The Defiant Debutante. Helen Dickson
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He was rendered speechless as his eyes fastened on the young woman descending the stairs.
Angelina possessed the grace and beauty of a Grecian goddess and the regal bearing of a queen.
When she reached the bottom step, Alex took her hand. A slow, appreciative smile worked its way across his face as his eyes leisurely roamed over her body. The unspoken compliment made her blood run warm.
“You look entrancing,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m delighted you were able to join us—if tardily.”
“I’m sorry. Am I late?” The look she gave him was one of unadulterated innocence.
“You know you are. What were you trying to do? Hold out to make a grand entrance?”
“What? Me? Really, Alex—you know me better than that,” she murmured meaningfully.
He glanced down at her with a hooded gaze. “Do I?”
She smiled impishly. “No one knows me better,” she breathed.
The Defiant Debutante
Harlequin®Historical
HELEN DICKSON
was born and still lives in south Yorkshire, with her husband, on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes to travel and visit ancient buildings.
The Defiant Debutante
HELEN DICKSON
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Available from Harlequin® Historical and HELEN DICKSON
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
London, May 1812
Birds were stirring in the trees and dew was still on the grass as dawn began to spread its watery grey light over the deserted park. Two men shrouded in long black cloaks rode towards the seclusion of a group of trees and dismounted.
Cursing at his own folly, Alexander Montgomery, the seventh Earl of Arlington and taller of the two, glanced irritably at Sir Nathan Beresford. The two men were as close as friends could be, and as different as night and day. Nathan, with his ash-blond hair and blue eyes, was well liked, good natured and easygoing, and he lacked the aura of authority and power that seemed to surround Alex. Nathan was to act as Alex’s second, when the other party deigned to arrive for the duel.
Three inches over six feet tall, Alex was a man diverse and complex, and could be utterly ruthless when the need arose. There was a hard set to his firm jaw, and his wide, well-shaped mouth was held in a stern line. His face was clean shaven and one of arrogant handsomeness, dark brows slashed his forehead and his hair was thick and ebony black. In the midst of so much darkness his eyes were dove grey, striking and piercing. Hidden deep in them was a cynicism, watchful, mocking, as though he found the world a dubious place to be.
He possessed a haughty reserve that was not inviting and set him apart from others in society. There was an aggressive confidence and strength of purpose in his features, and he had an air of a man who succeeds in all he sets out to achieve. From the arrogant lift of his dark head and casual stance, he was a man with many shades to his nature, a man with a sense of his own infallibility.
‘You’ve tied yourself into some knots in your time, Alex, but this is by far the tightest,’ Nathan remarked, tethering his horse to a branch and scanning the park for the arrival of Alex’s opponent. ‘I only hope you can extricate yourself from this mess with some modicum of honour.’
‘I agree. It’s a damned unfortunate business, Nathan, and I bear the entire weight of this incident on my own conscience.’
‘Surely