Page 1 of Moonstone Angel
Chapter One
Moonstone Landing
Cornwall, England
August 1815
“Do not forceme to break down your door!” Rowan, Duke of Strathmore growled, dearly wishing to throttle the irritating young woman on the other side of it. She, namely one Miss Angel, was laughing at him from her position of safety, while he stood in front of this surprisingly quaint cottage in the seaside village of Moonstone Landing and demanded to be let in.
The village was nestled in a cozy harbor in the middle of nowhere along the coast of Cornwall, and he was quite put out that the wretched girl had forced him to leave London, track her all the way here, and was now refusing to allow him entrance.
Never mind that the place appeared to hold some charm, and he might have enjoyed a visit under other circumstances.
The point was, he did not wish to be here now.
Yet here he was, being perfectly reasonable, while the girl laughed.
Athim, of all people.
She’d slammed the door in his face, as well.
Only a madwoman would ever do such a thing to a duke with his wealth and power. “You have to the count of three, Miss Angel.”
Devil is what she ought to be called.
And now a crowd was gathering behind him as he stood in the glow of the afternoon sun, a strengthening sea breeze ruffling his hair. Amid their chuckles, he could also hear the whoosh of waves breaking along the nearby beach and the distant clang of harbor bells.
Those bells were growing more insistent as the wind stiffened. “Miss Angel, this is your last warning.”
“I am quaking in my boots, Your Grace,” she replied with unbridled amusement. “Welcome home, by the way. Your grandmother is very proud of her war hero grandson. So am I, not that you give a fig about my feelings.”
Gad, the girl was irritating.
And why should he care anything for her feelings? “London is my home, not Moonhole…whatever you call this Godforsaken place…and why is my grandmother with you when she has a perfectly suitable residence in Mayfair’s Ridley Square?”
“Because Ridley Square, as lovely as that section of London might be, is not livable at this time of year. The air is wet, dirty, and choking, as you well know. It is terrible for your grandmother’s lung condition. Stop pounding on my door.”
He banged on it again for good measure. “Open up. I will not ask politely again.”
“You call that polite? Oh, very well. I suppose we’ve provided enough entertainment for my neighbors.” He heard the click of the latch, and in the next moment, the door groaned open just a crack. Big, hazel eyes peered back at him, causing his heart to momentarily hitch. “Will you promise not to shout at me?”
Her voice, when not muffled behind the thick oak, was soft and lilting.
Gad, this was Miss Angel?
He’d only caught a glimpse of her before she tore into the house and slammed the door in his face, but he saw her clearly now. Her eyes were beautiful and so was her impudent smile. Unruly auburn curls framed her lovely face and those amber-green orbs sparkled with mirth.
He gritted his teeth, now quite impatient. “I was never shouting at you.”
“Growling very loudly, then. And you prowled up the garden path like a jungle cat determined to eat its prey. You frightened me.”
Lord, she was having him on.
She did not sound frightened in the least. “First you shut me out and now you mock me. Who is the wronged one here?”
“Oh, all right. Do come in, Your Grace. But I will toss you out on your ear if you misbehave.”
“Me?” He stared down at the girl, wanting to be angry with her and at the same time kiss her because she had the most beautiful mouth he had ever seen on a woman. Obviously, he had lost his mind. “Where is my grandmother?”
