Page 77 of The Lady’s No Angel

“Come to the wedding.”

The man stopped in his tracks, startled into gaping at Hart, who had rather surprised himself.

Grinning, Hart shrugged. “I’m celebrating, and everyone ought to celebrate with me. I’ll have an invitation sent to you.” Bramwell opened his mouth, ready to refuse, so Hart added, “It’s at Hatherley Hall.”

“The Dowager Duchess of Hawkney’s home?”

A considering glint lit his eyes and Hart congratulated himself on having judged correctly.

“That’s right. Lots of rich clients to meet, if you’ve a knack for turning the ton up sweet.”

A wry look flitted across the fellow’s face. “I don’t. Not even close, but all the same it’s an excellent opportunity, and I thank you for it.”

Hart nodded and, with that, Mr Bramwell doffed his hat and strode quickly away. Hart turned, watching him go, and noticing how many of the ladies walking through the town did likewise. He grinned, wondering if poor Bramwell had any notion of what manner of females were bred in this neck of the woods. The fellow had better watch out.

The Mermaid, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 25th June 1816

Angel huffed with impatience as she kept watch from the front parlour. Surely Leo knew she was here by now. Where the devil—? A tall, handsome figure rounded the corner of the street, striding towards her house with a look of determination.

With a silent squeal of relief, Angel hurried to her feet and ran to the front door, opening it soundlessly and stepping outside. On seeing her, Leo grinned with delight and opened his mouth to call out, but Angel put a finger to her lips, shaking her head urgently.

Frowning, he hurried up to her.

“What—” he began, but she smothered his mouth with her hand, giving him a stern look.

Turning back to the front door, she opened it and peered around. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she grabbed Leo’s hand and pulled him inside, and then up the stairs. Halfway up, she turned to see him grinning at her. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she choked back a laugh.

At the top of the stairs, she bade him wait until she was certain no one was about and then pulled him along the corridor and into her room. Once he was inside, she locked the door.

“Well, well, Miss Everdene, you little hussy. Whatever game it is you are playing, I like it,” he said with obvious relish.

Angel laughed and threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, Leo. I’m going mad. We’ve not had a moment alone in days!”

“Four days and twenty-two hours,” he told her gravely.

She groaned and laid her head upon his chest. “This was the only thing I could think of,” she admitted.

“It’s perfect. Just the ticket, provided no one is going to come looking for you?”

Sighing, she gazed up at him. “Mama is taking tea with a neighbour. I excused myself with a sick headache—all the excitement—and Mama will take a nap once her guest is gone. We should be safe for a couple of hours at least.”

“A couple of hours,” he repeated, his voice gone all low and gravelly, so deep it shivered through her, making her bones melt.

“Yes. So, you’d best make the most of them,” she suggested, backing away from him and sitting down on her bed. She patted the mattress, batting her eyelashes at him and doing her best to look innocent. “It’s very comfortable.”

“Is it, by Jove?” he remarked, moving closer.

She nodded, her expression grave. “Very, and you look like you need a rest. A little lie down, just for a moment.”

He made a choked sound but kept his expression deadpan. “A little lie down?”

Angel nodded, giving the bed another inviting pat. He sat down beside her, his eyes gleaming with interest, and her heart gave an erratic thump in her chest. Sliding from the bed, she knelt before him.

“You had better take your boots off,” she said, reaching for a gleaming Hessian boot and giving it a tug. Obediently, he lifted his foot and allowed her to remove it, before offering the other to repeat the process.

Angel stood, insinuating herself between his legs and reaching for his cravat. “This had better go too,” she said, tugging at the exquisite folds and hoping Blake didn’t punish him too dreadfully for returning to the hotel in the state she suspected he would be in. A moment later, and she tossed the cravat to the floor, exposing a triangle of skin at the base of his throat. Unable to resist, she touched a finger to it and heard his breath catch.

“Coat next,” she said briskly, pushing it from his shoulders. He wriggled to help her, for it fitted him beautifully, hugging his broad frame. Once he was free of it, she hung it on the bedstead and reached for his waistcoat buttons. As she did so, his big hands went to her waist, encircling it. Warmth bloomed from the place where he touched her, heat emanating from his hands, through the fabric of her gown and flooding into her bloodstream, as intoxicating as the finest brandy.