Читать книгу Heiress in Regency Society: The Defiant Debutante - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 11

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.’