Page 68 of The Lady’s No Angel

“What the devil do you mean by that?” he demanded, looking like he would happily wring his mother’s neck if he thought he could get away with it.

“I mean,” Grandmama said, fondly regarding the massive emerald ring that adorned her finger and which he had never once seen her without. “That if you ever bothered to look at your heritage in any detail, instead of taking it all as your due, you would realise that your great-great-great-great-grandfather was a privateer in the service of Good Queen Bess, and she rewarded him with the dukedom for his daring against the Spanish. So, my dear Miss Everdene, you are in good company.”

Angel stared at Grandmama who looked appallingly smug, as well she might, but his beloved had apparently been struck dumb.

Hart laughed. It was a low chuckle at first, but his father was spluttering with rage so much that he’d been rendered mute and the chuckle became hilarity. It struck him as absurdly funny, and quite wonderfully perfect, that his chosen bride thought herself ineligible to be his wife because her grandfather had been a pirate, when his own ancestors were every bit as wicked.

Finally finding his voice, the duke turned to Angel, his cold blue eyes afire with generations of breeding and snobbery. “You will not marry my son, Miss… whatever your name was. I utterly forbid it.”

Angel’s colour deepened, but her dark eyes flashed sparks in a manner that made Hart’s pulse surge. He held his breath, almost giddy with anticipation.

“Leo,” she said, her voice even. “Did you have a question for me?”

“I did,” he said at once, though his voice suddenly seemed a little shaky. “Miss Everdene—”

“Don’t you dare ask—” Father was vibrating with frustration, but Hart ignored him.

“Oh, stow it, Langley,” Grandmama said impatiently. She waved her hand at Hart with a go on then expression, and he grinned at her until his father stepped between them.

“Listen to me, Hartwell, if you marry this creature, I shall cut you off and ensure everything that isn’t entailed goes to anyone but you.”

Hart met his father’s eyes. It was surprising how easy the decision was really, or perhaps not. Anyone who truly knew Angel would see her worth, would know it was the only thing he could do. “Go ahead. The money always meant more to you than anything else, more even than the power. I never felt the same, which is why you despise me so, I suspect. Do whatever you wish, your grace, you’ll not stop me marrying Angel, if she’ll have me.”

He marked the shock in the duke’s eyes, the depths of his surprise. Even after all these years, he simply did not know Hart at all. It was sad, really.

Turning back to Angel, he saw she was breathing fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her hands clutched together, the fingers tangled together as she waited for him to speak.

“Angel, love. It seems I may come to you without a feather to fly with after all. Do you think you could overcome this difficulty, not to mention the burden of my… my family and the wretched title, and, well, him, and do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

Hart gazed at her, suddenly aware that not only was he proposing before his grandmother and his apoplectic father, but in front of the man’s secretaries and steward too. If she refused him now… ah well, nothing ventured. But then he looked into her eyes, into those dark, dark eyes, where the devil danced and promises lurked of a life filled with mischief and adventure and the kind of naughtiness that he would never, ever find dull, and he knew.

“I will,” she said, and with such fervour his heart sang.

He gave a great whoop of joy and picked her up, his arms about her hips as he spun her in a circle. Her hands braced on his shoulders, her thick black hair tumbling about her face as she gazed down at him, laughing and laughing. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d done the right thing.

“Well done, my dear,” Grandmama Langley said with approval. “It’s about time we had some fresh blood. Everyone has become too frightfully stuffy. Now, then. I suggest you both get cleaned up, and then we’ll celebrate.”

Chapter 18

Black Jack’s Legacy

Ealdor Palace, Kent,10thApril 1816

Angel luxuriated in the deep tub of hot water and sighed. If only she knew Milly and Toby were safe and well, she would be perfectly content. Leo had sent men out searching for them, armed with letters from both him and Angel assuring them all was well—so for now she had to be content with that.

She knew she ought to be more appalled by the duke’s vehement refusal to acknowledge her or to accept their marriage, but in truth, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. His threats to Leo had been shocking, but she found she only pitied the man. He could not see what a wonderful son he had, a man he ought to be proud of.

The duke was certainly an intimidating brute and had made her quail at first, that was true, but then she had imagined the man coming face to face with her grandfather and realised the duke would probably have wet himself. That had given her pause and reminded her of just who she was. It had given her the courage to stand up and accept Leo’s proposal. For if he was courageous enough to disregard his father’s wishes, then she could be brave enough to accept.

That she might one day be a duchess and would certainly be a marchioness was too implausible to consider for the moment, so she didn’t. She just imagined she was to marry Leo Cleaver, the man she had fallen wildly, wholly and irrevocably in love with, and that was all that mattered. She certainly did not care if his father cut him off or not, though she hoped Black Jack would not mind too much if she shared his treasure with her husband. She thought not. Actually, Angel thought they’d have got on rather well, the wicked fellows.

Since their confrontation with his father, she had been whisked away by Grandmama Langley and been attended to by what seemed to be an army of female servants. Her clothes had been taken away to be burned, on instruction from the dowager. Hart’s sisters, who were apparently champing with impatience to meet her, had both sent a selection of dresses for her to choose from. An efficient lady’s maid by the name of Jenkins had thoroughly washed her hair with scented soap and spent an age easing out the tangles.

“Are you ready to get out now, Miss Everdene?” Jenkins asked, holding up a large square of linen to dry her with.

Angel nodded and stood as Jenkins looked discreetly away and then wrapped the towel about her.

Rather bemused by all the attention, Angel allowed Jenkins and several other maids who seemed to be in her thrall to pamper her. Her hair was dried and combed and prettily arranged, and they helped her to dress. Whilst Angel had always had a lovely wardrobe, for her father had never been mean in that respect, the items presented to her now were beyond anything she had ever known.