Blaze (70 page)

Followed by the sharp snap of the lock.

"She always has been difficult to control," the earl murmured, a half-smile twitching his mouth, invariably assured of victory when he flexed his parental authority over their children. "Do you find her temper amusing?" he smoothly queried.

"I wasn't aware she had one."

"Then you must be very new. Angela's an emasculating bitch if you wish forewarning. It's what comes from allowing women money and property rights." His voice had taken on a hard edge, his urbanity eclipsed by a bitter rancor.

The man was fighting a losing battle, Kit dispassionately reflected; Parliament had passed The Women's Property Rights Act years ago. Glancing at Angela's locked door, he blandly said, "Since the countess has retired, I'll be leaving."

"No entreaties to dear Angela?" the earl gently taunted.

"I don't think so," Kit placidly replied, moving toward the door.

"She may relent," her husband said, not moving from his position before the exit.

"It's getting late."

"You're an American, aren't you?"

"Yes." Kit had come within two feet of Angela's husband. "And I'm in a hurry."

Brook Greville scrutinized the man towering over him and reacted sensibly to the repressed violence of his stance.

"She'll miss you," de Grae mocked, stepping aside.

"Perhaps some other time," Kit curtly said, pulled the door open and walked out.

Sullen and exasperated, he did go to the Yacht Club, intent on drinking away his frustration. He'd been within moments of sharing the tempting Countess Angel's bed and perversely it galled him to find her husband so despicable. As if somehow she was responsible.

She wasn't, of course. He knew how heiresses were bartered off by their families. She'd been only seventeen.

Good God, de Grae must have been a nasty shock.