Free To Tempt An Angel (Book 1 Douglas series) by Patricia; Grasso

deliver a message for me?”
    Parson Butterfield hedged. “Well, I—”
    “I’m certain the Duke of Inverary will be grateful to you for delivering my letter,” Aunt Roxie said.
    “The Duke of Inverary?” Parson Butterfield echoed in surprise.
    Aunt Roxie nodded.
    “You will not write to that man,” Angelica ordered.
    Her aunt glanced over her shoulder and gave her a frigid glare. “Don’t listen to my niece,” Aunt Roxie told the parson. “Grief for her father’s passing steals her common sense.”
    “That is to be expected,” Parson Butterfield replied.
    Aunt Roxie gave him a dimpled smile. “Until tomorrow morning, then.”
    “I’ve a mind to murder those men who murdered Papa,” Angelica said after the door closed behind the parson.
    “I’ll help,” Samantha said.
    “So will I,” added Victoria.
    “Swallow your tongues,” Aunt Roxie said.
    “Whatever we send out returns to us tenfold.”
     

Chapter 5
    “ Bull’s pizzle ,” Angelica grumbled, recalling her aunt’s words of wisdom. If what we sent out to others returned to us tenfold, those men who had ruined her father would surely be burning in hell. Especially Charles Emerson, who had swindled an honest man, and Magnus Campbell, who had failed to help a friend in trouble.
    Angelica glanced at Aunt Roxie, who sat beside her in the garden the following afternoon. Her sisters had disappeared into the woodland, probably intending to wade in the stream’s cooling waters.
    Her father was dead and buried, Angelica thought, yet the world kept spinning as if nothing momentous had happened. The sky was a blanket of blue, the sun shone brightly, the old oak offered shade from the day’s warmth.
    Angelica closed her eyes and tried to block out the beauty of the day. The Duke of Inverary still sat in his mansion on Park Lane. Charles Emerson still owned the lands he’d stolen from her father. Trimble and Drinkwater still enjoyed the fruits of their dishonesty. Only Mayhew had gone to meet his Maker.
    Where was justice for the Douglas family? She had no faith in the law; she would make her own justice, and woe come to anyone who stood in her way.
    Angelica lifted her harp onto her lap and begun plucking its strings idly. The plucking became a haunting melody that conjured a solitary bird flying overhead, the sins of old age, tears on the heather.
    “You are a very beautiful bird,” Aunt Roxie crooned to Jasper. “The ladies of the ton would love to wear those blue and gold feathers in their hair. And your owner is now the Countess of Melrose. That makes you a special macaw.”
    “What did you say?” Angelica asked. “I was speaking to Jasper,” her aunt told her.
    “Yes, but what did you say?”
    “I said that you are the Countess of Melrose.”
    That surprised Angelica. “I am?”
    “Darling, our family’s ancient charter stipulates that if there are no males in direct descent, then the eldest daughter assumes the Melrose title,” Aunt Roxie informed her.
    “A penniless countess?” Angelica said. “That’s laughable.”
    Angelica closed her eyes again, leaned back against the oak, and pretended to relax. Her mind raced faster than a highwayman chased by soldiers. If she could raise enough money to purchase decent clothing, the Countess of Melrose would have more gambling options open to her.
    She could pretend to be newly arrived from Europe. With a letter of introduction from her aunt, she would present herself . . . where?
    Angelica decided she would present herself to the Duke of Inverary and pretend he’d done nothing wrong. She would use his influence to get the first four villains, and then she would turn on the duke. After that she would get even with Robert Roy. If he hadn’t left that money on the table, her father might still be alive.
    With her mind set on justice, Angelica relaxed against the oak’s trunk. A smile touched her lips when she thought of putting her scheme into action.
    “Darling, I do not like that