To Save a Fallen Angel (The Fallen Angels series Book 2)

by Julianna Hughes

  She had the most unique eyes Luc had ever seen. They had captivated him when she turned to face him. Cat eyes. Slightly slanted on the ends with the most unusual color, cerulean blue with a dark, almost cobalt blue ring around them.

  Her honey-blonde hair was artfully coiffed atop her head. And full, luscious lips set in a heart-shaped face. Lips that were made for kissing. She was unmistakably an aristocratic lady of gentle breeding. The kind of woman he normally avoided at all cost. But not her. He wanted her with a visceral desire he had never felt before.

  And then Sir Walter had admitted that she worked for him. Lust turned to disappointment. Luc had endured the manipulations of Sir Walter and Damien for several years now. And he despised anything and everyone that had any connection to those two demons.

  The man had introduced her as Lady Margaret Hennessy. Normally, he would have accepted such a thing without question. Especially as the woman carried herself like a noblewoman. But over the years Luc had learned to question anything either man told him. He doubted it was her real name, or that she was a noblewoman. Especially with the way she was watching him. Most genteel girls were taught what he called the coy flicker. This woman’s gaze was unwavering. And she was not troubled by the ugly gash on the side of his face. A scar that had sent most proper young girls fleeing into the night.

  "Captain Stoughton," Sir Walter broke into his admiration of the woman. "I think Lady Margaret would love an opportunity to dance."

  Her eyes flicker toward Sir Walter and then return to him with an enchanting smile on her face. But for a moment he thought he glimpsed annoyance in her light blue eyes. Then it was gone so fast he wasn’t sure if he had imagined it.

  "I'm sure. . ." he started to protest but was quickly cut off by Sir Walter as he stepped into him and lowered his voice.

  "It would give you and the lady a closer look at those gathered around the ballroom without appearing to do so."

  Luc glanced at his brother who hesitated a moment and then nodded slightly in agreement.

  "I will not leave the duke's or the duchess' side while you are gone, Captain," Sir Walter assured him.

  His brother's eyes locked with his and Luc knew Gabe was as bothered by the promise as he was. But there was nothing for it. He did need to get a better look around the ballroom, and having the lady on his arm would help.

  "Lassie, would ye like to take a turn around the floor with me?" he asked and then extended his arm.

  She flashed a smile at him that when straight to his groin. "Captain," she said in a husky voice that ran through his body like melted butter.

  She laid her gloved hand on the sleeve of his coat, and they both nodded to his brother then turned to join the others on the dance floor. The first strains of a waltz floated across the ballroom, and Luc swept the lady into his arms. She fit him perfectly, which was unusual because of his height. And he couldn’t help taking a deeper breath to savor the fresh lemony scent on her skin. So very different from what most women of his acquaintance wore.

  "You surprise me, Captain," the lady said once they had found the pace.

  "How so, lass?" he asked.

  “A soldier, newly returned from the war. And yet you know a dance that is fairly new to these shores."

  Luc smiled down at her and hid the shudder that coursed through his body. Something in the way she had phrased her question made it sound as if she was not quite English, despite her very cultured English accent.

  "Vienna, milady," he replied. "Wellington is a strong believer in his officers knowing how to act in all situations," he tilted his head slightly, "including at a formal ball."

  "How judicious of him, Captain," she retorted.

  Oh, despite himself he liked this woman more and more. "The Field Marshall is quite astute, Lady Margaret."

  "Apparently," she returned.

  "And ye, lassie? You are quite good as well. For a dance that I am told has only recently been allowed in London ballrooms,” Luc said.

  She smiled coquettishly at him. And despite knowing it was probably a flirtatious game to her, his loins tightened up. "And why shouldn't I, Captain Stoughton?"

  Luc had been back in London a short time only, but even he knew that in order for a young lady of good breeding to dance a waltz, she first had to have been approved by one of the patronesses of Almack’s. And judging by the sudden dilation of her pupils, he hit something with that remark. What, he wasn't quite sure.

  "Oh, I don't know. There is just something about you that suggests yer not from here." A momentary tightening of her hand told him he had hit another sore point.

  She hesitated, "You think me a provincial?"

  Luc smiled. He had definitely unsettled her; she had asked her question in fluent French.

  He responded in kind. "I think you too continental to be completely English, ma chère. And too conventional to be entirely French."

  "And why would you think me French, Captain Stoughton?" she asked, and Luc felt her back tighten as if she were preparing for flight.

  He grinned at her. "Because, ma chère, your French is quite excellent. But you speak it with an accent that is not entirely . . . familiar to me." Luc thought it might be a Carabine or Creole accent.

  She abruptly halted them in the middle of the dance floor, causing other dancers to stop or veer off to avoid colliding with them. Her eyes flickered from side to side as she appeared to be reviewing the last few seconds of their conversation. Luc could swear he knew the exact moment when the lady realized what she had done. Her eyes shot to his and her hand turn cold through the two layers of gloves that separated them.

  He grinned. "There is nothing wrong with speaking French, ma chère. I am quite proficient at it myself. My governess was French. Yours is flawless but it is not an accent I am familiar with."

  She hesitated then said, "Saint Lucia."

  "Saint Lucia?" he repeated. It had a ring of truth to it. But his instincts were telling Luc she was still hiding something.

  Her eyes met his, "My governess was from there and taught me."

  She was being too insistent now. And experience had taught him that people who did that were usually hiding something. He decided to let it drop for the moment and started them moving again. "Ahhh, that explains it."

  After a few steps, and one twirl, she relaxed, and he decided to change the subject to one of more immediate concern.

  "How long have ye . . . known Sir Walter?" he asked.

  She relaxed further. "Most of my life. He and my father are of an age and attended Harrow together. That's where they met."

  The ease with which she answered the question usually implied honesty. But the tension around her lips suggested she found something about the information distasteful. He filed the inconsistency away for later and continued.

  "And . . . yer current association with the mon?" he asked.

  She smiled coquettishly, causing a frisson of uneasiness to run through him. "My father was a diplomat for the Foreign Office, Captain. So I was raised mostly on the continent. Then six months ago, I blundered into one of Damien Whittermann's investigations." She shrugged. "And I proved useful to him. Then last week I returned to London for a visit, and when Sir Walter learned of my assistance from Mr. Whittermann, he asked if I would help watch out for your sister-in-law tonight."

  Luc’s instincts were telling him that only part of her story was true. The problem was, he didn’t know which part.

  "Mostly what I do Captain, is listen to gossip and report it back to Sir Walter or Damien Whittermann."

  Luc recalled what Sir Walter had said earlier and decided to challenge her. "Not just listen, lass. Not according to what Sir Walter just told my brother."

  Her right eyebrow rose dramatically, and a thrill coursed through him. "To quote Sir Walter's comment a few minutes ago, 'I trust those under my command.' It suggests you are capable of doing more than just listening."

  She smiled up at him and his pantaloons grew a little more uncomfort
able. "We lived in a number of dangerous locations, Captain Stoughton.” Her multi-color blue eyes seemed to twinkle beneath the chandeliers. “My father thought it prudent to teach me to defend myself. I can assure you I am quite capable with a pistol or cutlass."

  From the look on her face, Luc had the feeling she was not just capable, but extremely proficient with the weapons. At least he hoped she was. Although, he did find it a bit strange that she would use the word cutlass rather than the more common word of sword or foil.

  "How intriguing, Lady Margaret. A gently-born lady who knows how to defend herself," he said.

  She gifted him with a true smile this time, and an enchanting dimple peeped out at him. "Why thank you, Captain. And I am delighted to be of assistance to your brother and his wife. So in a sense we are both working for Sir Walter tonight. Are we not?"

  "Not by choice, Lady Margaret. Not by choice."

  Peggy felt off balance. She had since she had been properly introduced to Captain Stoughton. He was not what she had expected. Oh, he was the hardened warrior she had read about in his file. And he was even more devastatingly handsome up close.

  But there was something about the man that completely unsettled her. Joc would scoff and tease her endlessly if he knew just how unsettled he made her. Both Eddie and Joc had called her unnatural, as she had never shown any interest in men until her beloved Gustav.

  Peggy had no doubt Joc would disapprove of Captain Stoughton as a possible consort. After all, Stoughton was another landlubber like Gustav. To her uncle Eddie, that had been the lowest form of human being known to man. Not so much with Joc, but he would still disapprove of her forming a liaison with the Englishman. Especially, an intimate one. But that wouldn't be his only objections to her forming a relationship with the Englishman. Captain Stoughton was also an ally of Sir Walter. Their sworn enemy.

  Peggy suspected that the last one was now debatable as Captain Stoughton seemed to be as snared in one of Sir Walter's deceitful webs as she and Joc were. But that wouldn't matter one whit to Joc. He would only see Stoughton as a threat and slit the man's throat the first chance he got.

  Peggy was honest enough with herself to admit that it was not something she wanted. Not now that she had met the handsome captain. She even adored the scar on his face. As a woman raised around pirates, she had seen all kinds of battle injuries and wasn't the least bit put off by them. His looked barely healed as it was still red and slightly puckered.

  In fact, she found him as handsome as her fiancé. Gustav had also carried a scar from a sword fight on his face. Although that was where the comparison ended. Gustav's scar had been much smaller and only slightly marred his right cheek. And her fiancé had been more suave than the man holding her in his arms. More refined. A true French gentleman. Handsome and very debonair. And he had swept Peggy off her feet.

  Something she had sworn would never happen again. Yet here she was, so infatuated with the warrior now holding her that she had actually lost her concentration and spoken French to him. And Lucien Stoughton and Gustav couldn’t be more different. Her fiancé had been a true gentleman, while Captain Stoughton was a true warrior, ruggedly handsome, and not the least bit genteel.

  And yet, he made her heart flutter and her skin grow warm just being near him. Peggy had loved Gustav, and had loved being in his arms. But what she felt in Stoughton’s arms was so very different. She felt the burning embers of excitement. Just as she did when she pulled off a perfect burglary, or faced an enemy across the point of her cutlass. Lucien Stoughton was dangerous. And not just to her mission, but in a toe-curling, heart-pounding way.

  Their sparring match had come to an abrupt end when she accused him of being an associate of Sir Walter's. Fortunately, the dance ended and she found herself quickly ushered off the floor and into an undignified promenade around the perimeter of the ballroom. The briskness of the man's manner told Peggy a lot about the captain’s feelings toward Sir Walter. However, it was preventing her from doing her job.

  "Captain, if the purpose of this excursion is to look for possible threats to your sister-in-law, then don't you think we ought to stow the sheets and tack a little slower so as not to draw too much attention to ourselves?" she asked.

  The sinewy muscles under her fingers bunched as the man brought them to a more decorous stroll. It was the only outward sign that he had heard her complaint. Her own body had tensed for battle, but when none came, she relaxed and began scanning the ballroom for potential dangers.

  Suddenly, the captain stopped, and Peggy steeled herself for battle. Frustration, or perhaps anger, radiated from the muscles that tightened beneath her fingers.

  "I do not work for Sir Walter, Lady Margaret. I'm a captain in His Majesty's Army. And at the moment my only occupation is protecting me brother and his wife."

  Peggy loved the sound of his voice when he got upset as his Scottish brogue became heavier. And obviously, Lord Lucien was unaware of how deeply she was involved with his boss. Peggy saw no reason to enlighten him.

  "Nor do I, Lord Lucien. Not as a general rule," she said and then added when his eyebrow rose. "I am an observer, Captain. Nothing more. Sir Walter asked me to keep an eye out for a man by the name of Reginald Stoughton. Your cousin, if I am not mistaken. And I agreed to help for tonight only."

  Peggy slowed her breathing to as normal as she could as she waited to see if the man beside her would buy her load of lies. After several tense heartbeats, his arm relaxed and he turned to smile at her. It was blinding in its intensity and devastating in its effect on her heart.

  "Well, ma chéri, then we are of an accord. Are we no?"

  There was no missing the interest he was showing in her. Especially now that he no longer believed she was working for Sir Walter.

  Chapter 5

  As if the twisted knot in her chest wasn't enough to chastise Peggy for her blunders, Joc scowling at her from behind the potted plants by the open doorway made it worse. It made her feel like a recalcitrant child. Or incompetent. And she hated that feeling. Especially since she hadn’t wanted to be the bloody captain in the first place, and was only doing so because he had insisted it had to be her that took over as captain of the Coral Sea.

  But her annoyance with the man wasn't just due to his frowning at her. He was about to make a spectacle of himself and endanger their mission. A six-foot-six footman was odd enough in England. One that was glowering at a noblewoman at a ton ball was enough to get them both thrown out on their arses.

  A shudder passed through her as she surveyed the too-tight livery that Joc was now wearing. The sleeves reached only to the middle of his forearms, partly exposing one of his tattoos. His forearms were also way too muscular for a common English footman, and were obviously putting a strain on the material.

  Glancing down she realized the pantaloons didn’t match the rest of the uniform, making the entire ensemble a bit ridiculous. Peggy briefly wondered what Joc had done with the poor footman who had previously been wearing the uniform.

  Her eyes locked with Joc's as she prayed he didn’t come any further in to the ballroom, and that no one saw him dressed as he was hiding behind the duchess’s potted foliage. Peggy did a little glowering herself. The unspoken conversation went something like this, at least in her mind:

  "What the hell are you doing in here?"

  "Me?" Joc quibbled as his right eyebrow rose dramatically, "What are you doing making a goose of yourself with an English landlubber?"

  "My job," she replied as her eyes narrowed.

  "Poppycock!"

  Of course, Peggy knew that the words Joc would use for her folly with the Englishman would be a great deal harsher. Especially, if he learned about her blunders. But since she was having this conversation in her head, she didn't see any reason to use such vulgar language. Instead she tilted her head and glanced at the open French door behind him. When he didn't take the hint, she narrowed her eyes and scowled harder. He scowled back and took a step toward her.

&nbs
p; Peggy’s escort began to turn, which would put Joc in his line of sight, so she grabbed his arm and strong-armed him in the opposite direction.

  "Captain, I find that I am quite parched. Would you mind getting me something to drink?" she quickly asked.

  "Oui, mademoiselle," he said and grinned at her.

  Damn, she had done it again. After ordering Joc to speak only English, she was slipping into French every other moment. Peggy's mind whirled with the traps that were closing in on her. Joc would ruin all their careful plans if he charged into the ballroom and attacked the handsome captain as she still needed him for their mission. Because then Sir Walter would realize that the man he thought he had locked up was in fact on the loose. And on top of that the irritating man beside her could ruin all her plans if they continued to speak French to each other.

  "Why do you insist on speaking French, Captain? You're not French. You're English, after all," she asked as they headed for the refreshment table.

  "Because, my dear lady, you keep asking me questions in French." He smiled at her and the scar on his face contorted evilly.

  Peggy grimaced. She had to get a tighter hold on her emotions. Or over her attraction to the man. She hadn’t made this many mistakes since she had been a young girl being trained to sneak into places unseen.

  "Wine, milady?" He said and bowed his head slightly.

  "Please," she replied and batted her eyelashes at him. His eyebrow went up in perfect imitation of Joc, and just as irritating. The smile on his face grew as did the sinister consternation the scar gave his façade.

  Surreptitiously, Peggy blew out a breath and allowed the captain to continue leading her away from Joc and toward the refreshment table. As they walked, she sneaked a peek over her shoulder to see if Joc had followed her silent order. Thankfully, the spot by the open doors was now vacant, but she knew that didn't mean the man had followed her orders. It only meant that he was no longer openly glaring at her. And the only way to make sure her First Mate didn't interfere with her plan was to find the irritating man and issue the order in person.