Wicked Angel (7 page)

Amazed by the extraordinary leap of his stomach at the mention of her children, Alex glanced toward the mill. "How many children do you have?"

"Five at the moment. Sometimes one or two more."

He should hardly have been surprised; the small kernel of disappointment he felt was ludicrous. He had the impression that country people bred continuously, and why should he care how many children she had now or had lost? Country children were, unfortunately, susceptible to disease and death. "You have five children?" he asked again, angry with himself.

She shifted her dark blue gaze to him, saw the obvious look of wonder on his face, and burst out laughing. "Oh no, sir, not
mine!
The children at Rosewood are our wards. Orphans," she clarified,

"except for Rupert." Another child suddenly appeared on the crest of a hill, behind which Alex noticed the four chimneys of a small manor house. Miss Hill lifted her hand and waved. Absurdly relieved that they were not her children, Alex followed her to the barn. The young boy tending the cattle, who looked to be no older than seven or eight years, rushed forward to greet them.

"Horace, have a care where you step!" she called, then laughingly wrinkled her nose. "Our cattle, few though they are, are quite prolific in their production of fertilizer."

He was about to remark that he was quite sure it was a trait common to all cattle, but the shouting caught him off guard. He thought the other boy had been hurt, and jerked around. With inhuman effort, he managed to keep from gaping at the boy's hideous birthmark. "Really, Leonard, he is
not
a pirate," Miss Hill said, laughing. "He is a country gentleman who has lost his way."
And my mind
, Alex silently reminded her,
especially my mind
. The unfortunate young lad was smiling brightly at Miss Hill. She touched his temple, smiling at him as genuinely as if the child were Adonis himself.

Dear God, she
was
an angel.

For the second time that day, Alex felt he was watching a dream. The boys looked adoringly at Miss Hill, and the angel with the voice of gold laughingly regaled them with Lucy's adventure, lovingly touching them as she spoke. Certain he was rudely gaping, Alex clenched his jaw tightly shut and tried to remain as expressionless as he knew how.

"Mr. Christian, may I introduce Leonard?" she smiled, gesturing toward the birthmarked child, "and

Horace."

"Good afternoon," Alex heard himself say.

"Good afternoon, sir," they chirped in unison.

"We have four more boarders at Rosewood," Miss Hill said. "Sally, Theodore, and Lydia are inside.

Rupert and my brother, Paul, are with my uncle in Pemberheath."

"It's Theodore's turn to watch Sally," Leonard informed him. As Alex imagined that Sally had some horrible malady, Miss Hill instructed the boys to run ahead and inform Mrs. Peterman they had a guest.

"I will race you to the top of the hill!" Horace shouted, and the lads immediately scampered ahead, toward the house.

"It is the dinner hour. I rather imagine you must be famished," Miss Hill said. Alex dragged his gaze from the boys and smiled. "I would not think of imposing."

"It is no imposition, sir. You are very welcome."

"If you are quite certain, I admit I am indeed rather hungry." He would probably never know what compelled him to agree. Part of him wanted to look at the child's birthmark again, to see if the others were similarly afflicted. But another part of him wanted to look at the angel as long as he could. All of this—Rosewood, Lucy, and the angel beside him, intrigued him on a level he could hardly fathom.

She had already started toward the crest, and he quickened his step.

Lauren did not realize how fast she was walking. God, was she
addled!
The invitation to dinner had no sooner tumbled out of her mouth when it occurred to her that Ethan might have returned. Blanching at the very thought, Lauren quickened her step, wanting to reach the house before he did, mortified that such a dignified, educated,
handsome
man might meet
Ethan
. Good
God!

She was practically running by the time she reached the house, and would have run straight inside and up to her room had Mr. Christian not stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. She gasped and immediately looked down to see if her arm was on fire. It certainly felt like it was; a strange, tingling sensation spread quickly to her chest. Catching her breath in her throat, she looked up at him. Lord, but Alex Christian, whoever he was, had to be the most handsome man she had ever clapped eyes on. He was tall, well over six feet. His brown hair was threaded with a sprinkling of gold, and he had warm green eyes that could melt ice. They were certainly doing a fine job of melting her where she stood.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Hill. I did not mean to imply I was
that
hungry!" He grinned at her. Lauren's cheeks burned; how foolish she must look, running to the dinner table like Lucy to her slop. He looked as if he expected her to say something, but Lord Almighty, she could not help staring at him. His face was rugged and square and deeply tanned, his shoulders broad and muscular, his legs powerful. She silently commanded herself to stop being ridiculous and laughed nervously at his jest. She felt the heat in her cheeks, and was never so glad to see Mrs. Peterman in all her life as when the housekeeper stepped onto the back steps, her arms wrapped around a huge ceramic bowl. She glared at Mr. Christian as she furiously stirred the contents of her bowl.

"Mrs. Peterman, may I introduce Mr. Christian?"

"How do you do, Mrs. Peterman," he said politely.

She growled and shifted a narrowed gaze to Lauren. "That blasted hog is back in her pen. I sent Leonard after you, thinking she might have killed you at last!"

Lauren laughed tightly, cringing inwardly at how strange she sounded. "She certainly tried, but Mr.

Christian was kind enough to help me."

"Miss Hill is too generous. It would be more accurate to say she survived in spite of my help."

"Are you in the habit of roaming the open fields, Mr. Christian?" Mrs. Peterman snapped. Lauren winced. Mrs. Peterman was still smarting over her rejection of Fastidious Thadeus, and since then had treated every eligible man in a ten-mile radius of Pemberheath as a blackguard.

"His horse drew up lame, Mrs. Peterman. I brought him here so that Rupert might help him," she muttered, and cast an imploring look at the housekeeper.

"Rupert is not here," Mrs. Peterman said, and pivoting on her heel, marched into the kitchen.

Why didn't the earth just open and swallow her where she stood? She tried to smile. "Mrs. Peterman is rather protective."

"I can certainly understand why," he smiled.

Those simple words caused another rush of heat to her face. Bewildered, she proceeded into the kitchen, not daring to see if he followed. Incredibly, he did. She asked Lydia to show him where he might wash and had to nudge the young girl to move, as she was gaping in awe at the handsome stranger. The moment Mr. Christian left the room, Lauren whirled to Mrs. Peterman. "Please,
please
tell me Ethan is not here!" she moaned, sinking onto a stool.

Mrs. Peterman did not deign to look up from the stove. "He is not here, and you should thank the stars he is not! What are you thinking, dragging a perfect stranger home from the fields?" she snapped.

"His horse was injured! Should I have left him wandering about?"

Mrs. Peterman gave her a stern look as she thrust a large bowl of stew at her. Lauren ignored it; she could not explain to herself, much less to Mrs. Peterman, that she might very well have escorted him to hell and back for one of his warm smiles. Or that her heart pounded at the sight of those powerful legs moving in those
very
tight buckskins. She marched to the dining area set up for the children and placed the bowl rather loudly on the old scarred table. It startled Theodore, whose nose was buried in a book.

Just ten years old, he devoured every book brought into the house. Next to him was Sally, Theodore's charge for the day. Sally was only four, so her supervision was a responsibility shared by the older children.

"Leonard said you brought a pirate to dinner," Theodore remarked hopefully.

Lauren smiled and handed several wooden bowls to him, motioning for him to set the table. "Leonard is mistaken, darling. Mr. Christian is a gentleman with a lame horse. I rather doubt he has ever been on a boat."

Theodore pondered that as he carefully placed the bowls around the table, then brightened. "Sometimes pirates
act
as if they are gentlemen. Perhaps he just
said
that so as not to frighten you."

"I assure you, he is not a pirate, but a man in search of a good horse doctor."

"Yes, but maybe he was riding for his ship when his horse was hurt!"

"We are many, many miles from the sea, darling," Lauren said, running her hand over the boy's blond locks.

"But he
had
to go that way, Miss Lauren!" Horace shouted from the door, then ran to take a seat at the table. "Leonard said the constable would find him if he took the main road!"

"The constable?" She laughed. "And what do you suppose the constable would do if he found Mr.

Christian? Without the booty of a raid, he should have no grounds to detain him. I am afraid Leonard is filling your head with tales from his own imagination."

"I hardly think your story is much improvement," Mrs. Peterman huffed from the kitchen door. She placed two freshly baked loaves of bread on the table, which Lauren promptly began to slice.

"It is not a
story
, Mrs. Peterman," she said with cheerful patience. "It is fact!"

"Oh, he is a pirate," Leonard said with great authority as he came into the small dining area. "He is wearing pirate boots. Very
fine
pirate boots."

"These boots," Mr. Christian drawled, "would not suit the lowest of pirates, I assure you." Lauren looked up; her country gentleman filled the narrow doorway with his athletic physique, and smiling at the children as he was, started the giddiness in her all over again. She looked down and noticed she had cut a chunk of bread the size of brick. She hastily made three slices of it, then smiled broadly at Mr. Christian, helplessly aware that she was on the verge of making a complete cake of herself.

She motioned to a chair. "Please be seated, Mr. Christian. And I pray you, do not fault these boys overmuch. Since Paul began reading fantastic stories of pirates to them each night, they believe every grown man is potentially a marauder of the high seas." Lydia was still standing in the door, still staring at Mr. Christian. "Lydia," Lauren said softly, and the young girl slowly walked to the table, no more able to tear her eyes from him than Lauren could. Usually, Lydia could talk of little else than Ramsey Baines, with whom she was desperately in love, but she sat across from Mr. Christian, gawking at him with such awe that Lauren wanted to laugh. She knew
exactly
how she felt.

"I am
not
a pirate," he informed the children, "nor have I been a pirate in at least five years. I was forced to stop that practice several years ago. Constable Richards…" he paused and glanced slyly at the children. With the exception of Sally, who was molding a slice of bread into a doll shape, the children's faces were filled with expectant terror. He shrugged carelessly. "Forgive me. I would not bore you with the details," he said, and helped himself to a generous portion of stew.

Lauren stifled a delighted giggle as she nudged Lydia to take a piece of bread. "Constable Richards?

How very ironic," she said as she pushed a bowl in front of Sally. "They say he pursued a ruthless pirate for many years." She paused and glanced thoughtfully at the window. "He never caught him—they say it haunts him to this day. But surely he is not the
same
Constable Richards."

She glanced at Mr. Christian, who returned her gaze with a mischievous smile. Incredulous, the children all paused, their attention riveted on Mr. Christian's anticipated answer. "Surely not," he agreed slowly, and the children's shoulders sagged almost as one with disappointment. "Unless, of course, you refer to
Robert
Richards?" The children suddenly sat forward, their spoons freezing between bowl and mouth as they jerked their gazes to Lauren.

"Why,
yes
, I do indeed! Do you know him?" Of course he did, and Mr. Christian began to weave a fantastic tale of adventure on the seas, sprinkled with exciting and very close encounters with the imaginary Constable Richards. The children were spellbound, hardly tasting their stew. Lauren was hardly immune to his charm, either. She wanted to hug him for treating the children with respect and dignity. She wanted to cry that he did not seem to notice Leonard's horrid birthmark. Her admiration of Mr. Christian, already dangerously high, grew with alarming leaps and bounds during the course of that meal.

Unfortunately for them all, with the notable exception of Mrs. Peterman, dinner was over far too soon.

Lauren reluctantly sent the children to their chores, kissing the tops of their heads as she firmly sent them off. They all wanted to stay with Mr. Christian—so did she.

And she might have contrived a way to do it had Mr. Goldthwaite not picked that very inopportune time to call. The banging on the front door came just as she poured tea. A moment later, the apothecary marched into the small dining room carrying a large bunch of wilting daisies, his apple cheeks flushed. If there was anything worse than Ethan, it was Fastidious Thadeus. Why did he have to call
today?
"Good afternoon, Mr. Goldthwaite," she said wearily.

"Afternoon Miss Hill." He sniffed. "I have taken the liberty of bringing you some daisies. They are quite the rage just now, and I thought they should brighten your dressing table nicely," he said, his small brown eyes sliding to Mr. Christian.

"Thank you, Mr. Goldthwaite," she said evenly, "but I do not have a dressing table." She stood politely to receive the blasted flowers and brought them quickly to her face to hide her mortification. Oh God, she could not bear to imagine what Mr. Christian must be thinking! "Mr. Goldthwaite, may I present Mr.