Page 67 of The Lady’s No Angel

Hart’s mood lifted as he turned to see his grandmother, still erect and lovely despite her years, walk into the room. He glanced back at his father, seeing the man’s face grow rigid with indignation.

“I did not invite you to join us,” his grace replied stonily.

“No, Langley, you wouldn’t, for other than Hart I’m the only one who can stand up to you and you don’t like it when you can’t crush people utterly.”

Ignoring her son, the Dowager Duchess of Langley walked to Hart and lifted her face to allow him to kiss her cheek.

“It’s good to see you, Grandmama.”

She beamed up at him, her pale blue eyes, so like his father’s, twinkling with devilry. She liked nothing more than riling her son, whom she considered to be a pompous ass. That she was here at all was a surprise, for she rarely stayed under the same roof as his father, but he was grateful to see her.

“Now, then. Introduce me to your young lady, won’t you,” she commanded, turning her attention to Angel with interest. “I like a girl with spirit—and yes, Hart, I was eavesdropping—but it takes some nerve to stand up to Langley, especially in such a state as you are, my dear.”

Angel blushed and Hart felt wretched for her, knowing how appalled she must feel at meeting his family in such a state of disarray. Yet pride continued to burn in his heart, for other than the pink glow in her cheeks, she did not show it by so much as the flicker of an eyelid, standing tall and proud, her chin up.

“She is not his young lady,” the duke retorted, his voice cold with fury. They both ignored him.

“Grandmother, please allow me to present Miss Angelica Everdene. Angel, love, this is my grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Langley.”

Angel dipped a curtsey, somehow looking poised and elegant despite appearing as though she’d just been dragged from the gutter.

“Well, my dear. Did I hear you say you are the granddaughter of Black Jack Baxter?”

Hart hid a smile. He’d known his wicked grandmother could not resist such a connection as that.

“Yes, your grace,” Angel said, slanting a glance at Hart, who smiled at her encouragingly.

“And you say he left you his treasure?”

Angel nodded. “It’s buried with his sweetheart, a woman who died before he married my grandmother.”

“Good heavens. How delightfully macabre,” Grandmama Langley said with obvious appreciation. “And you were digging it up when you were taken up for grave robbing?”

Angel nodded, and grandmother let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, that’s perfectly splendid. Have you had the most wonderful adventure, Hart? You certainly look as if you have,” she said, lifting a bony hand to touch his swollen eye.

“I’ve had the time of my life,” Hart admitted with a grin. “Which is why I’ve asked her to marry me.”

“What?”

Hart sighed. He’d not really expected any other reaction from his father, but despite everything there was always a stubborn little corner of his heart that hoped the old man would surprise him one day, would mellow with age, or perhaps turn into someone entirely different. Foolish beyond permission.

“You’ll marry that—that creature over my dead body!” he exclaimed furiously.

“If you insist,” Hart told him coldly.

“Oh, ignore him, my dear,” Grandmama said with a wave of her hand. “You are a grown man and may do as you please. I’m tired of seeing him blackmailing you with your inheritance. This time, if he cuts off your funds, I shall provide for you in the meantime. You may pay me back once he’s dead.”

Hart choked back a laugh at the casual implication that she fully intended to outlive her son. “Th-Thank you, Grandmama,” he said, a little unsteadily.

He looked up to see his father walk out from behind the desk and approach them, a move which surprised him as the Duke of Langley never gave away his position of power from behind his immense desk, or somewhere he could look down upon you. His voice was austere and brittle when he addressed his mother.

“Madam, you may think this a great joke, but if he marries the girl, she will be the next Duchess of Langley, might I remind you. You may be as spiteful as you like to me, but I had thought you owed the title more respect than that. By her own admission, her grandfather was a common criminal. A pirate, by God!”

Grandmama met her son’s eyes, and Hart wondered at the amusement he saw there, the absolute relish in her expression. It was the kind of look she always got before setting off a bomb that would rock everyone to their core.

“As was mine,” she said casually. “That would be yours too, Langley,” she added, her voice crisp with satisfaction.

Hart felt his eyebrows climb, and for once was in sympathy with his father, who looked utterly bewildered.