extend to marrying her!
‘After our recent encounter at the Abbey, I think I am the last man on earth that Lady Rosevale would marry. In fact,’ Max added, remembering her exact words, ‘I’m sure of it. She told me I was no gentleman. I’d have to drag her to the altar by the hair.’
Ross’s eyebrows rose. ‘I hadn’t thought of abduction. But now you come to mention it…’ He grinned wickedly.
Max raised his eyes to heaven. He knew better than to respond when Ross was in one of his rollicking moods.
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Ross after a moment, looking rather more solemn, ‘you would not need to resort to abduction. Much better to make the lady fall in love with you. She—’
‘Confound it, Ross, I—’
‘She wouldn’t be the first, would she?’
Max clamped his lips tight together.
‘Seriously, Max, you know very well how to turn her up sweet. After all your practice in Spain, an unworldly widow should be like wax in your hands. Charm her into favouring you over the Frenchman.’
Max began to shake his head, but stopped. It was true that he could make himself attractive to women. It was just that he had never tried it when the stakes were so high. In Spain, a little dalliance had been a light-hearted thing, a fleeting pleasure for both parties. But this? This was too important. His cousin was pursuing a dangerous path.
If she was being cozened by a plausible impostor, it was Max’s duty, as a gentleman and her closest male relative, to do everything in his power to save her.
And he would. Somehow. Whether she willed it or no.
Aunt Charlotte had fallen asleep. At last! Angel offered up a silent prayer of thanks, even though it had taken a long time. They would be in London in little over an hour from now. Not much of an opportunity for Angel to order her thoughts and decide what she was to do.
She had had time enough to reflect on Cousin Frederick. Days of time. It had not helped. She still could not make up her mind about him. She could not even remember him properly. His temper had been so overwhelming that she had thought of little else…apart from his strength when he had held her fast.
He had threatened her, had he not? And he had accused her of conspiring with Pierre to steal his title. Not in quite such stark terms, of course, but that had surely been the import of his words.
He had been furious. He had said things that were unforgivable. So she had every right to hate him, just as Aunt Charlotte did. And yet…
Angel glanced across to where Lady Charlotte slept in the corner of the carriage. Her mouth hung slightly open. Every now and then, a little noise emerged. How mortified the old lady would be to be told that she snored!
Angel smiled to herself. Poor Aunt Charlotte. She hated the idea of growing old and losing control. She prided herself on her self-control—except where Cousin Frederick was concerned. There she had no control at all. She had nothing but cold, implacable hatred for him, and for all his family. That, Angel supposed, must be the reason for her aunt’s unaccountably sudden acceptance of Pierre, too. Nothing else made any sense. It all seemed totally out of character for such a refined lady.
Angel shook her head. There was no point in brooding about Aunt Charlotte. She was impossible to fathom. Besides, Angel still had to decide what she was going to do in London. About Pierre. And about Cousin Frederick.
She did not fully trust Pierre, though she was not sure why. Perhaps it was because of Aunt Charlotte’s lightning conversion to his cause. On the other hand, he might be exactly what he said. Angel owed it to her honour, and to her family, to give Pierre every opportunity to establish his credentials. If he proved to be her Uncle Julian’s son, it would be Angel’s duty to take his part against Cousin Frederick.
A little tremor ran through her at the thought of taking on a man who could outface her in her own drawing room. She quelled it very deliberately, putting the odd sensation out of her mind, and reminding herself that she was wealthy enough—as Cousin Frederick was not—to call on all the resources of the law to back her. She could do it. But it was daunting, none the less. She—
The carriage hit a bump. Aunt Charlotte woke up with a start.
‘Oh, dear, have I been asleep?’ she asked, putting her hands up to straighten her lace cap. ‘I do apologise, my love. How boring for you to have no one to talk to. I promise I shall try to keep awake for the rest of the journey.’ Another bump jolted them both. ‘And if the road continues like this, I shall have no difficulty,’ she added waspishly. ‘Considering how high the tolls are, it is too bad that the road is in such an appalling state. Do you not think so, Angel?’
Angel nodded absently.
‘I wonder how soon Pierre will call on us. You did write to tell him we were coming to town, did you not, Angel?’
‘Yes, Aunt. I asked him to call on us the day after tomorrow.’
‘But why so long? We—’
‘I have asked my man of business to call on me tomorrow. I must discuss matters with him before we see Mr Rosevale again. I would not have Mr Rosevale cherish false hopes.’
‘Nonsense. There can be no question of that. You yourself saw the likeness to the portrait.’
Angel took a deep breath. Patience!
‘And he is such a delightful young man. So handsome! So charming! And so eligible, too. I predict he will have half the ladies in London dropping the handkerchief.’
‘Quite possibly, Aunt, though his looks will not avail him much without a title or an estate. He told us they were living like peasants, remember?’
‘Yes, and it is quite shocking. You must help him, my dear!’
‘Must I?’ said Angel warningly.
The old lady began to look a little flustered. ‘I very much hope you will help him. You cannot take Cousin Frederick’s part, surely? From what little you told me, he behaved to you like an absolute blackguard. Exactly what I should have expected from Augustus Rosevale’s grandson, of course. Not an ounce of good in any of ’em.’
Angel kept silent. She was not about to encourage her aunt’s intemperate outbursts even though, in this case, she was right. Her cousin had behaved in an appalling fashion. He was foul-tempered…and a little frightening, too. She felt that odd tremor again, running down her spine. She forced herself to ignore it and to focus on Pierre. Pierre was gentle, and charming, and understood exactly how to make a lady feel…valued.
‘They are certainly not at all alike, Aunt. But I wonder whether Mr Rosevale will be able to stand against Cousin Frederick. He will be a formidable opponent, I think.’
‘But Pierre will have you to stand with him. Will he not? He is exactly what a young man should be, you know, and you—’
‘If he were as perfect as you say, Aunt Charlotte, I should marry him myself!’ cried Angel, in exasperation. ‘He—’
Aunt Charlotte clapped her hands in delight. ‘Of course! That is exactly the solution! If you marry him, there
