My Lady Angel. Joanna Maitland

Angel yet more closely. ‘Whatever your niece’s intentions may be,’ she said, lifting her glass to indicate the young gallant who was bending over Angel’s shoulder to turn her music, ‘it is a pound to a penny that every fortune-hunter in London will be trying to win her. Young Rotherwell there is but the first.’ At that moment, Angel smiled gratefully up at her escort, and Lady Perrimer snorted in disgust. ‘Should have thought you would have taught her not to bestow her favours on just anyone. Rotherwell hasn’t a feather to fly with…and is a rakehell, besides.’

      ‘My niece was taught manners from the cradle, ma’am,’ Lady Charlotte said acidly, ‘and that included the importance of being polite to any gentleman who renders a service to her.’ She tried to ignore the fact that Angel now seemed to be openly flirting with her cavalier. Confound the girl! She should know better than to expose herself, and her relations, to the criticism of tabbies like Lady Perrimer. Just wait till they were alone!

      ‘Outrageous!’ Lady Perrimer was clearly paying more attention to the evidence of her eyes than to Lady Charlotte’s quelling words.

      ‘Are your own family arrived in town, ma’am?’ said Lady Charlotte, with a tight smile. She refused to be drawn further on the subject of Angel’s behaviour. ‘Your two younger sons are as yet unmarried, are they not?’ She was gratified to see a tiny flush on the dowager’s neck. Let her have a taste of her own nasty medicine.

      Lady Perrimer raised her eyebrows haughtily. ‘My three eldest sons are already well married, ma’am. As for the two youngest…I dare say they will be settled eventually. It is of little importance, since the succession is in no danger. When one has a fine family of sons…’ She smiled in a particularly condescending way. ‘Such a pity that your brother did not succeed in siring even one son. In spite of having two wives.’

      Lady Charlotte knew when she was outgunned. Fortunately, Angel had just risen from the instrument and seemed to be moving in the general direction of the supper room on the arm of young Rotherwell. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I fear I must leave you. I promised to join my niece for supper.’ With a slight nod, she moved rapidly away, trying to ignore the fact that she had certainly lost that encounter. She must warn Angel about her behaviour before her niece’s reputation suffered irreparably. Angel might be a widow, and a Baroness into the bargain, but even she should not encourage the attentions of reprobates such as Rotherwell…or Lady Perrimer’s younger sons.

      Max watched with distaste. His cousin was continuing to flirt openly with Rotherwell. Rotherwell, of all people! Was the woman so naïve, or so lacking in self-esteem, that she must stoop to consorting with Rotherwell?

      She was laughing up at her companion now, reaching out to touch his sleeve in a revoltingly familiar way. Women! Did she have any idea of the risks she was taking with a man like Rotherwell? Probably not. She had led a sheltered life until now. Perhaps no one had warned her about the dregs of Society and the harm they might seek to do her.

      He was relieved when Lady Charlotte drew her niece aside and began whispering urgently to her. High time the chit learned what was what.

      But the Baroness was clearly in no mood to heed her aunt’s advice, for she was shaking her head and cutting short the old lady’s words. Lady Charlotte was beginning to look quite indignant. Was the chit so determined on her folly that she would dismiss her companion’s warnings without a hearing?

      Max watched, astonished to see that his cousin would abruptly desert her aunt and return to resume her flirtatious tête-à-tête with Rotherwell. After only a few minutes, they were joined by two more of London’s most notorious fortune-hunters. Max was not in the least surprised. Such men would never willingly leave the field to only one of their number.

      Max’s disgust grew. The haughty Baroness was clearly basking in the false compliments being showered upon her by her three money-grubbing suitors. Somewhat unwillingly, he admitted to himself that it was not only her money that was drawing them to her like wasps to a pool of honey. Her person, too, was more attractive than he had remembered. She seemed to have blossomed since he had last seen her. It was not simply that she was beautifully gowned. There was something more. Some men might even have called her beautiful—but only if they knew nothing of the character beneath.

      Suddenly he was no longer in any doubt. She must be perfectly aware of what she was doing. She was sparkling with animation, smiling and laughing with the gentlemen and occasionally gazing coyly up at one of them through her lashes. So much for Ross’s warning that she might be an innocent in need of protection. She was nothing of the sort! And he would take pleasure in saying as much to Ross, as soon as his friend returned from France.

      The longer Max watched, the angrier he became. The woman was drawing the censure of all the tabbies for her outrageous behaviour. Every eye was upon her! If she was not stopped, the Rosevale family would have no reputation left!

      Max was striding across the floor to her before he was fully aware of what he was doing—or what he planned.

      Rotherwell and his companions reluctantly made way for Max’s approach. He offered them only the briefest military bow. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said frostily, ‘you will allow me to deprive you of my cousin’s delightful company.’ He held out his arm imperiously, frowning down at the Baroness until she placed her gloved fingers on his sleeve. Then, with a curt nod to the three rakes, Max moved her away, leading her to the far side of the main saloon where empty sofas stood against the wall.

      ‘Will it please you to sit for a while, ma’am?’

      She glowered up at him. ‘It pleases me not at all, sir. Why did you insist on bringing me apart, pray? We can have nothing to say to each other.’

      ‘Smile, Cousin,’ Max said coolly. ‘There is already enough conjecture in this room about your behaviour without adding the speculation that you and I are at outs.’

      ‘How dare—?’

      ‘Smile, Cousin.’ He waited, but she did not respond. ‘Watch. It is not so very difficult to do.’ He affected to smile down at her.

      ‘That is not a smile, sir. That is a grimace,’ she said sharply. ‘However, since you clearly wish to have speech with me, I can grant you…a few moments. I take it that will suffice?’

      Max said nothing. He simply waited while she took her seat. She arranged her skirts demurely, taking much more time than was necessary, and then she looked up at him with a spark of challenge in her eye and a tiny smile on her lips. ‘You are squandering your allotted time, sir. I am waiting to hear what it is you wish to say to me…but my patience is not infinite.’

      ‘Neither is mine, madam,’ he said flatly, taking his seat beside her and stretching out his legs with an appearance of nonchalance. He refused to let her suspect how much she exasperated him.

      He raised a hand to beckon a waiter with a tray of champagne. Without saying a word to the Baroness, he took two glasses and offered one to her. ‘I am sure you are in need of something to drink now.’