The Defiant Debutante

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?’