My Angel

by Christine Young

  A slow smile formed on Madame leBon's lips. "Really? And which would you like to work?"

  Angela didn't hesitate in her reply. "Oh, the bedrooms, of course. I'd really enjoy that. Auntie says it's absolutely delightful."

  Now the madam's eyes twinkled with merry laughter. "And have you any experience? I don't want an untried girl ruining the reputation of my establishment." The madam held a lock of Angela's hair in her fingers. "We'll have to do something different with this wild mess,'' she murmured a bit distractedly.

  ''No, ma' am. Auntie wouldn't' let me near the upstairs rooms. Said I wasn't old enough."

  Madame leBon shrugged, "You've said that. Your age isn't what matters here." The madam tapped her perfect chin with a perfectly manicured fingernail and stared at her even harder. Angela felt sure Madame leBon saw right through the fabric of her clothing. "You're a tiny little thing." She paused for several heart-stopping seconds. "Undo your bodice and let me have a look. I'm not going to hire anyone I haven't seen. Men like big breasts, and I'm not hiring a girl who won't fill their hands and their needs."

  Angela's heart stopped and her mouth went dry. This wasn't what she'd expected. For a fleeting moment, she almost turned and fled, but thoughts of Emma, helpless and alone somewhere upstairs, overshadowed her fear.

  Emma.

  Angela looked apprehensively over her shoulder. Zeke had gone. Only the two of them remained in the room. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the first button, but she reminded herself that she'd committed herself and that what she did now might be the difference between life and death--hers and Emma's.

  She could not falter.

  "Hurry up. I don't have all day." The madam tapped her slippered foot on the Persian carpet. "No experience?" The question was rife with meaning.

  Angela pulled her arms from the sleeves, the bodice hanging now around her hips.

  "The chemise, too, everything."

  Cool air touched her skin. The madam stood and now stepped closer, circling her.

  "Put your arms behind your head."

  "Why?"

  "Don't ask foolish questions. As I said a minute ago, if you don't have big breasts, the gents just don't go for you. But I think yours will do nicely. More than a handful," she murmured, "and the coloring is exquisite."

  Madame leBon sat on the edge of her desk, one leg swinging idly. Angela quickly pulled her chemise up and her bodice back on then buttoned it tight.

  "We'll have to give you some instruction on the proper manner and decorum. I don't want my guests disappointed in you."

  "Then I get the job?" She tried to sound eager, but with each passing second she wasn't sure about the wisdom of this. "When do I start?"

  "I'll put you in Lottie's care at night and for the next few days. I want you to wait on Emma, make sure she gets everything she needs. Emma is in the room next to yours. She isn't feeling well and I have to have her ready for the auction Friday night. She's the main attraction. Even if Emma doesn't want to eat, make sure she drinks the water--all of it. After that is seen to, all you need to do is watch what Lottie does and learn everything you can. Ask her anything you want. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to answer."

  "Oh, thank you." Angela curtsied, her knees almost buckling-

  "In two days there will be an auction. I'll need you ready and able to work. There will be a lot of things to do upstairs, and I'll expect you to do the very best job you can. Lawrence Stevens will want you first. He tries out all the new girls just to make sure they are ready."

  Angela's stomach turned over at that thought. /'// kill him before I let him touch me. "I won't disappoint you, Madame leBon. I promise."

  "Please call me Velvet. And I'm sure you won't disappoint me. Zeke will show you to your room, and Lottie will come by later with more appropriate clothes."

  Angela rubbed her sweaty palms down her dress. "Thank you." She tried for enthusiasm but realized her thank-you sounded more like a plea for help.

  Chapter Four

  Devil Blackmoor stepped into the dress shop, the fourth place of business he'd visited this Friday morning. A well-groomed, white-haired lady shot him a pleasant made-for-business smile.

  "What can I do for you?"

  Devil cleared his throat, feeling scrutinized from the tips of his toes to the top of his hat. "I'm looking for a young lady with an angel's smile, about this high." He held his hand at chest level. "Eyes that could tame Satan himself. A waist no bigger than the circumference of my hands." He gestured and grinned at his own words.

  The lady gave an inelegant snort of disapproval before turning away. "Your mistress?''

  "No." Devil continued his description. "A waist no bigger than my hands." He showed her again. But he was thinking of the way she felt cradled next to his chest, the way her wild, innocent passion had caused a tempest to rage in his soul.

  His body tensed, hardening instantly.

  "Never seen the young woman." The modiste swept from her seat behind the desk, moving to a table set with patterns and magazines of the latest fashions. Her stiff back turned to him, she sorted and stacked the material there.

  "Yellow makes her look as fresh as a spring day." And ripe for picking.

  He thought he saw the lady hesitate a moment, her shoulders and arms tensing as if she knew something she wasn't about to share with the likes of him.

  "The lady you speak of hasn't been in my shop." Her voice sounded as prim and proper as a Boston tea party.

  Liar, "So you say.'' He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly show of manners while he inwardly seethed.

  "I most certainly do," came the terse reply, the woman's features drawing together into a sour pucker. "A gun for hire has no business questioning my integrity. Now unless you have further business here, I suggest you leave immediately."

  Devil tipped his hat. His frustration simmering into anger, he let the door bang shut. The air smelled fresher on the other side of the door anyway.

  Walking down the street, he listened to the jingle of his spurs as they hit the ground and the wind's soft moan as it swept around the buildings. He passed by Market Street and Holladay Street, part of the red-light district, without giving the buildings a second glance.

  Mrs. Limpkin's berry pie sure smelled good. He could see five pies sitting out on the windowsill of her boardinghouse.

  Rusty poked his head out from the door to the livery, a mischievous grin planted squarely on his round face. The boy slipped between the double doors and started toward him with a gangly gait.

  "Sir." The feminine voice behind him sounded airy and breathless.

  Before he could turn and acknowledge the woman, he felt small fingers close around his wrist in an invitation.

  "Sir?" she asked, still breathless and slightly agitated, her chest heaving, despite the short run.

  Devil smiled and tipped his hat. One of the girls who worked at the dress shop stood in front of him, her face flushed with the exertion of chasing after him. She inhaled deeply--to catch her breath, he presumed. Her hand was placed just above her heaving bosom.

  "Sir..." she repeated.

  His fingers rested on the butt of his gun, his stance wide as he stared at her, waiting to hear her out.

  "I overheard your conversation with Madame Giselle."

  Madame Giselle was as French as he was. Devil waited.

  "I... I know it's none of my business, but the lady you described has been to the shop. A man old enough to be her father bought her a yellow dress a couple of weeks ago, and he ordered an entire wardrobe, including..." She paused, still trying to catch her breath.

  "Including?" Devil didn't care for the direction of this conversation. He saw delicate under things, and filmy confections that tantalized and beckoned, things he meant to buy for her--as soon as he could find her.

  "Unmentionables and beautiful nightclothes," the girl said.

  Devil's fists closed around his gun as bile rose in his throat. The implications of what the girl told him hit him
hard in the gut.

  "The man wasn't satisfied with the merchandise and insisted that some of the garments be redone." After looking Devil straight in the eye, she added hastily, "He still isn't satisfied and he returned several garments. He won't pay the bill until the clothes suit him.

  "Madame Giselle says he left her high and dry without a cent. She says the dresses are perfect the way they are, and the changes he's insisted on are impossible. That's why she was so cross with you just now. She wants her money."

  "Tell your boss that if I find the lady in question, and if the lady is willing, I'll settle the bills."

  "Oh, thank you, sir." The girl swung around, her skirts billowing, and headed back to the shop.

  "Bad news, Devil?"

  The slight sneer in Rusty's voice didn't sit well with Devil at the moment. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the little scamp, nor did he care to listen to the boy's lies. His anger and frustration burned deep even while he thanked Allah he'd found at least one clue to the angel's whereabouts.

  "No, now that I think on it, the information is very good." Devil's stride lengthened. "What do you want, Rusty? More advice?"

  "Mother wanted me to ask if you wanted a piece of pie."

  "No." He paused thoughtfully. "Get Jabbar ready. I'm going for a ride."

  "Think you'll meet up with the little blond hellion again?" Rusty taunted.

  Devil schooled his features.' 'What do you know about her?''

  Rusty shrugged his thin shoulders. "Not much.'' He glanced sideways at Devil then at the tall man striding toward them.

  "Misha," Devil said.

  Misha tipped his hat.

  Devil waited for an answer, his arms crossed over his chest, a stern expression on his face. "Out with it, Rusty. All of it."

  Rusty had the look of the cat who caught the canary and wasn't about to spit it up. "She kept her big stallion here."

  Devil waited, and his hand came down on the back of Rusty's neck, exerting pressure. The boy squirmed then settled.

  "The man she came to Denver with rode out of here a few hours ago. Headed into the hills." Rusty looked too smug.

  "What do you know about him?"

  "I think the man gave the big stallion to her and then decided she wasn't worth the money he spent on her. I think she's run off. Haven't seen her in two days."

  "Have Jabbar ready in an hour," Devil said and watched patiently while Rusty scurried into the livery, rubbing his neck where Devil's fingers had exerted pressure.

  "I'll make sure the boy gets into no more mischief," Misha said.

  Devil nodded. "Watch him carefully."

  On impulse Devil started for Holladay Street. Questions about Angel came to mind, questions he wasn't sure he wanted the answers to.

  Rusty clearly baited him. Why?

  The man the boy spoke of had a place in Angel's life. What exactly his Angel was to the man, he had to find out. Mistress? Lover? Wife? The thought of Angel being anyone's wife made his heart stop.

  But the thought of his Angel ending up on the wickedest thoroughfare in the West made him sick to his stomach. He didn't know where to start looking for her, but at the moment Holladay Street seemed like the best idea he could come up with. As he walked he passed shabby cribs, elegant parlor houses, and fancy brothels. She could be in any one of them.

  Revulsion swept through him. His angel was no whore. He would have sensed her experience, would have recognized the practiced moves, the knowing kisses. Yet a desperate urge to find her gripped him with talon-like fingers. He stared at the filthy cribs, praying he wouldn't discover her in one of them.

  Devil pulled his pocket watch from his vest pocket. Time seemed to slip by, the hour of the auction drawing closer. All hell was about to break loose while he walked aimlessly up and down a street filled with whores.

  He ran restless fingers through his hair. After the auction he'd locate her. Right now he didn't have the time. He had made promises and he had to keep them. He prayed his Angel was not a prostitute, and he prayed he would find her soon. He didn't like the thought of her left alone and vulnerable.

  Devil headed back to the livery, his mood tense and irritable, calling himself a fool in several languages. His Angel was too sweet to become one of those hardened ladies of the evening. She had responded to his kisses as if she'd never been kissed before.

  He had jumped to conclusions.

  His heart relieved, he whistled a tune from the old country as he walked down the sidewalk.

  ~ * ~

  Devil mounted Jabbar and cantered the big horse through the streets of Denver until he reached the edge of town. Misha rode with him. They turned their horses into the hills and let the stallions have full rein. A hot spring sun shone down on them. Sweat-slipped down Devil's neck.

  One hour later Devil rode between two granite cliffs and then down into a hollow sheltered on four sides by stately evergreen trees. A cool breeze dried his sweat-soaked shirt. Misha stayed behind, preferring not to show himself to the other men.

  In front of Devil, Dakota, Sam and Trey were mounted, and a fourth man leaned against a boulder. The fourth man's head was wound with a stark white bandage.

  "Jacob?" Devil asked.

  The man nodded. "Devil Blackmoor."

  "You've found proof?"

  Once again Jacob nodded. "A senator, a colleague of Stevens', came forward." Jacob's smile was grim. "Told us enough to put Stevens away for life."

  Devil understood the subtlety behind Jacob's words. "I take it the man wasn't excited about telling the truth."

  "He needed a bit of pressure."

  "Our witness as well as Stevens has been dishonest for years," Sam said. He pushed back his hat.

  "Emma didn't kill her mother,'' Dakota's voice was quiet, his dark eyes pensive. "I'm getting her out of the house now." Dakota turned to leave.

  "Wait!" Sam's command held Dakota back.

  "For what?" Dakota's voice, pencil thin and threatening, stopped Devil cold.

  "For the sheriff to arrest him. We don't want him to fly now."

  "Not when we're so close to putting the two of them away for life." Jacob touched the bandage on his head, pausing as if distracted. When he looked back to Devil, he offered an answer to Devil's question. "Lawrence Stevens killed her, and the madam helped," Jacob said. "He poisoned our mother slowly, day by day, until she didn't have the strength or the will to live.

  "Emma would be free right now except for the fact that Stevens has her in the bordello. He's killed once, and as long as he has nothing to lose, we're afraid for Emma's life. Until we can get her out of there safely, he can't know what's going on."

  Dakota dismounted, and the tension in the set of his jaw and the lines of anguish in his face disturbed Devil. This was a tricky situation. A hotheaded husband would accomplish nothing.

  As if guessing Devil's concern, Sam spoke up. "The auction goes forward as planned."

  "Dakota has already placed a silent bid. In disguise he's been to see her," Jacob said. "If the bid isn't enough, we're prepared to go as high as necessary. If he pays enough for her, he can walk out of the bordello with Emma on his arm then we can storm the place."