Heiress in Regency Society: The Defiant Debutante. Helen Dickson

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      Mrs Morrisey was busy supervising the housemaids as preparations for the weekend house party got under way. Angelina was not looking forward to it, finding the prospect of meeting strangers daunting. Aunt Patience was feeling much better and hopefully the doctor would permit her to leave her room by the weekend.

      When Angelina left Alex to sit with their aunt after dinner each night, he had taken to accompanying her, where, under the ever-watchful eye of Aunt Patience, he would engage the young woman in cards or chess—and Uncle Henry had been right about her skill. At first he had doubted her talent, but he soon realised he had grossly underestimated her ability and that she was no novice.

      They played in front of the fire, so engrossed in their game that they failed to notice Patience’s expression of pure delight as she looked on from a roll-backed sofa, pretending to read a book. With a well-satisfied smile, she watched Alex as he relaxed in his high-backed chair with a decanter of brandy on the small carved table beside him. His eyes were fastened on the young woman across from him, and she strongly suspected his interest was not in the game.

      While Angelina thought out her next move, the only sound in the room was the occasional crackle of the fire and the steady tick of the ormolu clock on the marble mantelpiece. Alex was fascinated by the way Angelina always vacated her chair and either perched on an embroidered footstool or knelt on the carpet, as she did now, as soon as they began to play. Her casual posture was not at all what he was used to among the proper ladies of his acquaintance, but he found it enchanting nevertheless. Sitting back on her heels and resting her elbows on the low chess table and cupping her face in her hands, her dark lashes curving against her cheek, she presented to him a captivating picture of bewitching innocence as she frowned in deep concentration over the board.

      Every so often she would reach out and take a piece of pink Turkish delight, liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar, from a salver beside her and pop it into her mouth. Sipping at a glass of brandy, feeling the heat course down the back of his throat, Alex would watch from beneath half-lowered lids as she sucked the sugar from each sticky finger, her lips ripe, perfect, and so adorably kissable. It was almost impossible to believe that he could find such an ordinary act sublimely erotic, an act inflaming him beyond logic. As she was taking her time contemplating her next move, he looked down on the top of her head where the shining chestnut-coloured hair was drawn into an even parting, tempted to reach out and run his finger down the perfect line.

      ‘Are you woolgathering or have you forgotten it’s your move?’ he said with a hint of gentle mockery.

      Angelina shot him an indignant look. ‘I am not woolgathering—whatever that means—and I know it’s my move without you having to remind me. I just want to make quite certain that the move I make is the right one.’

      ‘Who taught you to play?’

      ‘My father. I used to beat him more often than not.’

      ‘I am not your father, and you have not won yet, young lady. I have your knight.’

      ‘And I have one of your bishops,’ she countered.

      ‘That makes no difference. It’s the skill that matters. Now—are you going to move or not?’ He flicked her lazy a grin. ‘Of course, if you want to accept defeat, I’ll accept your surrender.’

      ‘I think not. The game is not over yet. And do you always talk as much as this when you play chess—or are you trying to put me off my game?’

      ‘If you move your bishop, you will relieve my knight,’ he suggested softly.

      Angelina looked up, a deep furrow etched between her brows. ‘Certainly not. If I were to do that, you would take great delight in capturing my queen,’ she replied, giving his queen a scathing look where she lurked threateningly on the edge of the board ready to pounce.

      Crossing one long leg over the other, Alex relaxed, content to wait until she was ready to make her move, fully prepared to wait all night if need be. He stared at her tight shoulders, at the taut, slim fingers moving her chess piece, each one exquisitely carved and depicting a character out of one or another of Shakespeare’s plays. He watched her lift a finger to her lower lip and begin to nibble her nail in a characteristic gesture that made his blood run warm.

      ‘That’s a bad habit,’ he chided softly.

      She raised her eyes in surprise, the familiar, distant look of concentration in their dark depths. Her lips were slightly parted.

      ‘What is?’

      He smiled, looking down at her. ‘Nail nibbling.’

      ‘Oh—it helps me concentrate.’ She flushed softly and quickly СКАЧАТЬ