My Angel (35 page)

Alexi kept a harem
.

Concubine.

He paced the docks, unable to read the other letters, afraid of what Angela had gotten herself into. She was so naive in many ways, still a child at heart, even though her body was that of a grown woman. She trusted with her heart and soul.

The sun was low on the horizon. Night would fall soon, and he had nowhere to stay, except for the ship he'd booked passage on. The captain had told him he could sleep there if he wished, even though they weren't leaving for several days.

The merchant ship was bound for
Turkey
, and the captain had agreed to let him off in
Constantinople
. From there he'd have to find a way across the
Black Sea
. Once again he would be days behind Angela. By the time he reached her, she could be huge with child.

He didn't care, though. He'd love any child of Angela's. What worried him most was Angela's heart, and how badly it would break when she discovered Blackmoor's true character.

Giving in to his need for rest and privacy, Sam sought shelter in the cabin he'd secured aboard the
Martha Rose.
With a whiskey bottle on the table beside his bed and a filled glass in his hand, Sam opened the second missive.

Dearest Mama and Papa,

The trip across country is tiring but exciting. I've seen so many new, wonderful things.
Denver
is a big city, but it is nothing compared to
Philadelphia
and some of the other places Alexi has shown me.

He wired ahead and he says he has a surprise for me when we reach
New York City
. Nothing has changed. We still haven't spoken of marriage, but I fall more in love with him every day, and I know he wants me.

Of course he wanted her. What man wouldn't?

The way he looks at me makes me feel so strange deep inside. Is that the way you're supposed to feel when you really love someone? Is that how you feel when you are in love?

Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Yes, little one," he whispered. "It is how you feel when you're in love. I don't doubt you love that bastard. But if he's hurt you in any way, I'm going to kill him," Sam threw back his head and downed the glass
of whiskey in one swallow, relishing the burn in the back of his throat.

He calls me his sweet concubine now. I still don't know what that is, but the way he says it makes me feel cherished from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

"If you only knew, darling. I'm praying for you. When you find out what he really wants, don't give in to him. Whatever you do, sweetheart, don't bless him with your virtue. Hold on to it. I pray every day you see Devil Blackmoor for what he is: a cad and a reprobate."

Sam hurled another shot of whiskey down his throat. Unable to read further, he rolled a cigarette then stepped outside.

The night was clear and bathed in stars. Big Ben chimed the hour. The
Martha Rose
lay at anchor, waiting for her cargo to be loaded. Sam supposed he should be pleased that the captain had given him passage.

He flicked glowing hot embers into the air, watching as they floated lazily down to the river. His thoughts went out to Angela. He'd die for her. He wondered if Devil would do the same.

Inadvertently, he slipped his hand into his coat pocket. The third telegram still lay there, its tale untold. Icy fear gripped his heart. A deep foreboding swept through him. This letter needed reading, yet he'd prolonged the inevitable.

It would begin the same, but it wouldn't end on the same positive note as the others. Somehow he felt some of Angela's fear.

/
love him
so...

He had to force himself to read it. Sam reached into his pocket and opened it. Darkness shadowed the ink on the paper, and he couldn't easily see the words, but he could almost feel them.

"Chamberlain," he berated himself. "It's all in your head. You have no reason to be thinking the way you are. Angela loves the man. That won't change."

But Sam sensed it had.

Slowly he walked back to the cabin, facing the ordeal in front of him.

Dearest Papa and Mama,

I'm so confused and unhappy. I left this letter at the hotel. The clerk at the desk promised to send it. Alexi thinks I've lied to him. He walked out of the hotel and he hasn't come back in the longest time. I don't know what I did wrong but I've never seen him so angry.

I've decided to leave him. I won't stay with a man who thinks the worst of me. If you could meet me somewhere.
Kansas City
, maybe. Then I wouldn't have to go so far by myself.

I'm afraid, Papa.

Sam set the letter on the table. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life. His little girl was out there somewhere with a man who couldn't see the treasure he held in the palm of his hand. Blackmoor must have made love to her, and when he didn't get what he expected he must have pushed her aside.

What Sam didn't understand was why the man didn't let her go. Why Angela had to run from him. Well, she didn't get to
Kansas City
. And if his fears held any merit, she might be on her way to a Turkish harem.

"Son of a bitch!" He rose, toppling the table and the chairs. "Son of a bitch!" A chair crashed against one wall and shattered into a hundred pieces.

Sam didn't want to read on, but he knew he had to finish.

You have every right to be angry with me. I've been foolish and selfish. I've put my own wants and desires ahead of what is reasonable. I didn't think beyond my own wishes.

If you still want me to attend the finishing school, I will. I'll walk around with a book on my head all day, and learn which fork I'm supposed to eat oysters with and which wine to serve with the chicken.

Papa, I hate him. I hate him every bit as much as I said I loved him before. He's a despicable man. Papa, I love you. Take me home, please. Angela.

He would take her home if it was the last thing he did.

Chapter Twelve

The intelligent, logical thing to do would be to make love to Angela until she was out of his system, just as Misha had told him he should. But Alexi couldn't do that. He chose not to take her to his bed, not until she could learn to trust his affections, learn to believe in him. Not only would that clear the air- between them, it would cleanse him of the guilt he'd been harboring ever since he kidnapped her from
New York City
and set her on the
Mystic.

He could no longer deny that he'd abducted her, forced her against her will to travel with him across the ocean. All that after he'd seduced her then ignored her.

No wonder she acted confused one minute, furious the next. He'd hurt her. She had every right to those emotions.

He paused outside the door to his cabin. Without knocking, frustrated beyond endurance, he pushed open the door. She sat by the window, looking out, a pensive expression on her delicate features. She was dressed in a light blue gown, an off-the-shoulder affair that made her look almost ethereal. The bodice was cut daringly low, provocatively revealing the tops of her ivory breasts. She wore no petticoats, no corset--not even shoes. He reflected that in his homeland they'd both be quite indecent--he was barefoot, wearing breeches, and his shirt hung unbuttoned from his shoulders, revealing his chest. A bead of sweat ran down his back. Yes, his grandmother would
find him hard to swallow if she were to see him now. And Angela appeared far too fetching in her natural beauty, as delicate and angelic as the mythical sirens who lured sailors to their deaths with the magic of their voices.

When he cleared his throat, she turned to face him, her eyes shadowed, her smile gone. She looked vulnerable and lonely.

Angela held her hands in her lap. Her hair was pulled back, severely so, and tied into a tight bun at the base of her neck. Before the evening finished, she'd be in his arms, her hair wild and natural down her back.

Then her appearance would not be that of an angel, but of a wanton.

Alexi stepped into the room, letting the door slam behind him. He strode inside and stopped at the table.

"Did you mean what you said?" he asked with an indifference he didn't feel as he studied her carefully, taking note of her fidgeting hands and the paleness of her cheeks.

Angela watched him, then after a moment shook her head. She trembled slightly, her lower lip held still by her upper teeth.

"I committed to nothing." Her voice was shallow and thready. She'd never appeared more beautiful and vulnerable than she did right now. Her sadness besieged him, tore at his heart as nothing else could. He'd meant to make her happy, had never meant for any of this to happen.