style="font-size:15px;"> Lord Trevellyan’s brows snapped together over dangerously irritable eyes as he stared down at the rebellious girl. ‘You’ve a sharp tongue, Miss Westwood,’ he said, his voice silky, but his eyes narrowed in the menacing fashion over which he appeared to have no control, ‘and you are also an impertinent, spoilt, undisciplined child. Your father would have done us all a service—including yourself—if he’d turned you over his knee when you were of an age for him to do so.’
Stung, Marietta fumed, her green eyes almost black with temper. ‘And by the tone of your voice, my lord, I imagine that you would gain immense pleasure in delivering the punishment yourself.’
‘What a delightful idea,’ he replied grimly.
Lord Trevellyan’s rebuke was so unexpected, so public, so intense as to be offensive. He didn’t even have the good manners to help her to her feet or enquire if she was hurt, unlike his wife. Marietta’s face went scarlet and her precarious control snapped. ‘How dare you say that to me? Is this how you talk when you are bullying the people you do business with?’ She was tempted to include his long-suffering wife, but thought she’d better not.
Glancing at the blonde-haired woman by his side, not for the first time she thought how enchanting she was. She was so beautiful Marietta always found it difficult to tear her gaze from her. Dressed in the height of fashion, she had a slender body and the magnetism of a woman who is confident of her own beauty without being obsessed by it. Her poise was to be admired as she stood serenely by her husband’s side. Acutely aware of her own dishevelled appearance, Marietta pushed her hair back from her face and brushed the dust from her skirt. She returned her gaze to Lord Trevellyan, her anger not appeased.
‘And how dare you call me a spoilt child?’ she retorted indignantly. ‘As well you know, I am the daughter of a gentleman of some note on the island and you should treat me with more respect.’
Lord Trevellyan scowled gravely, though Marietta suspected him of a strong desire to laugh at her, to mock her.
‘Respect is something that must be earned, Miss Westwood, and from what I have just witnessed, you have a long way to go before you can do so.’
In his mind this could also be applied to her father, for there were many on the island who would dispute his daughter’s use of the word gentleman where Monty Westwood was concerned.
It would never occur to her that her father and his partner were two of several traders in the colony whose shady endeavours were of professional interest. But he would not sully the sensitive ears of a seventeen-year-old girl with the disgusting truth about her adored father’s illicit dealings in the opium trade.
The Chinese had banned opium from its territories, but it was smuggled into Hong Kong from India covertly, increasing the addiction of the Chinese to the drug. He was convinced that Miss Westwood’s knowledge about the drug went no further than it being a very effective medicine. And, he thought, when he considered the misery it caused, long may she continue to do so.
‘You don’t know me, Lord Trevellyan, so you have no right to say that. And I have apologised to you—and your wife—which you would have heard had you taken the wool out of your ears.’
Max wasn’t accustomed to being answered back and was taken aback at her remark. One dark brow lifted over an amused silver-grey eye, before he checked himself and his lips curled scornfully across his even white teeth. ‘It sounded more like an excuse than an apology to me,’ he replied crisply, wondering what the hell he was doing arguing with her. Hearing the sound of youthful laughter, he glanced beyond her, noting the boisterousness of her group. ‘It’s certainly a wayward bunch you are with.’
‘These are my friends, actually,’ Marietta snapped defensively.
‘I think everybody would be obliged if they’d restrain their enthusiasm,’ he remarked, glowering beneath ferociously dipping eyebrows.
‘Why? We are just having some perfectly harmless fun.’ Snatching her bonnet off her head, she assumed an appearance of remote indifference as she turned her back on Lord Trevellyan and his wife and haughtily flounced back to her friends.
‘I say, Marietta!’ Oliver remarked, astounded and full of admiration for the way she had stood up to the formidable Lord Trevellyan. ‘You gave him what for.’
‘He deserved it,’ she remarked haughtily. ‘The man is arrogant, high-handed and quite despicable.’ Every word she uttered she believed was true, but if so, why was she drowning in an ocean of mortification? Why couldn’t she have walked away instead of arguing with Lord Trevellyan, which was what any well brought-up, self-respecting young lady would have done.
Marietta had first seen Lord Trevellyan at a musical tea party being held at a prominent merchant’s house. Her eyes had been caught by the handsome man who was a stranger in their midst. In contrast to the bored languor of other gentlemen present, he moved with an easy grace that expressed confidence, which sat on him lightly but with a strength of steel. His manner was authoritative, his tall frame positively radiating raw power and the kind of unleashed sensuality her best friend Emma was always talking about.
His charm was evident in his lazy white smile and there was an aura about him of danger and excitement that stirred her young and impressionable heart. Marietta thought it was an aura that women would find exciting and which would add tremendously to his attraction—indeed, every woman present seemed to be aware of his presence. But he appeared not to notice the smiles showered on him. His eyes looked cool and restless, his expression restrained and guarded. It was as if he were fed up with the whole occasion, which made Marietta suspect that he would very much like to be somewhere else.
As she’d continued to look at him she’d only become more aware of him as a man. She was motionless. There seemed to be a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if her whole being had been stirred and some change were taking place in its very depths. All at once she wanted desperately to make this fine gentleman notice her, to dazzle him with her wit and brilliance, while he had probably seen her merely as some silly schoolgirl.
Her eyes had continued to follow him until, unable to stand the suspense of not knowing who he was any longer, she asked her father.
‘Who is that man, Papa—the tall man with the black hair? I can’t say that I’ve seen him before.’
‘That—Oh! Max Trevellyan—Lord Trevellyan. He’s also a member of the British aristocracy—a duke, no less, but when he’s in Hong Kong he prefers to leave his title at home in England. That’s his wife, Nadine, a nice young woman and very beautiful, as you can see.’
‘Wife? Oh, I see.’ And Marietta did see. She’d been swamped with disappointment. Lady Trevellyan was perhaps the loveliest woman she had ever seen as she’d watched her walk across the room to her husband’s side. Her hair was blonde, her face exquisite, and she was poised, her slender figure swaying beneath the silk and lace of her dress when she moved. When she looked at her husband her lips were smiling, her eyes half-closed. Marietta recognised something in the charm of her attitude that caused a strange disquiet to fall on her.
After that occasion, even though her eyes sought Lord Trevellyan out, she always remained at a distance. Once they were introduced, but he took no more notice of her than he would any seventeen-year-old girl.
Marietta’s home was a substantial mansion high up on the Peak, which, overlooking the busy harbour and Kowloon, attracted prominent European residents because of its temperate climate compared to the subtropical heat in the rest of Hong Kong.
She
