Heiress in Regency Society: The Defiant Debutante
‘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.