Regency Society Collection Part 2 - Ann Lethbridge Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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list of insults thrown at her by him over the past weeks, like a cat Angelina slowly moved towards him, a feral gleam lighting up her eyes as she faced him in blinding anger, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her face.

      ‘How easily that word trips off your tongue, my lord,’ she seethed, each word clearly enunciated, ‘and how ready you are to insult me. How do you know what a savage looks like? Have you ever seen one—a true savage, an uncivilised being marked by brutality and deprivation—in this privileged, cocooned world of genteel drawing rooms you inhabit? I do all manner of unladylike things you disapprove of, don’t I? And if being outspoken, outrageous and unfeminine makes me a savage in your eyes then you are right. I am a savage.’

      There was something close to murder in Alex’s blazing eyes. As she turned from him, pushed beyond reason he reached out and grasped her shoulder, his fingers biting into her like knives. Like lightning and acting purely on instinct, Angelina flung her head round like an enraged lioness and violently thrust his hand away, accidentally catching his flesh with her nail. The unexpected action stunned Alex into momentary inaction, then he regained his senses and quickly took a step back.

      ‘You witch,’ he said in a savage snarl, white faced with fury, all his former admiration for her beauty, her strength of mind and courage instantly demolished as spots of bright red blood began to seep out of the small puncture mark on his skin. ‘If you were a man, I’d run you through for that.’

      ‘If I were a man, I’d have done the same to you the instant we met. Don’t you ever touch me again,’ she hissed through her teeth, standing with her legs braced and her fists clenched by her sides. Transfigured with fury, rigid with accumulated pride and rebelliousness, she dominated the situation as much as he. Her eyes were shining assertively, alive with the hidden mysteries of a rare jewel, her breasts rising and falling with suppressed fury as she struggled with the furious sensation burning through her veins. ‘I killed the last man who dared do that. Is it not enough that you insult and degrade me without laying your hands on me? Keep them to yourself and perhaps we’ll get on better.’

      ‘That won’t be difficult.’

      ‘You are a loathsome, overbearing, despicable monster, Alex Montgomery—’

      ‘I think I have the picture,’ he drawled.

      ‘Good. Then I needn’t go on—but how I wish I’d never come here. I wish I’d never come to England and met you. I want to be free of you. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for it. It was thrust on me against my will.’ She breathed as if she couldn’t inhale enough air. ‘Don’t you understand that I hate you?’

      Alex looked at the proud beauty that was glaring at him like an enraged angel of retribution and realized that she was on the brink of tears. He felt a twinge of conscience, which he quickly thrust away. ‘I know you do,’ he said coldly. ‘And you will hate me a good deal more before I’m through. Now go to your room. I said ten minutes. It’s now eight. Go and change—and if you disobey me, by God I shall come and remove those infernal breeches myself and render a certain part of your anatomy incapable of sitting down for a week. Is that clear?’

      Angelina glared at him, her vow to murder this illustrious nobleman renewing itself in her mind. She would like to rend his heart to pieces. She would like to do so much damage to this mocking, sardonic man that it would prove irreparable. She would like to see him on his knees begging her for her favours, to grovel, and then she would spurn him. Turning from him, she walked away.

      Alex watched the door close behind her, standing perfectly still, unable to believe the tempestuous, brave young woman who had stood and faced his wrath. His anger gave way to a reluctant admiration at her magnificent show of courage in admitting that she had once killed a man. He was stunned and deeply troubled by her confession, which, in her fury, she hadn’t seemed to realise she had made. Remembering her stormy eyes shining with unshed tears, he felt a consuming, unquenchable need to know more about her past—but for the present he was determined not to let what he considered to be a childish act of defiance pass.

      With Nathan and Verity sitting quietly in the background, Alex’s fury had been reduced to a dangerous calm as he watched the door. He sat and waited, his jaw hardened with resolve, mentally crossing off the minutes and the seconds as Angelina’s time ran out, his fingers tapping on the arm of the chair in a clear indication of his impatience. When her eight minutes were up he rose.

      ‘Damned wench,’ he muttered. He reached for the doorknob at the same moment that it swung open and Angelina swept in, dressed in her daffodil yellow gown. Tipping her head, she met his eyes with a smile of pure innocence—unchastened and unrepentant.

      ‘Dear me, Alex. You do look vexed. You should be careful. It really is not good for anyone to get so worked up.’ She smiled demurely and walked past him, with no trace of her previous anger or the mental exhaustion that had engulfed her when she had entered her room following his severe chastisement. She had seriously considered defying him and not returning to the sitting room, but the overriding fear that she would have to deal with his wrath once more put paid to such meanderings of the mind. She knew that Alex Montgomery was a force to be reckoned with, and that when he had told her he would come to her room and remove her clothes himself it had been no idle threat. But she had loathed him with each discarded garment for making her do it.

      ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your guests?’ she asked, trying to crush the apprehension that was stirring restlessly inside her on being introduced to the tall, fair-haired gentleman and Aunt Patience’s daughter.

      Alex was rendered speechless. How was it he’d started out as the conqueror and ended up feeling like the vanquished? Neither threat nor punishment would oblige Angelina Hamilton to bow to a higher authority. At that moment he wanted to stride across the room, take hold of that impudent madam, and shake her. His eyes met Nathan’s in a ‘now do you understand’ way. Nathan was visibly and infuriatingly amused.

      Eager to be introduced to the tantalising young American girl who had turned his friend’s world upside down and inside out in the matter of just a few short weeks, Nathan came towards her. As he reached for her hand, his handsome, boyish face broke into a brilliant, reassuring smile and his blue eyes twinkled with delight.

      ‘Your servant, Miss Hamilton,’ he said, bending over and pressing a gallant kiss on the back of her hand. ‘And may I say I am truly delighted to meet you at last—having heard all about you from Alex,’ he said meaningfully, casting his friend a mocking, lopsided grin.

      ‘I’m sure you have—and nothing pleasant, I’ll wager,’ Angelina quipped brightly without looking at Alex. She liked Nathan Beresford at once, and for the life of her she could not understand how such a charming and amiable man could possibly be the friend of her antagonist. ‘But please—you must call me Angelina. Everyone does.’

      ‘Thank you—and you must call me Nathan—and this is Verity, my wife,’ he said, taking Verity’s hand and drawing her forward. ‘No doubt her dear mama, Lady Fortesque, has told you all about her and how she keeps us all on the straight and narrow,’ he said on a teasing note, casting his wife a fond look.

      Angelina looked at him obliquely. Aware that Alex was hovering behind her like a dark threatening thunder cloud, her smile did not falter. ‘An unenviable task, if I may say,’ she replied softly, leaving no one in any doubt that she was referring to Alex.

      She looked at the slender young woman dressed in a fashionable high-waisted gown of emerald green and smiled, wishing she had paid more attention to her own appearance instead of dragging on the first dress her hands had come into contact with. Verity was a pretty brunette, with a delicately arched nose and winged brows over friendly blue eyes. Her hair was gathered in glossy curls about her ears, a braided coil sitting prettily at her crown.

      ‘I’m so glad to meet you at last, Angelina,’ Verity said, her tone warm with obvious sincerity. ‘I must welcome you to the family. Mama has been singing your praises for the past hour—telling me how patient and considerate you’ve been to her during her illness. I really must thank you. I had no idea she was so ill, otherwise

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