My Lady Angel. Joanna Maitland

Forgive me, but you must see that a physical likeness to my uncle’s wife is not sufficient. Your relationship to the d’Eury family could be…er…other than the one you have described.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the beginnings of a flush on her aunt’s neck. Lady Charlotte was outraged, of course, at even the subtlest suggestion that Pierre might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

      ‘That is a trifle difficult at present,’ he said brusquely, looking her directly in the eye. ‘However, I am sure I shall be able to explain matters satisfactorily when I meet your father’s heir. Where is he to be—?’

      ‘I am my father’s heir,’ said Angel flatly. ‘I am the Baroness Rosevale, and head of the family.’

      ‘But you are a woman.’ The words came out in a rush, and were followed by a look of acute embarrassment.

      ‘Just so. No doubt things are managed differently in your country, monsieur, but in England a title as old as my father’s may descend in the female line, in the absence of sons. You were about to explain…?’

      He frowned and swallowed hard. ‘Julie and I were born at the time of the Revolution, as you will know, my lady. Everything was in turmoil then. I do have the record of my parents’ marriage, but, for the rest…’ he shrugged eloquently ‘…I have nothing but my word, and the testimony of Gaston and Hannah. Just before he was taken, my father insisted we flee as far as possible from Paris to escape the guillotine. Julie and I…we were mere babes. We remember nothing of those times. It might be possible to find written proof if I went back to Paris to search, but I would not know where to begin. And I have no money to buy information.’

      Angel chose to ignore that, for the moment. ‘May I see the record of your parents’ marriage?’

      ‘It is at home. With Julie. We could not risk—’

      ‘Yes, I quite see that you would not wish to bring it all the way to England. Tell me, where is your home?’

      ‘We live in a small fishing village, between Marseilles and Toulon. It is called Cassis.’

      ‘And Julie is there?’

      ‘Yes, of course. With Gaston and Hannah. We could afford only one passage, as I told you, and even then by the slowest and cheapest route. We thought that, if I could reach the Marquis, he would help us…for his brother’s sake.’

      ‘Of course we will help you,’ Lady Charlotte said, reaching out to touch Pierre’s hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. ‘Angel—’

      ‘We will be happy to help you to search for the proof you need, monsieur. But I must say I am a little surprised that you expected to receive help from my father. You must know, surely, that my father and his brother had had no contact since Uncle Julian left England? Forgiveness was not in my father’s nature. Nor in Uncle Julian’s either, according to my aunt.’

      ‘I am aware of that. But I could not believe that any man would allow his dead brother’s children to starve. Julie is an innocent. She is the niece of an English marquis and the granddaughter of a French count, yet she is almost destitute and living like a mere peasant. Do you tell me, my lady, that your family would have spurned her?’

      ‘No, but—’

      ‘Of course we would not!’ Lady Charlotte seemed determined to take Pierre’s side. ‘We will help you both. And the servants who shielded you. You will understand, of course, that it is necessary to have the proof of your birth in order to establish your claim to the titles. Cousin Frederick will demand nothing less before he will relinquish his hold on the earldom. But have no fear, we shall send to Paris to search for the documents, and we shall—’

      ‘I think I should discuss matters with my lawyer before we make any definite plans, Aunt Charlotte,’ said Angel, interrupting quickly. ‘If Mr Rosevale will tell us where he can be reached…?’

      ‘Mr Rosevale, indeed! Why, Pierre is the Marquis of Penrose and should be addressed by that title. He—’

      ‘I think it might be wise, Aunt, to make no such claim at this stage. Forgive me, sir, but if you are the rightful Marquis, then you are also the Earl of Penrose. That title passed to my cousin Frederick after my father’s death. I fancy it might be unwise to broadcast your claim until you have something more than a family likeness to substantiate it.’ She watched him carefully, trying to judge the effect of her words. He now seemed totally open and unembarrassed. She could not detect the slightest sign of duplicity in his face.

      Pierre smiled warmly at them both. Oh, he was a handsome man, no doubt of that. He had charming manners, too. When he smiled in just that way, with such warmth in his deep blue eyes, Angel found herself wanting to believe that he was exactly what he said. It would be so easy to take his part. And if she came to know him better, they might perhaps become friends, even— No! Angel pulled herself up short. She must not allow her judgement to be swayed by his looks and his charm. As head of the family, she must do her duty by this man, as calmly as—

      ‘May we not invite Pierre to stay here at the Abbey, my dear? It must be very difficult for him, all alone in a strange country…’

      Heavens, what would Aunt Charlotte say next? Such impropriety was quite unlike her. It seemed that even an old lady’s head could be turned by a handsome face and old-fashioned courtesies. Pierre was certainly dangerous.

      Pierre took Lady Charlotte’s hand and bowed over it, almost touching it with his lips. ‘You are most kind, my lady, but I could not accept. I am lodging in London. With Hannah’s brother. I could not impose upon you both while my situation is…unresolved. It would be most improper.’

      Lady Charlotte sighed deeply, but said nothing more. For a second, she looked a trifle chastened.

      ‘I thank you for your understanding, sir,’ Angel said with sincerity. ‘If you will furnish me with your direction, I shall ensure that you are kept informed of any developments. I cannot promise you that you will have news quickly, however, no matter how many envoys I send to Paris.’

      ‘But you will send them, Angel?’ Aunt Charlotte was beaming now. ‘That is splendid. Just think what a blow it will be for Frederick. He will be reduced to plain Mr Rosevale all over again. I declare, we shall soon have Great-uncle Augustus turning in his grave.’

      ‘Max?’

      He groaned a little, not opening his eyes.

      ‘Max, it is morning. You said you had to leave early.’ Louisa laid a gentle hand on his dark stubbled cheek. ‘And you are much in need of a shave,’ she whispered, trying to hide the smile in her voice.

      His eyes remained stubbornly closed. He did not move an inch.

      She lay back on her soft pillows, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the closeness of the man at her side. She knew better than to continue when he so clearly did not wish to be roused. He would—

      In less than the space of a heartbeat, he had pulled her into his arms! ‘What I am in need of, my dear one, is much more urgent than a shave.’

      ‘Indeed, sir? And what, pray, is that? You—’

      She was not permitted to say another word. His mouth came down on hers for a long and increasingly passionate kiss that made her forget the advancing hour and the winter chills outside. He was on fire already, and he knew exactly how to light an answering flame in her.

      Louisa groaned in her turn.

      He stilled immediately. ‘What is it? Did I hurt you?’

      She groaned again, deliberately. ‘You are an idiot, Max.’ She ran her free hand down his back and began to trail her fingers over the soft skin of his buttocks. ‘After all these years, you really should have learned a little more about me, you know.’

      ‘Impossible,’ he said. Her hand moved again, raking the nails across his flesh. He gasped and rolled on to his back, taking her with him and trapping that roving hand. ‘It is impossible