Almost an Angel (10 page)

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?

"All the miners hate him. There is even talk of rebellion."

Carolly was flabbergasted. Rebellion? Against James? She twisted her fingers into the coverlet. She'd thought this incarnation might be fairly straightforward. All she had to do was get Miss Hornswallow and James together. Except now she had to add an economic crisis and a mining revolt to her list of problems. Things just seemed to get more and more complicated.

Carolly threw back her covers, startling Margaret with her sudden energy. Matchmaking James and Miss Hornswallow could wait. She had to check into this other crisis.

"How about showing me around the village, hmmm?"

The young girl jumped up. "Great!" Then her enthusiasm quickly died. "Except I have lessons with Miss Hornswallow. I always have lessons," she moaned in the familiar whine of all schoolchildren.

"You leave your governess to me. This afternoon, you're going to give me lessons."

Margaret brightened immediately, but Carolly felt as if a weight had settled on her chest. Why? She should be thrilled. By taking Margaret with her, she increased the chances that Miss Hornswallow and James would meet and go on their own little walk in the woods. Carolly winced, but then she steeled her resolve. Nothing could ever come of hanging on to James. Nothing except heartache all around.

She sighed and motioned to Margaret. "Go on and study hard now. It's early. Then meet me after lunch in the stable. I'll tell Miss Homswinger that we're to have an outing."

"Hornswallow."

"Whatever."

Margaret grinned. She stopped just before opening the door. "Someone really did shoot at you?"

Carolly smiled. "Yeah. I also walked along that ledge to return your toad—except that you don't sleep in the room I thought."

The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You did not walk along that ledge. Uncle forbid you to. I heard him."

Carolly almost laughed. "I've never been able to take orders well. Ask your uncle if you don't believe me."

Margaret stared at her a little longer, still suspicious.

"I climbed out right here onto the ledge," Carolly said, stung that she'd risked her life and the girl didn't even believe her. "It was very safe until I came up against the ivy. Here, look." She threw open the shutters and pointed. "See where that vine is pulled away from the wall? I did that when I almost fell."

Margaret leaned out the window, then started climbing out onto the ledge to see clearer.

"No, no! Don't go. It's not safe." Carolly couldn't believe the panic that clutched her at the thought of Margaret standing out there. Even though she knew the near ledge was fairly safe, she was nearly hyperventilating at the thought.

Margaret, of course, had no qualms. "But you did it," she said, her voice muffled as she pushed her torso further out.

"That's different." Carolly firmly tugged the child inside.

"Why?"

Carolly bit her lip. Why? She couldn't really tell Margaret that she didn't fear death because she was an angel. James would have a fit. Instead, she chose her own version of the truth.

“Because I'd die of heart failure if I saw you crawling that far above the ground."

"But you said it was safe."

"Don't do it because your uncle would kill me," Carolly tried.

Finally, she'd hit upon something Margaret understood. To Carolly's enormous relief, the girl sighed in agreement. But it was a heavy, heavy sigh, and the child cast longing looks at the window. "Will we still go into the village?" she asked with a long face.

Carolly frowned. "Yes. Why wouldn't we?"

"Because Uncle will not like that either."

"Oh."

"He says it is not safe."

"Hmmm." Carolly thought. James was probably exaggerating the danger. He simply didn't want Margaret wandering off alone. But they should be safe as long as they stayed together. Besides, Carolly had to see the conditions in the village, and for that she needed a guide. Any of the maids or footmen would have to ask for permission, and then James would find out.

She wasn't entirely sure why she was reluctant for James to know of her upcoming adventure. The thought of tooling around town with him sent an excited thrill through her body. But she strongly suspected that James would not want to broadcast the fact that a mad Bedlamite was living at his house, which meant he would refuse the trip. Which meant she would never get to see the village for herself.

Besides, she reminded herself with a sigh, she had to get Margaret and herself out of the house if James and Miss Hornswallow were ever going to get together.

Which meant that she and Margaret would go to town together.

Shrugging off her misgivings, she turned on her brightest smile. "You leave your uncle to me. With any luck, he won't even know we're gone."

Margaret tilted her head, clearly considering her options. Carolly held her breath while the precocious child thought.

"All right," the girl finally said. "But I get to drive."

Drive? It took a moment before Carolly realized Margaret meant a wagon or carriage or whatever they used to go to town.

"Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Absolutely." Margaret spoke with a ten-year-old's certainty. Alarms went off in Carolly's head, but she really didn't have much choice; no matter how bad Margaret was at driving a carriage, she was probably a good deal better than Carolly. She just had to keep the little girl safe.

"It's a deal," Carolly finally said. She could only pray James never found out.

***

Letting a ten-year-old drive a gig was like letting a teenager play around with a Ferrari, except there wasn't a seat belt. Margaret apparently knew the basics—the stuff Carolly could have figured out herself. You sat in the front and said something like "giddy-up" and the horses went forward. But Margaret didn't just say "giddy-up." She flicked the reins not once, not twice, but four times until they zipped along a rutted road at what felt like warp speed. Carolly felt like she was going down the slalom without bothering to avoid the bumps.

"Uh, Mags, could we please slow down?"

Margaret had on a wide grin of ecstasy and wasn't listening. Then Carolly looked a little harder at the two brown horses in front of her. Something about them seemed odd. Sure, she didn't know much about team horses, but she didn't think they ought to be snorting and throwing their heads like that. That's what wild horses looked like in the movies.

"Mag—" Her word jolted right back into her throat as they went over another big rut. That's when she started to get a really bad feeling.

She decided it was time to put a stop to this ride before she permanently damaged her tailbone.

"Margaret! Slow down!"

This time, the girl heard. She pulled back on the ribbons. Or at least it looked like she did. Carolly waited for the telltale slowing of the vehicle.

Nothing.

"Maaaaiee!" Another huge bump, and Carolly had to grab the edge to keep from flying out. If they kept this up, they'd lose a wheel for sure. "Damn it, Mags! Slow down!"

"I’m trying!" The girl's voice came out as a wail of panic. One quick look told Carolly the only thing keeping Margaret from hysteria was lack of breath.

Without thinking, Carolly encircled the child with her arms, covering Margaret's hands with her own, and together they pulled backwards, reining in the horses. Except they were on a downhill slope, and the horses and gig gained speed as they went. Even as the two of them pulled back, the weight of the carriage pushed the horses on.

Carolly cursed loudly and fluently while searching the floor. "Where the hell is the damn brake?” She flailed her feet in a wide arc, hoping to hit something, anything that might resemble a pedal. "Mags! Wh—ow! Where's the brake?”

Carolly wasn't watching the girl's face, but she felt Margaret's body jerk with sudden understanding. While Carolly tried to control the now panicked horses, Margaret wormed her fingers free, then reached out and pulled back on a thick stick that Carolly hadn't paid any attention to.

"Right here!"

Carolly didn't have time to sigh in relief, but she did send a brief prayer of thanks to God as they began to slow.

Crack!

"Oh, no!"

Carolly glanced over, only to gasp in horror as Margaret held up the broken brake handle. She looked back at the horses. Something was wrong with them. They were heaving like tormented beasts, headed straight to the curve at the bottom of the hill. All she could do was haul backward on the reins while her mind repeated a movie slogan:

Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

She didn't have to be told. Coming to a quick decision, Carolly dropped the leads, grabbed Margaret, and screamed, "We've got to bail!"

"What?”

"Jump!"

Carolly wrapped her arms around the young girl and tensed for the right moment.

"Now!"

They leaped together, landing in the muddy ditch at the side of the road. Carolly rolled, doing her best to hold on to Margaret, but the child was ripped from her arms. Off in the distance, she heard a crash as the gig hit and splintered against the trees at the bottom of the hill. As soon as she tumbled to a stop, she pushed to her knees, ignoring the pain she only now began to feel.

"Mags!" Her voice came out as a soft croak, so she took a deep breath and tried again. "Mags! Where are you?” She'd kill herself if anything had happened to the girl.

Wiping away the mud and leaves, Carolly crawled out of the ditch. Thankfully, she had landed mostly in mud, which meant that, although she was filthy, she was at least alive and generally whole. She could only pray Margaret was equally fortunate.