Alex's Angel (5 page)

Self-conscious, she instinctively drew her cloak’s edges together.

“You’re suddenly so far away,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth. “Did I do that?”

A glimmer in his eyes made her think he might be mocking her. Panic washed over her. Had he guessed that she wasn’t a real harlot? She wished she knew how to gain some sway over the conversation—some sway over him. If only she were able to affect him even a tenth of the way he affected her. But she didn’t know how. Her sense of vulnerability was so raw that she drew coldness over herself as a protective blanket. She glanced down at the table. “I simply don’t like being ogled for free.”

“So you’re expensive? Excellent. I hate cheap women.” The humour in his tone made her bristle.

Oh, fine for him to make quips about the situation, but for her this was a matter of do or die. And he held all the power. It was his choice whether he wanted to spend his money on her tonight.

As if reading her thoughts, he tossed some money down on the table.

She glanced up.

He smiled a lazy smile that set her body tingling. “Lead me upstairs.”

His words crashed over her like a tidal wave of icy water. Her hands shook and sweat poured out all over her.

Oh, God. The moment was upon her. Oh, God. She wasn’t ready.

This was how it happened? Just like that—so bluntly? Without
any
coaxing or wooing? Her heart dropped back down to where it belonged and pounded against her ribcage as if it wanted to jump clear from her body.

She’d never be ready.

She reached for her wineglass.

He touched her hand, feathering his fingers over hers.

Her hand shook on the glass and the wine sloshed. A vision splashed across her mind. The dance of firelight upon the walls, fine linen sheets sliding like silk against her bare body, strong hands reaching for her, touching her, pulling her close to his naked, utterly masculine body, his whispers in her ear…

Her insides went all fluttery and she inhaled deeply. When she’d come here tonight, she hadn’t thought much about being bedded by a man beyond the money. She especially hadn’t anticipated that there would be any pleasure associated with it. But here with this man, she could
feel
how it would be.

She hadn’t expected to be able to choose a man—certainly never a handsome and charming one. But he
was
her choice.

Suddenly, she felt lighter than she had in all the days since she’d first decided to sell herself. She did a have a modicum of power in this situation.

He dropped his hand from hers.

She immediately brought the glass to her lips and gulped half of the remaining contents. It burnt all the way down, centring her.

“Well?”

His commanding tone sent her nerves bristling. So did the way he tapped the stack of bills. She took a closer look. Twenty dollars lay on the table. Enough money to pay her rent, yes, but still…

She took another deep breath, set the glass down and flicked her gaze back to his. “Can’t you ask any better than that?”

His deep, rich laugh sent another thrill through her, right down to her very toes. “I see—expensive and hard to acquire.”

Retrieving the money, he pulled aside his frockcoat to stash the bills in his waistcoat, his body rippling against the close-fitting, striped satin.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

How would it feel to be held against that trim, hard waist? Her nipples pebbled and another wave of tingling heat centred in her sex.

His hand froze halfway into his pocket. Looking up from his abdomen, she met his eyes. His expression was a shade speculative and maybe a bit amused. Dear heavens, he’d caught her ogling his midsection. Her face flamed and she glanced away quickly.

Had she just ruined her chance with him? Was he totally put off now? Oh, what a stupid, green girl she’d proved herself to be. She wanted nothing more desperately than to hide her feelings. She’d show him that his rejection didn’t matter.

“You might still stand a chance with her,” she said, nodding at the curvy redhead, who sat with several mariners, giggling.

 
“She’ll be around. I’d rather talk to you.” He tapped her gloved hand with a natural authority that rankled her. Grandmother had never ceased in her complaints about how arrogant gentlemen were.

She jerked her hand away. “Just like a man—so smugly sure of your appeal.”

“And just how much do you know of men?”

“Oh, I’ve had many—all quite handsome and wealthy,” she rejoined, in what she hoped was a casual tone.

He narrowed his eyes speculatively. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

He laughed. This time it was a soft, sensual sound that sent delicious shivers down her spine. “More like fifteen, possibly sixteen, but a very immature sixteen.”

“I’m nineteen!”

A small, satisfied smile spread over his lips and she regretted her outburst. In fact, she itched to wipe the smugness off his face. She took a deep breath and continued far more sedately. “The women in my family age very slowly. My grandmother looks about fifty.”

“Tell me something—why aren’t you with her now?”

She stared at him blankly, her heart pounding in short jags of rapid beats.

Grandmother was dead.

For ever and ever.

She didn’t want to talk about it.

Quickly, she rolled one shoulder up. “I refuse to live under her thumb.”

“Ah, and you’d rather have men vie for your favours in a Hell City tavern?”

“Something like that.” Suddenly, his glibness was wearing thin.

He picked up her hand and held it. He traced his fingertips over her palm in a light, sensual fashion. Even through her gloves she could feel the sparking fire of his touch. Without warning, heat flared through her whole body, centring directly between her thighs. This time, wetness flooded her. Heavens, it was going to soak through her shift and petticoats. Thank God she was wearing her cloak.

She’d known her own tendencies to be a wanton. It had been a secret covered by the darkness during nights in her own bed. But she’d never suspected herself capable of such immediate, intense responses just to be touched by some strange man.

“I sympathise,” he said. “My father expected that I’d attend Harvard and be a model scholar. But at thirteen I wasn’t of a mind to waste my time with my nose pressed in old books, reading about dead men. I signed on to a privateer instead.”

Her mouth dropped open. He’d said that so casually. How could anyone throw away the chance of a higher education?

Something burnt through her. Envy. At thirteen, with her schoolmaster grandfather newly deceased, she’d been made to put aside her studies. She’d been trapped under her grandmother’s watchful eye and forced to concentrate on insipid things. Needlepoint, bland watercolour paintings of sedate sunsets, the proper way to serve tea and make boring, polite conversation.

She’d have given anything to be able to study at college and continue the stimulating education her grandfather had introduced her to. This man had thrown it all away to muck about with mariners.

For a sun god, he wasn’t very wise.

“Oh? And how did life at sea suit you?” she asked coldly.

“At first I found it very exciting.”

His tone didn’t match his words. It sounded as if he was speaking of attending a funeral. She looked up. His beautiful eyes gazed past her, tortured, as they peered into some distant yet well-remembered hell. He grimaced—a mask of anguish so intense that she sucked in her breath. An echoing, piercing pain blossomed in her chest, followed by a bone-deep ache to know him, to be able to understand what had caused such torment.

She arched her back, leaning forward, laying her arms on the table, wishing she could get closer to him. Wishing that she dared to touch him. “Where did you sail?”

He picked up his wine glass and appeared to make a study of its contents.

“During the war, we captured fat British merchantmen throughout the Caribbean, then afterwards we traded with Europe.” His voice sounded flat, disconnected from those experiences.

She bit her lip, wondering what the right thing to say would be. Anything to keep him talking. “How exciting to see the world like that.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Exciting, eh?”

Something in his tone made her feel like a child. “I’ve never been outside of Philadelphia.”

He set the wine glass down and looked up, his pale eyes remote, as if he still didn’t really see her. He nodded slightly. “Oh, I certainly got to see some of the world.”

Then he chuckled, a sound so hollow and empty that it gave her sudden chills. She peered hard into his handsome face, trying to catch a glimpse of those distant, exotic places calling. All she saw was the self-mockery that quirked his lip upwards.

“After several years, I came home. In my absence, Father had sickened and he was having a hard time keeping his affairs in order. He was running himself into bankruptcy. I immediately took over the business. However, instead of enjoying some respite, he died the next spring.”

His voice resonated with such guilt that Emily’s heart gave a pang. She couldn’t keep herself from reaching out to touch his arm. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

He looked down at her hand and he compressed his lips. He pulled his arm away, then glanced at her, all that suffering and the faraway look gone, replaced by the same glib charm he’d displayed for the majority of the evening. “Well, thank you, but the loss isn’t so fresh now.”

She had the sense of a door being shut. The disappointment seemed crushing.

Alex veiled his eyes from Emily’s soul-piercing gaze. Yet he still
felt
her under his skin. Only once before had anyone invaded his feelings, his inner being like that, and it hadn’t been pleasant. He shifted in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.

What the hell had happened? How had he lost all control over the situation? He had ended up dumping out some of his history in a truly weak and embarrassingly emotional rush. To a tavern harlot—and a pitiful example of a tavern harlot, at that.

Damn it all, anyway. What was he doing still sitting here? He’d already ascertained that Green hadn’t hurt her too badly. And he’d satisfied his gentlemanly worry that she was some innocent kitten lost in the night.

Once again, he eyed his companion critically. Yes, she was far too thin and her face was all sharp angles. Like a little fox. Her complexion was sallow. And she was painfully young. Not to mention that ridiculously overstuffed and obviously false bosom.

Had she even looked in the mirror before deciding to go out like that? It wasn’t very promising. Elegant women who knew how to conduct themselves were what he enjoyed. He hadn’t intended to take this girl upstairs. And he’d certainly known that she was older than sixteen the moment he’d seen her walk. Her hips swayed like a woman’s.

An exceptionally sensual, sexually experienced woman.

 
But something about her prickly manner had driven him to try to provoke her. The way her eyes sparked at him had warmed his blood.

He gave himself an inward shake. There were other, truly beautiful, far more compliant Philadelphian women he might be with. Brigit, for one. He still hadn’t seen her since he’d come home, and her aggrieved note lay folded in his pocket. So what was he doing here with this girl, whom he would never in a hundred years take to his bed? Damned if he knew.

Maybe it was her air of innocence, yet knowing, the way her lithe body moved so sensually.

And she did have compelling eyes—large, lushly lashed and the colour of firelight through sherry. She had kept staring at him, staring into his soul. She possessed a brilliance about her. As if she held some special knowledge about how to live. Some wisdom that he had lost—or perhaps had never even possessed. But it fascinated him. Honestly, her inner fire warmed him. Had made him reluctant to leave her.

What nonsense. She was just a little tavern strumpet. And he’d wasted enough time—

Her sharp, hitching inhalation broke into his thoughts. She sneezed three times in a row. Her full bottom lip quivered in the aftermath. That mouth—his heartbeat quickened and all his blood went rushing south to swell his cock.

God, she had a lovely mouth.

He offered her his handkerchief, but she had her own. She blew her nose as delicately as any elegant lady.

“Are you hungry?” As soon as the words left his lips, he started. Had he really just asked her to supper? Yes, he feared he had. But Christ, she was so thin that her cheeks were hollow.

She could certainly use a decent meal. It was the humane thing to do.

“Hungry?” she asked, raising those huge, lushly lashed eyes to his.

“Yes. Perhaps you’d like a late supper?”

She glanced about and wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”

So, despite being a harlot in a Hell City tavern, she had discriminating tastes and high standards. He definitely approved. He chuckled softly. “Not here. Someplace where they serve palatable food.”