She’d been so damnably stubborn.

The sun shone brightly through the trees, and bees buzzed about the clover in the grass. Derington had once been a devoted father. In those days, he hadn’t gone running off every night to chase skirts and lose his money at the gaming tables. Angelique didn’t know what had caused him to change, but the change had not endeared him to her. She had barely acknowledged him as her father.

She forced aside her upsetting memories and put her satchel down beneath a tree. She pressed the blanket to her breast and smothered her sorrow, refusing to shed the tears that threatened. There was no point. She could not imagine that he’d have wanted her to weep, anyway.

Swallowing the thickness in her throat, Angelique spread out the blanket she’d brought. She sat down and removed her shoes and stockings, then took a quick look around to be sure she was truly alone before unbuttoning her bodice.

In a few short moments, she was completely undressed, but for the thin cotton chemise she wore under all her dull, black clothes.

She stepped into the water and found it refreshingly cool. After she waded out deeper, she lay back and floated, gazing up at the clear blue sky while she tried once again to empty her mind of all its troubling thoughts.

But her melancholy would not abate. Nor would her questions. Angelique could not understand why her father had thought it acceptable to make Heyworth trustee of her funds. When her father had come to Florence to chastise her for leaving England, Angelique had made it perfectly clear that she would never wed the Duke. Obviously, Derington thought they were well matched, in spite of Heyworth’s philandering ways. Her father must have believed that renewed contact with the Duke to work out the disbursement of the annuity would result in a new engagement.

It would not.

A bleak sob escaped Angelique and she came to her feet. Her father did not deserve her tears, yet her eyes filled and she found herself weeping over his loss. Whatever had occurred between her mother and father, Derington had been her papa. He’d taken her on pony rides and bought her sweets. He’d carried her on his shoulders and pushed her in the swing behind the cottage.

The guilt for leaving him alone during the last months of his life had been niggling at the edges of her awareness, but now it overtook her. She stumbled out of the water, feeling anything but refreshed. When she reached her blanket, she fell to her knees, then lay down and pressed her face into the soft cloth and cried as though her heart was broken.

At first, when Heyworth had come upon Angelique wading out of the lake, he’d thought himself the most fortunate of men. Her chemise was nearly transparent, allowing him a view of her perfection. Her every move was a seduction, her high, full breasts swaying as she left the cover of the water, her long graceful legs stepping from the lake. He felt a deeply visceral reaction at the sight of her.

And then he realized she was weeping.

Her indifferent exterior had been just that — an exterior. It was clear, in spite of her anger with Derington, she felt the loss of her father deeply.

Heyworth felt like a cad for ogling her while she was in such obvious distress. Without considering how she would react, he went to her, knelt beside her and put his hand on her back, gently caressing her shoulder. She turned to him suddenly and clung to his shirt, allowing him to hold her as she wept against his chest.

“H-he made me s-so angry,” she sobbed.

“Aye, I know, love.”

“He was unfaithful t-to my m-mother.”

Heyworth knew that, too. But he kept his silence.

“And h-he made you tr-trustee.”

“Hush, my darling. We’ll work that out.”

She looked up at him with the most beautiful teary eyes he’d ever seen. “H-how? You have complete—”

“No. Whatever you need — ’tis yours to use as you see fit.”

She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “R-really?”

His heart twisted in his chest at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and the tears that fell from them. “Of course. I never meant to keep you from your inheritance, Angel.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, content to merely cradle the woman he loved in his arms.

Three

Angelique slept like the dead for an hour or so, after walking back to the house with Heyworth. He had not attempted to kiss her or touch her in any way after she pulled herself together, and she …

She could hardly credit that she’d been disappointed. She didn’t want him to touch her. And yet …

Heyworth’s caresses were unlike anything Angelique had ever known. He was strong yet gentle, insistent but patient. She yearned for his embrace, but did not want to encourage his attentions. He’d told her she would have control over the annuity, when her father had given him jurisdiction over it.

It was all too much. She did not want to grieve for a father who’d hurt her mother so deeply, and who had seen nothing wrong with tying her to a fiancé who was unfaithful. And yet that fiancé was being so kind to her now.

Heyworth handed Minerva into the enclosed carriage, and when Angelique looked round, she saw that there was no horse saddled and ready for him. “You are not riding?”

He gave a shake of his head, and a lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead. She longed to touch it, to thread her fingers through the thick mass of it.

“It will be far cooler outside the carriage,” she said. She did not want to spend the next half-hour in such close quarters with him.

“You aren’t afraid of having me near, are you, Angel?”

“Of course not.” It was a lie. Even with Minerva present, Angelique could not dispel her ridiculous longing for him.

“Very good. Shall we?”

He helped her into the carriage and off they went. Angelique tried to keep her attention on the passing scenery outside her window, but she felt his gaze on her and, whenever the carriage went over a rough patch, his knees bumped into hers, sending shivers of longing through her.

“Will you attend the race tomorrow, Your Grace?” Minerva asked.

“I doubt it,” he replied, and Angelique looked up at him, puzzled by the contradiction. “I have other plans.”

“Oh? Will you be returning to London?”

He looked right into Angelique’s eyes. “I don’t think so. Not just yet.”

“There’s no reason for you to stay any longer, Your Grace,” Angelique said, in spite of the conflicting emotions churning within her. “Once you release the funds my aunt and I will need to live on—”

“That was done before I came down to Berkshire.”

The world shifted suddenly. “What?”

“I had my solicitor transfer control of your funds yesterday morning. A letter was sent, but it seems you left London before it could be delivered to you.”

“But then why—”

“Angelique, do not badger His Grace,” said Minerva. “’Tis perfectly clear that he came all this way to tell you personally.”

That could not be true. He’d sent her a letter. Angelique bit her lip in consternation. If he hadn’t come for the horse race, or to talk to her about the annuity, then he must have come specifically because of their broken engagement.

Had he changed? According to Lord Rathby, a certain Mrs Dumont was a frequent recipient of Heyworth’s attentions. At least it had been a Mrs Dumont two years ago. Did she dare hope that he’d changed his ways? That he was ready to become a responsible, faithful spouse?

She took in the strong line of his jaw and his intense green eyes and wished it were so. She feared she still loved him, and knew that marriage between them could be wonderful.

Or a complete disaster.

When they arrived at Tapton Manor, Angelique was quite surprised to encounter Lord Rathby. Yet his presence made perfect sense, for he had an estate nearby where her father had often gone shooting. Of course he was on friendly terms with the Stillwaters, but Angelique had not seen or spoken to him in the two years since the fateful conversation that had resulted in her abrupt departure from England.

She felt awkward facing him now, but the same was not true of Heyworth. Obviously, the Duke was unaware of Rathby’s part in her abrupt departure and the cancellation of their wedding, or he would not have been quite so cordial with the Earl.

And yet his cordiality had a strange edge to it, something Angelique could not quite define.

Heyworth took her elbow, as he drew her into the house. Angelique allowed herself to enjoy his innocent touch, nearly as comforting as the caresses he’d given her at the lake. She had never felt more attracted to him than she did at that moment.

When she was in Italy, it had been far easier to deny everything she’d felt for him. It was nearly impossible now.

She’d wanted him during their engagement, had lived for their stolen kisses and the promise of pleasures she could not even imagine after they were wed. Angelique tried to curb her longing for his touch, but feared she still loved him. She feared she did not have the strength or the will to reject him again. If he took her into his arms, or kissed her …

She would quite possibly melt.

Mrs Stillwater embraced her lightly. “You look pale, my girl. Come inside and sit down.”

“I’m quite all right, Mrs Stillwater,” Angelique said. “’Tis very good of you to invite us.”

Lord Rathby came and bent over her hand. “My sincere condolences, Miss Drummond, and my apologies as well, for my absence at your father’s funeral. I was in York and did not hear of his passing until it was too late.”