Alex's Angel

by Natasha Blackthorne

  No—it couldn’t be. She’d begun to make decisions on her own—not the least of those decisions being to be this man’s temporary lover in exchange for her rent money.

  Goodness, what a decision to lay claim to! Yet in a city still beaten down by the yellow fever, what else could a girl with few skills beyond the domestic and no references to hope for?

  “Why didn’t you want to come with me last night?”

  Alex’s tone was light but he turned towards her and his eyes revealed that he’d been stung by her decision to go home. She drew her breath in sharply.

  It had never occurred to her that she could hurt him that easily. She hadn’t thought of their connection like that—in any true sense of give and take. She had thought they would have mostly shallow and impersonal relations, aside from the carnal aspect.

  “I don’t know,” she lied with a small shrug.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up, a shaft of sunlight accentuating the fine lines that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “You must know you are absolutely maddening, in all the ways a woman can be.”

  His voice held a lazy quality that warmed her, relaxing her tenseness away. His eyes were shining pools of periwinkle blue, the pupils dark and enlarged, the lids heavy as if he was sleepy.

  So perhaps he had not slept much the night before, either. They shared that lack of sleep, and all that had occurred to cause it. It was a silly thought, but it gave her a false sense of closeness with him. They were becoming friends. She’d had few opportunities to make friends aside from her grandparents. She’d been friends with Anna and John, but this was different. She and Alex had shared the adventure of last night. The first true adventure of her life.

  It made it safer to admit the truth—well, something close to the truth. She’d never admit her fear to him.

  “I suppose I was embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “I behaved in a totally…” She took a deep breath, not wanting to put the truth into words. But he deserved an explanation, even if it would kill her to utter it. She closed her eyes and turned away from him. “That—in the alleyway—was the most sluttish thing I can imagine ever doing.”

  Now that, at least, was complete truth.

  “It was fairly sluttish.” He laughed as he touched her thigh. “That’s what made it so beautiful.”

  “Beautiful?”

  “It was the stuff of a gentleman’s daydreams.” He caressed her thigh, sending sparks up to her core. “You were really embarrassed by that?”

  “Goodness, yes.” Her words came out husky, throaty, for he was brushing his fingertips upwards along her skirt. Talking about how easily he’d wrung pleasure from her was heady enough. Having him touch her whilst talking about it was completely intoxicating.

  He skimmed his fingers up over her hips and settled them low on her mid-section, tracing small circles. “You have absolutely nothing to feel ashamed of.”

  He spoke almost in a whisper, the very lowness of his pitch making his words more intimate. Heat pooled there beneath his touch; wetness flowed from between her legs.

  And heat flashed over her face. “Well, now you know why I ran, so we don’t have to speak of it ever again.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “If only I could stop thinking of it. But it’s embedded in my mind now. I had to palm myself off this morning—twice. That’s why I am so damned late now.”

  She caught her breath. His touch and his blunt speech were too heady. They made her dizzy. Speaking like that—so crudely—should have disgusted her. But the thought that she had driven a man like him to seek sexual self-solace made her mouth drop open and she turned to gape at him.

  He grinned at her. “It did me absolutely no good.”

  He took her hand and led it to the fall of his pantaloons and pressed it there. He was huge and hard. A new wave of hunger arose in her, like fire tingling over her breasts, tightening her nipples before racing down to increase the flow of moisture from her core.

  “You see how you affect me. Yet, I’ll not have our first time be me climbing all over you in a rolling carriage.” He squeezed her hand over his erection and it surged against her touch as if belying his words.

  How many nights had she lain in her bed, touching herself, longing for a lover of her own? She’d always felt such shame over it in the daylight.

  But here in the daylight, speaking so plainly with him, the shame receded. He made it seem the most natural thing in the world to feel desire. Heavens, he must have inspired so much of it in his life—of course he would know. Of course he would be so comfortable with lust.

  However, she’d better keep her head.

  He wasn’t her lover—he certainly wasn’t her bridegroom.

  And he only spoke to her thus because he thought she was a harlot. Which she supposed she must already be, having agreed to let this man bed her in return for getting her things back.

  Yet she’d never felt more alive than at that moment, with every particle of her awake and tingling with joy to be sharing such unbelievable intimacies with him. It wasn’t about the money now. Not completely. She longed to let this intimacy take its natural course and allow him initiate her into lovemaking.

  The carriage rolled to a stop.

  He tapped her hand. “Go on inside and ask for your things. Offer the man five dollars for the lot.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.” He released her hand, shifted in the seat and reached into his pocket. Then he handed her five dollars.

  She stared at the money. He’d handed it to her so casually, yet it was everything to her.

  “Go on, now—I haven’t got all day.”

  With a deep breath, she snatched the money up. The carriage door opened and she allowed Alex’s driver to help her down and hurried away to the ragman’s door.

  * * * *

  Alex entered the salvage shop and scanned the room in one sweeping glance. It was well maintained and clean. Emily stood at the counter, a small, dark-haired figure. When the door opened, she’d turned and a vertical crease had showed between her large, troubled eyes.

  The man behind the counter looked past Emily, his own eyes growing wide at the sight of Alex. An old, worn valise sat on the floor. A pile of clothes littered the countertop along with several books. Alex paused and blinked. Apparently, she wasn’t illiterate. Not only that, but she had strong interests—no, passions—this girl would have passions, not mere interests. “Miss Eliot, are you ready to go now?” Alex asked, forcing a bored tone.

  Her beautiful eyes flashed at him in a way that made him catch his breath. “He says he must have twenty dollars for my things.”

  Alex walked to the counter and lifted several items of clothing, looking them over. None of them were fit for her to wear. He’d need to take care of that right away.

  She’d been evicted. She wore rags. It did seem odd that she hadn’t done even a little better for herself selling her body, but then she was young. Perhaps she spent her earnings impulsively. Maybe she felt responsible for someone else’s debts. No matter, he could teach her to be wiser with her money. He could also deal with anyone leeching off her.

  He noted that her books were mostly on art instruction but were very basic and old. Art and art instruction was another thing he could spoil her with. He looked forward to the pleasure of it.

  He dropped the items of clothing and flashed the ragman a stern glare. “It doesn’t look worth twenty whole dollars to me.”

  “Perhaps we can work out a bargain,” the man said with servile smile.

  Alex ignored him. “Did you have any money in your room?”

  Emily’s delicate shoulders sank in a way that sent pure protectiveness through him.

  “I had twenty-five cents in this book.” She opened a book that had a hollow cut into the pages in the middle. “It’s no longer there. Mr Bradley says it wasn’t there when he took the book.”

  A charge lit Alex’s blood.
<
br />   Christ. Twenty-five cents and that was all she had in the world—all that stood between her and starvation. And this man wanted to snatch it from her? The beady, rapacious grey eyes reminded him of another such pair. The kind of evil that counted the rights of the weaker as nothing. Remembrance of the powerlessness he’d once been forced to suffer rose like bitter bile.

  He reached across the counter and grabbed the ragman by both sides of his pretentiously high, pointed, French-styled collar. “Where’s her money?”

  “I-I…there was no money!”

  “And I say you’re a thief. Shall I call the watch?”

  Bradley’s eyes bugged at that. The damned scaly bastard knew as well as Alex that under a system of private prosecution, a girl—a young, poor, powerless harlot—like Emily would have a difficult time pressing a case of theft.

  But Alex could. And would.

  In fact, it would be a pleasure. He bared his teeth in an anticipatory grin.

  Bradley uttered a choking sound, something akin to how a half-decapitated chicken might sound. He tried to step back, but Alex held him firmly. “I repeat, shall I call the watch?”

  “Uh… Uh… There’s been a misunderstanding. I misunderstood you.” The man’s voice grew higher pitched with each word.

  “You’re correct there’s been a misunderstanding. I think it started the moment you took this girl’s possessions into your shop.”

  “You know, you’re exactly right.”

  Alex released him and smiled. “I am glad we understand each other so well.”

  The man laughed nervously and straightened his stock with hands that visibly shook. The stench of his sweat filled the air.

  Aye, that was the way of it. When faced with a stronger force, they always fell quickly. Ice cold with inner disgust, Alex retrieved the valise, opened it and began shoving her items of clothing inside.

  “Alex?”

  He turned to Emily. Her eyes were huge in her thin face and she looked a little pallid. With her shoulders slumping, she appeared ready to fall over with fatigue. Protectiveness warmed him.

  “Gather your notebooks. I am very short on time. I shall send a servant and a cart to collect the rest.” He glanced at Bradley. “There was more, correct?”

  Bradley paled and nodded in a jerking fashion. “Yes.”

  Emily chewed her lip. “My notebooks and the money were the most important things. You needn’t trouble yourself further.”

  Irritated impatience snapped through him. “Don’t you want all of your possessions restored?”

  “Yes, of course, but I have nowhere to put all those things, Alex. I must take only what will fit into the valise.”

  “I’ll take care of the storage. Don’t worry.”

  She blinked several times. “But what do I pay the man?”

  Bradley turned from ashen to a decidedly greyish colour. He threw up his hands, waving them urgently in front of him as if he needed to fend off Emily’s words like a tangible threat.

  “You owe me nothing.”

  With the valise in hand, Alex gathered up as many books as he could hold under his other arm. Then he nodded at her. “Get the remainder of your books and let’s be on our way.”

  He turned away and opened the door, waiting for her to pass through it before he followed her out.

  She stopped and turned, a frown creasing her brow. “How did you know he would be that way?”

  Again, he studied her fragile frame, her girlish face, her obviously well-worn clothing, seeing all the things she probably couldn’t see in herself. “Because I know how the world works.”

  “That’s a terribly cynical view.”

  “It’s a truthful one.”

  She stared at him intently, as if studying him now. Did her eyes look glassy? Had she paled or was that simply the glare of the midday sun?

  “Are you well?”

  “Quite well.” She smiled at him, all white teeth and full, lush lips. She turned and continued walking towards the carriage.

  He stayed put, watching her with a sense of dread settling in his guts, waiting… She swayed on her feet. He dropped the valise and closed the distance between them quickly, catching her.

  Her books spilled about her feet. She looked up at him, her eyes rolling back then closing. He cradled her limp form against his body.

  Feeling came over him like a deluge. Tenderness, protectiveness, damned bloody helplessness. He looked to the carriage, where the tall, thin black servant waited, leaning against the vehicle, watching the traffic on the sidewalk. “Elisha!”

  The young man turned then rushed over.

  “Take her books and then get the valise, put them in the carriage.”

  As the driver hurried to comply, Alex gathered her up into his arms and carried her to the vehicle. He laid her on the forward-facing seat, grateful that he’d ordered the closed carriage. He loosened the ties of her gown and then took her wrists and rubbed them.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Emily.”

  She laughed weakly. “Oh goodness.”

  Relief and a sort of elation washed over him. He still held her wrists and now let his fingers trace over their fragile bones—over her long, fine-boned fingers—with a sense of having something very precious and rare dropped into his lap.

  But she was just a harlot. In a city full of them. And he wasn’t a man who could be particularly trusted with anything precious and rare.

  * * * *

  Voices intruded on the sense of warmth and safeness. Emily moaned and turned over, nestling deeper into the incredible plushness of the feather bed. Sloshing sounds echoed from the next room. She sat up with a start. Candlelight shone through the cracks in the curtains of the huge four-poster bed.

  She had pulled them earlier, thinking that she didn’t want to be surprised.

  She was in Alexander Dalton’s rented rooms. In his bedchamber, sleeping in his bed.

  Earlier, Zachariah, Alex’s valet, had left her alone with the food and the steaming copper tub and told her that if she needed anything, he would be waiting outside in the corridor.

  “Goodness, he expects you to wait there…like a sentry?”

  The tall, slender man with pale brown skin and coal-black eyes had frowned. “Excuse me, miss, but do you think I’d be leaving a young lady like yourself alone in place like this—even if he didn’t ask?”

  “Pardon me, I meant no insult. I simply…”

  She hadn’t been able to think of what to say, for his frown had deepened and he had straightened his spine, tugging at the bottom of his fine, maroon-coloured waistcoat.

  “Mr Alex is a good, fair man and I don’t question his directions.” He flashed her a stern look. “Neither should you.”

  He had walked to one of the bookshelves located on either side of the hearth and picked a thick, leather-bound book embossed with gold. Then he’d pointed one long, thin finger at the door. “I shall be outside, miss, if you need me.”

  He’d taken one of the straight-backed wooden chairs and his lantern, then left the chamber, closing the door behind him.

  What a strange man. He certainly hadn’t seemed to approve of her, and to know that he was just going to be sitting out there, alone in that dreary corridor… She’d shivered at the thought.

  But the small table had been set with a meal of roast chicken, fresh bread, cheese, claret and a selection of fruits she hadn’t even realised anyone could procure this late in the season. After months of blood pudding and stale bread, she’d pushed all her uneasiness about Zachariah aside and eaten until she was pleasantly stuffed.

  Afterwards, she’d dallied in the copper tub until the water had grown cold. It had been many months since she’d enjoyed an actual tub bath. So much steaming water cost money. Then she’d wandered into the bedchamber and curled into this bed. And floated into the deepest sleep she’d known in a very long time.

  Now her time was nearly up.

  He was bathing in the next room. Prepa
ring himself to come in here and—and—

  She swallowed, hard. Her body went all tingly, a mixture of fear and excitement.

  She pulled together the edges of the dark blue velvet wrapper she’d found waiting for her on the bed. It was obviously a garment of Alex’s, and it swallowed her up. Carefully gathering up the hem, she crawled across the expanse of bed, then left the cocooning warmth of the bed curtains.

  She glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece. It was almost one in the morning. Alex had told her that he had some supper party to attend and he’d come here straightaway afterwards.

  Footfalls echoed on the floorboards in the other chamber. One floorboard that sounded terribly close to the threshold of the bedchamber squeaked loudly and her heart leapt into a rapid beat.

  The bedchamber door came open.

  She looked up.

  He stood in the doorway, his hair shining pale gold against his dark blue banyan. Dear Lord, he was so handsome. If she had to lose her virginity in this way, she could have picked no one more appealing.

  He gave her a small, relaxed smile. “Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded as her hand drew up of its own accord and pulled the gaping neckline of the dressing gown tight.

  “Dark blue becomes you.” He held out his hands. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  At his words, her tummy seemed to drop lower, with a tugging sensation. Moisture began to flow between her thighs and her legs went weak.

  She approached him slowly, a little wobbly, her mouth going dry with both fear and excitement. He took her hands and pulled her close.

  Heavens—the moment already.

  Her legs started trembling. Her mind scrambled for some postponement—anything to gain a moment’s delay. The scent of whisky clung to him and he looked slumberous, as if he were a bit tipsy. It made his face look younger.

  “Wait.” She placed her hand on his chest. “How old are you?”

  He started, as if her question were unexpected. “Twenty-eight.”

  “Oh…but I thought you were at least thirty-five.” She sounded so foolish. She laughed to cover her nervousness. The sound echoed back, so stilted and forced that she winced inside.