Almost an Angel

by Katherine Greyle

  "Why am I not surprised?” His voice was dry, but she could tell he enjoyed their easy banter. It was something he'd never experienced. "What about your parents?"

  "Oh, they were good folk—worked hard, devoted themselves to their children. The usual."

  He stopped, reaching out to keep her from continuing on. "Was it so very bad?"

  Carolly bit her lip, surprised. She'd thought she'd camouflaged all the clues in her own off-brand of humor. But James seemed to see through her barriers.

  "Why did you leave them, Carolly ?"

  She let him turn her around to face him, but she refused to look up, choosing to watch the dark, shadowed leaves fluttering behind him in the wind. "It wasn't bad."

  "Then why did you leave them?"

  A thousand answers danced through her head. Things about car accidents and teenage drinking, about New Year's Eve and sowing wild oats. But none of those thoughts made it to her mouth. Instead, she spoke the one horror she'd lived with all her afterlife.

  "I hurt them, James. I was hurting them."

  "How?"

  Carolly shrugged, pushing away from him to wander through the dark. The clouds were getting thicker, the moonlight dimmer. A storm was coming, but she didn't care. He'd started her thoughts on this course, and she found she couldn't turn away from it.

  "I was the party girl, the fun one. You have to understand, James. We had enough money to live on, but not much more. My parents worked their fingers to the bone to give us every opportunity for a better life."

  "And?"

  "And I squandered it. Janice studied. She worked hard. And the harder she worked, the more I partied. And the more I partied, the harder she worked. I was selfish, arrogant, and cruel." She stopped, one hand clutching a gnarled branch. "If I'd lived, I would have broken their hearts. Janice probably would have become a brilliant lawyer or doctor. The best I could have achieved was being the fun-girl scamming drinks between shifts at the factory."

  "So you left."

  "So I got snockered one New Year's Eve, gave the keys to Janice even though I knew the roads were too icy and I'd forced her to have a drink, too. She couldn't control the car, and I got my face flattened between a truck and the back of my car." She gave a flamboyant stage bow to a tight knot of trees. "A spectacular end to a woman who never did anything without flair."

  The woods fell silent. The wind died, if only for a moment, and the crickets no longer sang. Carolly didn't dare look at James. The guilt was hard enough to bear without adding his disdain. But as the silence lengthened between them, she found herself gouging her nails into a tree trunk waiting for him to speak. Finally, she forced him.

  "What are you thinking?"

  "That you and my brother would have thoroughly enjoyed each other."

  Of all the things she had expected him to say, that ranked lowest. She turned around, placing her back against another tree, and peered through the silver leaves at him. "Your brother, huh? Where is he? In London flirting with all the eligible young ladies ?"

  James looked away. "Bradley died while I was in Spain. He broke his neck when he overturned his phaeton during a race to Bath. He was Margaret's father."

  Carolly was surprised. "I'm sorry."

  He didn't answer, but then, he didn't need to. She had grown accustomed to reading his silences, learning his thoughts by the tempo of his breathing and the tilt of his chin. "You don't miss him, do you?" She saw him stiffen.

  "He was my brother. Of course I grieve for him."

  "No, you don't. Not really, or at least not yet. You're too busy being angry with him. And that makes you fed guilty." Carolly shook her head, wondering if Janice felt that way about her death, knowing her sister probably did. "You shouldn't, you know. Feel guilty, that is. We party pals know what a nightmare we are. We breeze in, create havoc in the name of a good time, then disappear leaving you solid ones to clean up our messes." She leaned just the tiniest bit forward. "We're not stupid, you know. Most of us have irresponsibility down to an art. We expect you to be angry at us."

  James stepped forward into a shadow, becoming nothing but a black silhouette. "You enjoy this, don't you? You work at it—your irresponsibility, your foolishness?"

  She knew he was thinking of his brother, but she answered for herself. "Of course. I got to drink and carouse to my heart's content."

  "And now?" She felt the sudden intensity of his gaze, and her face heated. He was no longer thinking of a long-dead Bradley. He was focused entirely on her. "What do you enjoy now?"

  Carolly laughed, pushing him and her nervousness away with one wave of her hand. "Now? Now, I'm working off my sins. Now I drop in, try to teach the partiers responsibility, show the serious ones how to have a good time, and hope that one day I'll have suffered and sweated and helped myself into a set of angel wings." She looked up at the darkened sky, wishing she could see some stars. “I want this to work out, James. I want it so bad."

  He touched her arm, soothing her with the lightest of caresses. "Are you sure about your purpose?”

  "Yes."

  "How? How do you know?"

  She shrugged, letting her gaze drop to him as she managed a weak smile. "I don't know how I know. I just know that's what I'm doing. I'm working my way to a set of wings."

  "Why not just live here?” He clearly struggled to accept her explanation, but pushed doggedly on. "Live in the present. In this . . . incarnation."

  She shook her head. "I can't."

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her from running when she would have ducked under a low branch. "You can."

  "I don't want to!"

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't!" She jerked away from him, but he wouldn't release her. Instead, he leaned close, his body pressing her against the tree trunk, his breath heating the space her lips.

  "Why is this life so terrible for you?”

  She didn't answer because she didn't know, and that frightened her. Did she want to stay here? Could she stay? Questions burned in her thoughts, and her eyes blurred with tears she couldn't stop.

  "Carolly." His word was a whisper. He touched her cheek, catching her first tear on the pad of his thumb. Then he dropped his head to hers and pressed his lips to her temple. "I am sorry."

  She had no answers for either him or herself. She knew she was dead, and yet, she had never felt more alive. She felt the rough bark at her back, the lean muscular strength of him in front. She heard the slight rasp of his breath and smelled the scent of wood mixing with the strangely compelling odor of Bay Rum.

  How could she be dead when all around her was life? When inside she felt such longing. "James . . ." Her voice was ragged with need.

  "I want to kiss you."

  "I . . ." She shouldn't. She knew that. But she wanted to.

  He leaned forward, barely touching her with his lips, trailing them slowly along her cheeks, the comer of her mouth, to her lips. The air all around was moist and hot, and she tingled as if he were taking tiny nips at her body, tasting her, tormenting her.

  She let out a soft moan that was both desire and fear. She couldn't let him closer. She couldn't let him into her heart.

  "Oh, James," she breathed, closing her eyes against her tears. "I'm so confused."

  "Then let me help you."

  She felt the hard planes of his chest where it rubbed against her breasts. Her legs heated where the taut muscles of his thighs pressed against her. But most of all, she was aware of the hunger in him, the incredible power that he restrained for her sake, so he wouldn't frighten her.

  That, more than anything else, caused her to weaken. Through her entire life and all her incarnations, she'd met men both weak and strong who blustered and bullied. They used whatever power they had, physical or mental, to force the world to conform to their ideas. Some were effective, others weren't. But none of them had held back, had ever controlled themselves enough to allow her to make the decisions.

  Always it had been a battle of wills.

 
; Now, with James, it was different. He was stronger than she was. She knew that. But he did not abuse his position. He held himself apart, controlled himself with such fearsome intensity that she'd initially thought him cold and empty.

  How wrong she'd been.

  Now he held her pinned against a tree, not to hurt her, but to keep her from running while she made her decision.

  "Let me kiss you," he whispered. His breath was a soft caress along her cheek.

  She turned, lifting her face to his, her body softening in open invitation. Her mind told her to refuse, to push James away, but her hands traced the rippling muscles of his arms, skimmed the width of his broad shoulders, reached into his hair to pull him to her.

  His mouth was as uncompromising as the rest of him. It was demanding, but she opened willingly to the assault. His tongue plunged into her mouth, taking and tasting as though he feared she would change her mind.

  She arched against him, awed that nothing in her many lives had ever felt this right, this wonderful. His hunger fed hers, his power invaded her, and she was strengthened even as she submitted to him. She moaned, barely aware that she pushed her hips forward, begging for more than just a kiss.

  Bang!

  A small chip of wood ricocheted against her cheek. James froze for an instant; then he abruptly threw her to the ground, covering her with his body.

  Carolly welcomed his weight, only vaguely realizing his intent wasn't seduction but something entirely different. "James?"

  Another shot rang out, mixing with the sporadic tapping of a rainstorm just beginning.

  "Was that a gunshot?"

  He didn't answer, but then again, he didn't need to.

  "Is someone shooting at us?"

  James shook his head. "A poacher. They have become bolder since I changed things at the mine."

  "What?" She started to roll him off of her, but he held her down, his weight trapping her as surely as an iron cage.

  The rain increased, a soft pitter-pat at odds with the tension in James's body. Then, abruptly, he raised his head, bellowing into the black woods: "The Earl of Traynern is here. Go home. Go home to your fire and your children before I catch you."

  Then they both waited, their bodies tense while the musky smell of wet ground rose around them. They couldn't hear anything through the howl of the wind and the sound of the rain on the leaves.

  Still James held her down. Carolly twisted slightly, looking around, but could see nothing. The darkness was complete, the world revealed only in sound and nearly indistinguishable shades of black.

  "James," she whispered. "We should get home."

  "Give them another moment to get away."

  "Them?"

  He shrugged as he shifted off of her, though he still held her down with one hand. "Him, her, or them. It makes no difference except that they be long gone by the time we get up."

  "I didn't think there was much game in these woods. They're thin and so close to your home."

  She felt him shift again, a resigned gesture. "When people are hungry, they go wherever they can and hope to find something."

  Carolly didn't respond. She was too busy trying to hold back a sneeze. A chill seeped through the ground, straight into her back. Then with a sudden clap of thunder, the clouds opened up, quickly drenching them both.

  She sneezed.

  He gave her a sharp look then stood, intending to lift her up with him.

  "No! Your leg." She pushed him away and got to her feet. Her skirt felt like clammy seaweed that weighed two tons. She took a step then stopped, realizing she'd completely lost her bearings. Nothing looked familiar.

  Nothing looked at all. It was all black.

  "Take my hand."

  James's voice was a reassuring murmur, and she groped blindly toward the sound until she found him.

  "Do not let go," he ordered gently.

  No chance of that. She was attached to his arm like an industrial strength vacuum. He walked slowly and surely. She moved after him, ducking when he said to duck, stepping higher when he told her to. Carolly felt like a blind woman being led through a maze, and she was amazed that even with his injured leg, James never faltered. His step was solid and confident, and she was eternally grateful for his presence.

  Soon the ground began to even out. They cleared the woods. The rain continued without pause and the wind picked up as they left the trees, but at least the darkness seemed more gray, less black. Carolly sneezed again, wondering if she might be warmer without the sodden weight of her dress slapping against her legs. The thin wool certainly didn't seem to keep out the icy wind.

  "There!" James's voice cut through her misery, and only then did she realize they'd stopped. James leaned against one of the last trees, his breathing loud even through the storm. "Do you see the house?"

  Her gaze followed the line of his arm, up the rise she knew was there, until she made out the blackened silhouette of his house. "Yes!"

  "Run for it!"

  She glanced at him, noting that his breathing had not steadied, finally understanding the ragged edge was from pain. His leg must feel like it was on fire.

  "Go!" he repeated, trying to push her away.

  She shook her head, grabbing onto his arm. "Not without you."

  He disentangled himself from her, his anger carrying clearly through the rumble of thunder. "You will go now!"

  "Then come with me!"

  "Do not be a fool! You are chilled through."

  Carolly turned, planting her hands on her hips, oblivious to the icy drops needling through her thin clothes. "Don't be an ass, James." She grabbed his arm and yanked hard. "Now move it!"

  "Damn Bedlamite," was all she heard. But he did move, his limp becoming more and more pronounced as they struggled together up the hill.

  Chapter Eight

  The morning dawned fair and bright, and Carolly wanted nothing more than to bury herself under the covers for the next week at least. James had been a complete bully as soon as they'd gotten inside. He'd roused the entire household and ordered baths, refusing to care for himself until he'd carried her to her room. Carried! But she'd shivered so much she couldn't get the words out to effectively argue with him.

  Fortunately, she'd recovered quickly enough to cancel the baths. There was no sense in sending servants out into the rain to get chilled just for that. She'd ended up drying her hair by a roaring fire while sending messages through a maid to Mrs. Potherby on how to properly care for James's knee.

  She must have driven the poor woman to distraction.

  But now it was morning and time to face another day. Except Carolly hadn't even finished dealing with the night before. It obsessed her so much that she skipped her usual mental catalogue of her lives just to dwell in memory.

  She'd kissed him. Again. In fact, if not for the poacher and the storm, they would probably have made love right there against the tree.

  Her face flushed, and she buried herself even deeper under the covers. She wasn't embarrassed about what they'd done. In fact, the thought of becoming James's lover had her tingling from head to toe with excitement. If she weren't trying to be an angel, she'd run across the hall straight into his bed right now.

  But she did want to be an angel. And even if she wanted to live a normal, mortal life, she couldn't. She was here to help James, not to live out her lurid fantasies. Though what wonderful fantasies they were, she thought with a smile. Her, little Carolly, an earl's lover.

  She giggled at the thought, then abruptly clapped her hand over her mouth. She shouldn't be thinking this way. She should be planning ways to throw James and Miss Hornswallow together. But somehow that didn't seem to catch her interest, and she found her attention wandering back to the night before.

  "Morning, Carolly! Did someone really shoot at you last night?”

  Carolly peeked out from under the covers to see Margaret's face grinning at her. She lifted her chin suspiciously. "Where did you hear that?"

  "I heard Uncle telling
his steward."

  Carolly was torn. On the one hand, she should admonish the child for listening at keyholes. On the other hand, she was consumed with curiosity and she'd always encouraged mischievousness. What would James do about the poacher?

  Finally, she achieved a compromise. "You shouldn't be listening at keyholes," she admonished. "But since you were"— she tried to put on a casual air—"what else did your uncle say?"

  Margaret smiled, not in the least bit fooled. "Well," she began with dramatic flair, "he will hire someone to patrol the near grounds at night."

  Carolly sat up. "Really? A bunch of rabbits mean that much to him?"

  Margaret shook her head, quick to defend her uncle. "Oh, no. He said the villagers may hunt on the far grounds, but he cannot allow anyone to get hurt in the near woods."

  Carolly nodded, thinking that sounded reasonable.

  "Besides," added the girl, "it will provide one more job for someone."

  During her short stay so far, Carolly had never gone off the near grounds and never met anyone who wasn't somehow connected to James's household. All of them had appeared clean, well-mannered, and well-fed. It had never occurred to her that the area might actually be in economic crisis. What had James said last night? She searched her memory, skating past the erotic parts, trying to focus on what he'd said to her. Something about changes in the mine.

  "What did your uncle do at the mine?"

  Margaret's eyes twinkled, bursting with information. "Uncle did something bad."

  Carolly sat up straighter. "Bad? What did he do?”

  The girl leaned forward, milking the information for all the drama she could. "He fired them. Just after I arrived four years ago."

  "Fired who?”

  "All of them."

  "Who?"

  “All the women and children. He will not hire any woman or any child under thirteen."

  Carolly let out a relieved breath. For a moment there, she'd thought it had been something bad.

  "Miss Hornswallow says it is cruel, but Uncle will not change his mind."

  Cruel? Cruel to keep the women and kids from dying of black lung disease? From risking a mine collapse, suffocation, or burning? From spending most of their waking hours underground in miserable conditions?