My Lady Angel. Joanna Maitland

That way, you would get control of your inheritance all the sooner.’

      Penrose merely shook his head wearily. He had his temper well in hand now. ‘I had always thought you were out of your mind, Ross. Now, I’m sure of it. Must be the fiery red hair. Clearly all that heat addles the brain.’

      ‘No more! No more!’ Lady Charlotte pushed away the smelling salts that Angel had been waving under her nose. ‘I am perfectly recovered, I assure you.’

      Looking at her aunt’s ashen features, Angel knew better. The old lady was still far from well, but argument would achieve nothing. Besides, there was still their astonishing visitor to consider.

      ‘Shall I tell the gentleman that your ladyship is not at home? I—’

      ‘No, Willett,’ said Angel, glancing up from where she knelt by her aunt’s chair, ‘that will not do. Not if he is part of the family. Ask him to wait in the library. Tell him I shall join him there presently. Lady Charlotte will remain here until she is recovered.’

      ‘As your ladyship wishes.’

      The door had barely closed behind him when Lady Charlotte said urgently, ‘He is an impostor. He must be. If Julian were still alive, he would have contacted us long ago. It’s been more than twenty years. Why would he wait until now?’

      Angel rose to her feet, still holding her aunt’s slightly clammy hand. ‘Because…because now he can claim the titles,’ she said slowly.

      Lady Charlotte started, and then nodded reluctantly. ‘That would be true, of course. My brother was…is…was no fool. Though he would be nearly as poor as Frederick, since neither of them has any claim on the Barony. Oh, Julian…’ She shook her head, frowning slightly, but suddenly her expression cleared. ‘If it is Julian, just think how Frederick’s nose will be put out of joint. He’ll be mad as fire to be plain Mr Frederick Rosevale all over again. Why, it is famous!’

      Angel released her aunt’s hand and moved towards the door. ‘Poor Frederick,’ she said under her breath. She closed it quietly behind her and started down the staircase to the library.

      Poor Frederick, indeed. His earldom might not be worth much, but it did confer a certain standing in Society. To have it whisked out of his fingers, barely months after he had grasped it, would be humiliating in the extreme. Had he done anything to deserve this kind of treatment? Aunt Charlotte seemed to think so. But Aunt Charlotte’s views were not unbiased, judging by today’s outburst of venom. On occasion, she could be remarkably difficult. Why did—?

      Willett had already thrown open the library door. And, as Angel reached it, the gentleman standing by the huge stone fireplace turned round to greet her.

      ‘Oh—’ Angel stopped on the threshold, transfixed. The man before her was certainly no newly discovered uncle. This man was probably no older than Angel herself.

      But he was, without doubt, the handsomest man she had ever beheld.

       Chapter Two

       A ngel’s breath had caught in her throat. For a second, the two simply stared at each other. Neither seemed able to utter a word.

      Then, with a tiny shrug, the apparition straightened and came towards her. An odd smile fluttered for a moment at the corner of his mouth as he made his bow, an old-fashioned courtly gesture, with an elaborate sweep of his arm. ‘My lady, you do me too much honour.’

      That bow belonged to a bygone age, Angel thought. How strange. This man might claim to be a Rosevale, but he could not be English. He—

      Just then, he straightened and smiled at her. It was such a dazzling smile that, for a moment, she could neither think nor speak.

      He took another step towards her.

      Angel forced her tumbling thoughts into the beginnings of order. She must take charge of this encounter. She was the head of the Rosevale family, was she not?

      She nodded politely towards her visitor and stepped further into the room. Behind her, the door closed with a tiny click. Willett was no doubt standing on the other side, ready to defend her against the foreign intruder. Willett had a profound distrust of all things foreign.

      ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ Angel said evenly. ‘To what do we owe the honour of your visit?’ She looked steadily at him, her head tilted slightly to one side as she assessed him more fully. Yes, there might be a slight family resemblance…but almost all the Rosevales were fair, like Angel herself, whereas this man had chestnut hair and dark eyes. And the features of a Greek god.

      ‘My lady, I seek the Marquis Penrose.’ He pronounced the title in the French fashion, but that barely registered with Angel.

      She swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden thundering of her pulse at the visitor’s question. He did not know! She took a deep breath. ‘The Marquis of Penrose died more than a year ago, sir,’ she said. ‘Since my father left no male heirs, the title died with him. There is no longer a Marquis of Penrose.’

      For a moment there was a shocked silence. Angel saw that her visitor’s widening eyes were dark blue rather than brown, as she had first thought. Perhaps he was a Rosevale after all?

      ‘Your pardon, my lady. I do not understand,’ he said at last, shaking his head.

      Angel motioned him to one of the wing chairs. He waited courteously until she had seated herself before following her lead. He moved with a degree of elegance that would draw every female eye.

      ‘If you will have the goodness to explain your errand, sir, I am sure I shall be able to provide you with the information you seek. Tell me, why did you wish to see my father?’ She tried to smile encouragingly at him.

      ‘I am Julien Pierre Rosevale, my lady. I arrived from France just a few days ago. The crossing was—’ he closed his eyes for a second, and swallowed ‘—painful.’

      Angel’s mind was racing—a Frenchman called Rosevale?—but she forced herself to nod in sympathy. Only the most urgent business would persuade any sane person to brave the Channel in the depths of winter.

      ‘I came to seek help from the Marquis since he is…was my father’s brother. It was not possible to travel before, because— Well, no matter. I think…you and I are cousins, I think?’ It seemed that he was more than a little bewildered.

      ‘You are Julian Rosevale’s son? But—’ Angel smoothed her silken skirts in an attempt to hide her consternation. ‘Forgive me, monsieur, but I had understood that my uncle and all his family perished on the guillotine. How is it that you alone escaped?’

      ‘Not I alone, my lady. I have a younger sister. Her name is Julie. Both of us escaped the terrible fate that took my father and mother, and all my mother’s family. My father’s servants saved us both and brought us up. They swore we were their own children.’

      ‘Your father’s servants?’

      ‘Gaston, and his wife, Hannah,’ he said, nodding. ‘Gaston came from the d’Eury family estate at the time of my parents’ marriage. But Hannah is English. She made us both speak English always when we were alone. Never outside the house, of course. We were always afraid that one of the spies might hear us. There were spies everywhere.’

      That explained his remarkable command of English, Angel concluded. His use of the language was almost faultless. Only the occasional tiny slip betrayed his origins.

      And the longer he talked, the less obvious it seemed to become.

      Aunt Charlotte’s tightly clasped fingers were almost as white as her face, but her back was ramrod-straight and her features were set.

      ‘Aunt, you will allow me to present our visitor,’ Angel said simply, drawing him into the room. ‘He is lately arrived from France, in spite of the winter storms. He says his name is Julien Rosevale, son of your brother, Julian.’ It was an odd way of performing an introduction, to be sure, but she was not about to accept