“I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”
Peter gaped at him for a moment, then shrugged and went to sit in the wingchair near the bed. Stretching his long legs out, he laced his hands together over his lap and grinned at Alex. “I simply asked what she was like. She must have been something for you to thrash poor Richard Green like that.”
Alex turned back to his washstand and rubbed his hands over the bristle on his cheeks. “You should have known long ere now it takes very little for me to want to thrash Richard Green.”
“James will be fit to be tied—fit to be tied.” Peter’s voice rang with of touch of smug amusement. “You promised him no girling—no scandals, no troubles during this business about the national navy.”
“I only promised him I would devote my time and energy to the naval cause this winter. I made no vows beyond that.”
A knock sounded on the door. His morning coffee. He answered the door and let Zachariah in.
As the tall, thin black man set up the little table with the coffee service, Alex motioned Peter out.
Peter shrugged and stalked out of the chamber. Zachariah followed soon after for he knew his employer’s preferences.
Alex stood alone, sipping coffee prepared in the Turkish fashion.
He’d had taste enough of the troublesome chit to know he was better off not exploring those depths. He ought be breathing a sigh of relief, like one just given a reprieve.
She was just another harlot. In a city full of them.
She was too young. Too thin. Too tart-tongued. Unsophisticated. Probably illiterate as well. She’d likely bore him to tears.
She didn’t even have a respectable bosom.
Yet her memory lingered. The way her chatter had lightened his spirits. The way her body had trembled in his arms and the taste of her breath as she’d cried her release into his mouth. Her sensual response had been stunning, like nothing he’d ever known.
* * * *
Finding the gate open, Emily wandered through and walked up the drive. Her heartbeat increased with each step, for she was intimidated by the stately Georgian house’s red brick elegance. The driver from the night before was busy polishing the carriage’s brass accents. He looked up, his brown eyes wide with shock. She half expected him to demand that she leave, but he merely tipped his hat, then returned to his work.
It was noon. She knew enough about the better sort to wait until at least ten to go calling. But after the breakfast of bread and cheese that Mr Porter had so thoughtfully provided, she’d spent a few hours sleeping in the back room of the Blue Duck and hadn’t awoken until nearly half past eleven.
She walked up the marble steps, then paused. She’d made it this far—she gathered confidence that she could achieve her goal. While her heart slowed, she reviewed the story she planned to tell whoever answered the door. She was here on behalf of her brother, to seek a loan. It seemed as likely a story as any. Drawing a deep inhalation, she approached the three-panelled dark green door crowned by an elegant fanlight and a Palladian window embellished with delicate white mouldings.
She hesitated again. Should she go around to the servants’ entrance?
Sudden raucous barking broke into her thoughts and sent her heart pounding all over again. A little pug scratched its front paws on the left hand pane of the sidelight. Definitely—she should definitely go around to the servants’ entrance. She started shaking all over. Alex might not even be home.
Run—just run! Run before you’re caught and someone sends for the watch.
But before she could flee, the door was opened by a tall, thin woman of about thirty. A coal-black plait of hair lay over one shoulder and dark blue, heavily lashed eyes peered over her wire-rimmed spectacles with curious detachment.
“Mrs Kimble should have told you—pick the laundry up at the back entrance,” the young woman said in a hoarse voice. Sniffing, she moved to close the door.
“Wait,” Emily said.
The woman paused with her brows lifted. “Yes?”
Emily drew on all of her nerve. “Is Mr Alexander Dalton home?”
Like a cat that suddenly spies prey, the woman narrowed her dark blue gaze on Emily. A small smile crossed her rosebud mouth and her eyes twinkled with an almost mischievous mirth. She turned her head, shouting, “Mama—come here!”
The loud voice nearly split Emily’s eardrums and she flinched involuntarily.
“Mama, please!” the woman shouted, staring at Emily as though she were trying to pierce through her, as if she would uncover all her secrets if she could.
Emily shifted on her feet as she tried not to sway with the fatigue that once again threatened to overwhelm her. Her head began to ache slightly. The fever had left her weak, delicate in a way she’d never been before. How long would it continue to affect her life?
A regal-looking older woman joined them, holding the little pug in her arms. She had the same dark blue eyes and her raven hair was intricately styled, piled up on her head and cascading down her nape in a profusion of curls.
“What’s so urgent, Nancy?” She stared quizzically at Emily, then lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “Just tell her to go around to the back.”
“She’s not here for the laundry.” Nancy said, sniffling then dabbing her nose with a lacy handkerchief.
The older woman’s beautiful face wrinkled with sympathy. “Then send her around to the back anyway and have Sally feed her. Poor thing looks done in.”
“She’s not a beggar, either—she’s here to see Alex.” Nancy’s voice rang with amusement and a strangely smug undertone.
“Is this true, girl? Are you here for Mr Dalton?”
“Yes.”
The woman’s brows shot up. “What is your business with him?” Her voice was hard, insistent.
Emily’s mind went blank. She hadn’t pictured anything like this. She’d thought a servant would answer the door. She scrambled for a reasonable answer.
“I want to speak to him about a loan for m—my br—cousin.”
The woman’s expression frosted over and, frowning, she tilted her head to the side, glaring down haughtily. “Do you really?”
Emily nodded slowly.
“Then go and alert him, Nancy. Hurry—I think he’s planning to leave soon.”
“Who shall I say is calling?” Nancy asked.
“Miss Emily Eliot.” She felt stripped of all her secrets. She felt like the harlot of the world.
Oh, God, this hadn’t been her best idea. She ought to have sent him a message. Mr Porter would have seen to it.
Too late now.
And suddenly she knew exactly why such wisdom hadn’t occurred to her. She had wanted so badly to see him. As quickly as possible. The realisation sent a wave of queasiness over her and she swayed on her feet. The older woman immediately swept forward. “Come in—sit while you wait.”
The briskness of her tone belied the welcome of her words. Yet she urged Emily inside with one arm, directing her to a chair by the door, the whole time maintaining a hold on the pug as if it was a natural appendage. Then she glided away, her wide blue skirts swishing about in a bell-shaped arc in the fuller fashion of several years previous as she disappeared down the hallway.
Alone and nervous, Emily looked around. Dark wood glistened everywhere—furniture, wainscoting, stair rails. Richly coloured, Oriental patterned carpets graced the floors, while shiny brass candleholders and framed mirrors adorned walls covered with emerald paper imprinted with exotic flowers and birds in shades from gold to brown. The air reeked of spicy, exotic scents underlaid with beeswax.
A clunk sounded loudly, as if someone had jerked a door open.
“So the subject is closed, is it?” The woman’s voice rang out, loud and full of outrage.
“Yes.”
Emily would have recognised Alex’s smooth tones anywhere.
“Really? You are directing your harlots here now, yet you dare dictate to me and tell me that my own nephew may not visit this
house?”
“I know that you’re overset, but it’s still my house, Aunt Rachel.”
“Very well, sir,” the older woman said stiffly, with hurt emphasis on the last word.
“Send Miss…Eliot in.”
The way her surname rolled off his tongue sent a curl of warmth through her.
“Of course, sir.” Rachel’s icy tone put an end to the warmth. An urge to flee crackled over Emily’s nerves. Only by sheer willpower did she stop herself from jumping to her feet and getting out of the grand house as soon as possible.
Be brave, you’ve come this far.
Swishing, skirts crinkled crisply in the hallway, getting closer until the sound stopped right in front of Emily.
She jerked her head up and Rachel’s gaze cut into her like a dagger.
“He’ll see you now—first door on the left.” Her voice resonated with disapproval. “Well? Go on, girl.”
Emily leapt up, hurried down the hallway and nearly collided with a large, tall masculine frame in the hallway. He looked down at her with stormy blue-grey eyes. Her heart stalled, then resumed in jagged, quick beats. Redolent of shaving soap, he was wearing a medium-blue suit with buff-coloured breeches and his golden hair looked damp. He’d obviously just dressed.
He was absolutely gorgeous. Completely dazzled, she couldn’t help gaping at him.
He took her arm and pulled her forward. As he walked, she stumbled along, every nerve in her arm alive beneath his touch.
“Well, you certainly do create a stir everywhere you go, don’t you?” he asked, leading her rather forcefully into the first chamber on the right. All four walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves jammed haphazardly, full to bursting, with all manner of books. An easel held a half-drawn map. The room smelt of dust, old books and a lingering hint of bourbon. Dressed in a sage morning gown, Nancy was reclining lazily upon one of two cream and celadon damask settees.
Alex scowled at her. “Out.”
“Mama says you two shouldn’t be left alone here,” Nancy rasped, staring over her spectacles at them with frank curiosity.
“Go on,” Alex said firmly, pointing to the door.
Nancy came to her feet and adjusted her spectacles. “Well, don’t blame me if Mama is fit to be tied later.”
He released Emily’s arm, took Nancy by the shoulders and led her to the door. On the threshold, she turned, laughing, and wagged a finger in Alex’s face. “Don’t be a naughty boy, cousin. God is watching you.”
His expression took on an aspect of fond irritation and for a moment he looked younger than Emily had thought him to be.
“Yes, well. No eavesdropping—as you say, God is watching.”
He calmly pushed Nancy into the corridor and closed the door. He turned back to Emily and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re angry that I’m here, aren’t you?”
He laughed, a soft, sensual sound that sent a coil of heat spiralling through her centre. “I don’t usually invite the girls I meet in taverns to my home, but no, I am not displeased to see you.”
She dared a small smile.
He frowned, his eyes hardening, and he didn’t look fond or young any longer. Under his suddenly chilly expression, her smile died on her lips. She didn’t know what to say.
“So you’re here to procure a loan for your cousin?’
“No.” She took a deep breath, lifting her chest and shoulders up high, then sagging as she tried to dispel the tension that had built in her all morning. It was a complete failure. Her throat tightened up.
He raised his brows and cocked his head slightly. His impatience was a palpable thing.
She laughed, the disjointed sound hanging in the air between them. “I want to say I am—” Her voice crackled and she placed a hand to her collarbone and tried several times to clear it. “I want to say I am sorry about last night and that I’d like a second chance.”
Her voice sped up on the last words and then she stood there, holding her breath, resisting a sudden urge to cover her nose.
Something flared in his eyes, only briefly, but it made her heart leap with hope. Maybe he still wanted her.
She dared to release her breath.
“A second chance?” His tone told her nothing.
“Yes, a second chance—that is if you still wish to…” Her ability to transfer words from her brain to her lips died as he approached her. The scent of his sandalwood shaving soap intoxicated her; his blue-grey eyes transfixed her.
As Emily trailed off, Alex didn’t know what to make of her sudden change of heart. She was behaving very skittishly for a seasoned harlot. But he recalled her from the night before. No untried girl could move with such sensual grace. She’d told him that she liked to see herself as hard to attain. Perhaps she’d simply wanted to whet his interest. Well, she’d certainly done that. At the sight of her, his cock had gone iron hard. All of his misgivings had vaporised as if his mind no longer held voting rights. How ridiculous her question was. Of course he still wanted to fuck her. He grinned at her. “Well now, darling, you make me wish I had no business today. But I am late as it is.”
“Oh.”
“Shall I drop you by my rooms and you can wait for me there? I’ll have my man fetch you bathing water, some dinner—anything you wish.”
“That would be lovely.” She frowned. “But…”
“Yes?” He could hold himself back no longer. He crossed the distance between them, then put his fingers under her chin and tipped it up. His gaze swept over her face, as if he’d been starved of the sight of her for a long time. Elation filled him.
Christ, he was already that infatuated with her.
That’s all it was—an infatuation. He was wise enough to realise that. He knew himself too well.
And it wouldn’t last.
But never before had he become infatuated with a woman so intensely, so quickly. He intended to enjoy it while it lasted.
She studied him with her large, sherry-brown eyes, her expression grave, almost as if she was intimidated by him. He had a hard time equating her current demeanour with the hardened harlot who had bargained him up to one hundred and fifty dollars. The same girl who had so cagily run from him only to whet his appetite for her.
With no way to be sure if she was acting now, to reassure her of her position with him, he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her closer, allowing her to feel his arousal.
“Emily, you may ask for anything, within reason, and I shall see you are provided with it.”
Her frown deepened. She looked down and chewed her lip. That luscious, full bottom lip. His erection seemed to grow larger and harder—so much so that he feared he’d burst his seams. He slid his hand down to her arse, finding it, as last night, surprisingly rounded for such a thin girl.
“What is it?”
She raised eyes full of chagrin. “I have a bit of a problem.”
“I am listening, but sweetheart, I don’t have much time to spare at the moment.”
As it was he was precariously close to tossing the whole business aside and spending the afternoon tucked into bed with her.
But he couldn’t let James down. The cause was an important one. Important enough that he’d agreed to stay in Philadelphia until the business was done. This afternoon’s meeting was imperative.
Yet her arse fitted his hand so well. He pressed more firmly, bringing their bodies into closer contact.
“I have to buy my belongings back from the ragman. It’s very important. You see, it’s my work—”
“The ragman?” he asked, somewhat stupidly, for his mind suddenly didn’t want to focus.
“My landlord evicted me last night while I was out—”
“You were evicted?”
She nodded. She wouldn’t look at him.
“What about your protector?”
Her small, white teeth sank into her full lower lip. She glanced up through thick, dark lashes. “I haven’t one.”
Her words
landed like lead in his guts. He pictured her out in the cold, dangerous night with nowhere to take shelter. His hands tightened on her. “Where the devil did you sleep last night?”
“Uh…a neighbour in my boarding house took me in.”
Relief washed through him. “Why were you evicted?”
“I couldn’t pay my rent. But that’s not what’s important now. He sold my things to the ragman. I simply must get them back. My whole life’s—”
Her voice faded out, for a buzzing began at base of his skull, followed by a most unpleasant tightness in his innards.
“Which ragman?” he interrupted impatiently, as he released her and stepped back a couple of paces. He inhaled deeply to clear the lust from his senses.
“I don’t know—I suppose the one on Water Street, between Key’s Alley and Coat Street. I’m not sure.”
Compressing his lips, he reached for his pocket watch and glanced at it.
“God, I am so late… Well, no help for it.” James and the congressmen would have to wait. He thrust the watch back into his pocket. “Hurry, now—I shall take you.”
Her pretty mouth dropped open. “I can walk there. It’s no problem. I—I just need a little money. Not much.”
He took her arm. “I’d better escort you.”
* * * *
Emily sat in the far corner of the carriage, unable to dispel a knot of uneasiness in her middle as she watched Alex tap his fingers against his knee. Light seeping in through the cracks of the curtains illuminated his hair in shimmering gold and highlighted every perfect line of his face.
God, what was she doing here? Was she dreaming? Was it a good dream or the barest beginning of a nightmare?
Lord, what a thought. She took a deep breath but couldn’t will the uneasiness away. Even though she should be grateful for his help, the way he’d just assumed he should take control of the situation rankled her.
Yet the moment he had taken her hand and told her not to worry—that he would take care of everything—the weight of the past few weeks had lifted and she had seemed to melt. That had been the most disconcerting thing of all. Was she so spoilt, so sheltered by her grandmother, that she would never, ever stand on her own now?
Alex's Angel Page 8