Alex's Angel (4 page)

How could such a simple touch elicit that kind of response? He stared back at her with sincere sympathy that spoke directly to her heart. He must be at least thirty-five, and wealthy judging by the refined elegance of his clothing. He emanated calm confidence and power. And to suddenly be the focus of all that charisma was making her tingle from head to toes.

He swept his fingertips up her arm again, startling her out of her thoughts and sending her into new heights of euphoria. The room seemed to be spinning already. If he didn’t stop touching her, she feared she might swoon. A ripple of fear quaked through her. This gentleman could prove to be far more dangerous than Green.

She glanced at his hand. Even his hands were beautiful—large, yet elegantly boned, with long fingers. An artist’s hands. She wondered if he did any sort of creative work with them.

“It hurts badly? I hope it’s not broken.” His tone was so tender that her knees seemed to melt. Goodness, he was such a true gentleman. Maybe his concern had provoked his interest in challenging Green. Maybe if he saw she was all right, he’d reconsider the fight.

 
“No, it’s not too bad now.” Frantically, she flexed her shoulder and arm through their range of motion to show him, but lingering soreness made her wince.

His jaw tightened and his eyes turned hard. A cold lump settled in her innards.

She flexed her shoulder again, keeping her face impassive this time. “See? It’s really fine. Please don’t do this. It’s not necessary.”

His golden brows rose. “Of course it is. If no one ever made men like Green answerable for their actions, what kind of place would this world be?”

She bit her lip. Men could be so blasted stubborn, and strident pleading from a woman was only likely to set them more firmly in their course of action.

“Don’t fret. It will soon be over.” He gave her a smile that was all shining blue-grey eyes and dazzling white teeth. It made her stomach bottom out and scattered her wits so far that she feared she might never find them again.

“You’d better hold on to this.” He pushed something at her.

It rustled slightly below her chin. She looked down. It was John’s crumpled dollar. She’d forgotten all about it. She took it from his hand with the slow clumsiness of a sleepwalker.

He winked at her, then turned to walk into the back room, his tall, long-legged body moving with animal grace.

As Green watched, his fine-featured face set in an angry, determined scowl, Dalton stripped off his jacket. Beneath it, his satin waistcoat clung to an obviously muscular chest and a hard, flat abdomen. Emily couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered as he slowly unfastened the buttons and shed his waistcoat. He seemed calm, as if he fought men bare-fisted in taverns every day.

Green appeared to be breathing heavily. His face, splotchy white and red, glistened with sweat. “Dalton, it’s going to give me pleasure to split that arrogant, nobbish skull of yours.”

“You’ve had this coming for a very long time, Green,” Dalton rejoined casually. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he offered Emily a last, reassuring wink.

Various catcalls issued forth and the smell of male sweat and excitement thickened in the smoky air.

The blood roared deafeningly in Emily’s ears as the two men circling each other seemed to move far away from her, then suddenly jerk closer again and again, making her wonder if the scene was real or part of some nightmare. Dalton smilingly taunted the other man, deflecting Green’s blows as he struck out wildly at him. Then Dalton hit with determination, cracking Green’s jaw with brutal accuracy. The sound echoed, with spine-chilling effect.

“Bloody good punch, Dalton!”

As Green staggered back, Dalton’s face sharpened with fierce determination. He struck Green repeatedly in the midsection, taking advantage while Green remained off balance. Then Green staggered forward, shoving Dalton, drawing his fist back…

Nausea roiled in Emily’s tummy. She closed her eyes and forced her fingers into her ears, trying to block out the sounds of flesh striking flesh.

The hush from the crowd suddenly erupted into talking and laughter. Dalton, her sun god, stood above the fallen Green. However, with a red welt on his elegant high cheekbone and blood trickling from the side of his mouth, he looked something less than divine. He wiped his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes glittering savagely.

 
* * * *

Alex Dalton stood panting over Green. But his satisfaction quickly faded. In its place came a grudging pity for Green as he lay knocked out on the sand-covered floor, having surrendered far too easily. The girl hadn’t even touched him, much less had time to get her hand into the fool’s pockets. No man in his sane mind would have accused her. God, what must it be like to live with that kind of constant suspicion of others?

Green mumbled something.

“What’s that?” Alex asked, placing his boot lightly on Green’s heaving chest. “I can’t hear you. Doubt the young lady can, either.”

“Lady?” Green gasped the word, then turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood. “I know a harlot when I see one.”

Alex leant down and grasped Green by his collar. “Shall we continue? I thought you had signalled your surrender to my terms?” he asked, still breathless. Then he tightened his grip and whispered low, “You know I’d like nothing more than to split your worthless skull. It’s long overdue. Don’t give me an excuse.”

“I am sorry I hurt you, girlie,” Green wheezed loudly under Alex’s hold.

“And?”

“And I am sorry I called you a pickpocket.”

Alex grunted, dropped Green’s collar and walked away.

 
* * * *

After Green’s apology, talking and laughter erupted once more as the crowd wandered back into the main room. Emily dared to open her eyes. Two men dressed in the garb of common sailors crouched near Green, fussing over him. Dalton was pulling his waistcoat on.

He met her eyes. He stared so fiercely that it seemed to pierce into her very soul. A prickle of unease rippled through her and she shifted on her feet. He smiled, his look softening, and winked.

 
A bolt of pure warmth hit her low in the pelvis and spread even lower. Her legs went boneless and she wavered. His expression changed, his smile somehow becoming lazier, sensual, his eyes hooded as if he was becoming sleepy. The warmth in her belly became fire; wetness seeped from her core.

He stopped buttoning his waistcoat and took a step towards her.

Her heart began pounding against her chest wall.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

What could she possibly say to him if he came to her? An urge to run beat through her, but her legs were too weak to obey.

He stopped and looked down to his side. A curvaceous redhead stood there, holding out a towel to him and smiling with seductive promise. He took the towel, then moved closer. The redhead’s carmine-painted lips moved rapidly. Alex leaned even closer—close enough to touch the woman’s overblown cleavage, though he didn’t. His deep laughter echoed over to Emily.

With a sudden tightness in her chest, Emily pulled away from the doorway, turned and went into the public room. Her legs were shaking so hard she could barely walk. She sought a table in the back corner and sank into a chair.

“Lots of excitement for your first night here, eh?”

She looked up. Mr Porter was grinning down at her, his eyes twinkling.

She tried to laugh but the sound came out reedy and halting. “Yes, you could say that.”

“Why don’t you take the remainder of the night off? You can start work tomorrow.”

There was nothing she wanted more. In fact, she wanted to go home and never return. But she needed to work tonight. And that meant more than a few tips—it meant letting a man take her upstairs. At the thought, her heart pounded and she swallowed hard.

Courage. She must gather it all and not let it go. “Thank you, Mr Porter.” She coughed delicately to relieve the quavering catch in her voice. “But if it’s all the same, I’d simply like to rest for a moment.”

“All right, even better.” He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze.

She tightened her clasped hands in her lap. She still hadn’t got used to the way the man seemed to think he was entitled to touch her at will. With the scenes from the fight replaying in her mind, she stared at the white Holland linen tablecloth and willed her heart to return to its normal pace.

She need only get through tonight and earn enough money to keep a roof over her head until her appointment with Mr Jefferson, when she would meet her benefactor. She’d probably only have to do this once or twice. It wasn’t such a great thing. Anna had done it and had seemed none the worse for wear.

And this was her choice. For the first time, she was taking the reins and leading her own life.

Success or failure, the choice was hers now.

And she’d come here tonight, resigned to her decision. It had been easy to imagine what working in a tavern would be like. Yet the fight had woken her up to just how the Blue Duck was, real, coarse and dangerous.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

The sound of that cognac-smooth voice made her heart leap into her throat. She looked up and her gaze travelled slowly over his stark white stock to his strong, golden-tanned jaw and sensual lips, his perfectly sculptured cheekbones, and finally met those ghostly pale eyes.

A red mark on his cheekbone and a scratch upon his left brow were the only signs of the fray. Yet the images of him laying his fists savagely into Green lingered in her mind. Maybe she should be a little afraid of him. Nevertheless, she couldn’t be rude to the man who had just saved her.

Besides, maybe he wanted to buy her for the evening.

If she had her choice, she’d certainly prefer him. It would be no hardship to let him kiss and caress her. The thought sent warmth chasing down into her sex. A slow seep of wetness began. It did little to help her jangled nerves.

With a suddenly shaking hand, she motioned to the chair across from herself.

He sat.

“Alex Dalton, at your service.”

With her artist’s eye still transfixed by his handsomeness, she couldn’t help gaping at him. Heaven help her, she needed to charm him. To persuade him to spend his money on an hour or two with her upstairs. But what did a woman say to a gentleman in this situation?

His brows rose ever so slightly, as if he were chidingly urging her truant response.

“Emily.” Her voice came out hoarse, foreign to her ears.

He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, growing so intense that a chill crept down her spine at the uneasy sensation of being picked over and weighed for her value. She knew what he saw. A thin girl with a huge nose. Nothing special. With great effort, she resisted the urge to cover her nose. It had never mattered overmuch to her before, but right now she desperately wished she could be beautiful.

Beautiful enough for him.

But what chance was there of that? She sagged a bit all over.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

His voice, all tenderness and warmth, seemed to sink right into her. He continued to scrutinise her, giving her the sense that he could see right down to her bones. Right down to how wetness seeped uncontrollably from between her thighs. Her strong sensuality was a fault of which she couldn’t seem to cure herself. Such feelings were always an unwelcome distraction but never more so than now when she must be in control of herself. She glanced down at the table and crossed her legs tightly, as if she could stop the shameful flood. Then she laid her hand over her nose.

He snapped his fingers. A brisk rustle of skirts brought Emily’s gaze up again. The red-headed serving maid who had been lingering and laughing at a nearby table rushed over, delighted expectation all over her face. She was the same one who had brought him the towel and, as she approached, she turned a sultry smile on Alex, her large green eyes sparkling.

Heavens, the woman was lovely. Oh, who was Emily trying to fool? This man would never be interested in spending his money on her.

Alex barely spared the redhead a glance as he ordered a bottle of Madeira, carefully asking for a particular year.

The wench flicked a glare at Emily.

After the wine arrived, Emily choked down half a glass of the rich, burning red fluid. She wasn’t used to spirits. Grandmother hadn’t allowed her to have anything stronger than tea, coffee or very weak rum punch.

“Well then, Emily—what’s a lovely girl like yourself doing in this den of depravity?”

His eyes glittered teasingly. He was flattering her. But why bother? She studied him and the thought came to her—as such things often did—in a flash of illumination. He was playing a role. Being what she expected of him. Suddenly she knew now how to behave, how to get through this evening. It was really quite simple—she need only present the image he expected.

She fluttered her lashes, imitating Anna’s cultivated, sensual smile. “Looking for excitement.”

“Are you?” He lowered his eyes to her bodice and his voice became oddly choked off as his lips seemed to quirk.