“Stourbridge!” The loud and imperious barking of his name reverberated through the house.
“Oh, God, no …!” Alexander gasped in protest as he turned to stare toward the locked dining room door.
“What is it?” Angelina looked up at him in concern.
“Not what, Angel, but who!” Alexander corrected harshly as he rose hastily to his feet and began to pull on his clothes.
“Who, then?” Angelina prompted as she less hurriedly got to her feet.
He fastened his breeches before answering her. “It would seem that my aunt Elizabeth has indeed returned to town and decided to pay me a visit …!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“SIT UP STRAIGHT AND do not fidget, Angelina.” Lady Elizabeth Montague instructed brusquely but not unkindly as the two women sat together in the elegance of her town house drawing room, awaiting the arrival of afternoon visitors.
Angel instantly stilled in rearranging the folds of her cream gown, still somewhat at a loss to know how it was she came to be in residence at Lady Montague’s home at all.
The elderly lady had swept into the dining room at St. Claire House the evening before, having been informed by not one acquaintance but several that the Duke of Stourbridge had been seen in his carriage that very morning with a young, unmarried female at his side. An occurrence that she had felt the need to look into personally. “Being seen with a female and having that female stay in his home unaccompanied,” Alexander had been informed disgustedly, “were two completely different things!”
Having taken in the intimacy of their situation at a glance—how could she not when Alexander had only had time to hastily don his shirt and breeches, and Angelina’s own appearance showed signs of their lovemaking in the untidiness of her hair and lips swollen from the force of Alexander’s kisses!—she had ordered Angelina to collect her things immediately as she would be returning home with her instantly.
Such had been the older woman’s force of will that Angelina had felt compelled to comply with the instruction. Quite what had taken place between aunt and nephew in her absence Angelina had no idea, but when she returned down the stairs, her appearance suitably tidied and her belongings duly repacked into her trunk, she had found Alexander to be in complete agreement with his aunt’s arrangements.
Angelina had personally received no word of rebuke from that lady, either last night or this morning, Lady Montague seeming to attribute any and all blame, for the intimacy of the situation she had so obviously interrupted, to her nephew.
Something Angelina knew she must now correct. “Lady Montague, I feel I must tell you—”
“I would rather you did not, my dear,” the older woman assured her hastily. “I saw enough yesterday evening to know the way things are between you and Stourbridge,” she added kindly. “The sooner the two of you are married the happier I shall be!” Angelina’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, but—” “The Duke of Stourbridge, my lady,” the butler announced while standing in the doorway, only seconds before Alexander himself strode forcefully into the room.
Angelina was only vaguely aware of the butler withdrawing and closing the door behind him, her attention all on Alexander as he crossed the room to bend and place a kiss upon one of his aunt’s powdered cheeks. He looked every inch the haughty duke this afternoon, his hair tied back meticulously, his dark blue jacket and paler blue waistcoat impeccably tailored above cream silk breeches.
At last, Alexander turned to look at Angelina, frowning darkly as her lashes instantly fanned down onto the paleness of her cheeks and so hiding her expressive blue eyes from his gaze.
“What have you been saying to Angel in order to cause this uncharacteristic demureness, Aunt?” he drawled ruefully, his gaze unrepentant as Angelina’s lashes rose instantly so that she might give him a censorious frown for his levity in the midst of a situation that was obviously causing his aunt some distress.
“I am afraid that your aunt is under the misapprehension that the two of us are to be married, Your Grace,” she informed him worriedly.
“Indeed.” He gave an inclination of his head.
“Yes,” Angelina confirmed breathlessly. “When you arrived I was just about to inform Lady Montague that I am intended as your mistress and not your wife!”
“Stourbridge!” his aunt prompted in alarm at the same moment as Alexander gave an uncontrolled shout of laughter. “I fail to see anything in the least amusing in this situation!” she admonished severely.
Alexander smiled ruefully. “That is because you are you and not me, Aunt.”
She looked scandalized. “Stourbridge—”
“Aunt Elizabeth—” he sobered, his narrowed gaze still fixed intently on the beautiful vision Angelina made in her cream gown “—would you be so kind as to allow Angel and I a few minutes alone in which we might converse privately?”
“Very well. But a few minutes only,” his aunt warned sternly as she rose majestically to her feet. “I am expecting dozens of visitors this afternoon, all of them anxious to meet and gaze upon the young lady who has succeeded in capturing the elusive Duke of Stourbridge’s heart!”
Angelina waited only long enough for the elderly lady to leave the room before rising sharply to her feet, her expression one of alarm as she beseeched. “Xander, you must put a stop to this instantly!”
“Must I?” he drawled mockingly.
“But of course you must!” Angelina chided impatiently. “Your aunt is under the misapprehension that the two of us are to be married. You must go to her and tell her the truth. That I am to be your mistress—”
“I have always found it wiser by far never to lie to my aunt Elizabeth,” he assured softly.
“But you would not be lying in this instance—What on earth do you mean, Xander …?” Angelina now eyed him guardedly.
Alexander’s eyes glowed as he looked across at her. As he took in the glorious gold of her hair. The pale beauty of her face. The depth of her blue eyes, the sprinkling of freckles upon her tiny nose and the full and sensuous curve of her lips. As for the fullness of her breasts …! She really was the most exquisite creature.
St. Claire House, the place Alexander had called home all of his adult life, where he had always been perfectly at his ease, had seemed empty and cold today without Angelina’s warmth and laughter in it. All of which had told Alexander exactly what his future relationship with Angelina must—had—to be!
He drew in a ragged breath. “I mean, my dear Angel, that it is my intention to marry you at the earliest opportunity.”
She gasped. “Xander, you cannot possibly mean to marry me simply because your aunt expects it of you!”
He gave a pained wince. “I do not recall ever saying that was my reason for marrying you.”
“But of course it is the reason—”
“You claim to know my thoughts and emotions so well, then?” he mused.
Angelina frowned her consternation with his behavior. “Of course I do not,” she assured agitatedly. “But I have been … tutored, groomed, these past three years for the role of your mistress—”
“Not at my bidding, I do most fervently assure you!” he rasped. “Not that I am complaining, you understand?” he added gently as Angelina recoiled at his vehemence. “On the contrary—to date I have found your … tutorage more satisfying than anything I have ever before experienced. So much so, that after only a few hours of being apart from you, I find I wish to repeat it every day—and night—for the rest of my life.”
Angelina gave a confused frown. “I fear you must explain yourself better than that, Alexander.”