"It's clear. You go on now. Go down the back way and I'll be in the parlor. I want to find out what has happened to Emma." He handed her the packed valise. "I'll be at the hotel in an hour."
Angela nodded to her father then stepped gingerly down the carpeted hall, trying not to make a sound, and when she was sure her father had left by way of the front stairs, she slipped into the alcove.
Maids hurried back and forth. Two men brought pails of water to Emma's room. She could hear the frantic voice of Madame leBon, raised to a furor.
"Where is the chit? Where's Angela?"
Lawrence spoke a few words before leaving, and Zeke appeared. Then, through a space between the curtains, she saw Emma pass by, cradled in Devil's arms. Emma's eyes were wide with fear, her skin a sickly white.
Emma was back. Somehow Stevens had found her.
And Devil had played his part. He'd returned Emma for auction. It had been the plan from the beginning, the only way to gather enough evidence to convict Stevens and leBon, and in the process send them to jail for life.
Yet anger swept through Angela. She'd wanted so desperately for Emma to succeed in her escape and Devil had stopped her. He had only been doing his part in this, she reminded herself.
And I have to do my part.
Angela had made a promise to herself, and she could no more leave at this moment than she could stop breathing. The hour for the auction quickly approached. Two of the girls to be placed on the block, appearing eager for the games to start, strutted down the stairs and past the little alcove where she stood watching.
Sounds came from Emma's room.
The hall was empty. Angela rushed back to her room, tossing the valise she carried onto the bed. Then, rummaging through the petticoats and silk dresses, she found the red satin dress she'd worn earlier.
Dropping her valise by her door, a few minutes later she appeared at the threshold of Emma's room, only seconds after Velvet had called for the girl. Emma was in the bath behind a bathing screen and Zeke had just come from Velvet's room, a pitcher of water--no doubt laced with opium--in his hands.
"See that she's dressed and ready. Emma will have her turn on the auction block in about an hour, and I want her to look willing. Do what you have to," she said to Angela.
"Yes, ma'am." Angela nodded, a smile on her face and deep sorrow in her heart. She ached for Emma and all she'd accomplished only to fail in the end.
Emma rose from the bath. A pale yellow wrapper was placed around her shoulders. The dress she was to wear hung nearby and Angela swallowed hard, imagining what Emma would look like in the sheer gown and imagining how Dakota would feel when he saw her wearing the gauzy confection in front of all who came to watch.
Dakota would be driven to murder. Lawrence Stevens would burn in hell. The strength of both Trey and her father would be needed to hold Dakota back.
~ * ~
Inhaling a deep, ragged breath, Angela stepped behind the bathing screen.
"Everything will be all right." Angela spoke in soothing tones to Emma.
Emma tried to speak. She moistened her lips but only a choked sound could be heard.
"I know you're afraid, but Dakota's downstairs," Angela said. "He won't let anything happen to you. Trust him."
Angela thought she saw Emma's eyes widen with a spark of hope. But she couldn't be sure.
An hour later and with a heavy heart, Angela watched Emma leave the room, a silent prayer in Angela's mind. Emma's future was now in Dakota's hands.
She had done all she could.
In a state of shock Angela stared into the now-empty hallway. Bawdy shouts rose from the ballroom below, and Angela could only guess the noise was due to the auction and the anticipation of Emma's arrival.
Velvet would have made sure the men were aroused to a fever pitch. Emma's dress alone would have caused the excitement to escalate.
Midnight approached, and Angela's father no doubt thought she was safely out of the bordello. Angela strode to her room, only to find the bed occupied. Her valise still sat by the door, where she'd dropped it an hour ago. Hastily grabbing her belongings, she shut the door and slipped away.
She darted into the alcove, determined to get rid of the skimpy dress and put on her buckskins--even more determined to be tucked into her bed when Sam arrived at the hotel. Unable to help herself, her fragile emotions stretched thin, she laughed. It was nervous laughter, and for a few minutes she collapsed on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders trembling with the release of the anxiety she'd felt for the last hour. Torn between her desire to know and love Devil Blackmoor and her loyalty to her family, she had never felt so confused and scared.
If she left now, she might never see Alexi again, might never again feel the gentleness of his touch or taste the sweetness of his kisses. Oh, how she prayed she would see Devil one more time. But she had to leave, now. And, she vowed, she would keep this one promise to her father.
A few minutes later she'd quickly slipped out of the dress and into her breeches and shirt. She was pulling on one of her moccasins when she heard Alexi.
"Angela."
Her prayers had been answered. Once again she laughed, the sound high and thin, her fingers shaking as she tried to put on her other moccasin. Words lodged in her throat and she couldn't answer him. She had to see him one more time.
"Angela, where are you?"
Angela heard the creak of a door nearby and then...
"Excuse me," Alexi said. She heard the amusement in his voice. Then he called out in whispered tones to her. "Angela, if you don't come out this minute before I embarrass myself again, I'll see the same happens to you. I mean it. I will embarrass you until you blush scarlet."
Covering her mouth with her hands, she tried to stifle the nervous laughter she couldn't stop. Then, remembering she meant to leave the house, she bent down to retrieve the other moccasin from the floor. The curtain separated for a second while she struggled with her valise and her balance. Her bare foot slipped through the opening then back.
"Devil...come here," she said, but her breath was ragged and her voice was slightly husky. She wanted to talk to him, to explain. She regained some of her composure and most of her wits. "Nothing and no one can embarrass me until I turn scarlet. Not even a devil." A restless energy swept through her.
"Is that a challenge?'' His tone held warning.
She could tell from the sound of his voice he stood outside the curtain. "Of course." Angela knew it was. He was hot and speeding in her blood. He sent her nerves sailing wantonly and her heartbeat into a rapid staccato. "Next to riding hard and fast, I like a challenge best,'' she said breathily. Her imagination played havoc with her body. Devil had sought her out. He looked for her.
She wished time would allow her to tease and flirt with him. But she'd promised her father. She had to leave now. Shouts came from below her; loud whistling and wild catcalls followed. Angela cringed, knowing Emma's appearance to be the cause.
"As much as I'd like to play games with you, angel, this isn't the time or the place. I'm getting you out of here while there is still a chance. You're coming with me. All hell's about to break loose downstairs, and I don't want you caught in the middle. Emma will be safe; the Pinkertons, the sheriff and his deputies, they're all out there."
Her heart warmed. She liked the feel of his concern. They were in complete agreement, a quick exodus paramount.
Alexi flung back the curtain. The look of anticipation and then surprise on his face startled her. She gasped, clutching her moccasin to her chest.
"Why you little..."
"Tease?" Without thinking, she spoke the word that was foremost in her thoughts. She wanted to tease and flirt with him. Then, unsure of herself, she smiled at him. Even in this dreadful situation, she enjoyed the easy banter between them. With Devil nearby, she found it easy to forget everything but him and the way he made her feel.
"Devil," he murmured as his avid, strained features focused on her and his ho
rrified gaze ran the length of her--down then up again.
With a slight lowering of her lashes, she countered softly, "Angel."
Standing in front of her, dressed from head to toe in black, he appeared shockingly mysterious, enigmatically hard and definitely the man they called Devil Blackmoor. He looked as if he were ready to tackle the portals of hell. His pants molded his powerful thighs and hips so every male part of him showed clearly, leaving her imagination racing. Broad shoulders strained the fabric of his shirt, which he'd left unbuttoned far enough to entice. She wanted to touch what she saw. She swallowed hard.
He stared avidly at her. "Just what are you wearing?"
She couldn't mistake the anger in his voice. Angela didn't know what to say. Buckskins came to mind, but her throat felt paralyzed.
"You're not going anywhere dressed like that."
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her from the alcove so quickly she stumbled into him. Her breasts were suddenly thrust against his chest. When she felt the hard, unyielding muscles of his upper body, the sensations evoked memories best not remembered at the moment.
With his hands he explored her. His long fingers traveled the length of her spine and back to settle on her waist. She allowed the heady exploration, reveling in the magical feelings born of his caress.
"Son of a bitch!'' His voice exploded around her, ricocheting off the walls.
She flinched then smiled, a nervous reaction. She knew what he thought, because his roving gaze had stopped as did his hands just below her breasts. He stared at her hardening nipples, clear little imprints against the buckskins. In her haste she'd not had time to put on undergarments. Had she stopped to put on her underclothes, he would have found her naked.
Angela wanted to hide her anxiety behind bluster. With Devil Blackmoor that would never work. She meant to brazen this out and ignore his rising fury. She ran a fingertip along his collarbone then looked down, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
She'd never really looked at his arousal before. Now she did. Even through the fabric of his pants she saw him hard and pulsing.
"Don't swear so, Devil. It might give the wrong impression." Her words were throaty, and they weren't at all what she wanted to say. With Alexi standing so close to her, how could she think?
"Damnation. I'll swear if I want to."
"Of course you will," she said, making eye contact once more, all the while tracing his collarbone with the tip of one trembling finger and wishing she had time for him. He had short black hair on his chest, and it was soft to the touch. She scraped her nails across his flesh and he almost smiled. She marveled at the control she held over him, suddenly felt empowered and bold.
He stopped her roving fingers with his own, his eyes focusing on her hand then back on her clothing.
"What do you think you are wearing?" he asked again, this time more commanding.
Angela had never heard that particular tone or so much force put behind words spoken to her. Even the second time around, his question seemed unnecessary. Any fool could tell what she wore.
"Well?" he asked again, impatience unraveling his smile and turning his expression cold and dangerous.
She, stepped back, distancing herself from him, hoping the separation would cool her burning nerves and bring calm, rational thought to her jangled mind. Nothing seemed to help. Even with the distance her breasts heaved. She smiled, hoping for time to think. She placed one hand on her hip and turned away.
"My clothes," she said, wondering at his sanity. "I'm wearing my clothes. You've seen buckskins before."
One brow quirked upward, questioning her answer. "True enough," he agreed. "But not on a lady. What else have you got in that bag of yours? I want you to put a dress on--now."
She shook her head no. Angela meant to begin as she would finish. He would not dictate to her what she would wear or what she would do unless the situation was life-threatening and she agreed with him.
"I'm not changing my clothes. We don't have time. You said so yourself." She paused for breath, shrugging. Her sensitized nipples rubbed against the leather, and she almost groaned from the contact. "Besides, it's none of your business what I have in the bag." She picked up the discarded moccasin, and in one quick movement slipped the soft leather over her bare toes. Angela stepped from the alcove with a toss of her long braid.
She strode toward the back stairs, brushing past him as she went.
"God almighty."
Despite the noise coming from below, she heard his whispered words and flinched at the tone. He would have seen the knife when she walked by. Alexi had a lot to learn about her, one being that she never went anywhere without the knife Dakota had bought her when she had turned ten years old.
He faltered even as he tried to speak. A strangled, "Angel," was all he said.
With that one helpless look, he bolted into her heart like a streak of lightning. His fascination with her was purely sexual, she reminded herself, but she meant to change that fascination to love as soon as possible. Lottie had given her at least one hundred intriguing suggestions. She would take care of his every need.
"Are you coming?" she asked, putting as much sass and flirt into her voice as she could manage.
She wanted a strong man, one she could not bend to her will, but one who would listen to her.
"I'd be crazy not to." His voice was a low rumble deep in his chest.
He caught up to her halfway down the stairs and touching her arm, he turned her.
Angela stared up at Alexi with clear, unblinking eyes, ready, she knew, for whatever he wanted. Right now she wanted him to kiss her, nothing more. Later she wanted him to take her in his arms and teach her about love and fierce, hot passion, the kind that would last forever.
Angela inhaled an uneven breath, her gaze never wavering from his. "What, Alexi? What do you want?"
"I want you, darling girl. I want all of you."
She watched Alexi close his eyes. Her own eyes were wide open, and guilt assailed her. The thought that she hadn't told her father what she was about to do was like acid eating at her soul. He would worry about her, but if she gave him any indication what she was doing, he'd move heaven and earth to stop her. She wouldn't allow anyone to stand in the way of what she wanted.
She knew she didn't want to live without Alexi.
"I know," Her breathy whisper surprised her. "I want you too."
"You're so damn sweet. One would think ... no," he said.
"Alexi?"
"I'll pleasure you until you cry out my name, until you sleep the peace of a woman well sated."
She wanted to know what he meant--and so much more. "Promise?" she asked. Nervously she moistened her lips. It seemed to Angela that whenever he was near, tension closed in around her, suffocating her.
After long seconds of staring, he lowered his mouth to hers, brushing lightly--almost tentatively--across her lips. But her tongue came out to meet his mouth, to challenge, to take control. She'd had enough of the gentle teasing and mild caresses he'd given her so far.
He sensed the change in her and battled her for dominance. Almost as if he had to make sure she knew who set down the rules and made the decisions, he wound his fingers in her hair, tilted her head back, and commanded and directed the kiss. His lips closing over her, his tongue delving deeply inside her mouth, he continued relentlessly until she moaned softly, melting into his arms. He'd mastered her more easily than she'd thought possible. She was liquid heat in his arms, an inferno about to explode.
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