Angel's Fall

by Kimberly Cates

  Maybe for the brightest and most brief of moments he'd dreamed it was possible. But it hadn't taken long for bleak reality to crush such fantasies.

  How had he gotten into this accursed predicament? He'd been so blasted careful not to let anyone near his heart. He'd learned from his love for Gavin what incredible pain could result.

  Yet Juliet hadn't stolen his heart. Sabrehawk hadn't possessed a heart for her to steal. Juliet was his heart. Everything good and decent that remained in Adam was caught in the cup of her hand. Not that it mattered. She was as far beyond his touch as Gavin's fabled moon-lady who plaited her silver tresses with ribbons of night. And she hated him now. The agony of it wrenched inside him.

  Hell, from the time he'd been an unruly boy, Adam had been clumsy as a dragon in a crystal chamber, smashing whatever delicate things came within reach. But he'd never regretted anything so much as he did the ruin he surveyed now, every time his gaze dropped to Juliet's face.

  She hadn't said a word the whole endless ride from Angel's Fall. Had barely opened her eyes. Even her breathing was shallow, as if it took too much effort, crushed as she was underneath disillusionment.

  And Adam wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, until she flung defiance at him. He wanted to kiss her until her lips softened, and her eyes grew warm and alive again. But he'd lost the right to do anything but make this period of transition as painless as possible for her.

  He had to dissolve the last bonds created in Angel's Fall, help the courtesans get on with their lives, then tuck Juliet back where she belonged. In an ivory tower filled with fairy dreams far away from the world of fires and angry mobs and worthless scoundrels like Adam Slade.

  Adam guided his mount up the drive, drew rein beneath a marble cornice carved with the Glenlyon crest. None of the lamps in the front of the house were lit. Adam thanked the fates again for his brother's dislike of London's "elegant herd."

  Had he lost his mind bringing these women here? Adam wondered. Allowing the Glenlyon family home to be invaded by a harem of fallen women might be beyond even Gavin's famed generosity.

  Still, under the circumstances, it would be better to ask Gavin's pardon than risk refusal, Adam reasoned. Where the blazes else would he be able to hide a flock of women of ill repute until he could get them decently clothed?

  No, the best he could hope for was to bribe the servants with a keg of brandy so Gavin would never suspect the full extent of this disaster.

  Adam winced inwardly, damned uncomfortable at the notion of being dishonest with his brother. Yet the happenings of the past month were far too tender a subject to be probed even by Gavin's wise and gentle hands. Juliet would forever be the sweetest ache in Adam's scarred soul.

  Bracing Juliet with one brawny arm, Adam dismounted, the jarring of boot soles striking the cobblestones shooting spikes of exhaustion through his legs. But he shoved it away, reaching up to lift her into his arms. It was as if even the meager weight of her soot-stained nightgown was too great for her to carry.

  "I can walk," she started to protest, pushing at him with a hand that trembled.

  "Of course you can," Adam grumbled, taking the stairs two at a time. "You're shaking like a blasted leaf. Our entrance is going to cause enough of a sensation among my brother's servants. But if you want to increase the effect by crawling over the threshold on your hands and knees, angel, far be it from me to stop you."

  Most times, he could've bounced a little thing like Juliet over his head on one hand while he knocked on the door with the other, but the fire and countless sleepless nights had robbed him of a measure of his legendary strength.

  He set her on her feet, wishing like hell he'd grabbed a frockcoat or cloak or something to cover her with, conceal her nightgown-clad frame from prying eyes. But the only shelter he could offer was his own broad shoulders. He stepped in front of her and vented his frustration by booting the door until it rattled on its hinges.

  He was just about to kick it again when it flew open. Adam's heart plunged to the toes of his boots. Doubtless the earl of Glenlyon was the only nobleman in Christendom who answered his own door. Gavin stood on the threshold garbed in a dark gold waistcoat, breeches and a white shirt with inkblots on one sleeve, his golden mane tousled, his spectacles sliding down his nose.

  Perfect, Adam thought grimly. At least his luck was consistent. At the moment, he would have preferred facing a firing squad than his half-brother's incredulous gray gaze. "Adam?" Gavin hurled himself at Adam, all but knocking the wind out of him as he wrestled him into a playful embrace.

  "Bloody hell, where the blazes is the footman?" Adam groused, a hundred strained muscles in his body screaming in protest at such rough treatment. "Don't tell me. He's sick with a cold and you didn't want to get him out of bed."

  "Don't be ridiculous." Gavin's sensitive mouth pulled into a devilish grin. "He made a trip to the tooth drawer and his jaw swelled up three times its size. Damn, it's good to see you, brother!" Gavin laughed, tugging the soot-smeared remnants of Adam's shirt. "I know it's been a long time since your last visit, Adam, but you didn't have to dress in such elegant style just to impress me. You look like the very devil."

  "I feel like the devil. Tell me Rachel and the brats aren't here," Adam pleaded with faint hope, wondering how the devil he'd explain the coming invasion to his redoubtable sister-in-law.

  "Unfortunately they're back in Norfolk. Drake had a close encounter with my latest Satan-spawned horse and broke his arm."

  "Is it serious?"

  "No. But Drake takes after you, a nightmare of a patient. Rachel is attempting to make certain he doesn't drive the servants to suicide or murder his little brothers in his frustration. She'll be horribly disappointed to have missed you."

  "I'm sure she will be, especially once she finds out why I'm here. Never known Rachel to miss an opportunity to give me a royal scolding." Adam grimaced.

  Gavin's brow furrowed with concern. "What have you done now? Are you in trouble?"

  "In a manner of speaking. I, uh, brought someone with me.

  Adam stepped aside, color burning into his cheeks. Gavin's eyes snagged on Juliet for the first time, his jaw dropped in surprise. But after an astonished pause, he smiled, his manners as polished as if he received young ladies in their nightgowns every day.

  "My brother shows a distinct lack of chivalry letting you stand out on the landing, milady. I'm Gavin Carstares, Earl of Glenlyon, your servant." He gave a courtly bow. "And who, may I ask, are you? My brother doesn't even offer a proper introduction, and after all my efforts to civilize him!" He shook his head with such sorrowful resignation it was all Adam could do not to punch him.

  "This is Juliet," Adam snapped.

  "A lovely name. 'Soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the sun and Juliet is—'"

  "Blast it, no infernal poetry or I swear I'll break your arm!"

  Juliet stepped forward, looking heartbreakingly young and vulnerable garbed only in her nightgown. "There's something else Adam's not told you. Something a good deal more important. There will be more ladies arriving momentarily."

  "More ladies?" Gavin arched his brows. "How many more?"

  "A coach full," Juliet said. "Maybe two."

  "By damn, I always suspected Adam would collect himself a harem chasing all over the globe. Rachel said it would only take one woman to bring this proud soldier to his knees. Blast if I wasn't right for once in my life! I should have placed a wager on it, by Zeus."

  "Your lordship," Juliet continued. "It's best to get this all out in the open. You might have heard of a place called Angel's Fall?"

  "Angel's Fall?" Gavin's eyes lit up. "The refuge for fallen women?"

  Of course his brother had heard of the place, Adam thought fatalistically. Hell, the miracle was that he hadn't trundled himself over there to pitch in teaching the women how to stitch a fine seam.

  "So you're the young woman who has stirred up such a tempest," Gavin said. "You're quite notorious
."

  Adam saw Juliet's knuckles whiten as if she were bracing for another blow. "Obviously the women are not of the reputation most nobles would welcome into their family homes, your lordship. I certainly understand if you refuse to take us in."

  "You always said I was to use the house as my own, Gav," Adam interrupted. "Bring half the blasted army if I wanted to. That's what you said. So I did—just the half that were camp followers instead of the half that were soldiers."

  "Miss Grafton-Moore, I am honored to meet you at last. I'm perishing to know how you ever ran afoul of my ox-brained brother. I can't wait to write a letter to Rachel about this."

  Adam paled at the thought. "She doesn't need to know, does she? The women will only be here a little while—long enough to fit them out in new wardrobes. They've not a stitch among the lot of 'em."

  Adam gritted his teeth at the expression on Gavin's face. "Blast, don't look at me that way! I didn't undress them! They were in their nightgowns. The house burned in the middle of the night. Just summon up a batch of seamstresses willing to work night and day. I'll pay whatever it takes."

  "I'll see to it at once." Gavin crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying Adam's discomfiture entirely too much. "After all, we can't have the ladies prancing about Rachel's front lawn in nothing but their unmentionables."

  "You mean you're going to let us stay?" Juliet stared at Gavin, incredulous.

  "You're most welcome here." Gavin winked at her. "I'm thrilled to finally meet one of Adam's women after all these years. You must be the most patient of ladies to tolerate my brother's antics. If I ever rounded up a pack of females the way he has, Rachel would have my head on a platter."

  "I'm not one of Adam's women... I mean, I..." Red stained her cheeks. Adam ached for her, as her eyes flooded with pain and self-condemnation, and the stark realization that no matter what the future brought, she was one of his women forevermore because of what had occurred in the garden house.

  He was crushed by guilt at the knowledge that he was the man who had made this most precious of angels fall. And furious with his brother, with those eyes that probed too deeply, that heart that sensed pain in others far too readily.

  Gavin's features softened with compassion. He reached out, enfolding Juliet's hand in his long sensitive fingers. Adam hated him for the gentle comfort he conveyed so easily. "This is your home for as long as you need it, my dear," Gavin said.

  Tears welled over Juliet's lashes, her lower lip trembling despite the efforts Adam could see her make to quell it. Envy burned in Adam's gut like acid that it was Gavin who had managed to touch her pain, soothe it, instead of himself.

  "Let's get you upstairs, summon up the maid," Gavin suggested. "A hot bath and a nice long sleep will hearten you after all you've been through."

  Gavin took her arm with ineffable tenderness, guiding her toward the stairs, and Adam ground his teeth. Juliet leaned on his brother with the utter confidence everyone showed Gavin, trust that he would not let them down, instinctive certainty of his goodness, his kindness. A fiery ball of regret lodged in Adam's throat as he trailed after them.

  Hadn't this always been the way of it? From the time the two boys had chased after their little sisters, Gavin had always been the one they ran to with their little hurts. When a beloved kitten died, Gavin made it a tiny coffin and held a solemn funeral for the bereaved, complete with a supper of ice and bonbons. Adam had fled at the first sign of tears, only daring to return when the worst of the storm was over to gruffly thrust a new kitten into his sister's arms.

  He almost protested when Gavin stopped to usher Juliet into the nearest bedchamber. Adam's jaw clenched at the memory of when he'd last been in this room—the old earl had sent Gavin there to retrieve his grandfather's sword to carry off to war. A part of his brother had died the instant he took the weapon in his hand.

  A part of Adam had as well—the Glenlyon townhouse, part of his father's legacy a bastard was never allowed to touch—a tangible reminder that there were other facets of his father he could never claim—like an honorable name.

  Yet it seemed as if Gavin's presence in the past eight years had warmed away those chill memories, the former pristine elegance of the chamber made homey by several well-worn books abandoned on a table, the writing desk holding a bit of Celtic interlacing that Gavin had painted with infinite patience. A tent made out of silk coverlets was draped over chairs while three toy knights on wooden horses and a hand-carved dragon peeked from inside the makeshift structure.

  "Forgive the mess," Gavin said. "The last time my children were here they made this their castle, but hadn't much time to play in it. I promised them a blood oath I'd leave it undisturbed until their return. I hope you don't mind?"

  "No." She reached out her fingertips, touching one of the toys. And hot envy welled up in Adam, a fierce wish that his own sons had wrestled with the coverlets and sent the knights charging, children born of his love for Juliet. Children who would never be. Unless, a tiny voice whispered inside him, a life had been conceived in the garden house, during their loving.

  Adam felt a savage wave of hope. Then she would have to wed him, to share his life, his bed... No. It was vile to even think of forcing her hand that way. It was better to let her go.

  "Wait here while I summon up the maid. Until she comes, Adam will take care of you."

  Adam gritted his teeth as his brother strode out. God, how he wanted to take care of Juliet. Such a simple wish— one as old as the first man who had loved a woman. But the best way he could take care of Juliet was to get as far away from her as possible as soon as possible, so she could forget him.

  Yet the thought of life without Juliet left him with the kind of barrenness in his soul that drove men to fling themselves to certain death upon the battlefield, welcoming the dark abyss that was the only force that could extinguish such soul-deep pain.

  He turned to see her sink down on the bed, looking forlorn, a tattered angel far from heaven. She stared down at her filthy hands as if they held the broken pieces of her spirit, and she knew the instant she opened her fingers, they'd drift away like fairy-dust or moonbeams and leave her in darkness.

  He wanted to cross to where she sat and kneel down, cupping her hands in his own battered ones. He wanted to mend what was broken inside her. But Sabrehawk's hands were made to wield a sword, to fight in battle, to slam into tables or walls in fits of temper. They weren't hands that could soothe away fear and failure. In that instant, he would gladly have severed his rough sword-toughened hands if he could have exchanged them for his brother's gentle ones.

  "Your brother is a remarkable man," she said quietly.

  Adam ground his teeth, but couldn't deny it. "Gavin is everything I can never be." The admission was exquisitely painful. "Juliet, I—"

  "I'm grateful for all you've done—finding us a place to stay. Offering clothes."

  I'd put the moon into your hands if it were mine to give, a voice inside Adam whispered. "I failed to protect you. It's the least I could do."

  She angled her face away from him, fragile golden curls trailing across one pale cheek. "I'm very tired, Adam."

  "Hell, yes, you must be exhausted. What can I do for you?"

  "I just... need to be alone." Her lips trembled. "It's time I got used to it."

  Adam winced. She'd not only witnessed the destruction of her dreams, but of the makeshift family she'd fought so hard to build with her own hands, gathering the lonely, the abandoned into her generous heart.

  He wanted to say something wise. He wanted to reach out to her. He turned and walked away. For the first time in his life, the dread warrior Sabrehawk knew what it felt like to be a coward.

  Adam had suffered through month-long sieges that had been less exhausting, but at last the invasion of Glenlyon House was finally complete. Every chamber was bursting with ladies of the night. Enough bath water had been hauled up and down the stairs to drain the river Thames. The few garments Rachel had left behind had nearly i
ncited a melee among the women as they fought over elegant ball gowns and exquisite robes d'anglaise. The losers in the fray had been reduced to wearing what clothes the women servants could spare—a situation that had Gavin's maids nearly quivering with indignation.

  It had caused quite a sensation among the earl's servants. The footmen kept crashing into walls, their eyes on the house's newest guests. The maids—not of his lordship's philanthropic bent—were torn between curiosity and righteous indignation.

  Juliet's angels weren't making the transition any easier. Isabelle sashayed about as if she were lady of the manor; the simpler girls, awed by the grandeur, blustered like banty hens to hide their unease. Yet no amount of bravado could conceal the truth from Adam's eyes.

  Juliet's angels were as confused and rudderless as a troop of soldiers whose general had fallen. She hadn't emerged from her room since Adam had left her there.

  There hadn't been time to think, let alone chase after her while settling the women into their new lodgings. But now, with the house so quiet, everyone from the bootboy to Isabelle asleep, there was nothing to drive away the images he knew would haunt him forever—not the fire, nor even the hatred that had shone in Juliet's eyes. Rather, the sight of Juliet's hands idle for the first time since he'd seen her. No seam to stitch or buns to bake, no ink-smudges on her fingers as she taught little Felicity how to shape her letters.

  Those images had driven Adam to Gavin's library to get roaring drunk, but for the first time in his misbegotten life, he doubted he had the stomach for it. He was sickened by the memory of Juliet's soot-smudged face, her star-fire eyes lifeless and empty.

  The last thing he needed was an altercation with a young Irish hothead, whose features were suddenly hard and older, hero-worship driven from the raw-boned planes of his face. But Fletcher had tracked him down with the single-mindedness of his infernal race, burning with outrage.

  Adam took a gulp of his brother's finest brandy, wondering why everything tasted like ashes.