Alex's Angel

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Alex startled at the abrupt change of subject from something of such seriousness to some bored society miss and her book. “A captivity novel?”

  Damned sensationalised novels that portrayed horrific experiences for vulgar tastes. It surprised Alex that Jefferson would even mention it.

  A slight smile stretched Jefferson’s lips and he shook his head. “No, this work documents the real effects such loss has on the families and community while striving, in a surprisingly effective way, for objectivity and avoiding gross over-sentimentality. She includes sketches of these men based on the descriptions given to her. Very evocative—touches the heart in a way that is hard to put into words.”

  Alex paused. Yes, there was merit in trying to humanise an issue that people had grown too desensitised about. “It sounds unique.”

  “All the more remarkable given her youth.” Jefferson’s hazel eyes grew thoughtful.

  “She’s young, then?”

  “Yes, seventeen or eighteen—thereabouts.”

  Oh, no. Not something like this. He’d had his fill of idealistic young women and their youth, naïveté, skittish stubbornness. And he couldn’t picture such a creature turning her head away from her own view to look at the deeper issues of the world. “It’s surprising that such a young girl would turn her interest to such a serious topic.”

  Jefferson’s expression grew thoughtful and he nodded slowly. “Yes, well, it’s a personal connection. Her father was a mariner on the Maria out of Boston. Seven years ago he perished from plague while still in Algerian captivity. Her grandmother died in the recent fever. She has no source of income, no kin to depend on. It is a troubling situation. But I would like to see this work published in pamphlet form.”

  Alex nodded. “For immediate distribution in Congress, free of charge.”

  “Exactly. But for now, her most pressing need is for decent lodgings. She’s living alone in a boarding house—like a girl on the town—and it just doesn’t seem right. If we worked with her, it would be best if she could be living in a situation with an older woman around.” Jefferson stood. “Well, then, would you like to meet her?”

  “Of course,” Alex said.

  Jefferson moved in his loose-jointed way across the room, then leaned out of the door, speaking quietly to a servant.

  They waited and discussed how the Portugal treaty would affect trade. Alex could barely taste the fine French wine Jefferson had given him. The last thing he needed right now was the additional responsibility of some knotty-headed, bluestocking artist girl. Well, Aunt Rachel could handle her need for room and board and whatever else a starving artist needed. He’d have a look at this girl’s work. If he believed it really matched Jefferson’s confidence, then yes, he’d provide the funds to have it printed. He needn’t bother himself over her further than that.

  The door came open. He looked up just as a girl of medium height entered. Her dark curls bounced as she walked slowly, almost hesitantly into the study. As she passed the window, sunlight glinted on those dark locks, illuminating them to a glowing wine colour.

  Before his brain could react, his sensual memory recognised every line and graceful, sensual sway of that lithe little frame. And his body reacted accordingly, all the blood rushing from his head to his cock at once.

  Halfway into the chamber, she turned to him. Her large, sherry-brown eyes widened and her face paled. She froze like a doe caught unawares.

  “Ah, Miss Eliot.” Jefferson’s boots echoed on the hardwood floor.

  A momentary joy beat through Alex’s blood, followed by the most profound thought. He had her exactly where he needed her to be.

  Totally under his control.

  He would not fail this time. He would see her safe and well-positioned in life. There would be no disaster this time.

  He could never have her.

  Not the way he’d intended two weeks ago, keeping her as a spoilt, petted mistress. Possessing her delicious sensuality and compelling inner fire for his own. No, she wasn’t some impulsive, wilful girl who had run from her family. She was a good girl who had fallen on hard times and trouble, who had been forced to sell her virtue—a prime target for the first wolf she came across.

  And he had been that wolf.

  He’d have to find her a respectable husband. It was the very least he could do in terms of making up for what he’d done to her.

  Jefferson was approaching her. He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. Alex’s chest tightened in a strange way at the sight. God, Jefferson had no designs on her, he knew that. But the tightness was there anyway. The same burning possessiveness he’d felt that night in front of City Tavern. How the hell would he ever release her to another man?

  It didn’t matter—he would have to. But first he’d have to see her fashionably clothed and introduced to the right people. He wouldn’t release her to just anyone. It would have to be a gentleman and someone worthy of her.

  Restlessness quickened in his legs and he suddenly wanted to collect her and be gone. He came to his feet just a second after Jefferson did.

  Jefferson led her to Alex. “Emily, this is Mr Alexander Dalton.” He flashed one of his quick, shy smiles at Alex. “Good news, my dear. He has agreed to pay for the printing of your book.”

  The chamber still swam in Emily’s vision. The jolt was simply too much. Alex was too young and certainly too handsome to be anyone’s ‘benefactor’. Her head had been spinning ever since Jefferson had spoken Alex’s name this morning.

  But seeing him here had been a shock all over again. As if before had been merely a theory, distant from her. As if it somehow might not be true. As if somehow she might still be able to keep her wits, pride and freedom and still get the funding for her book to be printed.

  Jefferson had said that Alex was rumoured to be the second wealthiest man in Philadelphia but no one knew for certain how much wealth he held. His father had owned a sizable mercantile company but, upon his inheritance, Alex had sold it in its entirety to Sexton Shipping. Now he was a man who did not have to work but rather made his money investing. She’d known he was well off but was he really that wealthy?

  His grey-blue eyes held hers unwaveringly, piercing her with their intensity until she shifted on her feet. She saw no sign of her charming defender from the Blue Duck. No sign of her gentle lover. Instead, she saw everything Jefferson had described.

  And it frightened the very devil out of her.

  “I want to see this book.” Alex’s voice was hard, commanding.

  “Of course,” Jefferson said. He released her shoulder, then motioned toward his desk. “Please have a seat at my desk, Mr Dalton.”

  Alex walked over and sat while Jefferson spread her sketchbook open. Alex’s eyes flickered over the illustrations that had been the cornerstone of her life for over a year and a half. Then his eyes returned to hers, still piercing, still burning her.

  She swallowed. What was going through his mind? Had she insulted him so deeply with her actions and her rejection of his protection that he would refuse to help her now?

  “I want a contract written up between Miss Eliot and myself.” Alex—no he was no longer her ‘Alex’—Mr Dalton’s words startled her back into the moment.

  Contract. Contract?! Contracts were about cold, hard decisions. Legal facts and rights. How could anyone contract art? Her forehead ached and she tried to relax her frown.

  “A contract?” Jefferson said, glancing at Emily. She could see the surprise in his eyes. Her shock had not been misplaced. “All right, I can see to that.”

  “No.” Alex’s tone was quiet yet held a hard, commanding forcefulness that few men would question. Clearly, despite his relative youth, he was used to welding his power. Like a defendant awaiting sentencing, Emily’s heart pounded jaggedly against her rib cage as he continued. “I want to send for my cousin Peter Van Moerdijk to come here straight away.”

  “He’s a New York man, isn’t he?” Did Jefferson’s voice carry a hint of suspicion
? Perhaps she’d only imagined it.

  “He’s my cousin and my brother’s personal attorney. I won’t expend a penny on this project until I have an agreement on paper.”

  Just what did they think they were talking about here? This was her art. Her personal vision. She stood up straighter and lifted her chin. “Well, I say I do not agree to any contracts involving my work and this gentleman.”

  Jefferson’s hands tightened on her shoulders, as if she might be considering flight. “Now, my dear, don’t go getting yourself in a state before you know his terms. They may be very reasonable.”

  “I don’t believe they will be. He doesn’t have a reasonable demeanour.”

  “Miss Eliot, what matters the most to you?” Jefferson asked.

  “Getting my book printed—”

  “And that is what matters to me as well.” Jefferson let go of her shoulders and led her to a blue brocade wingchair. “Please, just sit and let’s work all of these details out.”

  Legs weak from all the emotional shocks, she gladly sat. But she kept her spine rigid and refused to settle against the chair back. She wouldn’t show weakness in front of Dalton. Not now.

  “What matters most to me is getting my book printed as it is intended to be.” She turned in Alex’s direction and lifted her chin ever so slightly. “Without any alterations from people who couldn’t possibly understand my artistic vision.”

  Alex smiled pleasantly but when his eyes met hers they were steely hard. “You’re young and inexperienced. However, getting what we want in this life often requires compromise and sacrifice, Miss Eliot.”

  Uneasiness took root in her belly. “What possible sacrifice can you mean? It’s just a book of interviews with illustrations.”

  “You’ll sign over complete control of this project to me—”

  “I shall do no such thing!”

  He held up a forestalling hand. “I am not done. In addition, for the next couple of months you will agree to make your home with my aunt and myself and submit to any duties necessary for the completion and promotion of the project.”

  She gaped at him. “Well, I don’t agree, sir—with any of it.”

  He gazed back at her, unconcerned. “Then I won’t finance the printing of this book.”

  She whirled to face Jefferson. “He can’t demand this, can he?”

  Jefferson gave an eloquent shrug. “He can demand whatever he wishes—he’s the one who is paying.”

  “Why should I need to live with you?”

  “I’ll want to promote your book by introducing you to the right people. Besides, you have no kin and you are unmarried. I cannot associate closely with an unattached, unmarried girl who is all but living on the streets. My aunt is well respected and she will make a good chaperone.”

  “I have no need of a chaperone.”

  “And I say you do.”

  His gaze was steady and cool, his demeanour polite yet distant. She saw him now as others did. He was a wealthy, powerful and above all respectable gentleman. It was hard to see the man who had fought a brawl in a public house and with whom she’d shared the most shocking intimacies. If she was to be in his more public life he’d naturally want her to be respectable as well. That she could understand. But apparently he thought it was his place to demand that she behave in a certain manner. That was what had her bristling with defiance.

  “Well, maybe I can accept your offer to live in your house, with your aunt acting as chaperone. But I will never let anyone dictate the terms of my artistic work.”

  His jaw tensed. The movement was so slight that she almost believed she’d imagined it. But she hadn’t. He tapped his fingers on her work. “I’ll never put my name behind something that isn’t as good as it should be. Those shall be our terms. You shall live in my house and attend any functions I deem important to the promotion of this work. In addition, you will make any changes I see fit that you should make, or else I won’t publish your work.”

  She opened her mouth to protest and he held up a forestalling hand.

  “That’s my offer—take it or leave it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The carriage door closed with finality. Emily fairly thrummed with awareness of the tall, powerful, yet elegant body on the seat facing hers. Unwittingly, an image of that body covering hers came to her. More than an image. She could smell his scent, could feel the soft rasp of hair on his chest, torso and thighs as he moved on her. The piercing pain of his initial penetration.

  She shifted on the seat and crossed her legs.

  The vehicle lurched forward and, caught unawares, she also pitched forward.

  Strong hands caught her. Alex’s spicy, masculine scent wafted over her. The strength of his grip on her upper arms made her mouth go dry, from a thrilling mixture of excitement and apprehension. God, she’d placed herself totally into his keeping. All for the sake of getting her book printed.

  Even though the carriage was steady now, he didn’t let go. She dared to glance up.

  His blue-grey eyes met hers. Gone was the distant, dignified look of the wealthy benefactor. His eyes were hot. Molten. He was remembering as well—yes, he was.

  “You’re angry with me,” he said—a statement, not a question.

  “How you could do that to me? You gave me absolutely no choice but to sign—sign all my rights away.”

  “You didn’t have to sign.”

  “Getting that book printed is the sole focus of my life. I’ll do anything—”

  “Aye, so I know. You would sell your innocence, lie.” He loosened his hands on her shoulders.

  She moved to lean against the seat. “I promise you, I’ll allow you to do nothing to corrupt the purity of my work.”

  Brave words, uttered as panic pulsated with each jarring beat of her heart. Goodness, how would she ever manage a gentleman like Alexander Dalton? He was so wealthy. So powerful. He was alien to everything she knew. Well, she knew little of him beyond that. Conversely, she felt he knew everything about her. All her weaknesses.

  He’d seen her completely abandoned in pleasure.

  He’d seen her cry.

  He needed nothing from her and she was dependent upon him for everything in regards to her book.

  He sat back in his own seat and folded his arms over his chest. “I want to ask you something, Emily, and I want the truth.” He compressed his lips while staring at her sternly. “Though I suppose that’s expecting a bit much, isn’t it?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “That’s a horrid thing to say.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is. I do not make a practice of lying. I—”

  “Did you perhaps know that I frequent the Blue Duck and decide to meet me beforehand?”

  “I did not know who you were—not truly—until Mr Jefferson explained today.”

  “That’s just not possible. I can’t believe that. Everyone in this town knows of my family and our connections.”

  “Until a year ago, I did not live in town. I lived with my grandmother in a cottage in Easton. We moved here after my grandfather died.”

  “How did you compile all the materials for your book?”

  “By post. Mr Jefferson—I contacted him and he helped me to contact the family members. I had to sneak the letters out without Grandmother knowing. She kept me quite sheltered.”

  Alex didn’t know whether to be horrified by Emily’s cunning or to admire her resourcefulness. No, it was more than resourcefulness and cunning—it was outright deceit.

  “I was quite convinced that you were a harlot. How in hell did you manage that?”

  She was plucking at one of her gloves, pulling the finger up and twisting it. “One of the other renters in the boarding house was a… She worked at the Blue Duck. She gave me the idea to—to—”

  Listening to her stumble over the words reminded him—quite painfully—of her relative innocence. Christ, what had he done? He took a ragged breath, then shifted in his seat. “Yes. Of course.”


  “I simply observed her actions and—well, I suppose I must have done a fair enough job of it.”

  “You did.” Despite his efforts to conceal it, his unsettled state came across in his clipped tone. “You’ve other family?”

  Glassy-eyed, she put the loose end of the glove into her mouth and slowly shook her head. She looked every inch the lost little kitten she had at first glance.

  He’d always been so careful to stay away from innocents. What the devil was the matter with him that he’d ignored his first impressions? Had he been mad with lust? He let his gaze rake her. Mad with lust over this scrap of a girl? He released his frustration in a lengthy exhalation. “Your lies have complicated my life so much—there aren’t even the words to express how much.”

  “Complicated your life? I don’t follow.”

  “You’re a decent girl, of good family. Now—however unintentionally it happened—I have ruined you.”

  She shrugged, instantly losing that lost look and taking on the stance of a hardened harlot. An act. She was just as soft and fragile-hearted as any society miss her age. Probably a lot more so, for, by her own account, she’d been totally sheltered. Likely cosseted. She had no inkling of the kinds of darkness he’d experienced in life. The kinds of darkness that dwelt in the emptiness of his own heart.

  He could never allow himself to touch her again.

  “It was my choice to share your bed.” Always gentle and feminine, her voice suddenly sounded disturbingly girlish. It seemed indecent for her to be speaking those words, for him to be sitting here with full carnal knowledge of her.

  He should be shot.

  No—tarred and feathered, boiled in oil and then shot.

  He lifted a forestalling hand. “Please, Emily, we needn’t speak of it.”

  “But I don’t understand… How is your life impacted?”

  “I am responsible for you now.”

  “You believe you are responsible for me. It doesn’t make it true.”