Angel's Devil (2 page)

He straightened
to give her a surly look. "What's that?"

"Stop striking
that animal! Can't you see it's merely frightened?'
 

The man gave
the dog's leash a hard yank, and the animal let out a howl. "The mutt's a
watchdog, miss. It ain't supposed to be frightened."

"Fenley!"
A well-dressed man leaned over the railing above them. "What's the delay?
Get those dogs on board immediately!"

"Aye,
milord," Fenley returned. "It's only this blasted brute keeping
us." He glowered and raised the stick again.

Incensed, Angel
swung her reticule at him. The bag, containing several metal-cast soldiers for
her brother, struck him hard in the arm.

"Why,
you-!" Fenley protested, raising one hand to ward her off.

"You are
not to hit that dog!" Angel snapped.

The mastiff
looked up at her and gave one pitiful wag of its drooping tail.

"Is
something amiss, my lady?" the man called down. "Yes! This man
insists on beating this poor creature simply because it's afraid."

The man stroked
his moustache. "You must understand, my lady, we sail with the tide."

"That is
no excuse for brutality," she returned.

A group of
soldiers behind her was exchanging coins, and the nearest dockworkers had set
down their loads to watch the amusement.

"You are
correct. My apologies." The man looked at his kennelman. "Fenley,
give her the leash. My lady, thank you for your concern. I am certain Brutus
will be more content in your care than in mine." He doffed his hat.
"Good day."

Angelique
watched, somewhat stunned, as Fenley untangled the mastiff's leash and handed
it over to her. "Glad to be rid of ye, ye stupid mutt," he snarled.
The animal growled at him.

The other dogs
bounded up the ramp and into the ship.

Angelique
looked down at her new charge. "Oh, my," she muttered. Brutus wagged
his tail at her.

The soldiers
laughed and more coins were exchanged, though she couldn't imagine what they
might be wagering on this time. With a grimace, she wrapped the leash around
her wrist and tugged. Mama and Papa weren't going to like this. Her brother and
sister had been wanting a dog, though, and they would simply have to
understand. Brutus fell in beside her, and they headed back toward the
carriages.

Halfway there
the mastiff spotted the crates of chickens.

With a
thunderous bark he was off, dragging Angelique bebind him. It was all she
could do to stay on her feet. "Brutus, stop!" The dog bounded atop
the nearest crate, smashing it open. A dozen chickens exploded out onto the
pier, Brutus after every one of them. "Brutus, no!" she yelled.

The mastiff
changed directions to lunge after another bird.

Angel spun
around, and slammed hard into someone. Startled, she tried to push away, but
Brutus bounded behind them, tangling them in his leash and effectively binding
them together. Angelique shut her eyes for a moment.

"I'm so
sorry," she mumbled into a broad chest Her mother was going to be furious.

"In some
African tribes, this would make us married," a dry male voice returned.

Angel looked
up. His arms reflexively gripping her waist, a tall, lean man with windswept
black hair looked down at her with amused emerald eyes. "In others, it
would mean we're being prepared for supper," she returned, abruptly less
upset than she had been a moment earlier.

The man grinned.
"Your dog seems quite determined."

"He's just
barely my dog," Angel admitted, tugging at the leash in a vain effort to
rein in the barking mastiff.

"I
saw," her fellow captive returned. "So is it matrimony, or shall I
attempt to untangle us?"

Angel grinned
back at him, relieved that he wasn't angry.

"Untangling for the moment,
I
think. We can discuss the rest once we've been introduced."

Green eyes
dancing, her rescuer freed the leash from her wrist and then hauled on the
braided leather. With a surprised woof Brutus sat back on his haunches, and
taking Angel through two quick turns elegant enough to be worthy of Almack's
assembly, the stranger had them free. He scratched Brutus's head when the
canine stood and wagged its tail at him. "I knew there was a reason I
should sail back to England today. James Faring, at your service."

"Thank you
for your assistance, Mr. Faring," Angel replied, smoothing her rumpled
blue muslin skirt. From his dress and manner of speech her rescuer was
obviously a member of the upper classes, but she was positive he hadn't
attended any of the Season's events. She would certainly remember having met
James Faring.

"My
pleasure," he replied, inclining his head. "After your brave rescue
of . . . " He gestured at the mastiff.

"Brutus,"
she supplied, grinning.

"Of
Brutus," he repeated, "it seemed the least I—could do to perform my
own." He grinned ruefully. "Though I was a bit tardy, I'm
afraid."

"No one
was killed, or eaten, so I believe you were in time.”

He laughed.
"If I may ask, what is a young lady of quality doing alone in Dover?"

"I'm not
alone," Angel corrected, guiltily glancing about for her father.

"Not any
longer." He grinned at her again. "After all, we are practically
engaged, are we not?"

"And after
such a short courtship," she returned smoothly.

"But a
very entertaining one."

Entertaining or
not, if one of the patronesses of Almack's had viewed any of this incident she
would be banned from the Assembly for life. And aside from that, she remembered,
belatedly, a lady, and especially an engaged one, did not converse with strange
men. "Excuse me. I must be going."

She reached for
Brutus's leash, but Mr. Faring shook his head. "Please, allow me to
complete my rather pitiful rescue attempt," he requested, and motioned her
to lead the way.

"Are you
certain?" Angel queried, relieved that she wouldn't have to haul the
mastiff across the remainder of the pier.

"It is my
infinite pleasure." He fell into step with her, Brutus beside him.

He was limping.
"Did I—we—do that?" she queried, dismayed.

James Faring
grimaced. "No. That is from a different rescue entirely."

"You often
come to the aid of dazed and overwhelmed women, then?" she returned
lightly.

"Only ones
as thoroughly charming as you. You are an angel."

Angel chuckled.
"And how did you know that, Mr. Faring?" she queried, raising an
eyebrow.

Mr. Faring
looked nonplussed, but before he could respond, Lord Penston and her father
arrived.

"James
Faring," the baron cried, extending his hand. "Jamie, it's good to
see you. They placed bets at White's on the time and place of your demise, you
know."

James Faring
returned the handshake, but this time his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Old Bonie had a go at me, that's for certain," he replied.
"It'll be good to get home." He glanced over at the line of carriages
waiting for passengers at the edge of the teeming pier. "My transportation,
however, doesn't appear to have arrived." He grimaced. "Looks as
though I'll be hiring a hack."

So he had
fought under Wellington. The bulk of the army had returned to England more than
a month ago, though, and she couldn't imagine what he had been doing still in
France. He wasn't in uniform, but wore a well-cut gray jacket and breeches and
a pair of excellent quality Hessian boots, a large paw print currently marring
the perfect polish of one of them.

Angel glanced
up in the direction of the shops as her mother and the baroness emerged from a
doorway and started toward them. She looked down at the happily panting Brutus.
Whatever excuse she gave, her mother would still be appalled at her new
acquisition and at her subsequent behavior, and no doubt she would hear about
her irresponsibility and impulsiveness all the way back to London.

"You must
ride with us," she offered brightly, avoiding her father's startled look.
Having a guest in the coach would do wonders in keeping her mother's tirade to
a minimum.

"That's
right," the baron seconded helpfully. "Thomas bas a good team. Better
than a bloody hired back." The stout man glanced over at Angel's father.
"Damn me and my manners. Just so surprised to see you alive, lad. This is
Thomas Graham, the Earl of Niston, and his daughter, Angelique. Thomas, Jamie
Faring, the Marquis of-"

"James,"
James Faring, the Marquis of Something, interrupted. He shook her father's
hand. "And we've met, I believe?"

"Several
years ago, yes," Angel's father intoned. "Never had a chance to
convey my condolences about your father. He was a good man."

The marquis
nodded. "Yes, he was. Thank you."

Niston glanced
over at his daughter. "Saw what happened. Thank you for assisting my Angel."
Despite his words he didn't look pleased, and Angel wondered whether it was Brutus
or her invitation that bad put him out of sorts.

"My
pleasure." The amused smile returned to James Faring's lips, and to his
eyes. "So you are indeed an Angel."

Her mother and
Lady Penston had reached them, yet another stack of packages in tow. Her
mother's look of trepidation at their new acquaintance was even more
pronounced than her father's had been, and Angel wondered for a moment if the
marquis would get her in more trouble than the dog was likely to.

The marquis
nodded to the women and stepped closer to Angel. "If you'll excuse
me," he said, apparently sensing that his welcome was less than assured,
"I'd best be on my way." He offered the end of the leash to her, his
eyes catching hers as their fingers brushed.

Angel's father
cleared his throat. "My daughter is correct You would be welcome to
accompany us," be offered. "As Penston said, while my horseflesh
might not measure up to your standards, my coach is considerably more
well-sprung than a hack."

"Your team
is splendid," Angel cut in indignantly. She had helped pick them out,
after all.

Her father
smiled "But we are speaking to a man who owns one of the finest stables in
England." He motioned at the marquis. "My lord?"

"I, ah . .
. " James glanced over at Angelique and gave a slight smile. "I would
be grateful." He gestured behind him. "Just let me get my bag."

"I'm
surprised he's even standing," the baron muttered as the marquis limped
back toward the end of the pier.

"Why do
you say that?" Angel asked.

"His
position was overrun at Waterloo," Penston answered, "and he was mad
enough to stand his ground. First rumor was that he was dead, second was that
he'd live, but he'd lost an arm and a leg. Devil's own luck, that one."

The baron and
baroness headed for their carriage, while her father filled in her mother about
Angel's rescue of Brutus and helped them both into their own coach. Without
coaxing, Brutus jumped in and lay at her feet. Camellia, Lady Niston, glared at
the animal; then, obviously feeling there was something more pressing that
needed her attention, turned on her husband. "Thomas, I can't believe you
offered that man a ride to London in our carriage," she snapped.

Niston leaned
up into the coach. "He saved Angel from being dragged all over Dover,
Cammy."

That sent
Camellia's gaze in her daughter's direction.

"That's
right, young lady. I don't know why we bothered to hire that endless string of
governesses for you when you can't seem to remember for longer than two minutes
how to behave like a lady. I shudder to think how Simon Talbott would react to
seeing you like this. Now perhaps you understand why we insisted you wait a
year before your wedding, and why we've refrained from announcing the
engagement. This outrageous behavior must stop. And that . . . dog must
go."

That hardly
seemed fair, and there had only been seven or eight stuffy governesses, not an
endless string, as her mother so frequently exaggerated. "Simon wouldn't
mind. And Brutus—"

"A lady
does not shout, nor does she fling her reticule, or her skirts, about for the
world to view," her mother cut in.

"What was
I supposed to do, then?" Angel protested. Lady Niston glared at her
daughter.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"
Angelique repeated incredulously. "That deuced—"

"Angel"
her mother admonished.

"That
awful man," she amended unwillingly, "was hitting Brutus."
         
.

"That is
beside the point," her mother returned, ignoring Angel's exasperated
expression. "When a lady is given a choice between being involved in a
scandal and doing nothing, she does nothing:'

"I did
not
cause a scandal," Angel retorted. "I
saved a poor, frightened dog."