Alex's Angel (40 page)

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then why?”

Enough. He needn’t explain himself to her. She’d made her choice to become involved with a man like Alexander Dalton. That couldn’t be helped now. Richard reached into the pocket in his coat tail and withdrew his pistol. He brought it up where she could see it, pointed it at her.

She gasped and even in the dim light, he could see her face pale.

“Hush now and be a good girl.”

She’d find out soon enough. Still holding the weapon, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. His mind drifted back in time.

The raspy, dry cough sounded again. Though the boy put his hand over his mouth, the sound seemed to echo, deafeningly loud.

“You’ve got to stop that!” Richard whispered.

He started at the fever-flushed face. Alexander Dalton. Seventeen years old. A full four years at sea and still a spoilt weakling. Yes, they had spent two days drifting in the boat, constantly damp and chilled at night. Broiled by the sun in the daylight. But Richard had been there too.

And he had not fallen ill.

“You must stop coughing,” Richard repeated in firm tones, trying to duplicate the authoritative tone used by the captain. The captain and everyone else in the crew had died in the shipwreck. Panic slammed into Richard, hard. It was just him and this puling boy now.

They didn’t even know where the devil they were.

Alexander nodded. “I‘ll try…”

His voice broke off into a wheezing cough.

The distant sound of a hammer on nails carried on the wind.

Cold sweat broke over Richard’s body. They’d been hiding here all day, behind the low-lying bushes on the edge of a coppice, trying to evade the pirates who had also apparently taken refuge here to repair storm damage to their own ship.

Richard’s stomach growled hungrily. He leant back against a tree trunk. It did no good to fret. Only at night would it be safe to forage for food—and the boy would be no help.

Time passed—he had no idea how long. His mind drifted in and out of dreams.

Male laughter sounded, waking him. The underbrush on the other side of the coppice rustled.

“We have to get out of here.” The strength of Dalton’s voice surprised Richard.

For a moment, Richard felt reassured. Everything would be fine. They would evade these pirates. Some other ship—hopefully American or French—would come along and rescue them.

Then Alex coughed. A long series of convulsive raspings that racked his entire frame. The boy could not run.

A thought came to Richard, one so brilliant it was pure genius.

“What?” he said.

“We have to get out of here” Alex took a wheezing breath. “Don’t you hear them coming?”

“I hear nothing.”

“No, I heard it—they’re coming.”

Richard took his flask and brought it to Alex’s lips and gave the boy a couple of swallows of the precious Jamaican rum. He caressed the sweat-damp blond hair off Alex’s fever-hot forehead. “You were talking in your sleep—raving.”

“Was I?” Alex’s voice rang with wonder.

“Yes. You thought they were coming. But it was just a dream. A trick of your ears. Maybe it was the wind fluttering through the underbrush. We’re still quite safe.”

The ghostly blue-grey gaze pierced into Richard. “You’re telling me true?”

“Certainly.” Richard took the flask and placed it to Alex’s lips. “Drink some more. It will help you sleep and you’ll heal. You’ll feel stronger when the sun sets and we can spend the dark hours finding a better hiding place.”

Alex took hold of the flask and swallowed several long sips. Then he handed it back to Richard and fell back with a groan, his railing snores commencing almost instantly.

Richard capped the precious remaining rum and thrust it into his pocket. He quickly, quietly gathered the meagre gear and slipped away.

Alone, he could travel silently and swiftly.

The carriage came to a sudden stop and jarred him from his reverie. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. He often fought off such lung fevers and other illnesses. Some sickness was often working on him. But he always conquered it in the end. He never came over completely ill.

The wheels began clattering over the paving stones again. He glanced at the girl across from him. She gazed back at him with large eyes. She knew what he had done so many years before.

She knew him for the coward he was.

But no one who hadn’t been there could judge him. The captain had been dead.

It had been every man for himself.

Richard had simply done what he’d had to do to survive.

Now Alexander Dalton wanted his revenge. He was telling everyone what a coward Richard was. He was ruining Richard’s chances at political office.

He wanted Richard’s ruin.

Maybe he even wanted Richard dead.

All of that, Richard could understand. But what he couldn’t abide was Dalton’s hypocritical refusal to admit it. Now Richard had means to force the issue.

Today, they would settle things. Forever.

 
* * * *

“I wish you’d have some of that wine.”

Emily stared at the cup of wine Green had given her. She was too tense to drink any of it, sure if she did it would all come back up. It had been three hours now since the women had pushed her into a darkened carriage and closed the door. A moment later the carriage had rolled forward, clattering over the streets.

And the sight of that pistol…

Since then she’d moved beyond the point of panic into a sort of sick-stomached acceptance. “I can’t possibly drink any.”

He shifted, his face seeming to twitch. “It would relax you. I’d prefer to have you a little calmer when Dalton gets here.”

“You think he’s coming here?” Oh God, oh God. Why hadn’t she listened to Alex?

“I know he’s coming here. I have sent him an invitation. I am always honest with Dalton. Would that he had done me the same courtesy.”

“Honesty? You call this honest?”

“My dear, I did give him fair warning that he should watch over you.”

Her mouth fell open.

Green had warned Alex, outright?

She lifted her eyes to his. “You what—
when?
”

“The night of the Cogswells’ supper. I thought he cared a lot more about you than to let you out alone. And I am surprised. But perhaps he’s found other interests… God!” He jerked his head up and his eyes were wild. Terrifying.

She gasped.

“
Has
he found other interests?” Green’s nasal voice went shrill. He jumped up from his seat and came at her.

She got to her feet and ran but he caught up with her. She backed against the wall as tightly as she could.

“Tell me, damn it!”

“I—I don’t know—” Terror strangled her voice. He still had that pistol.

He grasped her arm roughly. He brought his face close to hers. Sweat dotted his forehead and his eyes burnt into hers. “You’d better just hope he still cares enough to come for you, else I’ll have to up the stakes for him.”

Another wave of terror washed over her. “Up the stakes?”

A knock sounded on the door.

Relief seemed to go through Green’s body, for it sagged against hers. Then she sensed an expectant tautness.

He chuckled softly. “Well, congratulations, sweeting. It appears he does still care.” He pulled on her arm. “Come, darling girl—up on your feet. Let’s get this done.”

“What do you intend to do?” Without knowing why, she whispered the words.

Another knock sounded, louder this time.

Keeping hold of her arm, Green reached into his pocket, then something hard pressed into her side. “That’s my pistol, sweeting, so don’t do anything foolish.”

A dizzy sense of disbelief washed over her. None of this could be happening. Like a sleepwalker, she stood.

He gripped her to his side, his arm locked under her breasts. He took a step sideways and she bounced as he pulled her along with him, her feet dragging. It all seemed so absurd. An odd, hysterical urge to laugh threatened to overtake her. He stopped at the door.

“Open the door, my hands are full,” he said.

She worked the latch, her hands shaking so hard that she feared she wouldn’t be able to. Finally the door swung open and she looked up into Alex’s eyes. And in that moment, she saw into him—all the way into him. Soul-deep.

There had been no other women. Whatever had kept him from her these past days, it wasn’t another woman, for there was nothing and no one but the two of them. How foolish she’d been not to see that.

He loved her.

She loved him.

And nothing else mattered.

Whatever secrets he chose to keep locked away, they had nothing to do with who he was when he was with her. Who he was
for
her.

He was the only one.

She saw all of that in one flash. Not with her eyes. No—she felt it in her artist’s heart, the only thing she could truly trust.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice careful and calm.

She nodded.

“Tell him, Miss Eliot.” Green nudged her with the pistol.

“He has a…” Her voice cracked and she had to clear it. “A pistol pressed to me.”

A muscle worked hard in Alex’s jaw. “What do you want with her, Green? Let her go.”

“I will, in my own good time, when I am done with her.” Green moved backwards, dragging Emily with him. “Come in. We’ve much to discuss.”

Alex came inside.

“Please close and lock the door,” Green said, tightening his grip on Emily.

Alex pulled the door closed. The soft click seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. She could feel Green shaking, could smell the fresh sweat on him.

“You don’t have to do things this way, Richard. We can talk about what’s bothering you. Only put the pistol down and release her.”

“Alex, don’t try to muddy things with your platitudes—I know you hate me. You have every reason to hate me. You’re going to tell everyone. The reports of the new captives will have awakened all your memories of the shipwreck. Of the slave markets. Of how it all came to be.” Green paused and took a hitching breath. “You cannot help but seethe over the memory and knowing it was I, alone, to blame.”

“I have no intention of telling anyone anything that happened.”

Green began to breathe quickly, his chest rising and falling against her. The pistol at her back slackened. His grip loosened.

Her heart pounded in her chest at the strong urge to try to pull herself away. To run.

But she didn’t dare. She was too afraid of Green’s firearm.

The inner battle made her own breath speed. She began to feel giddy.

“You want vengeance—how could you not?” Green’s voice seemed to come suddenly. It made her jump. He tightened his hold as if newly reminded of her presence. “You want to ruin me. You want to ruin my chances to run for political office.”

At her movement in Green’s arms, Alex’s eyes fell from Green’s to meet hers. Again, he was looking at her soul-deep. Telling her that he would save her—or die trying. And she believed him

She believed in him.

Her breathing slowed. She had to trust him. He would let her know when she should make her move. He knew Green better. He’d been in some difficult and dangerous positions before.

Alex flickered his gaze back to Green. “Hasn’t James helped you with your campaign? Hasn’t he introduced you to all the right people? Have I interfered with that in any way?”

“What good did it do for him to take me around and introduce me? You maligned me to all those people. They lost respect for me.” Green’s voice wavered like a child’s on the last sentence.

“No, I didn’t malign you to anyone. How could I? You’re not thinking rationally. I was on the other side of the world.”

“You wrote letters. I know you did. You want to ruin my good name, but maybe that won’t be enough. You’ll eventually want my blood. You want to cut my heart out and feast on it.” His shaking intensified; the scent of male fear rose from his body. “You’ll feast on it with delight!”

“Richard, listen to yourself—you’re raving.”

“No, I am not raving. I live, day and night, knowing that you can never forgive me for what I did. I can’t live with knowing that. I just can’t.” A fierce shudder racked Green’s body. “This has to be solved. There must be an end. I must have peace!”

Alex took a step closer. “Now, Green, what you did was—”