Shana Galen (2 page)

The door flew open and two men burst in with pistols pointing at Cade. One’s face was disguised by a high collar and an old-fashioned Elizabethan hat pulled low over his eyes. The other’s collar was still turned up, but he must have lost his hat because Charlotte could see he had blond hair and an angry expression. The blond one ordered Cade to drop his weapon. Cade shook his head.

“Dewhurst. I should have known.” He turned to Charlotte, and his eyes widened as he noted the arm about her neck. Then he raised and pointed his pistol at her. Her heart stopped, causing a sharp pain to lance her chest. Then he fired, and the window behind her exploded in a shower of glass. Her assailant cried out as glass shards pierced his skin, and his hold on her loosened. Cade leaped forward, knocked the man’s hand away from her throat, and grasped her wrist.

“Lottie, listen to me.” He tried to force her to rise, but, paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t move.

Charlotte wanted to scream, but the authority in Cade’s voice was too compelling to resist. She stared at him.

“I must go, but know this. I will come for you. I will come!” He kissed her hard, then released her just as the man behind the divan reached forward and caught her skirt again. Then she was tumbling down, her fall broken with the thud of her head against the floor.

The world fell down around her. She heard glass crunching beneath boots, muffled voices, shouts, and gunfire. Cade was beside her, struggling with the man behind the divan, and Charlotte took the opportunity to roll away. There was another gunshot, and just when she was certain the next bullet would be for her, she was grabbed by another man, hauled to her knees, and dragged across the room. She fought to rise to her feet, and when she finally succeeded, he was yelling at her.

She gaped at him. It was the blond man Cade had recognized, and this close he resembled a golden angel.

“I say, stop flailing about,” the angel said again. “You’re ruining my tailcoat.” He pulled her to her feet. “Can you stand, or shall I be forced to prop you up all afternoon?”

“I—I can stand.”

The angel nodded and released his hold. She stepped back, surveying the destruction with amazement. Cade was gone, and she couldn’t imagine how he’d escaped, unless—had he gone through the shattered window? Not only had the window been smashed, the divan was overturned, books and papers lay scattered on the floor, and there was a man with a pool of blood around his head lying not a foot from where she’d fallen. With a jolt, Charlotte clutched the thin fabric of her dress. Cade had deserted her.

I will come for you.
Trembling and petrified, Charlotte held on to Cade’s words like a lifeboat in stormy seas.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” the angel said. Charlotte was in no danger of fainting, but she had to shove her fist up against her lips because she was in serious danger of screaming. The man gave her a stern look. “And don’t cry.” He turned to his companion. “How is he?”

The other man knelt on the floor beside the bloodied man and shook his head. “Pettigru, that bastard, shot him before he went out the window. He’s dead.”

Charlotte turned away, inadvertently landing in the angel’s arms. She tried to step away, but he took her elbow and held fast.

“This is a mare’s nest,” the angel said to his companion. “Pettigru’s escaped, the neighbors have probably called the watch, and where the
devil did this bird come from?” He shook her arm, and Charlotte realized she must be the
bird.

“Damned if I know,” the other man said, standing and wiping the blood from his hands on a rag. He removed his hat and lowered his collar then, and Charlotte was amazed at how much he resembled the angel. His eyes, a startling blue, met hers, and his angry expression changed to an engaging smile. “‘What lady’s that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?’”

Charlotte blinked in confusion. Beside her, the angel muttered, “Oh, dash it. Not now.”

The angel’s companion came closer. He was dressed in Venetian breeches, a white shirt with pleated ruffles, and—Charlotte narrowed her eyes—a doublet? “‘O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night as a rich jewel—’”

“Stubble it, Romeo. We don’t have time for poetry at present.”

His companion ignored him and took her free hand, kissed it, and said, “Sir Sebastian Middleton. Charmed to make your acquaintance.”

Charlotte blinked again. A moment before, bullets had been flying and she’d been choking. Now this man was acting as though they were performing in a Shakespearean production. Had the lack of air caused her to hallucinate?

No, she was still in Cade’s office, and there was still a dead man on the floor. Charlotte glanced at
the angel beside her. “Is he mad?” She pointed to the man called Middleton.

“Mad? Absolutely. No cure. We call the illness Fits of Shakespeare.”

Charlotte wasn’t sure if she should laugh or express sympathy, but then there was another crash, and Charlotte turned to see Addy kick the office door open. Charlotte was thankful for the angel’s hand on her arm, especially when three huffing men burst in after Addy. Once inside, they pounced on Addy, and one of them, red-faced though younger and stronger than Addy, said, “Caught her, my lord.” He nodded to the angel. “She put up a fight.”

“Wot’s going on in there?” Someone outside banged on the door.

“Ah, that would be the neighbors and the welcome party I predicted,” the angel said.

“What do we do with her?” one of the men holding Addy asked.

“To the ship!” Middleton cried, extracting a sword from the belt around his waist and brandishing it like a pirate.

“No!” Charlotte screamed at the same time the angel said, “Ship?”

“We’ll never make it through the crowds with these two.” Middleton waved the sword at Charlotte and Addy. “The river’s the only way. We’ll sail for Westminster.”

“No ships,” the angel said. Charlotte nodded. She had no intention of going anywhere with these lunatics.

“Buck up, man,” Middleton said. “It’s only a little water.” And then he jumped through the window and motioned for the rest to follow.

The angel’s grip tightened. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. Come on.”

“No!” Charlotte protested. Who knew where this fallen angel and his demon followers might take her or what he might do to her and Addy? Apparently unaffected by her struggles, the angel pushed her forward. “Stop! Unhand me, sir.” She managed to wriggle one hand free and grabbed the desk, holding on until the angel wrested her away. She retaliated by biting his hand.

He jumped back, shaking his hand incredulously. “Ow! Little hellion bit me!”

But he’d released her, and she made for the divan, scrambling toward the door in a desperate bid to free herself. The angel caught her ankle and dragged her back, ruching her skirt to her knees. “Stop fighting.”

She ignored him and fought harder. And then she felt him run a finger over the back of one knee, and she froze. “Stop fighting. There are worse things than leaving with us. Cease or I might begin to wonder if you’re this much of a hellcat in bed.” His breath tickled her neck, and the effect
was complete paralysis. The angel took advantage of the truce and heaved her through the window, into Middleton’s waiting arms.

And then, while Charlotte stood on the other side of the window, she saw the angel inside bow to Addy, and she could swear that the man who’d threatened her with violence a moment before said to Addy in a most charming voice, “After you, madam.”

Addy looked confused but she obeyed, and soon the whole party was dashing toward the wharf a few yards away. There was a trim yacht tied there, and before Charlotte could even think of escape, much less plan one, she was below-decks, thrust onto a berth, and the angel was standing above her with a length of rope.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but I can’t be seen about Town with teeth marks on my person. Not a’tall fashionable.” He made a move to take her arms and she glared, at which point his face turned hard and his voice harder. “I can see I shall have to be blunt with you. Bite me again, little hellion, and I’ll pull out your teeth.”

Charlotte blinked, but she didn’t struggle this time when he took her arms and then proceeded to bind her wrists behind her back.

“If you attempt another escape, I’ll be forced to bind your feet as well.”

Charlotte took a shaky breath, pushing herself deeper into the berth and as far away from the
devil’s angel as possible. Tears of exhaustion and fear threatened to spill forth, and she concentrated on keeping them at bay. With her hands tied, she felt vulnerable and defenseless, and she wished she could shrink until she was invisible.

But who were these men anyway, and what had they wanted with Cade? Why had Cade run and left her and Addy to fend for themselves? The angel was binding Addy now, but he was being far more civil to her servant. “You must forgive me for this,” he was saying. And then he asked, “Are those too tight?”

Charlotte scowled. He hadn’t asked her if her bindings were too tight. Insolent Brit. She wanted to kick him, tear his eyes out. As though he could read her mind, the angel turned from Addy and fixed jade green eyes on her. And for the first time, Charlotte saw him clearly.

George Washington, he was no mere angel. Archangel was a more apt description of this man with golden locks. Perhaps fallen angel might do, as his hair was in disarray and long enough that it curled about his neck. But his nose was straight and patrician, cheekbones high and pronounced, eyes accented by slashing brows, a shade darker than his hair color. His eyes on her were intent, his mouth tight. “What is your name?” he asked. The low tenor of his voice was marred by the clipped British accent she so hated.

She sat straighter. Showing her fear was the
surest way to defeat. Men, whether creditors in Charleston or thieves in London, were the same. They thrived on fear and intimidation. And this man was the sort she hated most. At first she’d thought him a fool—a macaroni, as her fellow Charlestonians would say—but now she understood that was only a façade. This man was a warrior, and he would view compassion and emotion as little more than weakness and surrender.

“I said, what is your name.” It was no longer a question.

Charlotte made a fist under the table, digging her nails into her palm to fortify her resolve not to relent.

“Is that any way to treat this heavenly creature—this sun?” Middleton elbowed the angel out of his way. “‘Arise fair sun. It is my lady. O, it is my love!’” Middleton knelt before her. “What is thy name, fair maid?”

Charlotte exchanged a look with Addy. Addy’s expression said it was clear the man was madder than a loon. Charlotte looked back, and Middleton was watching her expectantly. She hadn’t wanted to give her name, but it was difficult to feel threatened by this Sebastian Middleton. He was no warrior. And she supposed that, given the choice, she’d rather deal with him than the fallen angel.

“Charlotte Burton.”

“Where are you from, Miss Burton?” the
archangel asked, stepping in once again where he’d not been invited. “You don’t sound English.”

Charlotte twisted her bound hands. Should she tell the truth? Lie? Too late, she regretted giving anything away.

The angel bent closer, pushing Middleton aside, and notched her chin up with one long, aristocratic finger. Charlotte’s pulse quickened with fear, and she looked past him at the cabin door. But even if she’d been willing to desert Addy, there were two men between it and her; not to mention, her wrists were still bound. Oh, how she wished she had even the meager freedom to put a hand between the fallen angel and herself.

“Miss Burton. I don’t think you realize the gravity of your situation,” the archangel said, his breath warm on her cheek. “I heard what Pettigru said to you before he ran through that shattered window. Now I want to know who you are, what you mean to Pettigru, and what you know about his activities in London and Paris. Either talk or I will be forced—much to my regret, but I assure you I will do it—to employ stronger methods of persuasion.”

Charlotte stared at him. She believed him. His warrior’s eyes were hard as emeralds. He looked…ruthless. She took a shaky breath. What information did she have that these men could use against her? Against Cade? Whatever he had done, she had to protect him. Addy, too.
“Very well,” she said with a last gulp of breath. “Do what you will to me, but you mustn’t hurt my maid.”

Middleton laughed. “We couldn’t if we tried. That woman is strong as an ox.”

The archangel’s gaze did not waver from Charlotte’s. “You have my word that no harm will come to your”—he paused—“servant. Now who are you, and what is your relationship with Mr. Pettigru?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m no one. Cade and I are old friends from Charleston. I came to…visit.”

“Where is this Charles Town? In the colonies?”

Charlotte felt her fear subside and the heat rise to her face. “Colonies? It is in the state of South Carolina, sir.
State
. We are no longer your colonies.” The archangel looked unrepentant, despite her chastisement. “Furthermore, the name is not Charles Town.” She made an effort to pronounce it in the harsh, clipped way he did. “It’s Charleston.”

“And the dark-skinned woman is your slave?”

Charlotte opened her mouth to answer, then paused, considering her answer. “Not in the way you mean.”

The archangel raised a brow. “Does she work for you?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Does she receive wages?”

“No, but—”

“Then she is a slave. Despicable.” He waved a hand, dismissing her protest. “What exactly is your business with Mr. Pettigru?”

Charlotte shook away the hair that had fallen in her eyes. Somewhere she had lost her bonnet, and her bound hands itched to brush the loose tendrils from her face. “That, sir, is none of your concern.”

“I see. How long have you been Mr. Pettigru’s…companion? Who else do you service?”

Charlotte stared. “Are you suggesting I am a—I am Cade’s—” She swallowed, unable to find the words. Cade was a friend, her brother’s friend—nothing more. Hot, heavy shame coiled in her belly at the insinuation. The angel arched his brows, his expression arrogant and knowing. Charlotte seethed. He knew
nothing.
Instead of ignoring the comment, she spluttered, “How dare you, sir!”