Heiress in Regency Society: The Defiant Debutante

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.’