of my acquaintances are Americans, Nathan, so I would be grateful if you did not lecture me on their attributes,’ Alex replied drily. ‘If my uncle brings the girl to England, he will have legal control over her until she is twenty-one.’
‘Are you afraid that she’ll be a drain on your resources?’
‘No. We can afford it,’ Alex bit out.
‘Not only will you have to feed her, but you will be faced with the enormous expense of clothing her and introducing her to society.’
‘I don’t need reminding.’ His eyes like dagger thrusts, Alex glared with deadly menace at the amusement Nathan was unable to conceal in his eyes. ‘Damn it, Nathan! I do believe you’re enjoying my predicament,’ he flared in exasperation.
Blithely ignoring his friend’s ill humour, Nathan grinned good-naturedly. ‘No, not really. I merely find it odd that a girl you have never met, a girl you know nothing about, is capable of rousing so much ire in you. It appears to me that you have already made up your mind not to like her, and have no intention of being charitable or accommodating.’
Alex’s eyes impaled Nathan like sharp flints. ‘I cannot be accused of being either uncharitable or unaccommodating in this instance. And contrary to what you may think, I have formed no opinion of her whatsoever.’
‘I am glad to hear it. You may be pleasantly surprised. Why, she might be a pretty young thing with a sweet disposition and excellent manners.’
‘Let us hope so—for all our sakes,’ Alex drawled, scanning the park for Lord Fairhurst, his annoyance increasing by the minute the longer he was kept waiting.
‘Nevertheless, try to imagine how she might feel,’ Nathan persisted. ‘Her mother is dying, you say, and she has no relatives in America. Maybe she doesn’t want to come to England. My fear is that when she is faced with your formidable manner—a daunting prospect for any girl—it will alienate her from the start. Has it not entered that arrogant, stubborn head of yours that you might like her, Alex? And, if so, will it wound your pride to admit it?’
‘Even for an arrogant, stubborn male like me it is not beyond the realms of possibility,’ Alex conceded with sarcasm. ‘I am protective of my uncle; as you are aware, he does not always enjoy the best of health. He is renowned for his generosity and I am naturally concerned that he is not taken advantage of.’
‘Yes, I can understand that. How old is the girl?’
‘I really have no idea, but it is my intention to marry her off to the first prospective suitor.’
Nathan watched an inexplicable smile trace its way across the other man’s face. ‘In which case, you do realise that you will have to provide a somewhat generous dowry?’
Alex regarded Nathan in casual, speculative silence, one dark brow lifted in amused mockery. ‘If she turns out to be a wilful hoyden with outrageous manners,’ he said drily, ‘it will be worth it to get her off our hands.’
Alex had been trained to discipline as soon as he had drawn breath. Already the American girl had caused a rift in his routine—a disturbance that had brought a feeling of unease which had begun to trouble him. It was like a pebble breaking the calm surface of a pond. Once thrown there was nothing to prevent the ripple widening in ever-increasing circles.
The quiet of the park was interrupted. Hearing the measured thud of horses’ hooves on the soft turf and the creaking of wheels, they turned to see a closed carriage bearing down on them. It came to a halt and they saw it had only one occupant, a man in middle age. He climbed out and calmly told an astonished Alex that Lord Fairhurst had died suddenly of a seizure during the night.
When Angelina and her mother, Lydia, had left Ohio, never in her life had Angelina known such grief. It broke her heart to think that as well as her father, all the people she had known in the settlement were dead, that whole families had been wiped out by the Shawnee.
Will Casper had accompanied them to Boston. He was a loner, a man of few words, who helped Angelina’s father on the land when needed. Will had become a good and loyal friend to them over the years. He had found a doctor to tend to Lydia after she was badly wounded in the Shawnee attack, but he could give them little hope that she would live beyond the next few weeks.
With a horse and wagon, a few meagre possessions and a rifle, they had faced east, pushing themselves hard on well-worn trails. The months of trekking through Pennsylvania and across the mountains were a harsh and emotional time for Angelina, during which she was veiled in a curtain of shock. Her pain defied release. It hid itself in a hollow place inside her heart, beyond the reach of understanding.
Will silently watched her battle to be brave and grown up. He showed her she wasn’t alone, and together they made it to the state of Massachusetts, making their home in a shack on the outskirts of Boston. The land round about was wild, and fast-flowing water cut its way through a steep rocky gorge beside the shack, moving north to the Charles River.
The night of the massacre and her own treatment at the hands of the Shawnee had scorched its memory on Angelina’s soul. Even now, two years later, she felt defiled and beyond redemption. The terrible, haunting nightmares had pursued her all the way back east. At first they happened every night, but now they were less frequent. But no matter how much time passed, she could not swallow her feeling of outrage and pretend the incident had never happened. She would never be able to come to terms with it, never be able to speak of it. Her terrible secret would remain a burden she would never be able to put into more manageable proportions.
Angelina galloped so hard towards Henry Montgomery that he half-expected a troop of Amazons to materialise from the trees in her wake. Riding the forest pathways on a pony as energetic as herself, she was reckless, like an Indian, and as refreshing as a cool, invigorating wind. With long bouncing braids sticking out from beneath a battered old beaver hat with an eagle’s feather stuck in its brim, she pulled her lathered pony to an abrupt halt in front of him, unconcerned by the clouds of dust that the restless animal sent into the air with its hooves, which covered his fine clothes.
Dressed in a worn brown jerkin, ill-fitting deerskin trousers and dull brown boots that no amount of rubbing would bring a shine to, Angelina levelled a steady dark gaze at the tall, silver-haired man. Silently they took stock of each other. She was guarded, wary, looking at him with a wordless resentment.
Henry Montgomery possessed a commanding presence. He had the poise and regal bearing of a man who has lived a thoroughly privileged life. With Angelina he aroused a curious inspection. He looked cool and contained in his immaculate charcoal grey suit and pristine white stock. He was the sort of gentleman her mother had told her about—his rather austere mien and noble bearing out of place here in the backwoods of New England.
Despite the unease and resentment his unexpected arrival caused her, knowing how much her mother was looking forward to meeting him, she had primed herself to be gracious.
‘You’re the Englishman,’ she stated without preamble, her pronunciation clear and distinct. Taking note of this, Henry smiled inwardly. He would have expected nothing less from Lydia’s daughter. Swinging her leg over her pony she jumped down like an Indian—lithe, supple and long limbed.
Henry inclined his silver head with amusement and quite without resentment on being confronted by the bold and forthright manner of the girl, who positively oozed energy and vitality. Somehow it came as no surprise to
