Alex's Angel (6 page)

 
* * * *

From the shadows, Richard Green watched Alexander Dalton help the thin, dark-haired girl into his carriage.

“I knew they were working together.”

Then he took a deep swig of whisky from the bottle he held.

“Dalton works so hard to find new ways to make me lose face.”

As the last drops fell into his mouth, he frowned then threw the bottle to the street’s paving stones. The sound of smashing glass echoed loudly. He reached into his pocket and fished about.

Nothing.

“Well, I’ll be double-damned.” He whistled low. He’d left home today with two hundred dollars. He’d been looking forward to some quality female companionship—he fingered his ribs and winced—or at least he had been before the fight.

When had the little cut-purse cat done it? Most likely when Dalton had distracted him by challenging him.

Who would have dreamt, once upon a time, that it would all come to a pass like this?

In his mind’s eye flashed a smooth-faced seventeen-year-old boy with ghostly blue-grey, fever-glazed eyes. The rasp of that boy’s coughs resonated in the silence.

 
You deserved it, you shirking coward
, the inner voice chided him.

It was always there. Tormenting him. Lying.

“No, I’ll not feel guilt! It was a rational choice. No one can fault me—they weren’t there!”

Chapter Three

 
He was watching her, silently, and it was setting her nerves jangling far more than the carriage rattling along on the paving stones of the street. Emily had never been out on her own at night, and certainly had never been out alone with a man. She’d never had any suitors at all, for that matter.

Grandmother hadn’t thought much of the male sex as a whole and she’d been of the firm opinion that no one could ever be good enough for her only granddaughter. No one was going to take her beloved Emily away from her. She had seemed to expect that Emily would remain unmarried and live with her forever.

Now Emily had spent a whole evening away from home and in the company of a charming, handsome gentleman. She had made the choice to actually leave the Blue Duck with him. The sense of freedom in that was heady.

“I’ve made a decision.”

Alex’s deep voice, smooth as silk, cut into her thoughts. She looked up at him and he held her gaze with his as he scooted closer on the carriage seat. Any sense that she had control over the situation vanished. She held her breath and tried to suppress the panic beating in her blood.

“A decision?”
 
Was that hoarse voice really hers?

“Yes.” He reached up and lifted one of her curls off her shoulder in a casual, proprietary gesture. He pressed the curl to his lips, then let it drop. “I’ve decided to let myself fall in love with you.”

It was such an absurd comment that she gave a shaky laugh.

“You think that’s funny, eh?” He caressed her hair. Though clearly teasing her, there was an underlying edge of presumption in the way he handled her, as if she was his for the asking. Yes, that would be the way of a gentleman with a woman he assumed to be a harlot. He brought the lantern close. Looking over his merchandise?

He held a curl up to the light. “You’re not brunette at all, are you?”

She’d always hated her hair. It looked like the darkest, dullest brown on first glance, but under the light it turned an odd wine colour.

He moved his face incrementally closer to hers and touched the back of her head. Her heart sped up and she closed her eyes. He brushed her lips with his, then applied gentle but firm pressure. His kiss spread through her veins like warm honey.

Alex lifted his head and her eyes popped open. Under his intense, speculative gaze, she took two quavering breaths. Had the carriage not been rolling quite so briskly, she was certain she’d have bolted straight out of the door.

Then he touched his lips to hers again, slanting his mouth tenderly over hers. Her lips trembled under his. With his tongue, he traced the outline of her mouth deliberately, lingeringly. It should have seemed silly, but the sensation of his tongue sliding over her lips was liquid, silken bliss.

Alex shifted his weight on the squabs and made room in his pantaloons for his growing erection. The erection had come as a complete surprise. Yes, he had flirted with her. What else would a man do when alone in a carriage with a nineteen-year-old strumpet? It wasn’t likely that they would discuss literature or have a friendly political debate or commiserate about the fluctuations of the exchange.

And no man with any blood in his veins would allow the opportunity to pass by without at least tasting that gorgeous, berry-red mouth. He’d expected the kiss to be sweetly distracting—instead it had scorched his senses.

He glanced, perplexed, at her face, her too-thin body. Usually it took a great deal of beauty in a woman—damn near perfection—to send him to heights like that. And never over a mere kiss, unless the woman’s lips were planted somewhere else.

God, if just a kiss could produce that kind of sensation, what would it be like to taste her cunt and make her come, to bury himself balls-deep in her body? He could lose himself completely. And he hungered to lose himself, to forget himself and all the bitter corruption in his soul.

The intensity of his anticipation made his mouth go dry.

But it had probably been a fluke or a product of his extreme ennui.

He’d better try it again to make certain.

He cupped her face and she looked up at him, her eyes huge, luminous pools of sherry. The open hunger there sent an answering surge of desire slicing through him but he suppressed it. It never served a man’s purposes to come at a woman like a ravening beast.

He touched his lips to hers again and applied steady, gentle intensity. She began to kiss him back, pressing her lips against his with heated softness. There wasn’t anything unexpected in such a response—nothing special—yet his heart began to pound and his cock grew longer, harder.

Who the hell was this girl?

What was she going to be to him?

He slipped his hand down to her collarbone and gently gripped there. The feel of her pulse, rapid and strong, sent a thrill through him.

The carriage came to a stop. He lifted his lips from hers and released her. A bittersweet aching swelled in his chest. A reluctance to let her go. How novel the sensation was. He sat back in the seat, so bemused by his own strange mood that when the carriage door swung open it startled him.

He shook himself and climbed out of the carriage. Then he turned back and offered his hand to Emily. Poised on the seat, she looked out of the open door at the imposing red-brick building with her mouth agape.

“That’s
City Tavern
,” she said, voice strained.

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, I can’t go in there.”

“Come on, Emily—surely you’re not that shy.” Alex grinned and gave her a wink. And waited.

She placed her hand tentatively into his. He clasped it tightly and gave it a firm tug. She pulled back, her eyes widening slightly.

“Oh no, my girl—there’s no escape now.”

Her eyes grew wider and she bit her lip. But he sensed that she would not pull back now. He could feel it in the way her hand relaxed, in the warmth of her gaze holding his. He laughed. “I won’t let you go now, even if you beg.”

Her thick, dark lashes veiled her eyes. His gaze dropped to the pulse beating frantically in her neck. And the cold night air didn’t matter—he was bone hard. Harder than ever for her. He drew her gloved hand up to his mouth, then pressed his lips to it, harshly this time.

His driver coughed delicately. Alex laughed wryly to himself. It was a fairly sad state of affairs when one’s servants had to remind one of social standards. He lowered her hand but did not release it.

“Come, let’s go inside before my driver has an apoplexy.”

She let him help her down and he led her to the stately stone steps. There were several patches of brown ice. Tobacco spit.

“Have a care,” he said, trying to direct her around it.

She glanced down and lifted her skirts. A few tantalising inches of plain white petticoat and slim, well-shaped ankles in dark grey stockings showed.

Most gentlemen would have looked away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her pretty display. When had he ever declined the chance to view a lovely pair of ankles, especially when there was the strong promise of getting to explore further up those skirts?

But she should have lacy petticoats and silk stockings. And they should be somewhere private. He would buy her those silken, lacy things. Then he would let his hand drift slowly along her stockings until he reached the soft flesh of her thighs. He would let his fingers slide into her warm moist cunt and caress her, teasing her, making her cream until she cried out his name and came.

Her little shoes clicked on the bricks as she sidestepped the icy spot. Then she turned and glanced up at him, catching him ogling her. She looked a little shocked, as if she might have thought him above that sort of a thing.

It just went to show—she didn’t know him yet.

Yet, incredibly, he felt his face heat as he grinned and winked at her. “See now, I knew you’d have lovely ankles.”

Her mouth dropped open and her skirts fell from her hands. She breathed out a plume of vapour as the chilly breeze ruffled her dark ringlets.

At the sound of heels on bricks, she turned her head towards two elegantly dressed gentlemen who were coming down the steps. One of them had dark hair and burning black eyes. The bastard scanned her intently, as if he sought to sear the clothes from her. As if Alex wasn’t standing there holding her hand.

An odd feeling curled through Alex’s guts. He’d never felt it before.

She tightened her hand on his and he sensed the stiffening of her whole body. Instinctively, he released her hand and slipped his arm about her waist, drawing her close to him. All the while, he maintained steady eye contact with the gentleman. One word resounded with every beat of his heart.

Mine.

Amusement entered the other man’s dark eyes and he shrugged and tipped his hat to Emily and gave her a wink. Then he hurried to catch up with his companion.

The sound of the gentlemen’s heels clicking on the bricks gradually receded, leaving Alex shaken in the wake of his own intense reaction. Still, it wasn’t a bad place to have ended up, standing there with her body tucked tightly against his. And it was only natural to have been offended by their overt interest. After all, she was obviously with him for the evening.

Emily was disturbed by the strange gentleman’s rude stare. She’d never been the object of such overt, lustful interest before. It must be the hour of the night and being in Alex’s company. It must tell every other gentleman that she was a harlot, available to serve their lusts.

And she was even more shaken by Alex’s arousal against her. She knew what it was, of course, but she’d never
felt
it before.

 
“I recognised your bold admirer. He’s a senator, my dear—a real wolf.” Alex’s breath tickled her neck.

“I am beginning to deeply regret coming here.”

 
“We can’t have that.” He pulled the cloak’s hood up from where it lay on her shoulders and then forward over her face and everything went black. He laughed. “There. You’re a woman of mystery. No one can see your face.”

“But now I can’t see!” she exclaimed softly.

“Allow me to lead you, sweetheart.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Come along.”

Dizzied, she tripped, falling forward. He caught her quickly. Held for a moment against his strong body, she felt her disorientation ease.

“Now, be careful,” he said.

Male voices rumbling low, occasional laughter and the clinking of dishware echoed distantly, combining with the scent of tobacco smoke and spicy rum punch heavy in the air to provoke tantalising images. Occasional voices and the sound of boots on floorboards came closer, then faded away. She feared that each step might land her into some unseen trip or fall; flutters blossomed in her mid-section. It gave her the most unsettling urge to giggle.

Grandmother had always impressed on her the importance of never making a public spectacle of herself, and this situation certainly seemed to fit the description of a public spectacle. The thought of Grandmother’s face nearly proved her undoing and she shook with suppressed laughter. It probably wasn’t kind to laugh about such things so soon after Grandmother’s death but she couldn’t help it. At that moment, she wanted to forget about sickness and sadness and death. In the presence of this man, she felt so young and alive—and free.

“It’s safe, there’s no one around,” Alex whispered in a conspiratorial tone as he flipped her hood back.

Reflective tin sconces and brass candlesticks glittered and light reflected off the elegant crown mouldings and lofty ceiling. She tried not to gape but she’d never been in such a pretty place.

“Good evening, Mr Dalton.”