Chapter 17 #3
“Oh, ignore him, my dear,” Grandmama said with a wave of her hand. “You are a grown man and may do as you please. I’m tired of seeing him blackmailing you with your inheritance. This time, if he cuts off your funds, I shall provide for you in the meantime. You may pay me back once he’s dead.”
Hart choked back a laugh at the casual implication that she fully intended to outlive her son. “Th-Thank you, Grandmama,” he said, a little unsteadily.
He looked up to see his father walk out from behind the desk and approach them, a move which surprised him as the Duke of Langley never gave away his position of power from behind his immense desk, or somewhere he could look down upon you.
His voice was austere and brittle when he addressed his mother.
“Madam, you may think this a great joke, but if he marries the girl, she will be the next Duchess of Langley, might I remind you. You may be as spiteful as you like to me, but I had thought you owed the title more respect than that. By her own admission, her grandfather was a common criminal. A pirate, by God!”
Grandmama met her son’s eyes, and Hart wondered at the amusement he saw there, the absolute relish in her expression. It was the kind of look she always got before setting off a bomb that would rock everyone to their core.
“As was mine,” she said casually. “That would be yours too, Langley,” she added, her voice crisp with satisfaction.
Hart felt his eyebrows climb, and for once was in sympathy with his father, who looked utterly bewildered.
“What the devil do you mean by that?” he demanded, looking like he would happily wring his mother’s neck if he thought he could get away with it.
“I mean,” Grandmama said, fondly regarding the massive emerald ring that adorned her finger and which he had never once seen her without.
“That if you ever bothered to look at your heritage in any detail, instead of taking it all as your due, you would realise that your great-great-great-great-grandfather was a privateer in the service of Good Queen Bess, and she rewarded him with the dukedom for his daring against the Spanish. So, my dear Miss Everdene, you are in good company.”
Angel stared at Grandmama who looked appallingly smug, as well she might, but his beloved had apparently been struck dumb.
Hart laughed. It was a low chuckle at first, but his father was spluttering with rage so much that he’d been rendered mute and the chuckle became hilarity.
It struck him as absurdly funny, and quite wonderfully perfect, that his chosen bride thought herself ineligible to be his wife because her grandfather had been a pirate, when his own ancestors were every bit as wicked.
Finally finding his voice, the duke turned to Angel, his cold blue eyes afire with generations of breeding and snobbery. “You will not marry my son, Miss… whatever your name was. I utterly forbid it.”
Angel’s colour deepened, but her dark eyes flashed sparks in a manner that made Hart’s pulse surge. He held his breath, almost giddy with anticipation.
“Leo,” she said, her voice even. “Did you have a question for me?”
“I did,” he said at once, though his voice suddenly seemed a little shaky. “Miss Everdene—”
“Don’t you dare ask—” Father was vibrating with frustration, but Hart ignored him.
“Oh, stow it, Langley,” Grandmama said impatiently. She waved her hand at Hart with a go on then expression, and he grinned at her until his father stepped between them.
“Listen to me, Hartwell, if you marry this creature, I shall cut you off and ensure everything that isn’t entailed goes to anyone but you.”
Hart met his father’s eyes. It was surprising how easy the decision was really, or perhaps not.
Anyone who truly knew Angel would see her worth, would know it was the only thing he could do.
“Go ahead. The money always meant more to you than anything else, more even than the power. I never felt the same, which is why you despise me so, I suspect. Do whatever you wish, your grace, you’ll not stop me marrying Angel, if she’ll have me. ”
He marked the shock in the duke’s eyes, the depths of his surprise. Even after all these years, he simply did not know Hart at all. It was sad, really.
Turning back to Angel, he saw she was breathing fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her hands clutched together, the fingers tangled together as she waited for him to speak.
“Angel, love. It seems I may come to you without a feather to fly with after all. Do you think you could overcome this difficulty, not to mention the burden of my… my family and the wretched title, and, well, him, and do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”
Hart gazed at her, suddenly aware that not only was he proposing before his grandmother and his apoplectic father, but in front of the man’s secretaries and steward too.
If she refused him now… ah well, nothing ventured.
But then he looked into her eyes, into those dark, dark eyes, where the devil danced and promises lurked of a life filled with mischief and adventure and the kind of naughtiness that he would never, ever find dull, and he knew.
“I will,” she said, and with such fervour his heart sang.
He gave a great whoop of joy and picked her up, his arms about her hips as he spun her in a circle. Her hands braced on his shoulders, her thick black hair tumbling about her face as she gazed down at him, laughing and laughing. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d done the right thing.
“Well done, my dear,” Grandmama Langley said with approval. “It’s about time we had some fresh blood. Everyone has become too frightfully stuffy. Now, then. I suggest you both get cleaned up, and then we’ll celebrate.”