Daniel and the Angel (7 page)

She looked everywhere but at him. Finally she sighed and said, "I pawned the gold pin."

"The wings?"

She nodded, and he groaned. He took her arm. "Where is the pawnshop?"

She pointed. "Down the street a few blocks."

"Come on." He headed down the street, Lilli by his side.

"You should have pawned the earrings."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because they don't mean as much as the pin does."

He stopped and looked at her. "That makes sense."

She gave a small smile.

"It shouldn't make sense. Don't ask me why. But for some hare-brained reason it does!" He turned and pulled her down the street.

Half an hour later they stood beneath the three white globes that hung above Murry's Pawnshop and D.L. pinned the wings onto Lilli's dress. She touched them when he finished. "Thank you."

Uncomfortable, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "Would you like a tree?"

Her smile was bright enough to melt the snow.

Two hours later, when the carriage left the market, a lush tree was strapped to the roof and the boot was stuffed with greenery. Baskets filled with flowers and fresh cranberries were on the seats by Lilli. In her hand she held a cornhusk doll in the shape of an angel. "Isn't it just wonderful?"

He looked at her. Only at her. "Yes. Wonderful."

She looked up, then something caught her eye and she gasped. D.L. turned just as they passed a German bakery, its windows filled with a fairyland of gingerbread castles.

He banged on the roof. "Stop here, Benny." He jumped out, then helped her down.

She almost ran to the window, where gaslights made the holiday display sparkle. Intricate castles and houses had snow icing on the roofs. Gingerbread soldiers in full uniform rode horses with trappings and full manes of sugary white. There were gingerbread women and children dressed in costume and carrying baskets of miniature marzipan candy in the shapes of pears and peaches, sausages and hams, little dolls and animals.

Three gingerbread men later, they left the bakery, and Lilli handed Benny a cookie shaped and decorated like a queen's carriage. She always thought of someone else before herself. She didn't want wealth or diamonds. She wanted so little. D.L. wondered if there was anything she truly wanted just for herself.

Then she saw the puppies. Small light brown canine heads with floppy ears and wagging tongues and bright red bows tied around their necks poked out of a street vendor's basket. A squeal of delight and she rushed toward the pups like a Vanderbilt to Tiffany's.

"Daniel, look!"

And he did look. But not at the puppies that were licking her chin and cheeks. Nor the kittens and the rabbits as she moved from one basket to another.

He looked at the joy on her face and wished that he could give her that kind of happiness every single day of his life.

Lilli. Who preferred puppies to diamonds. Kittens to pearls. Rabbits to ...

He looked down at her and scowled. "No rabbits, Lilli. Puppies .. . yes. And kittens too. But no rabbits."

8

With the breadth of Heaven betwixt you;

Unless you can dream that his faith is fast

Though behoving and unbehoving;

Unless you can die when the dream is past

Oh never call it loving!

—Robert Browning

THE RABBITS WERE CHEWING ON DANIEL'S SHOELACES.

Lilli sat in a chair in the open parlor, her lap full of wiggling puppies, while purring kittens crawled on the arms and wings of the chair. She was stringing cranberries and smiling at Daniel.

He was on his hands and knees in front of a brass bucket filled with wet sand, muttering and turning the trunk of the Christmas tree. It was his third attempt to get the tree straight.

"It looks fine to me," she told him.

He backed out, scowled down at the two brown and white rabbits, then shifted away, eyeing the angle of the tree. "A little more to the right."

Lilli rolled her eyes and tied a knot in the string of deep red cranberries. The formal parlor was a disaster. A huge bowl of popcorn sat in the center of a Savonnerie carpet, a trail of plump kernels leading to the tree, where the rabbits nibbled the crushed popcorn from the soles of Daniel's shoes.

Scraps of colored paper and string had been scattered by tumbling puppies and playful kittens until the center of the room, where settees by William Kent formed a conversation area, looked like the aftermath of a parade. Next to embroidered pillows once owned by Marie Antoinette were stacks of greens, and in giant piles around the room were spools of red ribbons next to twigs of laurel and cedar.

The entire lower floor of the Stewart mansion was filled with the fresh scent of Christmas. By the time the mantel clock struck eleven the tree was decorated, and greenery hung throughout the front of the house. Tied with red ribbons, cedar and laurel, pine and holly hung from pictures and mirrors and wrapped around the bases of candelabra.

Besides the candles, tables held vases of red roses and the most exquisite white lilies she had ever seen. And the rabbits, puppies, and kittens were tucked into their baskets beneath the tree, exhausted after an evening of chasing string and cranberries—and Daniel's shoes.

"Now it looks like Christmas," she said, putting her hands on her hips. She turned just in time to catch the look on Daniel's face.

He stood next to her, silent and looking at the tree.

His expression was naked and open and for one brief instant filled with such desolation that she was unable to breathe.

She reached out and touched his arm. Because she had to. Because she sensed he needed touching now as he relived some memory.

"Daniel," she whispered his name.

He didn't respond, didn't move, until finally he looked at her as if he had just noticed she was there.

She searched his face for answers and saw nothing but a shuttered look that she sensed hid pain and fear and other emotions so personal that he couldn't bear to let anyone see. "What's wrong?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, a move she was beginning to recognize. She suspected that his hands were tight fists.

Daniel had, over the years, learned to hide his emotions from the world.

"I haven't had a Christmas tree since I was thirteen." He didn't look at her. He stared at the tree.

She watched him with this horrid sinking feeling. "Do you want to get rid of it?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's not the tree. I never had the time for one. I was working too hard, and then when I did have the time ..." He shrugged. "I didn't care anymore."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He laughed without humor, then turned to her.

"I think perhaps you should."

He leaned back against the edge of the pocket door and crossed his arms. "Why?"

She could be as stubborn as he could. She mimicked him, crossing her arms and raising her chin. "You tell me."

He didn't look her in the eye, but he turned and took two strides into the room, his face hidden in the shadow of the doorway. His back was to her. "I wasn't born into wealth. I've earned every cent I have. What you said the other night made me think about what I am, Lilli. Why I am. Whether I have put money before everything else in my life." He turned back to her then. "I think it's true.

"My father died in an accident on the job. My mother was killed two weeks later. She was looking for a job and was murdered. No one ever knew what happened, except the police thought it might have been a robbery attempt.

"I lived with my grandfather for a while, but he had a stroke. No matter how hard any of them worked, no matter how much they tried, there was never much money. I don't have a lot of childhood memories, except that everyone I cared for I lost, and that we had little time together because they were always working so hard." He looked around the room, his gaze stopping on each priceless piece of art that adorned the walls.

"I remember thinking, when I buried my grandfather, that someday I would have so much money that I would never have to live like they did." He gave a droll laugh.

She looked at him.

"I realized this morning that I had done exactly what they had. I have spent almost every minute of my life working. The only difference is, I made money, more money than I could ever spend or need in my lifetime and theirs put together."

"Daniel. I'm sorry I said those things."

"Don't be. They needed to be said."

She stood there, feeling awkward because she wanted to run to him, but she was afraid.

"Can we start over? No challenges, no bets, no deals. And no questions. You can stay here as long as you want to, Lilli."

She didn't know what to tell him.

"Will you stay?"

Every person he had ever cared about left him in one way or another. Perhaps she understood that look. She understood him.

She couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when she was so confused and fast feeling as if Daniel were part of her. And deep inside her, she didn't want to leave him. She looked up and nodded. "I'll stay."

There was a flash of relief in his eyes. He gave her a slow and lazy smile, then looked pointedly above her.

She followed his gaze to where a giant ball of mistletoe, almost two feet wide, hung from the crystal chandelier directly above her.

Two steps and he had closed the distance between them. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly, tenderly.

She slid her hands around his neck and returned his kiss, his taste. He groaned and his arms held her tightly, lifted her to him.

The kiss lasted forever and an instant. He pulled back. Her head was against his chest, and he rested his chin on her head, his breath a little fast, his heart pounding in her ear. "Whenever I kiss you, it's the strangest thing. I could swear I hear bells."

She smiled into his shirt and said, "Then perhaps you should kiss me more often."

"Perhaps you should go to bed before I do and then can't stop." He released her and stepped back, his look only for her.

She smiled and went up the stairs, feeling his gaze warm her all the way to the top. She stopped at the landing and turned. "Daniel. You know what they say about bells. Every time a bell rings—"

He smiled and finished, "An angel gets its wings."

* * *

The next two days were theirs alone.

They went back to the park and skated again. Well, he skated. She fell. They joined the throngs of uptown shoppers who milled along Broadway from Union Square and along all the uptown avenues where, this close to Christmas, the stores were open until eleven at night to handle the crowds of people who were too busy to shop during the workday.

With hundred of others, they watched as a huge Christmas tree lit with two hundred gas jets was rolled into the Trinity Church sanctuary. Every branch of the tree was laden with gifts for children from a nearby orphan asylum, compliments of D.L. Stewart.

But the best Christmas gift Lilli received came in the form of laughter.

Lilli met Daniel at the top of the stairs one evening.

He stopped. "Go on down to dinner. I forgot something."

She walked down the stairs, humming "O Holy Night," a kitten tugging at her skirt and two puppies yapping in her arms. She reached the bottom step.

There was a loud
whoop.

An instant later Daniel slid down the banister, off the newel post, and sailed into the foyer just as Gage opened the front door.

Daniel kept going.

He bounced down the icy marble steps until something on the sidewalk finally stopped him.

His attorney, Karl Wallis.

"I'm not certain I'll ever be able to sit again," D.L. said, wincing as he crossed the library and handed Karl a drink.

Karl took the drink. "You weren't at the Van Cleves' dinner party last night.
"

D.L. took a swig of Scotch. "No."

"Prescott was there."

"I'll call and set up a meeting with him sometime next week."

"I've never known you to miss an opportunity like this. The man has a fortune to invest."

D.L. didn't respond.

"Have you gotten that release signed?" The look Karl gave him spoke volumes.

"I said I'll take care of it, and I will."

"Tell me something."

"What?"

"What is she to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You damn well know what I mean, D.L."

"Stay out of it, Karl."

"I've never seen you act this way about a woman."

"She's different. I don't know how to explain it." He'd known the night he took her to the concert. She looked lovely, but she'd been too quiet and out of place in that crowd—like fine silver exposed to the harsh elements. She had lost her luster. He felt some odd need to protect her from anything that would or could hurt her, anything that would steal her laughter.

Karl got up and set his glass down. "I'm not here to pass judgment. I was concerned, both as a friend and as your attorney."

"Don't be. I can handle this."

"Will I see you at the club?"

He shook his head. "Not until after Christmas."

Karl went to the door and opened it, then paused. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I'm fine. Everything will be fine," D.L. said, but he wasn't certain if he was talking to Karl or himself.

A clock down the hall struck two.

Daniel didn't move, didn't even take a breath.

She stood by the light of her bedroom window, the moon shining down and making her look like the angel she claimed to be.

"You can't sleep either," he said.

She shook her head. "No."

She hadn't looked at him, but he could see that she had known he was there. It didn't surprise him. There was something between them, some elusive chain that bound them together.

Whenever he was near her he could feel it, as if it were a
live,
animated thing, this acute awareness that she was the other half of him—a side that had been lost or perhaps had never existed until he found her.

He crossed the room and stood behind her. She didn't step away but just slowly looked up at him.

He reached out and swept a hank of hair from her face, then cupped her cheek in his hand. Her skin was so soft and pale, and it made him even more aware of how fragile she was.

He trailed his fingers down her cheek and caressed her jaw, tilting her head up. He had never in his entire life touched a woman this way. Never had he run his fingers across her features, memorizing them with his hands.

But with Lilli it was a sensory need he had to fill.

His mouth touched hers once, the barest of touches —the brush of an angel's wing. Moments later their kisses were dizzying and deep and felt as necessary as air. He craved her flavor, the same way he craved her scent, the sound of her voice, the brightness of her smile.

His hands floated down to her breasts, skimmed them and cupped them, brushed the tips and felt them react to his touch.

"Daniel." Her whisper was dreamy and wanton, and it made him want her more.

She was dressed in his shirt and nothing else. A slight touch here, a button undone there, and the shirt
floated to her feet. She was sleek and pale and perfect, her skin flushed.

His own clothes fell away and they stood there bathed in moonlight and love. His hands on her waist, he picked her up, lifting her high so his mouth could worship her breasts, her belly, and lower.