than when he was being agreeable.

‘What are you saying?’

Sensing that she was wavering a little and that he was close to victory, Alex pressed home his advantage. ‘Only that a truce would not go amiss between us. That is the obvious solution, don’t you think?’

Not knowing how to react, suspecting a truce between them would be more dangerous to her than when they were enemies, she opened her mouth to object, but closed it quickly.

‘Come. What do you say?’ He moved closer, touched by the innocence in her large, liquid eyes. ‘Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid of what might happen if we become too close?’

‘Of course not,’ she replied, with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘But a truce isn’t friendship. It’s only a halt in hostilities between enemies.’

Alex grinned. ‘It’s a start.’

‘Perhaps it is, but I still don’t trust you. And nothing will happen, so don’t you dare think you can seduce me, because you’ll be wasting your time.’

‘Seduction is a time-honoured tradition in my family,’ he told her, moving close like a hawk threatened to challenge. ‘One that we’re good at.’ His wickedly smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks.

Angelina took a step back. Her pride was taking a battering. He was deliberately manipulating her, forcing honesty into the battles between then. Oh, why did he have to look at her like that? The flush deepened in her cheeks. ‘How many women have you said that to, Lord Montgomery?’ she asked in an attempt to sound flippant in order to hide how she really felt.

A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘Several. I am no saint. I enjoy the company of beautiful women, true, but is that such a crime? I would like to enjoy your company better, Angelina. I would like you to be more amiable towards me. I find you quite challenging.’

‘Why? Because you want to bring me to heel, and when you have done so trample me under your foot?’

He arched a brow, amused. ‘No, but I would like you to be less hostile towards me, less stubborn. Did anyone ever tell you that you have lovely eyes? You’ve got a lovely mouth as well.’

She looked away, staring fixedly at a point beyond the brook. ‘Please don’t say those things. I am not interested.’

‘No?’ Reaching out, he placed his forefinger gently on her cheek and turned her face back to his. He arched a questioning brow.

Angelina lifted her small chin and met his gaze unflinchingly, feeling his finger scorch her flesh. Firmly she removed it with her own. ‘No. If it is your intention to gentle me, my lord, you will have to use brute force to subdue my rebellion rather than seducing me. Those are the only tactics I know.’

In spite of himself Alex threw back his head and exploded with laughter.

Wounded by his reaction, Angelina marched past him, yet her anger and resentment were considerably diminished. ‘You brute. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘Every minute of it,’ he confessed, laughing, his eyes dancing with merriment.

‘Well, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m going back to the house.’

Alex matched her stride as they walked back across the park. Knowing exactly what he was doing and why, he smiled inwardly, enjoying the hunt and anticipating the kill with a good deal of pleasure.

Having no concept of his thoughts, after a moment Angelina turned and gave him a mischievous look.

‘Tell me, Lord Montgomery—’

‘Won’t you call me Alex?’

After thinking it over for a moment, she smiled. ‘Yes, all right,’ she conceded to his immense surprise and satisfaction. ‘Alex it is, then. Tell me,’ she repeated, ‘does all this belong to you?’ Taking an energetic hop backwards better to see his face, she spread her arms wide to embrace the park and surrounding countryside.

‘All of it,’ he replied, utterly enchanted by her. Her dancing eyes and quick smile were sublime.

‘So—if you wanted, you could grant permission to anyone who asked to shoot game on your land?’

The remnants of mirth still gleaming in his eyes, Alex shot her a warning look, seeing where her thoughts were travelling. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he growled.

Giving him an impish grin, with a laugh as clear as the purest water, Angelina left his side and skipped on ahead, releasing all her suppressed energy. Alex watched her go, her bright blue skirts dancing about her feet as she went, allowing him a tantalising glimpse of slim calves and ankles. He felt a surge of admiration. Her purity and the sweet wild essence of her shone like a rare jewel. She was innocence and youth, gentleness and laughter, a wood nymph surrounded by nature, and without warning he felt hot desire pulsating to life within him—not unexpected and certainly not unwelcome.

It was at dinner that same night when Angelina looked down at the succulent trout on her plate, then raised her eyes to the man sitting across from her in mock horror. ‘What!’ she exclaimed. ‘No rabbit?’

Alex suppressed a grin. ‘No. I’ve suddenly taken an aversion to that particular animal. I’ve instructed Mrs Hall to take it off the menu. Permanently.’

Angelina wasn’t sorry. A softness entered her eyes and a haziness that suggested tears. Alex looked at her in disbelief, at a complete loss to know why his refusal to eat her rabbit should have brought her close to weeping.

‘You’re not going to tell me you’re offended, are you?’

‘No,’ she whispered truthfully, humbled. ‘I’m so sorry I killed the rabbit. I’ll never shoot another as long as I live. I swear I won’t.’

Alex stared at her. Those were not the words he had expected from her, but they were the ones he most wanted to hear. Somehow her regret for her foolish deed made him feel better. He grinned. ‘Does that apply to fish, too?’

Angelina saw the humour lurking in his silver eyes and laughed. ‘Oh, no. I’m good at fishing.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. So am I. Now, eat your trout.’

Mrs Morrisey was busy supervising the housemaids as preparations for the weekend house party got under way. Angelina was not looking forward to it, finding the prospect of meeting strangers daunting. Aunt Patience was feeling much better and hopefully the doctor would permit her to leave her room by the weekend.

When Angelina left Alex to sit with their aunt after dinner each night, he had taken to accompanying her, where, under the ever-watchful eye of Aunt Patience, he would engage the young woman in cards or chess—and Uncle Henry had been right about her skill. At first he had doubted her talent, but he soon realised he had grossly underestimated her ability and that she was no novice.

They played in front of the fire, so engrossed in their game that they failed to notice Patience’s expression of pure delight as she looked on from a roll-backed sofa, pretending to read a book. With a well-satisfied smile, she watched Alex as he relaxed in his high-backed chair with a decanter of brandy on the small carved table beside him. His eyes were fastened on the young woman across from him, and she strongly suspected his interest was not in the game.

While Angelina thought out her next move, the only sound in the room was the occasional crackle of the fire and the steady tick of the ormolu clock on the marble mantelpiece. Alex was fascinated by the way Angelina always vacated her chair and either perched on an embroidered footstool or knelt on the carpet, as she did now, as soon as they began to play. Her casual posture was not at all what he was used to among the proper ladies of his acquaintance, but he found it enchanting nevertheless. Sitting back on her heels and resting her elbows on the low chess table and cupping her face in her hands, her dark lashes curving against her cheek, she presented to him a captivating picture of bewitching innocence as she frowned in deep concentration over the board.

Every so often she would reach out and take a piece of pink Turkish delight, liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar, from a salver beside her and pop it into her mouth. Sipping at a glass of brandy, feeling the heat course down the back of his throat, Alex would watch from beneath half-lowered lids as she sucked the sugar from each sticky finger, her lips ripe, perfect, and so adorably kissable. It was almost impossible to believe that he could find such an ordinary act sublimely erotic, an act inflaming him beyond logic. As she was taking her time contemplating her next move, he looked down on the top of her head where the shining chestnut-coloured hair was drawn into an even parting, tempted to reach out and run his finger down the perfect line.

‘Are you woolgathering or have you forgotten it’s your move?’ he said with a hint of gentle mockery.

Angelina shot him an indignant look. ‘I am not woolgathering—whatever that means—and I know it’s my move without you having to remind me. I just want to make quite certain that the move I make is the right one.’

‘Who taught you to play?’

‘My father. I used to beat him more often than not.’

‘I am not your father, and you have not won yet, young lady. I have your knight.’

‘And I have one of your bishops,’ she countered.

‘That makes no difference. It’s the skill that matters. Now—are you going to move or not?’ He flicked her lazy a grin. ‘Of course, if you want to accept defeat, I’ll accept your surrender.’

‘I think not. The game is not over yet. And do you always talk as much as this when you play chess—or are you trying to put me off my game?’

‘If you move your bishop, you will relieve my knight,’ he suggested softly.

Angelina looked up, a deep furrow etched between her brows. ‘Certainly not. If I were to do that, you would take great delight in capturing my queen,’ she replied, giving his queen a scathing look where she lurked threateningly on the edge of the board ready to pounce.

Crossing one long leg over the other, Alex relaxed, content to wait until she was ready to make her move, fully prepared to wait all night if need be. He stared at her tight shoulders, at the taut, slim fingers moving her chess piece, each one exquisitely carved and depicting a character out of one or another of Shakespeare’s plays. He watched her lift a finger to her lower lip and begin to nibble her nail in a characteristic gesture that made his blood run warm.

‘That’s a bad habit,’ he chided softly.

She raised her eyes in surprise, the familiar, distant look of concentration in their dark depths. Her lips were slightly parted.

‘What is?’

He smiled, looking down at her. ‘Nail nibbling.’

‘Oh—it helps me concentrate.’ She flushed softly and quickly lowered her hand to her lap when his gaze lingered hot and hungry on her lips.

‘Then try not to concentrate too hard, otherwise you will not have any nails left—and I will lose to you yet again.’

He sighed, beginning to enjoy himself as she took her time over her next strategic moves. It required every ounce of his self-control to concentrate on his own game. His pulse began to quicken as he dwelt on the graceful sweep of her neck and the mobile curve to her lips—so ripe, so soft, so kissable. Instantly his body began to hum a willing, familiar song and he wanted to toss the board and all those irritating little pieces aside and join her on the carpet right there in front of the fire and crush her against him.

‘Check!’ Angelina suddenly cried, cornering his black king with her white queen.

Alex grinned. ‘Mate,’ he responded, knocking his king over in final, willing defeat.

‘That’s two games to me to your one,’ she told him.

The triumphant joy on her face was so startling, so captivating, that Alex was tempted to let her win every time. It would be well worth it to see her look like that. ‘I admit defeat and consider myself well and truly trounced.’

‘Will you not play another game to try to get even?’

Alex threw up his hands in mock despair. ‘Alas, no. Don’t you think I’ve been punished enough for one evening? We’ll play again—perhaps tomorrow—and for your impudence I’m afraid I shall be forced to deal with you as you deserve,’ he chuckled. He rose and went to his aunt, bending down and kissing her cheek. ‘I will bid both you ladies goodnight and retire to my rooms to lick my wounds in private. As you know, Verity and Nathan will be arriving tomorrow—a day ahead of the other guests. I have business in St Albans in the morning so my secretary Hawkins and I will be away first thing. I should be back early afternoon.’

‘Alex, wait,’ said Angelina, scrambling to her feet and halting him as he was about to go out, remembering she had a request to make of him. With his hand on the door knob he turned and looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

‘May I ride? You have so many fine horses in your stable. I’ve asked Trimble if I may ride one, but he told me to ask you first.’

‘Of course. As long as you remain within the vicinity of the house you may. If you wish to ride further afield, a groom or myself must accompany you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it is not done for young ladies to ride alone, that’s why. There are also gypsies in the area, so I do not want you to venture too far.’

‘Are they harmful?’

‘As a rule, no. They have my permission to be on Arlington land just as they had from my predecessors—to come and go as they please, providing they behave themselves and abide by the law of the land while they are here. Unfortunately the gypsies encamped on the other side of the woods are strangers and therefore unpredictable. My bailiff has told them to move on. With luck they will have gone before the end of the week.’

Chapter Six

‘I’m glad to see the two of you are getting on,’ Patience said when Alex had gone.

‘Yes, we are, but he never talks about himself. Despite his self-assurance, I sense a deep sadness in him, something frozen and withdrawn. He gives of himself sparingly. The only thing I know about him is that both his parents are dead.’

‘Gerald, his father, is—but Margaret—his mother, is very much alive,’ Patience told her with uncharacteristic bitterness. ‘After the death of her husband, Margaret married a Spanish count and went to live in Spain.’

Angelina was surprised. ‘Oh, I see. Did Alex not approve of this? Is this the reason why he refuses to speak of his mother?’

‘There’s much more to it than that.’

‘And I should not ask,’ Angelina murmured sagely. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt. I don’t mean to pry.’

Patience smiled. ‘It’s only natural that you are curious—and maybe I should tell you. Alex wouldn’t want us discussing something that he considers to be a purely personal and private matter, but, if you know something of his background perhaps it will help you understand him a little better and not judge him too harshly.’

‘I don’t judge him at all. What was his father like?’

Angelina listened avidly as Patience told her how Alex’s mother had married Gerald, Henry’s younger brother. Pampered and spoiled, she’d had her sights set on Henry, but Henry—who was deeply in love with someone else—didn’t want her. To spite him, Margaret married Gerald, who loved her to distraction. Being lamentably weak, Gerald was forced to endure her many affairs, which she flaunted shamelessly.

For some malicious reason of her own—which Patience suspected was because Alex bore such a striking resemblance to Henry—she had hidden nothing from Alex. He was young and impressionable and adored his father. Gerald began drinking heavily to blot out what Margaret was doing, until it became too much. One day when he was in his cups he shot himself. Alex was fifteen at the time and witnessed the whole dreadful business.

Angelina listened in horror, seeing her aunt’s eyes cloud with pain and bitter memory.

‘Because he sensed it could destroy him, Alex refused to submit to the anger and anguish that raged inside him. In Henry he found warmth and understanding. But no one has been capable of unlocking that closed compartment inside his mind where he keeps his pain. Margaret distorted his mind, inflicting mental injuries on her son no mother should. She fostered in him a loathing and terrible bitterness against the female sex. It will take an exceptional woman to succeed where all others have failed. Alex needs someone to love—and someone to love him unconditionally in return.’

Angelina felt a lump of constricting sorrow in her chest, deeply moved by what Patience had revealed to her, which went a long way to helping her understand Alex. She also realised that the same demons that chased her were chasing Alex, and that it was as hard for him to talk about what had happened to him as it was for her.

The following day saw a deterioration in the weather, with rain fluctuating from a drizzle to a torrential downpour. Disappointed at being unable to ride, Angelina’s spirits drooped. Undecided about what to do with her time, she decided to take a bath.

Unthinkingly Pauline sighed. ‘It’ll be a relief when the workmen have finished their work and water pipes have been laid throughout the house. Then we won’t have to haul water up from the kitchens any more. No doubt they’ll be starting on the west wing soon now work on his lordship’s apartments is complete.’

‘Trust him to take care of his own comforts before anyone else’s.’ Recalling Alex telling her that he would be away today, interest kindled in Angelina’s eyes as a sudden thought occurred to her, and when she turned to her maid they were feverishly gay. ‘Oh, Pauline!’ she said, laughing, scrambling off the window seat. ‘I’ve just had a rather splendid idea.’

There was such a look of excitement on her face and a familiar gleam in her eyes that made Pauline suspicious. It was a look she was beginning to recognise, one that boded trouble.

Five minutes later, when Angelina presented herself at the door of Alex’s rooms armed with a large pink towel and bathing lotions, Wyatt, Alex’s valet, was so astounded that all he could do was gape at her with a look of palsied shock. Bestowing on him her most brilliant of smiles, using her softest voice and being her most charming self, she eventually managed to cajole him into letting her use his lordship’s bath tub.

Carried along under some kind of compulsion in which his responses were suspended, shaking his head in disbelief at what he had permitted, knowing the full force of his master’s wrath would descend on him if he were to find out about this, Wyatt went to spend half an hour or more in the domestic quarters.

Angelina let her gaze roam over Alex’s apartments in wonder. Even if she hadn’t known to whom these rooms belonged she would have guessed, for the familiar spicy scent of Alex’s cologne hung like an invisible intoxicant in the air. Essentially masculine and fit for a king, the room in which she stood was tastefully decorated in dark green and gold, with walnut dressers and bureaus and a large bed on a shallow dais.

Placing her towel on a chair, her curiosity getting the better of her, she went and peeked into another room, seeing a large desk and leather chairs, the walls lined with books. It was a busy room, a working room, with everything neatly in place. Crossing to the room that Mr Wyatt had told her was his lordship’s bathing chamber and adjoining dressing room, gingerly she pushed open the door. Blinking at the extravagance and unaccustomed luxury, she felt as if she had suddenly been transported to a magical cave beneath a tropical sea and that Neptune would appear at any minute.

The ceiling was white, the walls pastel blue, green and white tiles interspaced with sparkling mirrors. In the centre of the tiled floor strewn with soft rugs was an enormous bath of white marble and gold taps. This fabulous object—the very height of luxury—beckoned her, and, unable to resist it a moment longer, she immediately turned on the taps and added her perfumed lotions before stripping off her clothes and stepping in.

Having concluded his business in St Albans sooner than he had expected, Alex and Hawkins returned to Arlington Hall, sodden after their long ride. With no sign of his valet and in a hurry to get out of his damp clothes, Alex stripped the garments from the upper part of his body and unfastened the top buttons of his trousers before crossing to the bathing chamber, picking up a towel as he went. Something about the towel made him pause and look at it in puzzlement. Pink? All his towels were either green or gold. Unable to work out what a pink towel was doing in his room, he shrugged and began to rub his wet hair.

On opening the door a wave of moist, perfumed air hit him in the face. He stopped short, unable to believe the sight that met his eyes. An enormous cloud of fragrant steam was rising from the bath, and emerging from the steam was a head, a woman’s head, crowned with a glorious wealth of chestnut-and copper-coloured curls. Stray tresses fell about her ears and clung to her nape in a saturated tangle, the rest of this adorable creature immersed in a mass of froth.

At first he was sorely tempted to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing in his tub, but it would have deprived him of the pleasure of watching her from his vantage point by the door. Until that moment he had never thought so much pleasure could be derived in simply watching a woman who was oblivious to being watched. The mere sight of her, with the soapy water lapping those twin orbs of femininity with infuriating, tantalising familiarity, was, for Alex, such a pleasurable experience that it made him ache.

It was the faint draught of cool air on her bare shoulders that alerted Angelina to the open door. With a gasp her head whipped round, and like a flame the powerful awareness of Alex’s physical presence scorched through her. His unheralded appearance startled her to a sitting position, and Alex watched the soapy water sluicing off her satiny skin. The heat of his appreciative gaze ranged with deliberate slowness over her hair and face and down to her slender shoulders, pausing at length on the exposed, creamy swell of her breasts, leaving the frothy water to provide modest cover for the rest of her.

Alex’s bold scrutiny caused Angelina’s modesty to chafe. With her heart thumping in her breast and fighting to quell the shriek of panic that was rising in her throat, she cast a surreptitious glance about her. Her clothes lay in an untidy heap on the floor like a fallen barricade, and Alex was holding her towel.

Casually Alex relinquished his stance and, closing the door, moved further inside the room. Watching him, uncertain and silent, it was this action that caused panic and fear to course through Angelina. Suddenly she felt intimidated, vulnerable and alone. Memories she was unable to stifle paraded across her mind, and there was a haunting vision of her cowering, quivering and terrified beneath other eyes, with hysterical pleas tumbling from her trembling lips.

Having no concept of her thoughts, Alex crossed towards the bath where she cowered low in the water.

‘Well, well,’ he said, his voice low and mocking, his eyes burning into hers, the atmosphere inside the bathing chamber hot and sultry. ‘Not content with poaching in my woods and threatening me at gunpoint, you now have to add trespassing in my private rooms to your crimes. It’s a good thing I returned early—but—on second thoughts—perhaps I should have waited a while longer. Had I done so, your curiosity about my rooms might have extended to my bed.’

Angelina felt the colour drain from her face. Alex loomed large and menacing, his awesome presence filling the bathing chamber. With his hair a cluster of shining black moist curls, all she could do was stare with a bemused intensity. Compulsively and with a will of their own, her eyes travelled over his broad chest spread with a dark mat of hair, down over the hard leanness of his flat stomach, the pink of her cheeks returning when she saw a trail of black hair start beneath his navel and disappear into his trousers, where a bulge strained against the material.

Alex was watching her closely; her continued regard of that most private part of his anatomy increased the heat in his loins and he felt his tumescence grow. Good Lord, he thought. To his horror he realised his body was reacting to her without the least encouragement on her part.

With a jolt of mortification Angelina tore her eyes away when she realized that she was staring. She looked up at him in desperate appeal, terrified that her blatant intrusion into his private rooms and audacity to make use of his bath would have aroused his wrath to such a degree that it would bring some terrible dark vengeance down on her. She watched him with the terrified eye of a mouse watching a stalking cat.

‘I—I didn’t hear you come in,’ she whispered, disturbed by the scorching heat of his perusal, and quite put out that he had been silently watching her and had made no effort to alert her to his presence. ‘You should have made your presence known to me.’

‘What! And deprive myself of the pleasure of watching you?’ he murmured softly, desperately wanting her to look at him as she had a moment ago. ‘If you don’t get out this instant, you cannot depend on my ability to exercise restraint.’

‘Why—what will you do?’

‘Join you,’ he said, casually lowering his hand to the few remaining buttons securing his trousers.

Horror registered in her eyes when she realised he intended removing that last vestige of decency and joining her in the bath, which was disgustingly large enough to accommodate the two of them. ‘Please, Alex. Pass me my towel, I beg of you. I’ll get out.’

Without revealing any more of her lovely form than was exposed to him already, she held out her hand, dripping water on to the floor. Alex saw it was trembling. Raising his eyes, he studied her as if he were truly trying to understand her. His gaze moved over her pale face, searching her dark eyes and discovering something in their agonised depths that brought a puzzled frown to his brow. Just when Angelina thought her time was up and no angel of deliverance would come to her aid, and that he would either scoop her out of the water or climb in with her, he handed her the towel and turned abruptly, actually scowling.

‘Get dressed,’ he ordered succinctly. ‘I’ll wait in the other room.’

His command penetrated Angelina’s paralysed thoughts, and, when he had gone, she climbed out of the bath immediately, shaking in every limb. After drying herself and struggling into her clothes, she unpinned her hair from its fastening and shook it loose so that it cascaded just past her waist. Emerging from the bathroom into the lion’s den, she drew a deep breath as she tried to steady her nerves. Having thrown on a shirt, Alex stood with his back to her looking out of the window, his whole body tensed into a rigid line, as if he fought some private battle within himself.

Sensing her presence, he turned, his jaw set. She was oblivious to the sight she presented to him. The pure, sweet bliss of having her close spurred his heart. She was too damned lovely to be true. Her cheeks were still rosy from her bath, and her hair—all the wonderful shades of autumn he’d imagined it to be—formed a torrent of brilliant silk tresses, with adorable damp tendrils clinging and curling around her face. The very sight of her here in his rooms wrenched his vitals in a painful knot, and the urge to go to her and pull her into his arms savaged his restraint. If she knew the full force of that emotion he held in check, she would tremble and seek the sanctuary of her room.

In a calm voice that nevertheless carried an unmistakable threat of command, he said, ‘Come here.’

With the width of the room between them, clutching her towel and lotion bottles to her, Angelina could almost believe she was crossing an immeasurable abyss. As she slowly moved towards him, Alex’s towering height increasing. Halfway there she paused.

Alex raised one black devil’s eyebrow. ‘Closer. That’s not far enough.’

He looked like a dark, invincible god, forbidding, intimidating, and yet strangely compelling. When she stood close his hand reached out and touched her tumbling hair, taking one curling tress and winding it gently round his finger.

‘You have beautiful hair, Angelina. It’s a sin to restrain it the way you do.’

Frantically she began to think of things she could say, but all she could do was stare at him in mute appeal. Alex’s suppressed energy and desire seemed to burn in that warm, elegant room, where all reality had been suspended. Angelina felt weak, unable to find the antagonism amid her confusion.

‘You should not be here.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, finding her voice at last. Her pulse quickened when he stepped nearer. Feeling the bold look of his hungry gaze she trembled and instinctively took a step back, her only thought being to avoid any contact with him. ‘I—I was not expecting to see you back so soon.’

‘Evidently. I concluded my business in half the time and returned early—and it’s as well that I did. The last thing I expected was to find you making use of my bathtub. I shall have a few choice words to say to Wyatt.’

Angelina’s eyes flew to his, alarmed that he would vent his wrath on poor Wyatt when the fault was all hers. ‘Oh, no. Please don’t be angry with him. I am entirely to blame.’

‘I believe you,’ Alex replied drily, thrusting his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out and dragging her into his arms.

‘I—I didn’t mean to intrude, but—I—’

‘You wanted to sample my bathing chamber.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then don’t you think it would have been common courtesy to ask me first? Why didn’t you?’

‘Because I didn’t find out until this morning that you had one. Besides, you would have refused,’ she said softly.

‘On the contrary. I would gladly have given you my permission,’ Alex said, finding that with the light from the window washing over her she was like a radiant sunburst and looked adorable.

Surprise etched Angelina’s lovely features and her misty eyes widened. ‘You would?’

‘Yes,’ he answered reasonably. ‘Does that surprise you?’

‘Yes, it does.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I—I don’t understand you,’ she murmured hesitantly. ‘I never know what to expect from you. At the beginning you were hostile towards me. You were my judge, jury and executioner all wrapped into one.’ Her luminescent eyes were large and desperate with confusion. ‘And now—these last few days—you—you—’

‘I told you not three days ago that I was wrong in my assessment of both you and your mother and I apologised. But you know, Angelina,’ he said softly, seeing his reflection in the dark centres of her eyes, ‘I seriously think you enjoy baiting me, and nobody does it as well as you. But shall I tell you what I think when I look at you now?’

‘I—if you like,’ Angelina said, trying to answer lightly, but her voice was low and husky.

‘I see an extremely beautiful young woman with shining hair all the wonderful shades of autumn and the smile of an angel.’ His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to the inviting fullness of her mouth, lingering there.

Angelina stepped back a little, but an answering quiver that was a combination of fright and excitement was tingling up her spine. ‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ she whispered.

‘Then I think you’d better go.’

Alex’s desire for Angelina was hard driven, but he couldn’t overstep the mark. But then, he thought, dwelling on a suspicion that had been forming in his mind since before he’d left London, would his uncle mind all that much if he made advances towards Angelina? Wasn’t that what that wily old man had in mind when he’d insisted on her accompanying him to Arlington while he removed himself to Cornwall?

Clutching her towel and bottles to her chest, Angelina crossed the room and opened the door, only to find it slam shut when Alex came up behind her with the sure-footed skill of a panther. She stood there, frozen, anchored between his strong arms, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to reveal their power. Unable to turn, she could feel his closeness, the muscular hardness of him, the vibrant heat of his body pressed close against her back and his warm breath on her hair.

She trembled when he drew the heavy tresses to one side, feeling defeat, afraid, when she felt his mouth on the soft warm flesh on the back of her neck. On a gasp she sucked in her breath when he parted his lips and touched her skin with the fiery tip of his tongue. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment she knew a feeling of sheer terror when his voice spoke very quietly into her ear. ‘I want you,’ he murmured hoarsely. To his surprise she didn’t fight him; in fact, as his lips began a slow, erotic seduction over her flesh, she didn’t seem to know what he was doing to her.

‘Please—don’t do this,’ she whispered, her heart thundering in her ears.

‘Why? Don’t fight me, Angel. What are you afraid of?’

You, her mind screamed. You, and what you might do to me.

‘You are as much a victim of the overwhelming forces at work between us as I,’ he murmured, his lips continuing their tender assault on her neck, the scent and living heat of her invading all his senses. ‘You and I are one. The simple truth can no longer be denied.’

Lowering her head, a small knot in the wood of the door became the focal point of Angelina’s concentration, a misshapen image tugging at the heart of her memory, conjuring indistinct, cloudy visions in her mind and blending them with a confused jumble of events that took her back to another time, another place, when other hands had touched her, when she had wanted to flee, but had been unable to escape the filthy, groping fingers. She fought a welter of unwelcome emotions that threatened to drag her down to a new depth of despair.

But she was not immune to Alex standing behind her, of the hard rack of his chest pressed against her back, making her feel things she had never felt before, things that were alien to her that she didn’t want to feel. An alarming, treacherous warmth was creeping through her body, a melting sensation unlike anything she had known. She wanted to relax back against him, to feel his arms close around her, but because she could still feel those powerful emotions that seemed to have been drawn into her heart and soul from that night when she thought her life had ended, she could not bring herself to make that move.

With desire crashing over him in tidal waves, Alex looked down at Angelina’s bent head, his lips brushing her shining hair. Slipping an arm about her waist he drew her tight against him, feeling a shimmering tremor in her slender body.

For a moment Angelina leaned into him, let his arm hold her, let him prevail in his hunger, his desire—but she didn’t want it. Her confusion, her passion and her pain rose to a pinnacle as she stood trembling against him. To be this close to him felt like suffocating. She didn’t think she could survive it. Terrified of making an overestimation of her ability to carry out the course she had chosen for herself, somehow she managed to place her trembling fingers on the doorknob and turn it.

‘This is mistake,’ she whispered, knowing that if she allowed some tenderness now between them she would be lost. ‘I told you on the day we met that I do not want to be close to any man in the way you imply—and that includes you.’

Twisting herself out of his embrace, she opened the door and then she was gone, her feet driven by panic away from the east wing. Let him rant and rail, let him insult and chastise her to his heart’s content—anything. Just let him never look at her as he had just then, or touch her with such tender intimacy. She would not let herself be at the mercy of a man like Alex Montgomery, who radiated sensual hunger in every glance, every move and every touch, but she could not deny that something had passed between them that would change their relationship for ever.

On reaching her room, she was struck by a desperate, impelling urge to get out of the house. In an act of rebellion and to bring some semblance of order back to her confused and troubled mind, she strode into the closet and rummaged in her trunk, finally finding what she was looking for—her old breeches and shirt. Removing her dress, she pulled them on, tucking the trouser legs inside her new pair of dark brown leather riding boots and lacing them up—incongruous against her shabby garb. After hastily plaiting her hair, she left the house by a back entrance without seeing a soul until she reached the stables.

When Angelina had left him, Alex stood in the centre of his room in deep reflection. Angrily he attacked his sentimental thoughts until they cowered in meek submission, but they refused to lie down. His attraction to Angelina was disquieting—in fact, it was damned annoying. If he wanted an affair or diversion of any kind, he had a string of some of the most beautiful women in the country to choose from—so why should he feel this insanely wild attraction for an eighteen-year-old girl who had hardly left the schoolroom?

He tried to put her from his mind, but failed miserably in his effort. The sweet fragrance of her perfume lingered everywhere, drifting through his senses, and the throbbing hunger began anew. He cursed with silent frustration, seized by a strong desire to go after her and cauterise his need by holding her close and clamping his lips on hers.

Instead he went into his study and attempted immersing himself in his work. Sitting at his desk, he set himself the task of going over the household accounts, subtracting and multiplying and adding long columns of figures. Under normal circumstances this was a simple matter for his keen, mathematical mind, but, slowly, a face with a pert, dimpled chin, a lovely and expressive mouth with soft, full lips, cheeks as flushed as a ripe peach, and thickly fringed amethyst, velvety eyes crept unbidden into his mind—teasing him, tantalising him, laughing, beckoning him—fearing him.

At this thought Alex leaned his head back against the chair and set down his quill, giving in to his reluctant musings. Fear! Having marked Angelina’s unexpected vulnerability when she’d cowered beneath the water, he now realised that that was what he’d seen in her eyes, but failed to recognize, when he’d threatened to join her in her bath. Then he remembered the words she had spoken before she’d left him and the pain in her voice—that she did not want to be close to any man, including him.

Why? He was both puzzled and curious. What had happened to her? Did it all stem from the time the Indians had attacked her home? Had they attacked her? Was the cause of her determination to close her heart and mind on marriage, on men, something to do with the relationship that had existed between her parents—or something else of an entirely different nature that she dared not reveal to anyone?

He directed his gaze to the window and his eye was caught by a mounted rider galloping across the park at breakneck pace. Frowning, he stood up, straining his eyes through the slightly distorted diamond panes better to recognise the person—which he did. Immediately. He was unable to believe his own eyes, as his gaze became impaled on the figure on the horse.

It was Angelina.

In the space of a heartbeat, fury had replaced Alex’s calm composure. He was furious that Angelina worried him with her recklessness, furious that she was able to evoke any kind of emotion in him at all. Clenching his fists, he stood and watched her. Crouched low over her horse’s neck with her face almost buried in the dancing mane, she rode as no lady should, in breeches and astride. There was simplicity and confidence as she soared over a hedge, at one with her mount, its tail floating behind like a bright defiant banner.

Her mount!

Alex’s face was almost comical in its expression of disbelief when his eyes shifted from the breeches-clad girl to the horse. It was Forest Shadow, a high-spirited, excitable sorrel stallion he’d purchased two months ago at Newmarket to introduce into his hunters. Forest Shadow presented a challenge to even the most accomplished rider, who would be hard pressed to keep the high-stepping animal under control. White with rage, he felt his body go rigid.

‘Of all the brazen, outrageous females,’ he said in a savage underbreath. When she had shot the rabbit, he would have sworn he was incapable of feeling more furious than he had then, but the rage that exploded inside him at that moment surmounted even that.

Turning quickly, he strode to the door, jerking it open, the stallion bearing its young rider already a diminishing speck in the distance. How dare she ride out of the park alone after he’d forbidden her not to, and how dare she take that horse out of the stable when there wasn’t a lad employed by him who was willing to ride out on the animal? On the other hand, he thought with increasing fury as his long legs descended the stairs in leaping strides, that defiant, conniving, dark-eyed witch would dare anything.

Jenkins waylaid Alex in the hall. He shot him an impatient look. ‘What is it?’ he demanded brusquely.

‘I was just coming to inform you that Sir Nathan Beresford and his wife Lady Verity arrived a few minutes ago, my lord. They are with Lady Fortesque in her room.’

‘Thank you, Jenkins,’ Alex replied. Brushing past the butler he stalked towards the door. ‘I have an urgent matter to attend to at the stables. Apologise for my absence and tell them I will be along directly.’

On reaching the stables he cornered one of the lads. ‘Who gave Miss Hamilton permission to ride Forest Shadow?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know, milord. She just appeared—saying she was going to ride him. We thought you must have told her she could. She wasn’t afraid to ride him, milord.’

‘No, I don’t imagine for one minute that she was,’ he seethed.

‘Miss Hamilton’s good with the horses. Seems to have taken a special fancy to the Shadow—and the Shadow to Miss Hamilton. She understands him. She seems to have a natural communication with him.’

‘Indeed!’

‘Yes, milord. At first, though, when she mounted him, we thought he was going to throw her, but the oddest thing was that when she talked to him—quiet like, into his ear—he seemed to know what she wanted him to do and settled down.’

‘And didn’t anyone think to go with her?’

‘Yes, milord. But she refused the offer of a groom. Will you be wanting Lancer saddled?’ the lad asked, hoping not, having just finished rubbing the stallion down and giving him his feed after returning from St Albans with his lordship. He considered it prudent to keep to himself the stir the young American miss had created by appearing at the stables in breeches—breeches that had seen better days, by the look of them—and of how she had grasped a handful of the Shadow’s mane and leapt on to his back with the casual grace of a well-trained acrobat.

‘No,’ Alex snapped, striding out of the stables like a raging hurricane. He could see no point in riding all over the estate looking for the pesky wench when he knew damn well that she’d come back of her own accord anyway, and when she did he’d teach her obedience if he had to beat it into her.

Walking quickly back to the house, Alex knew a wrath that was beyond anything he had ever felt in his life. That was the moment he encountered Nathan, who had left Verity chatting to her mother and come to look for him. After greeting each other Nathan fell into step beside him.

‘Patience tells me your uncle is in Cornwall,’ said Nathan.

‘He’s visiting a sick friend.’

‘Convenient, don’t you think,’ he remarked, observing his friend thoughtfully, ‘leaving you and Patience to care for Miss Hamilton?’

‘Absolutely,’ Alex growled.

Nathan sensed that Alex was definitely put out about something, and he suspected the cause of it might be about to appear out of the woods on which Alex’s eyes were fixed. Rather than wait for an explanation, he plunged straight in.

‘At the risk of intruding into your thoughts, Alex, might I ask why you are wearing such a formidable frown? Your thoughts appear to be damnably unpleasant—in fact, you look fit to commit murder.’

‘I am,’ Alex ground out.

Nathan smiled. ‘So you have not found the peace at Arlington you sought when you left London.’

‘Peace? I cannot envisage any peace with someone like the American chit around. Never did I realise that when I quit London for Arlington—where peace and quiet has reigned supreme for centuries—that it would lead to such frustration and aggravation. But then I never could have imagined a girl quite like Angelina Hamilton either.’

‘I think this business with your uncle’s ward is preying too much on your mind.’

‘I seldom think of her—if it can be avoided.’ Which was true—but impossible. It seemed that whenever he thought of Angelina his thoughts became angrily chaotic. She was like some dancing, irrepressible shadow imbedded in his mind.

Nathan gave him a laughing, sidelong look. ‘So you would have me think. But I did notice before you left London that your conversations were often sprinkled with varied references to Miss Hamilton.’

Alex threw him a black look. ‘Really?’ he growled with a hint of mockery. ‘I didn’t realise you were being so observant, Nathan—but since you are, you will have noticed that the only references I have made to that pesky wench have been unfavourable.’

‘And nothing has changed now you have got to know her a little better?’ he inquired.

‘No—in fact, they have taken a turn for the worse.’

‘Patience told me you were beginning to get on rather well.’

‘We were, until she decided to take one of my best stallions for a ride to God knows where—without an escort or my permission.’

‘Which one?’

‘Forest Shadow.’

Nathan’s blue eyes widened with astonishment. ‘What? You mean that magnificent sorrel you bought at Newmarket recently?’

‘The same.’

‘Good Lord. He’s a peppery beast at the best of times. Much too powerful for a young woman to handle.’

‘One thing I have learned about Miss Hamilton, Nathan, is that she is no ordinary young woman—as you will discover very soon. She is also more trouble than I need right now.’

‘Shouldn’t you go after her?’

‘No. The pesky young whelp is only happy when she’s courting danger and annoying me. If she chooses to test her skills against that restless, high-stepping beast, then so be it.’

Nathan’s chuckling merriment could not be restrained and he laughed out loud. ‘Pesky she may be, Alex, but Patience tells me she has been blessed with the most incredible looks. Considering your reputation as a rake of the first order, you cannot have failed to notice.’

Alex’s frown was formidable. ‘It depends on one’s taste—which is something we never did agree upon. The girl is a menace and has wreaked havoc in my life from the day I met her. She is everything I expected—a savage—and temperamental. She brings out the worst and everything that is alien to my nature. She also has the infuriating ability to rouse all that is evil in me, and she has a tongue that would flay the skin off a man’s back better than any cat.’ Yes, he thought, everything about her annoyed him, everything except her courage, which was a quality he could not help but admire.

‘Perhaps if you were not so hard on her—if you tried to be more understanding towards her—you might find her more amenable,’ Nathan said, blithely ignoring the simmering rage emanating from his friend. ‘Give way a little. Try a softer, more gentle approach. Smooth her feathers and you’ll soon have her purring like a kitten. I’m sure if you do you’ll discover a more docile and agreeable young woman.’

Alex stopped and looked at his friend as though he’d taken leave of his senses. ‘God in heaven, Nathan! There is nothing docile or agreeable about her. She has no respect for authority—and the only feline she resembles is a hellcat. That girl’s the biggest stumbling block my temper has ever known. Try a softer approach, you say! The only softness about her I would like to make contact with right now would be laying the flat of my hand firmly on her derrière. The girl needs a sound thrashing that will leave her unable to sit down for a month. I will not be defied and dictated to in my own home by an eighteen-year-old chit of a girl.’

‘Or anywhere else for that matter,’ chuckled Nathan. It was clear that, where Angelina Hamilton was concerned, Alex’s patience was wearing thin and he was in no mood to negotiate a better relationship with her.

Alex’s mouth tightened. ‘Her defiance cannot be overlooked. She resolved to be difficult from the start. With each day that dawns I wonder what kind of uproar she will cause next. The other day she went shooting rabbits for my dinner, and this very morning I caught her making use of my bathing chamber—and now the brazen wench has ridden off on a high-spirited, excitable horse without my permission.’

Nathan’s brows shot up in astonishment. ‘Do you mean to say she actually shot a rabbit?’

‘She did,’ Alex replied icily, ‘and she very nearly shot me in the process.’

Stupefied, Nathan stared at him, thoroughly amused. It was unbelievable that Alex, who always had absolute control over his emotions, who treated women with a combination of indifference, amused tolerance and indulgence, could have been driven to such an uncharacteristic outburst of feelings by an eighteen-year-old girl.

‘Miss Hamilton has a way with her, I’ve been told. Your uncle is enslaved, and she has your entire staff eating out of her delectable hands. According to Patience, every one of the grooms down to the youngest stable lad are all in love with her. She’s even managed to charm old Jenkins. God help you if she uses it on you, Alex. You may well be lost. There will be no escape—and I very much doubt you will wish to.’

Alex glared at him. ‘Don’t count on it.’

Nathan directed his gaze towards the house, knowing there would be no reasoning with his friend until he had severely chastised Miss Hamilton. ‘I am already feeling sorry for Miss Hamilton. The look on your face tells me you are going for blood, no less.’

‘You’re right,’ Alex replied, lengthening his stride. ‘And after the run-ins we’ve had in the past, she doesn’t have very much left to lose.’

Having ridden further than she intended on the brave, fast horse, Angelina found herself enveloped in a shadowy world of muted sounds, where damp and decay rose from the under-growth and assailed her nostrils, and squirrels skittered in the upper branches of the trees. Without the sun a bitter chill had fallen on this twilight world.

A feeling of unreality crept over her and she shuddered, glad when she saw an opening in the trees ahead where sunlight slanted through. Riding towards the light, she reined in beneath a canopy of oaks. The scent of wood smoke hung heavy in the air. Experiencing a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck and an eerie, familiar feeling, her head snapped up like an animal scenting danger.

She had emerged into some sort of encampment with an assortment of brightly painted caravans and carts, all of which had a shabby appearance. Dogs roamed and several piebald ponies grazed nearby. Men, women and children prowled about furtively in their garishly coloured attire, and some older people sat around a fire where ribbons of smoke spiralled upwards out of the embers.

Angelina knew instinctively that these people were the gypsies Alex had told her about, the gypsies he had told to move on. She sensed that every eye had become fixed on her. Two men with gold rings in their ears and brightly coloured scarves tied loosely around their necks rose from where they were sitting on the wooden steps of the caravan nearest to her. She swallowed nervously as they stood quite still, watching her.

They looked foreign—their skin swarthy and their hair hanging loose, lank and shiny black. Distrust and resentment lurked in their fathomless, totally unrevealing dark eyes. Her heart almost ceased to beat when her eyes were drawn to a knife sheathed at one of the men’s waists, and when she met his gaze she felt a sudden chill, as if a shadow had passed in front of the sun, robbing her of its warmth.

No one made any attempt to speak to her, but the air was charged with an ugly tension, menace bristling all around her, the very silence an enemy. She shuddered, feeling extremely vulnerable and afraid. Through a veil of confusion and fear, what she now saw was a scene from her past. She glimpsed the dark, shadowy images creeping with stealth out of the locked doors of her mind, and she was sure they were catching up with her. All her deepest, darkest nightmares lay among the ghosts these gypsies resurrected, and with her emotions heightened to fever pitch, she feared she was about to be attacked again.

Whirling Forest Shadow about, she kicked him into a gallop. Trembling with fear she was borne homeward, unaware as Forest Shadow’s iron-shod hooves struck the cobbles in the stable yard with ringing tones that her low state was about to be brought even lower.

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