Heiress in Regency Society. Helen Dickson

I am entirely to blame.’

      ‘I believe you,’ Alex replied drily, thrusting his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out and dragging her into his arms.

      ‘I—I didn’t mean to intrude, but—I—’

      ‘You wanted to sample my bathing chamber.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then don’t you think it would have been common courtesy to ask me first? Why didn’t you?’

      ‘Because I didn’t find out until this morning that you had one. Besides, you would have refused,’ she said softly.

      ‘On the contrary. I would gladly have given you my permission,’ Alex said, finding that with the light from the window washing over her she was like a radiant sunburst and looked adorable.

      Surprise etched Angelina’s lovely features and her misty eyes widened. ‘You would?’

      ‘Yes,’ he answered reasonably. ‘Does that surprise you?’

      ‘Yes, it does.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I—I don’t understand you,’ she murmured hesitantly. ‘I never know what to expect from you. At the beginning you were hostile towards me. You were my judge, jury and executioner all wrapped into one.’ Her luminescent eyes were large and desperate with confusion. ‘And now—these last few days—you—you—’

      ‘I told you not three days ago that I was wrong in my assessment of both you and your mother and I apologised. But you know, Angelina,’ he said softly, seeing his reflection in the dark centres of her eyes, ‘I seriously think you enjoy baiting me, and nobody does it as well as you. But shall I tell you what I think when I look at you now?’

      ‘I—if you like,’ Angelina said, trying to answer lightly, but her voice was low and husky.

      ‘I see an extremely beautiful young woman with shining hair all the wonderful shades of autumn and the smile of an angel.’ His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to the inviting fullness of her mouth, lingering there.

      Angelina stepped back a little, but an answering quiver that was a combination of fright and excitement was tingling up her spine. ‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ she whispered.

      ‘Then I think you’d better go.’

      Alex’s desire for Angelina was hard driven, but he couldn’t overstep the mark. But then, he thought, dwelling on a suspicion that had been forming in his mind since before he’d left London, would his uncle mind all that much if he made advances towards Angelina? Wasn’t that what that wily old man had in mind when he’d insisted on her accompanying him to Arlington while he removed himself to Cornwall?

      Clutching her towel and bottles to her chest, Angelina crossed the room and opened the door, only to find it slam shut when Alex came up behind her with the sure-footed skill of a panther. She stood there, frozen, anchored between his strong arms, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to reveal their power. Unable to turn, she could feel his closeness, the muscular hardness of him, the vibrant heat of his body pressed close against her back and his warm breath on her hair.

      She trembled when he drew the heavy tresses to one side, feeling defeat, afraid, when she felt his mouth on the soft warm flesh on the back of her neck. On a gasp she sucked in her breath when he parted his lips and touched her skin with the fiery tip of his tongue. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment she knew a feeling of sheer terror when his voice spoke very quietly into her ear. ‘I want you,’ he murmured hoarsely. To his surprise she didn’t fight him; in fact, as his lips began a slow, erotic seduction over her flesh, she didn’t seem to know what he was doing to her.

      ‘Please—don’t do this,’ she whispered, her heart thundering in her ears.

      ‘Why? Don’t fight me, Angel. What are you afraid of?’

      You, her mind screamed. You, and what you might do to me.

      ‘You are as much a victim of the overwhelming forces at work between us as I,’ he murmured, his lips continuing their tender assault on her neck, the scent and living heat of her invading all his senses. ‘You and I are one. The simple truth can no longer be denied.’

      Lowering her head, a small knot in the wood of the door became the focal point of Angelina’s concentration, a misshapen image tugging at the heart of her memory, conjuring indistinct, cloudy visions in her mind and blending them with a confused jumble of events that took her back to another time, another place, when other hands had touched her, when she had wanted to flee, but had been unable to escape the filthy, groping fingers. She fought a welter of unwelcome emotions that threatened to drag her down to a new depth of despair.

      But she was not immune to Alex standing behind her, of the hard rack of his chest pressed against her back, making her feel things she had never felt before, things that were alien to her that she didn’t want to feel. An alarming, treacherous warmth was creeping through her body, a melting sensation unlike anything she had known. She wanted to relax back against him, to feel his arms close around her, but because she could still feel those powerful emotions that seemed to have been drawn into her heart and soul from that night when she thought her life had ended, she could not bring herself to make that move.

      With desire crashing over him in tidal waves, Alex looked down at Angelina’s bent head, his lips brushing her shining hair. Slipping an arm about her waist he drew her tight against him, feeling a shimmering tremor in her slender body.

      For a moment Angelina leaned into him, let his arm hold her, let him prevail in his hunger, his desire—but she didn’t want it. Her confusion, her passion and her pain rose to a pinnacle as she stood trembling against him. To be this close to him felt like suffocating. She didn’t think she could survive it. Terrified of making an overestimation of her ability to carry out the course she had chosen for herself, somehow she managed to place her trembling fingers on the doorknob and turn it.

      ‘This is mistake,’ she whispered, knowing that if she allowed some tenderness now between them she would be lost. ‘I told you on the day we met that I do not want to be close to any man in the way you imply—and that includes you.’

      Twisting herself out of his embrace, she opened the door and then she was gone, her feet driven by panic away from the east wing. Let him rant and rail, let him insult and chastise her to his heart’s content—anything. Just let him never look at her as he had just then, or touch her with such tender intimacy. She would not let herself be at the mercy of a man like Alex Montgomery, who radiated sensual hunger in every glance, every move and every touch, but she could not deny that something had passed between them that would change their relationship for ever.

      On reaching her room, she was struck by a desperate, impelling urge to get out of the house. In an act of rebellion and to bring some semblance of order back to her confused and troubled mind, she strode into the closet and rummaged in her trunk, finally finding what she was looking for—her old breeches and shirt. Removing her dress, she pulled them on, tucking the trouser legs inside her new pair of dark brown leather riding boots and lacing them up—incongruous against her shabby garb. After hastily plaiting her hair, she left the house by a back entrance without seeing a soul until she reached the stables.

      When Angelina had left him, Alex stood in the centre of his room in deep reflection. Angrily he attacked his sentimental thoughts until they cowered in meek submission, but they refused to lie down. His attraction to Angelina was disquieting—in fact, it was damned annoying. If he wanted an affair or diversion of any kind, he had a string of some of the most beautiful women in the country to choose from—so why should he feel this insanely wild attraction for an eighteen-year-old girl who had hardly left the schoolroom?

      He tried to put her from his mind, but failed miserably in his effort. The sweet fragrance of her perfume lingered everywhere, drifting through his senses, and the throbbing hunger began anew. He cursed with silent frustration, seized by a strong desire to go after her and cauterise his need by holding her close and clamping his