Alex's Angel

by Natasha Blackthorne

  His words faded as drowsiness overtook her. She closed her eyes. Anna had told her that a woman couldn’t conceive too soon after her courses. And hers had just ceased two days before. She curled closer to his strong body with no regrets for what she had done. She would remember the sensation and satisfaction of it her whole life.

  The power of the thing between them—this infatuation, he’d called it. No one could just stop something like that once it was set in motion. She’d never dreamed of anything so intense or wonderful. She wanted to experience it fully, to feel everything it had to offer. Even the pain. He was wrong.

  No matter how long things lasted between them, she wouldn’t regret it. She would enjoy being his while she could. More than that, she needed the experience to grow as an artist. No artist, no matter how talented, could fully depict emotions she’d never known.

  She would be as sophisticated about things as he was. She could explore him and their attraction and not be pulled off her mission. She could be his lover and not lose herself.

  * * * *

  The tantalising aroma of coffee drew Emily to the dining room. Alex sat at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair, relaxed and drinking a cup while he attentively listened to James recounting some of the dinner conversation from the night before.

  His eyes flickered to where she stood, hesitating in the doorway.

  “Good morning, Miss Eliot.”

  His steady blue-grey gaze dominated her attention. Every detail of the night before came rushing back to her; a vivid, sensual memory. Her cunt clenched and a slow trickle of wetness began to flow. She had one question burning in her mind. When would they be alone again, with his weight pressing her down into the feather bed? Five minutes from now would be too long.

  A sudden clatter of cups into saucers startled her into awareness of the other two men as they came to their feet at the same time. Alex followed. Peter and James both gaped at her as if she was an apparition. Then Peter smiled, appraising her warmly. Maybe too warmly. James scowled sceptically at her.

  Peter hurried to pull her chair out. She sat and the gentlemen followed, except Peter who, after asking what she’d like to eat, returned with a plate of fried scrapple with pepper and onion relish.

  Everyone resumed eating and James and Alex discussed the Artemis, an East Indiaman under construction, and the need to recruit officers for her maiden voyage between Philadelphia and the Pacific Northwest and on to the Sandwich Islands.

  “You’re looking for a physician?” she asked.

  Alex turned to her. His eyes caressed her in unhurried appreciation of her form in the new muslin morning gown sprigged with delicate, apricot-coloured flowers and a wide apricot velvet sash. Somehow, Mrs Webbs had had the garment altered and waiting for her this morning. Blushing, she attempted to place her cup back down. It rattled against the saucer, spilling coffee on the cloth.

  “Looks like we’re done for now.” James’ voice was a testament to irritation. He tossed his napkin to his plate and stood. “Come along, Peter—we’ve a busy day ahead.”

  He hurried from the room. Peter made his farewells and followed him.

  “Aunt Rachel and Nancy have their breakfasts taken to them in their chambers. You may do the same.”

  The underlying edge to Alex’s words made it clear that he was issuing an edict. She bristled automatically but the sudden chill in his expression thwarted her sharp retort. She wondered what had caused that. James’ obvious impatience with her as the cause of Alex’s distraction? Obviously the breakfast table was a male domain and she’d unknowingly trespassed here. Uncomfortable and indignant by turns, she sought refuge in a long sip of coffee. She was beginning to understand what Grandmother had meant by the insufferable arrogance of gentlemen.

  Alex was reading a letter, now, and seemed to have forgotten her earlier question.

  “Are you looking for a physician?” Emily repeated.

  He looked up at her blankly. Then his expression sharpened with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “Yes. An excellent opportunity for any young man seeking adventure.”

  “I know a very good physician,” she said, twisting her napkin in her hands, made nervous by his inexplicable mood.

  “Do you?” He leant back, drinking his coffee with a thoughtful air. “One willing to be gone two years—possibly more?”

  “Yes—in fact he needs the distraction. Someone very dear to him recently died and I fear he will drown himself in his sorrows.”

  He set his cup down and gave her a serious look. “He must have surgical experience.”

  “Oh yes, he has—and he’s very smart, learns quickly. His mind is very open.”

  “Is that a fact?” He regarded her speculatively, too coolly for her taste, when she wanted him to grab her and take her on the table.

  “Yes, and you could help him gain more specific medical experience suited to a merchantman’s needs. There’s time before your ship leaves.”

  “You’re correct, there’s time.” Alex smiled wryly. “But he wears a liberty cockade, doesn‘t he? Cheers each time the guillotine severs another moderate head?”

  “How did you guess that?”

  “I saw you with just such a young man in the Blue Duck.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t been aware that he’d watched her before Green’s attack had drawn his notice. For an odd reason, it flustered her. In everything, he was always at least a step ahead. She fidgeted her hands together. “He does those things just to thwart his father.”

  He sat up, his brows drawing down as if in disgust. “Wonderful—a bloodthirsty, rebellious Jacobin as my ship’s doctor.” Drumming his fingers restlessly on the table, he shook his head with a rueful expression. “I really shouldn’t.”

  “Please think about it.”

  He laughed softly. “You plead so prettily for him. Just who is this young man to you? Do you have tendre for him, Emily?”

  His eyes blazed almost angrily now, though his tone was light.

  “No! Goodness, no. It’s just that I owe him so much—he saved my life.”

  “Saved your life?” His coffee cup landed in its saucer with a decisive clatter. “Tell me more.”

  “This fall, during the fever.”

  “The fever?” His eyes widened. “You had the yellow fever?”

  She laughed nervously. “I did, but I survived.”

  He stared at her, in an expression of what looked like growing horror. He bolted up and landed in the chair beside her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex took her delicate wrist into his hand and studied its still-prominent bones. The lack of flesh to cover those bones. His heart seized up in his chest, a strange sensation, like physical pain yet not physical at all.

  She jumped in her seat and pulled back. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “You could so easily have died.” He gripped her hand, wishing he might protect her after the fact, wipe away the ugly past with the strength of his body and will.

  She shrugged. “I am alive and well now. That’s all that matters.”

  He got up and called Sally, tapping his fingers on the table as he waited for her to come. Finally, she came running into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her gaze flickered from him to Emily, then she compressed her lips.

  “Send Elisha to ask Dr Howe to come around today,” he said.

  Sally nodded briskly and hurried back out.

  Emily frowned. “A doctor? But I am fine.”

  “I’ll do what I think is best. Dr Howe spent several years in the Caribbean—he understands tropical diseases better than most.”

  She glanced down at the table and frowned. “But it has been weeks now. I am fine. I don’t need a doctor.”

  “There can be lingering complications, Emily—it won’t hurt to be certain.”

  “But I don’t need—”

  “He’s coming and you shall submit to an examination and that’s an end to it.” He offered her a stern stare, just f
or good measure.

  She stared back unflinchingly, her eyes sparkling with resistance. She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first.

  “Consider it part of your contractual obligation to me to stay in good health.”

  Her chin jutted out and her face flushed. “Yes, sir, of course.”

  Her voice was deathly soft but he didn’t miss the hard edge underlying her words. He chose to ignore it. He’d got his way. He knew enough of women to let matters lie.

  “Good girl,” he replied, then stood and prepared to leave.

  “Alex?”

  He stopped and turned.

  Her large, lushly lashed, sherry-coloured eyes were imploring. “What about John? Will you at least meet him?”

  “I shouldn’t.” God, it was going to be this way with her. He couldn’t deny her anything. He gave an inward, wry smile. Then he sighed. Though he didn’t mind opening his purse to her, he couldn’t allow himself to make foolish business decisions.

  “He really is a stellar physician and he is energetic, young and strong. One of the kindest people I have ever known. He’s twenty-four but very responsible for his age.”

  Her voice had turned very soft—glowing. His chest seemed to seize up.

  He recognised the feeling as jealousy and despised himself. That was exactly the sort of man Emily should have for a suitor—for a husband. He shouldn’t begrudge her a chance at true happiness.

  He grinned at her to hide his discomfort. “Well, that sounds like quite an endorsement. Are you sure you don’t have tender feelings for this fellow?”

  Her dark red brows rose. “No, it is not like that. He is a friend. He was good to me when I had no one and as a doctor he truly is all I have said he is.”

  Well, then he’d better take a closer look at this paragon. “Have Sally send for him. I’ll interview him, but I promise nothing.”

  * * * *

  Alex sat at his desk, staring at the dark-haired young man who answered Dr Howe’s questions with such quick yet well-constructed answers.

  Dr Howe turned to Alex. “He knows his business, Dalton.” The tall, thin doctor stood, his shock of red hair flaming in the sunlight from the window. “His mentor, Dr Smith, is very well known to me. He’s on the right side of things.” Dr Howe grinned.

  Alex knew what that meant. The man didn’t follow extreme ideas like radical blood-letting and purging. He was pleased and impressed with that. It showed that, despite his political leanings, the man had common sense. The young doctor seemed to be all that Emily had said, yet he had no money. His father had cut him off and his practice and pocketbook had suffered greatly in the recent epidemic. It lay within Alex’s ability to change that, to give him a source of income.

  “Dr Abbott,” he said.

  The younger man turned to him, a hard look on his face and fiery dislike in his eyes. Alex pressed his lips together to keep from grinning at such obvious jealousy. “Yes, Mr Dalton, sir?”

  “You’ve got a job if you want it.”

  Dr John Abbot’s face lost its mask of stiff defiance and the brown eyes all but glowed with pleasure and excitement—for what young man didn’t dream of landing a job with good pay, travel and adventure?

  In that moment of unguarded happiness, Alex saw into the younger man. He saw the innocence, the idealism. The purity. He could scarcely remember what it had felt like to be that young in spirit. A most unwelcome jolt of something hot and bilious green twisted through his guts. Envy.

  “I don’t know, Mr Dalton.” Dr Abbot’s brows drew down and a vertical line showed between his eyes. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  The younger man’s inner battle wouldn’t last long. Alex knew enough of human nature to ease off the pressure. “Of course. But let me know within the next month. We’re trying to tie things up.”

  Dr Abbott nodded and left, his stride swift and purposeful.

  Alex stared at the doorway after he had left. The young doctor was exactly the kind of man Emily deserved for a husband.

  And Alex hated him for it.

  * * * *

  In the parlour, Dr Howe had thoroughly examined Emily and pronounced her well enough, though he warned her nonetheless about a lingering weakness of the liver and the necessity to rest and avoid sick people, malodorous or damp places and becoming chilled.

  No sooner had Dr Howe gone to visit Alex in his study than John had arrived, scowling and voicing his reluctance to be employed by a New England Federalist.

  “Oh, please, John, don’t lose this chance,” she urged him.

  He eyed her suspiciously. “And just what chances have you taken him up on?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Well, not entirely. She drew her spine straight with a false dignity that almost hurt.

  “He intends to help me publish my book.”

  “Men like him don’t do favours for free—you watch yourself,” John said, and he left soon after that.

  It unnerved her that he had seen to the heart of the matter so quickly. It made her agitated and she longed to stretch her legs. But now, dressed in her cloak, she lingered in the entryway, unable to resist listening to the angry voices echoing from the parlour.

  “But what will I tell people?” Rachel sounded aghast.

  “That I am her benefactor and I want to see her properly clothed.” Alex’s voice sounded terse, the words bitten off.

  “I am just grateful that your dear mother isn’t here to see this day. Imagine forcing your own aunt to preside over a table full of guests with your doxy. I was terrified someone would recognise her as the girl from that tavern—your scrape with Richard.”

  A pause.

  “Just take her out and make her fashionable for me.” Alex’s voice was terser than ever.

  “Just how fashionable?” Rachel asked in frosty tones.

  “Purchase everything a young woman her age needs, as if she were Nancy. Don’t stint.”

  A longer pause. “Unthinkable! I won’t be party to this indecency.”

  “You had no problem outfitting her for the dinner party.”

  Silence.

  “What’s so different about this?” Alex asked.

  “It is as if you are giving her a carte blanche. Are you?” Rachel’s voice was accusing.

  Another long pause, then Alex spoke again. “As her benefactor, I am responsible for her. No one is going to see it as anything more scandalous than that, unless you—by your attitude—give them the idea they should.”

  “Alex, be reasonable.” James’ voice. “You know nothing about her. She could be a Jacobin spy, someone working for one of those dreadful Republican newspapers—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, James—sometimes you’re positively womanish in your hysteria,” Alex snapped. “Very well, Aunt Rachel. If you won’t do this one, small thing for me, then I will have to take her around to the dressmaker’s—”

  “Have mercy! How tongues would flap.” Rachel gave a loud, dramatic sigh. “You’ve neatly trapped me, my boy. I’ll do it, but not happily.” Her voice came closer until she appeared in the doorway. As her blue eyes met Emily’s, they went wide.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Miss Eliot.” Then she smiled politely, as if there were any way Emily could have failed to hear the whole exchange. “I shall have Sally find you a wrap and we’ll go do a little clothes shopping.”

  Emily shook her head. “I don’t need any clothes.”

  “But my dear, if you’re going to be living here, you shall need decent clothes.” She frowned and her eyes moved over Emily’s faded muslin morning gown. “Really, you must let us clothe you.”

  Alex appeared in the doorway.

  “Alex, please. I don’t need any more new clothes.”

  His boots echoed on the marble floor as he approached her. When he stopped in front of her, she dropped her voice. “Your aunt is correct—it would cause too much talk.”

  He took her arm and led her away from the others, closer to the door, then spo
ke to her in low tones. “I offered your young man the job. He says he must think about it.”

  “He’s not my young man.”

  His expression grew thoughtful and he studied her for a moment.

  “I really don’t need any new clothes, Alex.”

  He frowned. ”This is part of our agreement—to do what is needed to play your role promoting this book. If you don’t go with my aunt, I shall have to take time out of my day and cart you around to the dressmaker and the milliner and all of that.”

  “Goodness… You couldn’t—you wouldn’t, surely… I would die of shame.”

  “Well, I certainly would rather not. I would rather spend my time today arranging for the woodcuts for your book.”

  Pleased surprise jolted every other thought from her mind. “The woodcuts,” she repeated, mindless with joy.

  “Yes.” He tightened his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards the door while giving her a little push. “So, on you go.”

  “But I wanted to be there when you select the craftsmen.”

  “It would be better if you were not.”

  That took her aback. “Why, because I am a woman?”

  “No, because you are young, inexperienced. You will be swayed by their stories, your sympathy will be moved and you will pay no attention to their skills. Let me choose these men. I have had my maps printed and I understand what is needed for a quality result. Go on with my aunt and let her equip you with a decent wardrobe.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are saying I will make a distraction? I won’t. I’ll be quiet.”

  He grinned down at her. “I am saying you’ll be too much of a distraction to me.”

  Flattery. He was attempting to charm her into obeying. Coldness settled upon her like a blanket of snow. She squared her shoulders and schooled her voice to be firm. “It’s my art, not yours. I want to be there.”

  His grin faded and his expression hardened. “It’s my decision to make. I know more about etching and woodcuts than you do. I say your time this afternoon will be better spent acquiring a decent wardrobe.”