My Lady Angel. Joanna Maitland
arrive, for he was not sure that he would be able to curb his temper if she brought her aunt. The old hag had encouraged the Marquis’s unforgivable insults to Aunt Mary. And now she had produced a French pretender, like a rabbit from a hat. Did she really think she could succeed with such an obvious deception? She had probably helped her niece to start all these confounded rumours, too. No doubt these two harpies thought that it would improve their protégé’s chances if all London was buzzing with gossip about the long-lost heir.
Long-lost impostor, more like! If the Frenchman—
The double doors opened. For a second, a tall stately lady dressed in half-mourning stood framed within the opening. Then she nodded slightly and took a pace forward, allowing the butler to close the doors at her back.
She did not speak, nor did she offer her hand. She was assessing him, just as he was assessing her. He would not have called her beautiful—her expression was much too severe for beauty—but her colouring was striking. She had hair like spun silver. He recognised it as the famous Rosevale hair, inherited from the first Baroness, centuries before, but not found in anyone on his side of the family. Would she think him a changeling, with his dark locks?
No. She would not give a thought to such a detail. A warrior entering the lists did not concern himself with his opponent’s colouring, but with his ability to fight. The woman who was coolly appraising him had the look of a doughty adversary. He would do well to be on his guard.
He bowed from the neck, not lowering his eyes. It was important to watch every move she made.
She dropped him a quick curtsy, the very minimum demanded by good manners. ‘I understand you wished to see me, Cousin Frederick?’
Her voice was low, with a hard edge that was not pleasing to the ear. Had she deliberately chosen the mode of address that he most hated? Only his father and his grandfather had ever called him Frederick. He had despised them both; and he detested the name they had bestowed on him.
‘I am obliged, ma’am, that you have felt able to rise from your sickbed to receive me. I trust you are quite recovered?’ He saw a flash of anger in her eyes. A hit! Excellent. It was important to keep her on the defensive.
‘You are too kind, sir. I understand you have important business you wished to discuss with me? Business that could not be delayed?’
‘Indeed, ma’am.’ Max waited for her to invite him to sit, but she did not. She simply stood there, glaring at him. It seemed he had caught her on the raw. So, that was to be the way of it. If she wanted a bout with the buttons off, he would happily oblige her. ‘I must ask you for an explanation of this disreputable imposture you are promoting. You—’
‘I am promoting nothing of the sort,’ she snapped. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’
‘Do not think to play me for a fool, Cousin,’ Max replied. ‘I am perfectly well aware that you and your aunt are behind the rumours that are circulating in London. I am only surprised that you have not arrived in town already, with your French puppet in tow. I warn you now, I will not tolerate any attempt to undermine my position. Even from a woman.’ The last few words came out in a hard, rasping voice that he barely recognised. He stopped abruptly, conscious that he was allowing his temper to get the better of him after all. What was it about this woman? He prided himself on his self-control with the female sex, but with her…
She lifted her chin and stared at him, with astonishingly dark blue eyes that were alight with fury. Her skin seemed to have grown paler; or perhaps it was the contrast with the spots of anger now burning on her cheeks. She took a step forward as though she might like to strike him, but her arms were held rigidly at her sides. She was controlling herself with difficulty. ‘I take it you have proof of your outrageous allegations?’ she said.
‘Do I need proof? The fact that you do not need to ask for details of them is proof enough for me, Cousin.’ Confound the woman, she was as bad as he had expected. Worse, perhaps. Why had he bothered to make this journey? He should have known better. He was struck by the irony of it all. ‘Like father, like daughter,’ he said acidly. ‘It is perhaps as well that one title, at least, is no longer the preserve of the more dubious side of the Rosevale family.’
She gasped and turned completely white.
He had never felt such searing anger. He had gone much too far, and he knew it. By attacking her dishonourable behaviour in such terms, he had sunk to her level. He should apologise. But his throat was so constricted that, for a moment, he could not utter a word.
She had reached out a hand to clutch the back of a chair. A spasm crossed her face. It looked almost like pain. Then she straightened again and said, with an obvious effort, ‘This discussion is now at an end, sir. I will thank you to leave. My aunt and I plan to travel to London next week. If you have anything more to say to me, you may say it there. And you may be sure that I shall take the greatest of pleasure in introducing you to my cousin, the rightful Earl of Penrose.’ She spun on her heel and started to move to the door without giving him any chance to reply.
‘Not so fast, Cousin.’ Max strode forward and grasped her wrist, forcing her to stop in her tracks. ‘We have not finished this interview yet.’
‘Release me this instant.’ Her voice was a furious hiss. She kept her head turned towards the door as if she could not bear to look at him.
Max took a long slow breath and then deliberately reached round to grasp her other wrist. Her bones felt tiny and fragile. He had no intention of injuring her, but he was determined that she would hear him out. For several seconds, they both stood motionless. Then Max exerted just enough pressure to turn her back to face him.
She did not try to pull herself free. She simply stood there, refusing to look at him. Her extraordinary silver hair was on a level with his chin.
‘So, madam, you have decided to pit your French impostor against me, have you? Are you sure that is wise?’
‘I am sure that the rightful Earl of Penrose is a gentleman, sir,’ she replied evenly, gazing fixedly at her trapped wrists, ‘which you are not.’
Max had recovered just enough control over his temper to recognise that she was deliberately trying to provoke him. He resisted the immediate temptation to let her go. ‘Clever,’ he said softly. ‘But also rash. If you are so sure I am no gentleman, ma’am, why did you consent to this private interview?’
He paused. She did not reply.
‘Quite. However, I am gentleman enough to remember that you are a lady, in spite of this fraud you are intent upon. I ask you, as a lady, to abandon it, for your own sake. It will do you, and the Rosevale family, nothing but harm.’
She looked up then. For a moment, Max thought he saw real pain in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by black anger. ‘My position is unassailable, sir,’ she retorted. ‘Yours, on the other hand, is somewhat precarious. I will thank you to release me and leave my house. We have nothing more to say to each other.’
The woman was impossible! Why had he ever thought to reason with her? It was a waste of words!
‘You are foolish, madam,’ he said, dropping her wrists abruptly. ‘Your family already has enemies enough. You cannot afford more. But, I promise you, you have added another today.’
He stalked to the door and wrenched it open. Then he turned and bowed mockingly. ‘Good day to you, Cousin. Be sure that we shall continue this discussion at a later date.’
Then he walked smartly down the stairs to the entrance hall to retrieve his coat and hat. The butler was waiting for him, with a look of alarm on his face. It was almost as if he expected Max to strike him!
Max caught the reflection of a black-browed man with a face like thunder in the glass near the bottom of the stairs. Good God! It was himself! No wonder the old butler was quaking in his boots.
Taking a long deep breath, Max willed his heart to slow. It had been pounding fit to burst, as if he were about to charge the enemy. That silver-haired woman must be a witch to