Page 65 of The Lady’s No Angel

The tension was palpable, and she knew Leo felt it too from the way his eyes flicked to the doors every few moments, waiting for something he seemed to know was coming.

Minutes ticked by as Angel’s nerves frayed beyond bearing, and finally the doors opened, revealing an imposing audience chamber.

Angel stood, her heart thudding so fiercely she felt sick, but Leo smiled at her and gave a little wink, and she wondered if he was actually out of his mind, or if he really did know all would be well. She decided it didn’t matter either way, for she loved him, and— She almost stopped in her tracks as the words sank into her mind, settling into her heart as she recognised them as the truth. She loved him.

Turning to him as the headborough began moving them towards the doors, she reached for his hand, and his thumb brushed her knuckles gently as their fingers twined.

“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “know that I love you, Leo Cleaver, or whoever you are.”

A broad grin split his wonderful, handsome face, and he clasped her hand tightly. “Finally, she comes to her senses. You’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I love you too, my beautiful pirate, and if you think I’m letting you get away from me—well, think again.”

Angel let out a breath, certain now that whatever was coming, they would overcome it together.

“Get a move on,” Mr Ludlow grumbled, making shooing motions, though he didn’t follow them. “His grace is a busy man.”

His grace. Oh, lordy, they were about to face the Duke of Langley!

They were ushered into the room, and Angel cringed as she realised what an appalling picture they must present. Cheeks burning with humiliation, she fought the urge to smooth her ruined dress or hide behind Leo’s broad frame. Her skirts were ragged and torn, they were both bruised and bloody, Leo’s eye had swollen shut, and her hair had long ago escaped its pins and was tumbling in disarray around her shoulders. Meeting a man of this rank and power would be intimidating under any circumstances, but in such a state…! Angel wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment.

The duke was seated behind a massive desk, in a huge, high-backed oak chair, flanked by four serious looking men Angel presumed to be secretaries or retainers of some description. Morning light filled the room, but despite the fire crackling in the enormous hearth, the atmosphere was frigid, formal, and a long way from friendly.

The duke’s stony gaze flicked to her and away again, dismissing her as unimportant, though she had the impression that her fate was being decided behind his unreadable eyes. Yet there was something oddly familiar about the man.

There was a taut silence, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and inexorable ticking of an enormous clock on the mantelpiece.

“Hartwell,” the duke said finally, his expression one of deep displeasure.

Angel frowned, turning as she realised he was addressing Leo.

Leo glanced down at her, holding her hand a degree tighter before turning back to face the duke.

“Father.”

Hart had to give the girl her due, she didn’t swoon or hit him, either of which would have been perfectly reasonable responses in the circumstances. She did stare at him in open-mouthed astonishment, however, for which he couldn’t really blame her.

“Father?” she repeated hoarsely. “Father?”

The second time there was a definite touch of outrage and her lovely eyes flashed sparks at him.

Hart shrugged ruefully. “Sorry, love. I was worried you’d run a mile if you had a clue. You were anxious enough as it was. I’d have told you sooner if you’d not been so slow in declaring yourself, but I was too afraid of scaring you off.”

Angel stared at him, turned to stare at the duke, and turned back to him.

Then she hit him.

Her small fist struck his chest, and it was rather sweet that she thought such a delicate article could damage a great brute like him.

“You— You absolute… blockhead!” she finished, apparently deciding this was the best description she could muster in the circumstances. Hart thought it was a splendid effort and about summed him up, usually. This wasn’t usual, however. This time he’d done something right for once in his life, and he would let no one muck it up. Not even his grace. “How could you?”

“Oh, easily,” he admitted, without a trace of regret. “I just kept the whole ‘heir to a dukedom’ bit quiet until after you’d fallen madly in love with me. It was a close thing, I’ve got to admit. You had me worried for a moment there. Talk about the eleventh hour. What took you so long?”

Hart gazed at her, doing his best to give her the soulful, innocent look he’d been told could melt the stoniest of feminine hearts. Angel glared back at him, unimpressed.

“You,” she said, folding her arms, “are utterly despicable, dreadful and… and…”

“Deceitful?” he offered cautiously.

“Yes, that too.”