why did the name Bristow seem so irritatingly familiar? Until he had answers to his questions, Alexander was reluctant to return to his guests.
“Wait there, Thompson,” he ordered, as the butler would have moved to do this young woman’s bidding. Meanwhile, Alexander’s dark gaze never wavered from the creamy and irritatingly enchanting perfection of his intruder’s face. “Exactly who are you?” he demanded of her impatiently.
That blue gaze widened. “Angelina Hawkins, of course. Although I would much prefer that you call me Angel. Your Grace.” Belatedly she made a polite curtsy.
Alexander stared down incredulously at her bent head.
Angelina Hawkins …! The illegitimate daughter of Benjamin Hawkins and his mistress? An illegitimate daughter whose existence Benjamin had confided to Alexander on his deathbed almost three years ago?
It had been bleak and stormy on the night Alexander was ushered into Benjamin’s hushed bedchamber. The older man had suffered a fall from his horse in an even worse storm two nights previously, resulting in injuries that would ultimately prove fateful. Alexander had sat at Benjamin’s bedside and listened to his tale of love and passion for the mistress who had been carried off by a fever but three days before. Benjamin’s distress at her loss was such that he had no desire to continue without her; hence, the deranged horse ride and fall that had sealed his own fate.
But there had been more. There was a child from the alliance. A daughter, named Angelina.
With both of her parents gone, and no other relatives who could take her in, Benjamin feared what would become of her, and had requested that Alexander see that suitable arrangements were made for her. A request that Alexander, distraught at his friend’s rapidly failing health, had readily agreed to do.
But he had assumed that the girl was no more than nine or ten years of age, and had requested that Hopkins, his man of business at the time, place her in a school where she could board until she reached adulthood. At which time Alexander would turn his attention to arranging a suitable marriage for her, to a parson or some such. Someone who would not question her family background too deeply.
Obviously the chit had decided to take matters into her own hands by appearing here uninvited this evening!
“You really must run along back to your dinner guests, Alexander,” Angelina now told him dismissively. “Thompson and I shall sort out where I am to go.”
The last person to instruct Alexander St. Claire to “run along,” had been his nanny when he was but five years of age—no one would have dared to do so in the four and twenty years since then!
That this—this young woman had done so was intolerable. Unacceptable. As was the fact that she was here, in his home, at all, and acting as if she had a perfect right to be here!
Alexander drew in a sharply hissing breath. “Angelina—Miss Hawkins—”
“Did I not tell you I would prefer you to call me Angel, Alexander,” she chided mischievously.
Alexander blinked. This young woman was no angel. More like a devil sent from hell to plague him!
He reminded himself that, in fact, he did not have the time for this conversation with Angelina Hawkins now. His dinner guests were political allies and their wives, and Alexander had already been absent from their company longer than was polite. He would find out the answers he required later. “Thompson will indeed show you to the blue salon.” He turned to give the butler a pointed stare before moving his reproving gaze back to Angelina. “I will join you there once my guests have departed, and then we shall talk further on this matter,” he assured her grimly.
Her eyes widened. “Talk, Alexander? But I had thought—”
Alexander did not care to hear what this young woman “thought”—although her overfamiliarity and habit of launching herself into his arms at will was beginning to give him a fair indication of what some of those thoughts might be!
CHAPTER TWO
ANGELINA WAS HAVING the most wonderful dream. Of lying on a bed. Of being held in Alexander’s arms. His strong, muscled arms.
Her own arms moved up over his shoulders and her fingers became entangled in the dark thickness of his hair as she pulled him down to her and pressed her parted lips against his, before kissing him with warmth and passion.
Alexander, having finally rid himself of his last guest at almost two o’clock in the morning, had entered the blue salon to find Angelina fast asleep on the sofa. His efforts to wake her had proved fruitless. As it was already so late that any chance of removing her from the house, without causing a monumental scandal, was out of the question, he had decided that he had no choice but to carry her up the stairs and deposit her in one of the bedchambers on the floor above.
Only now he found himself being pulled down beside her as he placed her upon the bed! Her arms encircled his shoulders and her fingers threaded through his hair as she pressed her warm, parted lips against his. To both his dismay and delight, her actions sent a fiercely hot lick of desire coursing through his body.
“Xander?” Angelina groaned in protest as he pulled back in shock at his response. Her blue eyes were reproachful as she raised sleepy lids to look up at him. “Do you not wish to kiss me?”
Alexander scowled down at her as he was prevented from rising to his feet by her fingers still linked together beneath the loosened hair at his nape.
Angelina had removed her bonnet some time before falling asleep, revealing her gloriously golden curls. Her brow was smooth and creamy and her deep blue eyes were looking up at him in seductive invitation. Her mouth was full and sensual, and her neck long and slender above the full swell of her breasts, the low neckline of the peach gown having slipped so that it almost revealed her nipples.
“Kiss me, Xander,” she encouraged throatily as she pulled him toward her once more.
Beautiful and willing as Angelina undoubtedly was, Alexander knew he ought to stop this right now. To demand an explanation for the obvious invitation in her behavior.
Perhaps he had overindulged in the port following dinner and his wits had momentarily deserted him? Or perhaps it was just that the invitingly sensuous pout of Angelina’s lips cried out to be kissed? Just as the slender curves of her body begged to be crushed against his much harder ones! Whatever the reason—or perhaps excuse—instead of pushing Angelina Hawkins firmly away from him and leaving the bedchamber as he knew he should, Alexander found himself unable to do anything but draw her more fully into his arms.
Angelina moaned low in her throat as she felt the firmness of Alexander’s lips against her own, parting them to deepen the kiss as he pulled her roughly toward him.
Oh, how glorious it was to be kissed at last! By Alexander. It was so much more intimate, so much more arousing, than Angelina had ever imagined a kiss to be, and she found her neck arching in invitation as Alexander broke the kiss to seek out the hollows of her throat with his lips.
“Touch me, Xander!” she invited breathlessly, taking one of his hands in hers and placing it against one of her aching breasts. They swelled beneath the material of her gown, their tips swollen and sensitive as she felt the palm of Alexander’s hand against her.
But it was not nearly close enough, Angelina decided, as she ached for the feel of that
